You're the place my life begins. [l.s]

Part VII.

The day is less than a week away, and Harry is growing more and more nervous, such is his nervousness that he probably has grown some grey hairs by now. There are so many details to polish and he constantly feels like it will all end up being a total mess. And he cannot afford that, so he does his best. He wonders if he should kneel in front of Louis, or if that will make it too cliché, he goes over the words he has written on his speech too many times to count. There is also an important thing he needs to do the next day; it is the last step to his proposal.

But all this stress has been affecting his mood, so he has started treating his boyfriend differently. He is not as loving as usual, he does not compliment him as much as he always does, and most importantly, he has not said I love you in almost a week. He does not do any of this consciously, God knows he never would, it is only that the loads of things he has to do have blurred his vision and he is not able to see what he has been doing.

His chain of thoughts is cut when a hand grips his upper arm and shakes him weakly. He snaps out of his trance and looks up, only to find his boyfriend’s troubled gaze.

            “Harry, have you been listening to any of what I’m saying?” Louis asks, and he feels like the biggest twat when he recognizes a glint of hurt in his eyes; he has been so caught up in his own mind that he has forgotten Louis has been telling him about an interesting article he read online. The older man lets go of his arm and looks away, aware of the fact that his suspicion is gradually becoming a reality. And he wants to confront Harry about it, but he is not brave enough; he does not want to see his lips move as he says the words that will most likely tear him apart. Only thinking about it terrifies him to a point where he just freezes and his brain completely shuts down. So he swallows his words and keeps his silence, and wishes and hopes and prays. Everything just in the vain hope that maybe, he has been reading all the wrong signs, an option that –according to him- is illogical, given the fact that he has been living with Harry for nine years and knows him like he knows every line drawn on the palm of his hand.

            That night, Louis passes past Harry, who is sitting on the sofa while writing something on his notebook. He says a low ‘good night, Harry’ and does not even wait for him to reply when he is already giving his back to him, walking to their bedroom.

            At five in the morning, Harry wakes up with a sore neck and a numb butt, for the reason that he has fallen asleep in a sitting position on the couch. Growling at the pain, he massages his neck a little and notices the journal on his lap. He panics as he realizes that the notebook is open on the page where he has been writing his speech. It seems that he has dozen off while he was on it.

He takes a quick shower, and with every minute passing, the pressure in his throat keeps rising. Today is a crucial day, he thinks as he rinses his hair. And if telling his mother and friends has been similar to taking his audition, then this day can only be compared to the seconds he spent standing in front of the three judges, waiting for them to decide if his dream would come true or not.

            With a towel around his hips and feeling a little more relaxed, he gets in bed and slips his arm under the blanket and over Louis’s waist, at the same time as he kisses the back of his head several times. The man mumbles pleasantly and lazily turns around, curling up against Harry’s chest with his arms folded in between. He leaves soft and tender feather kisses all over the sleeping man’s face, as their legs tangle together. He kisses his eyes, the tip of his nose, his forehead, until the corners of his mouth go a little upwards in a sleepy smile and Harry kisses it too.

            Louis’s heart flutters, and he thinks that maybe he has been indeed reading the wrong signs. Maybe he has misunderstood Harry’s behavior, and nothing has actually changed. Perhaps, the tour has gotten its toll on him and he only needs his space. A little spark of hope lights inside of his soul and he snuggles closer to the other body and presses his cheek to the butterfly on his lower chest, sinking in the warmth that spreads all the way through his skin from all the spots where they are touching.