Work Text:
The sound of the snow plow going by on the road is the only thing that Harry can concentrate on other than the cold around him, the blowing wind biting into his flesh from all sides. The noise of the plow makes him think of the old space heater that his mother would pull out from the basement every winter to help heat up his chilly room at night as he slept. The thing was old, probably ten years older than he was, and it was clunky. Oddly, as a child Harry always found himself comforted by the sounds of the warm air blowing out from the heater, clunking and whooshing and all.
Currently it’s freezing, well below zero, one of the coldest nights of the season so far. Harry thinks that he misses that ancient space heater right about then.
Street lamps hum all around lighting up the way and snow twirls around in the beams of light. The cold, uncomfortable dampness of snow is seeping into the toes of Harry’s shoes and it’s his own fault, really. His footwear is hardly acceptable for the temperatures or the precipitation called for. It’s just that he didn’t actually think that so much snow would fall in just one afternoon but he’s been proven wrong. Freak snow squall is what the weather man had called it. One of the worst storms in years. Stay indoors and keep off of roads unless absolutely necessary.
Other than his soaked sneakers, all Harry’s wearing over his clothes is his ratty old excuse for a wind breaker. His hair is flopping violently in the wind and his ears are tingly. So yeah, he’s grossly unprepared for the weather and his teeth are chattering involuntarily as he stands at the bus stop. There’s not a soul in sight, but why would there be? The rush hour traffic that was minimal at best is long gone. The only proof of human existence was the plow that had gone by minutes ago, but other than that, the roads are bare of traffic yet heavily blanketed by the snow that is still falling, accented by blobs of grey slush in the shape of track marks all across the pavement.
Maybe sitting on the curb would help, Harry thinks momentarily, but then he remembers the giant pile of slushy snow there, and no. The only thing worse than wet toes is a wet butt. It’s best to just keep moving back and forth, keep the blood flowing to his extremities. Truly, his fingers had gone numb ten minutes ago and he isn’t exactly sure if his nose is still attached to his face or not. He sniffles and yeah, his nose is still there and he’s probably going to get sick.
The bus isn’t usually so late. The driver of this particular route likes to be on time, so much so that she’ll close the doors and start moving the second anyone gets on, before they have a chance to drop their coins into the fare acceptor. Harry finds it especially awkward, recounting the amounts of times he’s stood there in front of a bus full of people, jostled about in his long legs as he tried desperately to drop his coins in as quick as possible. He doesn’t like riding the bus but if he wants money, he has to go to work. If he wants to go to work, he has to take the bus. So. He doesn’t really have a choice.
Harry’s not one for bumming rides off of co-workers, even when they offer and persist. Tonight he probably wouldn’t have been so averse to accepting a ride from his boss, but she had to leave early for some reason unbeknownst to Harry. He heard some muffled speaking before his boss was hanging up the phone and flying out the door, asking Harry to please make sure everything’s locked up tight when he’s done clearing up all the toys and colouring books. Harry couldn’t really see anyone wanting to steal anything there, especially on such a night, but he only nodded before he was left alone.
It’s a daycare, the place that he works at. He started when he was 17 and all he was hired for then was cleaning and clearing up after the hyper, chattering children who came in everyday while their parents were at work. After a couple of years it turned less into an after school job of him ignoring the kids and more into him letting them draw all over his face with crayola markers and dress him up in tutus. He loves the kids and he loves playing with them, and now that he’s done with high school the job’s become a full-time thing while he decides what to do with the rest of his life.
With it being the twenty-third of December not many kids were at the daycare, just a few whose parents had to be at work right up until the holidays. It’ll be closed all weekend and Harry’s been looking forward to spending his days lounging about and eating too much. The last kids left the daycare just before closing, everyone ready to just go home and enjoy the off time, especially in this weather.
So now he’s waiting for the bus that is never going to come, apparently. The snow is still falling, incredibly, and the sky is a strange colour, sort of a soft, milky orange with the light from the street lamps reflecting off the snow banks and up into the greyish cloud cover. Harry’s pretty certain that his lips are blue and his legs are going to buckle at any moment. He glances at the daycare just up the hill from this curb, the lights off and the door shut tight. He could go back in where at least it’s warm and he probably won’t die imminently, but what if he misses the last bus of the night?
