"Stay," Harry whispers desperately, pressing his lips to Louis' temple like he can somehow ease the pain that's blooming there, but he can't make the pain stop and no matter how hard he tries he can't make Louis stay.
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{not my story}
COMPLETED
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Harry wakes up unreasonably early the next morning, and at first he's completely ready to dive back under the covers and go back to sleep until he realizes today is Louis' birthday and his heart leaps, only to sink back when his eyes fall on the sleeping boy next to him, looking exhausted even in sleep, purpled half moons under his closed eyes and cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass.
He runs a hand experimentally down Louis' warm side, fingers lingering a touch too long on Louis' ribs, so prominent even through his shirt that Harry has to fight to swallow back his panic.
"Lou," he murmurs, sinking down to be level with Louis and nosing at his cheek, running gentle hands down Louis' sides and back. "It's your birthday, baby. C'mon, wake up."
It takes nearly five minutes and quite a bit of coaxing but Louis' eyelashes finally flutter as he peeks out at Harry, nose crinkling a little and Harry bites back a grin, reaching out to cup his jaw. "There you are," he practically coos, their noses brushing as Louis' fluttering lashes slow as he comes to. "There's my boy. It's your birthday, boo."
"Birthday," Louis repeats carefully.
"That's right," Harry says with a nod, stroking Louis' cheekbone with his fingers. "Happy birthday, darling." His eyes linger on Louis' face as it dawns on him that this is going to be Louis' last birthday and he can the lump forming in his throat, but that thought makes him sad and he doesn't want to be sad on Louis' birthday, so he pushes the thought away and turns his attention to the sweet little thing in front of him, all curled up in fleece blankets, looking like a sleepy little child, hair sticking out in all directions. "What color are you today?"
Louis brushes his chapped lips together, contemplating this. "Green," he says finally, but with an upward inflection like he's just looking for whatever is going to make Harry happy.
"Are you sure, babe?" Harry asks, brow furrowing in concern.
"'M sure," Louis says simply, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes as if to say, How dare you doubt me.
Harry's mind drifts back to Louis' last birthday, where he'd woken up to a very squirmy and happy Louis, who had, upon learning Harry was awake, whispered excitedly in his ear, "Guess whose birthday it is? Mine! Guess who said they'd make me chocolate chip pancakes? You did!" and spent a good ten minutes trying to drag a very sleepy Harry out of bed. They'd wound up on the floor, Harry pressing happy birthday kisses to Louis' mouth, the column of his throat and his sternum before eating him out in the wintry sunshine pouring in through the window.
Harry knows Louis is a little too fragile at the moment for that kind of roughhousing, but it doesn't keep him from pressing soft kisses to Louis' mouth, both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, whispering, "Love you, love you, love you," over and over again.
"Love you, too," Louis answers, voice bright and clear and, yeah. It's a green day.
They spend Louis' birthday tangled up on the couch watching Christmas specials, all of Louis' favorites. Harry bakes gingerbread cookies. Louis won't eat any, he can't, but he likes the smell and he likes watching Harry bake, so.
"Got you a present." Harry tells him later that night, pulling off his shirt and closing his fingers around the object in his hand.
Louis' mouth pops open a little, cheeks turning bright red and Harry doubles over with laughter. "Oh, sweetheart," he chuckles, fingers smoothing Louis' fringe out of the way. "Not like that. Here, look," he explains, turning around and pointing to the inking on the back of his neck.
Louis frowns, looking confused at the sloping black lines. It's okay, though - Harry expected him to be confused.
"This," Harry says, clearing his throat and taking Louis' hand to press it to the tattoo, the one that still stings a little, being so new, "is your heartbeat."
Louis' frown gradually dissipates and he blinks at Harry, staring for a long time and his eyes are getting really, really glassy and oh, he's going to cry and Harry leans down to peck his lips and nose at his jaw, murmuring, "Baby, don't cry. Don't be sad."
"'M not sad," Louis says at once, voice sharp. "'M happy."
And, fuck. Now Harry's crying, too. He can't keep the stupid, happy grin off his face as he holds out the silver chain in the palm of his hand. Louis peers at it curiously, wiping at his eyes furiously with the back of his hand.
Hanging from the silver chain is a tiny silver paper airplane and, next to that, a circle with another set of curving lines, sloping like mountains. "And this," Harry says, gently slipping the chain over Louis' head, "is my heartbeat."
"Oh," Louis says softly, fingers reaching to touch the charms, now lying snugly against his chest.
"Do you like it?" Harry asks hopefully, and he barely has time to register what's happening before Louis is launching himself at him, and they're a tangle of limbs and tears and Louis is crying, "Yes, yes, love it, love you, thank you thank you thank you."
Harry's heart swells. With Louis in his arms, he feels like he can do anything.
