A Piece of His Heart / larry uni AU

chapter fourteen

Rolling over onto his back with sunlight peeking under his eyelids, Louis inhales deeply.

So, it's finally—bacon.

His eyes shoot open.

It's finally Christmas, is what he meant, but there's also the smell of grease and salt wafting into his room and Louis would be insane not to notice.

Not that there's anything wrong with the smell of bacon, definitely not, it's just that Louis can't even remember the last time he woke to the smell of breakfast. It was a rare occurrence in his childhood—maybe one or two Saturdays spread throughout a year—but it's also one of the few things with good memories attached to it, great ones if Louis' honest. Maybe he forgot just great those memories were.

Because right now, as he inhales once more, warmth is flooding Louis' chest like he's ten years old again, and that is a crazy feeling.

What a Happy Christmas, indeed.

Louis' nearly fallen asleep when the door cracks open.

"Lou?"

Sunlight rushes the room, and like a proper child, "Mmhm..." Louis shoves the blankets over his face, blocking out the halo of light around the boy's head, "...too bright."

He hears the boy laugh lightly, unapologetically, as the bed shifts like he's taken a seat. Louis' not sure of it, of course, and he would gladly leave that fact up to interpretation as he cowers from the light, but then it hits him.

Last night, he means.

Gifts. Crying. Laughing. Kissing. Touching. Talking. Breathing. An unfiltered recount of Louis' past.

Louis freezes under the blanket. And when Harry shifts on the bed again, obviously trying to get Louis' attention, Louis feels like he can't move, let alone speak. He's got nothing but static in his mind, can't seem to focus on anything other than the fact that Harry knows now.

He knows and Louis chose to tell him. He's the only person Louis has ever told.

A hand comes down on the blanket, causing it to fall from Louis' hands. He's met with the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. Sunlit and smiling, tacky Santa hat flattening his fringe, there's a warmth in his eyes that Louis can feel in his chest.

He would do it all over again.

Harry lips part, smiling widely, "Happy—"

But, "Holy shit," Louis interrupts as he gawks downward, the smell of salt, citrus, and grease filling his senses immediately, "What's all this?"

Harry looks down in a rush, nearly toppling the tray of food at his knees, before eyeing his handiwork unabashedly.

He clears his throat, "Oh, this?" but Louis already knows what this is—he knows exactly what this is. A stack of buttered toast, a cup of strawberries, a plate of bacon, a couple of freshly baked muffins, glasses of orange juice, two plates, napkins, for god's sake—it's a bloody breakfast in bed that the boy's prepared for them, like they've been married for decades, and for some reason Louis feels like he's about to short-circuit.

Louis absolutely can't believe this.

But then Harry's looking up, the cotton of his hat falling into his eyes, and Louis has never felt more present in his entire life.

And, "Happy Christmas." Harry whispers.

☆

Louis downs the rest of his juice right as Harry does.