Harry wipes his now-running nose on his coat sleeve and his nearly-frozen thighs tingle with exertion. That’s when the scuttle and crunch of someone’s boots in the snow break into his thoughts of possible limb amputation due to hypothermia. Harry is standing stock-still, breathing hard through his nose as anxiety fills in the empty spaces in his head. His breaths come out as little puffy clouds of condensation that disperse into the cold, his nostrils flare and his eyes remain downcast.
He can feel them before he can see them and he doesn’t look up until a little cough resounds in the bleak air followed by a voice, “Uh, sorry, but are you waiting for the bus?”
Snapping his head up, Harry takes in the person standing beside him on the curb. It’s a man. He’s more of a boy, really, can’t be any older than Harry’s own age. He looks far more prepared for the storm in his navy blue peacoat, red scarf and grey beanie pulled on over his head with just a little bit of brown hair fanning into his eyes. His hands are all but shoved into his pockets to keep away the chill and Harry chances that his own lips probably match the same shade of purple of this stranger’s. The boy’s cheeks are red and his eyes are icy bright, two starry sparks in the grey bleariness around them. Harry’s stomach turns before he remembers that he’s been asked a question.
All he can muster is a slight head nod to imply that yes, he is infact waiting for the damned late bus. He meets his eyes as the stranger smiles a strange, wry smile that almost seems a tad pitying.“Oh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but the public buses have been cancelled for the night.”
And oh. Harry never even considered that.
The stranger shifts his weight and brings his hands out of his pockets and Harry thinks for a split second that the boy is going to just shrug and keep on going down the sidewalk but he’s still there in Harry’s personal bubble and maybe Harry doesn’t mind all that much.
“You stranded?” the stranger breathes and his voice is a little bit raspy from the cold.
Harry nods and shoves his own hands in his pockets reflexively, defensively.
This time when the stranger smiles it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’d offer you a ride but my car broke down way back there,” he gestures in the direction from which he came. “So I guess we’re stranded together.”
“Yeah, guess so,” Harry finally speaks.
The following silence isn’t exactly awkward (it’s as awkward as standing at an abandoned bus stop with a complete stranger can be) but it’s uncomfortable enough that Harry coughs a bit into his shoulder just to break through the quiet. “You wouldn’t happen to have a phone on you? Left mine back at home, how stupid is that?”
“Uh, yeah, just a sec,” Harry reluctantly pulls one hand out of his coat pocket and digs it around in the pocket of his jeans in order to find his phone. Which, apparently, isn’t there. He tries the other one; no luck. His eyes go wide and he makes a face of regret as he turns to the boy beside him. “Shit. I’ve forgotten mine as well.” He doesn’t remember leaving without it today but he must’ve.
“Well then, we’re officially stranded.” Despite his words, the stranger is still smiling and even chuckling a bit. “I’m Louis, by the way. How far away do you live from here, uh…” He raises his eyebrows until they disappear under his fringe and gestures for Harry to offer his name.
Filling his lungs with searing air, Harry lets it slip back out, now hot and damp, through his chapped lips. ‘I’m Harry. And I live not too far actually, maybe half an hour by foot.” Harry’s not exactly sure why he’s telling this perfect stranger where he lives but for some reason he doesn’t feel at all worried or threatened. Louis’ eyes are kind and he seems nice enough and Harry kind of likes the soft sound of his voice better than he likes hearing the roaring snow plows, anyways.
“I live all the way across town, unfortunately,” Louis explains with a tilt of his head, his eyes catching some lamp light and absolutely sparkling. “Was hoping I could find a phone so I could call a tow.”
