Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

sixty-seven

Perhaps the worst thing about love is that it isn't a magic remedy that makes everyone's problems disappear.

This phenomenon is seen most clearly in the way that Louis can love Harry as much as he wants but that sure as hell won't stop him from having nightmares.

He wakes up to the spine-chilling sound of screaming, which is a sound he's quite used to by now. The walk to Harry's bedroom is muscle memory, though it has been a bit disrupted from the change of scenery of their road trip. He trips over a canvas in the room but hardly notices, too focused on getting to Harry and waking him up.

It hurts so badly to see him like this. Shaking with fear.

He keeps repeating "I'm sorry," like a broken record. Louis isn't sure if he's apologizing to the subject of his nightmares, or to Louis, so he just holds him and hopes to soothe him with a hand stroking through his hair.

"Shhh love, it's alright. Nothing can hurt you know. You're safe here."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay Harry. You're alright." He wants to ask, What are you thinking right now? What's going on inside of that dark mind of yours?

"I'm sorry, Lou, I'm sorry for waking you."

"Don't apologize. I don't mind. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I miss the hotel rooms. I always slept better then."

A silence falls over them.

"Do you think... Do you think it was because I had you with me?"

"Maybe," Louis considers. "You did have a nightmare, though. When we were on our trip. Two, actually, I think."

"We were in separate rooms the second time though."

"So you're saying that having someone with you makes them better?"

"Maybe..? I'm not sure..."

"Do you want me in here, then, with you?"

Harry hesitates, and it makes Louis feel a little sick. "Maybe... I don't know..." He sounds frustrated and distraught, running a hand through his sleep-messy curls, hastily wiping at the tear tracks on his face.

"It's alright, H, there's no pressure. Just, whatever you decide, tell me, okay? I'll be happy to help."

"Okay... Thank you. Do you think maybe... Do you think maybe you could stay with me tonight?"

"Of course, love. Do you wanna go to sleep, or do something else to take your mind off of everything?"

"Can you- Do you think you can read to me?"

"Read to you? Like, read a book?"

Harry blushes, turning away from the light of the lamp on the nightstand, almost as if he's hiding. "I mean, yeah... I love the sound of your voice- It's so soft and soothing."

Louis' heart melts a little. Or maybe a lot. "What would you like me to read?"

So at two o'clock in the morning he finds himself curled up in bed with his roommate/friend/lover, reading through a book of poetry from the shelf in Harry's room. The poems are strange and sad but beautiful, and Harry seems to like them, humming along to the lines that resonate with him.

They're lying on Harry's mattress on the floor, with Harry's arm around Louis. Louis snuggles into the crook of his arm and props the book up on his chest, whispering the words long after Harry falls back asleep. He doesn't stop until his words turn slow and lethargic from sleep, and he's unable to keep his eyes open any longer.

One phrase sticks with him though, even in his dreams:

There is thunder in our hearts.