When September Ends

Chapter 9: Grey

When Harry woke up he was lying curled up in a soft bed with a satin throw pulled up to his chin and warm strong arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Tom's breath wafted against the back of his neck in warm puffs. Birds chirped merrily outside and pale morning sunlight filtered in through the window of their bedroom. All was right with the world. He hadn't felt this good in a very long time.

Harry stretched, his joints letting out satisfying pops as he did so, and rolled over in the dark brunet's loose hold to look at his husband. Tom was still asleep, his hair a wild mess which rivaled his own and his face lax and open. Eyelids fluttering lightly as he dreamed. He smiled and reached up to trace the pads of his fingers along the curve of his cheeks and bridge of his nose. Marveling at the man beside him.

He felt at ease for the first time in...he wasn't sure how long. Secure in the fact that his life had resolidified. That all of the doubt was gone, despite the niggling traitorous voice which kept trying to tell him he was wrong. That Tom was lying to him. But wasn't that how a delusion worked? It was his choice whether or not to listen to the voices in his head. Tom had never once lied to him before so why should he believe that that had changed now?

Shelving such thoughts for further examination at a later date he spared a brief glance at the clock before reaching up to shake his husband awake.

"Tom?" The man grumbled and shifted slightly but didn't wake. Harry tried again. "Tom, you need to wake up. It's time for you to go to work."

His eyes slid open a moment later and he offered the raven a half-asleep smile before sitting up. "Alright, love. If you insist."

"If I insist? I'm not the one who drew up your schedule; you can't be late."

"As if anyone would dare make mention of it even if I were." But he rose from the bed and padded towards the bathroom, pausing only long enough to grab the clothing he'd set out for himself the night before. "Mondays really are the devil."

Still being considered ill had a few merits; Harry fell back against the bed and rolled onto his front, burying his face in the pillow that his husband had used. It smelled like Tom.

He listened to the shower run, drifting in a warm numbness until the water cut off. He sat up again and waited for him to emerge; when he did his hair was damp, but tamed, and his button up shirt hung open over his toned chest. Harry stared, feeling himself color.

Tom chuckled, grinning, and sauntered over. "Like what you see?"

"I did marry you."

He bent, taking his chin in one of his large calloused hands, and kissed him. His lips were warm and soft and he tasted like the toothpaste he'd just used. It was brief, but Harry still felt like his head was spinning when he pulled back. "I'll be back this evening, promptly at six. We'll have dinner together and discuss our coming trip. You'll be alright on your own?"

"Yes." He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him close; Tom relaxed into his hold. "I'll probably watch some TV and then cook. You're a better chef than I am, but we do have cookbooks don't we?"

"We have at least one on of every book imaginable. After all, you live here." He said. "You'll behave."

"Just go to work, Tom."

The brunet smirked again, did up his shirt, and walked out. Harry once again curled up under the duvet with a huff. Lawyers!

He got out of bed himself when it was much closer to noon and took a shower before heading down the stairs. He flipped through over half of the hundreds of channels that they had, watching a handful of crime documentaries and rom-coms, and at around five dug up the aforementioned cookbook and threw together the first thing he found that they had the ingredients for; some type of pasta with white sauce and shrimp.

It would have turned out a million times better had Tom been the one to make it, but at least he could be certain that eating it wouldn't cause food poisoning...mostly certain.

Tom returned home maybe five minutes after he'd finished and-jacket shed and tie undone-walked into the room. "Smells good."

"Hopefully it tastes that way too." He said. "There's lemon in the fridge. Could you get it for me? Also, any advice on what wine to pair with this?"

"It's likely best we skip the wine, love. We'll be having quite a lot over the weekend after all, it will be our anniversary." The door of the stainless steel refrigerator swung shut with a snap. Lemon in hand, Tom took his seat across from Harry at the table. "How was your day, my darling?"

"Uneventful. Was Draco a prat again today?"

Tom paused with the fork halfway to his mouth and groused "we're heading out this weekend? To the cabin?"

"You remember?"

"Of course I remember! How could I forget the bloody cabin!"

"I can never be sure what you lost to either the illness or its treatments." He answered calmly.

Harry lowered his eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Tom reached under the table and gently gripped his hand. "I understand, Harry. There's no reason for you to be feeling guilty."

The pasta needed more salt. "I understand, Harry. There's no need to feel guilty."

"About six hours but as I'm sure you can recall the drive is worth it." He said with a smile. "We'll be leaving Thursday morning and staying through the following Tuesday."