Harry nods sympathetically, heaving out a cloud of moisture in contemplation. He couldn’t possibly leave this angelic-looking boy out in the freezing night by himself. “You could - I mean, I don’t live very far, and even though it’s cold...” Louis’ eyes never leave his. “You could walk home with me and use my phone there?” The words are already out of his mouth before Harry has time to register them and soon Louis is grinning and nodding his thanks.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother, Harry.” And he’s not sure why but hearing Louis say his name sends a quiver through his muscles that isn’t from the cold.
Harry smiles shyly although on the outside he’s opening up just slightly. “Might as well head on home anyways. No sense in hanging about here, all stranded and whatnot.” Louis chuckles a bit at that, agreeing. “This way,” Harry gestures with his shoulder, his muscles tight and rigid. The two start down the sidewalk, side by side, the crunching of the snow under their feet providing noise in place of conversation.
Once they’re a few feet down from the bus stop, Harry glances through his lashes at the boy walking beside him. Louis’ cheeks are still flushed from the cold, so much so that he closely resembles a tomato. All in all he’s quite pleasant to look at; all happy crinkly smiles and soft eyes and something about him seems inexplicably sweet despite the situation of being stranded on a wintery night with no way home.
Louis’ voice comes out of nowhere when he speaks, it’s soft and slow like syrup in the snow. “So, where are you coming from?”
It takes Harry’s fuzzy brain a moment to understand what Louis means. “Oh, just work,” he answers, rubbing his brow nervously.
“Where do you work?”
“Uh, the daycare up the hill there,” and maybe Harry should be a bit wary about sharing personal information with this stranger, but then again, he is taking him home so perhaps that wariness is off the table now. Nonetheless, Harry keeps his eyes trained on Louis, sideways, it’s the tiniest bit shifty but if the carefree look on Louis’ face is anything to go by, he doesn’t mind all that much.
“Oh, cool,” Louis nods as he takes in Harry’s words, his smile never wavering. “I was just on my way home from some last-minute Christmas shopping.” It’s then that Harry belatedly notices a plastic bag hanging from Louis’ left arm. “I’ve got four little sisters,” he goes on. “Just wanted to get some little things, stocking stuffers, you know?”
The thing is, Harry’s not used to this. He’s not too accustomed to someone being so seemingly comfortable with him after literally just meeting but it feels good. He wriggles his nearly-numb toes a bit in his shoes just to get the blood flowing again. “Yeah, I didn’t buy much this year,” he feels his cold lips moving but he’s not exactly in control of the words leaving them.
Louis hums in understanding. “How old are you, Harry?” he asks, his voice growing louder as the wind howls in competition.
“Nineteen.”
“I’ll be nineteen tomorrow,” Louis says proudly and the grin that crosses his face is nearly blinding.
“Really?” Harry breathes out. “A Christmas eve baby. That’s cute.”
“Yeah. When I was younger it was a bit much, but now it’s okay, y’know?” Louis pulls his chilled bottom lip into his mouth. “You go to school?”
“Nah.” Harry trips over a bit of chunky ice in the middle of the sidewalk. “I have no clue what to do with my life.”
“Same. Finally, someone who gets me,” Louis muses in a soft voice. Harry’s heart is beating in a million different ways and his limbs seem just a bit warmer now that they’re moving. This whole thing seems like a very vivid lucid dream. It’s almost like Louis’ happy to be here, out in the blowing snow with Harry when he could be in his own bed in his warm house.
Warmth. Like the clouds of breath that swirl around Louis’ chin and nose and mingle with Harry’s when they turn to face each other as they talk back and forth. A little bit of breath slips in between Harry’s jacket and his shoulder and causes him to shiver slightly. Louis, ever vigilant, notices and raises his eyebrows. “Cold?” He only mutters the one, lone word but it’s enough to make Harry shiver once again.
“Yeah, just a little bit.”
“It is , like, thirty below zero so I guess I can’t blame you,” Louis chuckles, lifting his scarf over his head carefully and handing it out towards Harry. Harry doesn’t notice until he looks over once more with his mouth poised to speak but the words get caught up in his throat when he sees the scarf being offered to him.
“Oh, no, keep it, I’ll be fine.” But Louis is smirking and Harry’s head is spinning from the cold and maybe his judgment is impaired somehow because Louis seems to be shimmering just a bit under the dim street lights. Harry looks away for a moment to regain his composure before looking up again and Louis is still smirking and his hand hasn’t lowered so Harry gives in, taking the scarf.
He wraps it around his neck loosely, breathing in the smell that comes off of the soft red wool. It smells a bit like woodsmoke mixed with gasoline and he wonders why for a moment before he’s realizing that his eyes are closed in concentration when he should really be paying attention to where he’s going on the snow covered side walk. The two boys are nearing a slippery intersection and the crosswalk light switches just as their muffled footsteps hit the edge of the curb underneath the heavy blanket of fallen snow. As they cross the deserted road with nothing but the ghostly footprints of others for company Harry clears his throat before speaking again. “Only about ten minutes away, now.”
“Great, I think my eyelashes have frozen together.” Louis leans over, his shoulder bumping Harry’s as their shoes squish through the slushy, icy walkway. “I really miss my bed right now,” he whispers like it’s a precious secret and Harry’s breath sticks in his chest when he hears the resounding giggle that leaves Louis’ lips a moment later. Harry can’t tell now whether his cheeks are burning from the cold or because of the close proximity of their bodies. He can feel Louis’ body heat through the layers of clothing, travelling between them and prevailing even in the frigid nighttime air. Suddenly Harry wants nothing more than to touch, to touch the soft skin before him and feel the warmth directly under his fingertips. The tips of his ears are heating up and he wills himself to breath, bringing searing cold air into his lungs and blowing it back out in a cloud of warmth.
The minutes pass and before long Harry is leading Louis onto his street. The plows haven’t yet reached this residential area of the city so the snow is deep even along the roads, and it reaches to Harry and Louis’ knees where they are on the side walk. By now they’re both shivering, their muscles spasming uncontrollably and Harry notices that Louis’ lips are getting bluer each time he looks over at his face. “Are you alright?” he blurts, concerned, and his voice shakes. Louis looks worse than he did just a few short minutes ago, his face bright red and raw-looking. “I...I feel weird,” Louis says, and Harry squares his jaw and stops, waiting for Louis to stop as well. He reaches out and places a hand on his arm. “Maybe we should’ve just went back to the daycare and stayed there.” Louis doesn’t look at him.
“Louis?” Nothing. His eyes are blurry and cloudy and suddenly he’s very pale.
“Let’s just k-keep going,” Louis whispers after a long moment and Harry has to lean in to hear him. He lets go of Louis’ arm and starts off through the snow once again.
“It’s not far, just a few more houses ‘til we’re there, Lou.” His boots crunch the snow. “I have a big fireplace. You’ll be w-warm in no time.”
“I’m f-f-freezing.”
“I know, I am too.”
“I should’ve just stayed home.” And Harry can’t agree. Because even if the two of them are out here in the blistering night, if Louis hadn’t gone out tonight they never would’ve met. He would rather be in this situation with Louis than without him.
Nearing his home, Harry is regretting the fact that soon Louis will probably call for a ride home and be gone from his life. He doesn’t want him to go. He wants him to stay, to wrap himself in a blanket and tell Harry everything about himself and his life. He doesn’t want Louis to leave without telling him what his favourite fruit is. Or what he wore for halloween when he was six. Maybe this could be the start of something, is the thing. He could get his number, at least, and maybe they can meet up again and get hot chocolate and laugh about how they met. Harry thinks that would be nice.
Right now, though, they’re crossing the street to Harry’s driveway. “Right here, Louis. We’re here,” he picks up into a jog over the trampled snow on the road and soon he’s at his doorstep, Louis not far behind. He turns to make sure he’s gotten across alright, and -
- and Louis is nowhere to be seen.
Harry’s frozen in his spot, his hand inches from the door handle. “Louis?” He shouts hoarsely, his voice no louder than speaking tone. He tries harder. “Louis!”
The neighbourhood is quiet. Eerily so. Everything seems suspended in time, unmoving. Even the snow has stopped its soft falling. Harry’s eyes dart over and over, across the street to the sidewalk, up his driveway, down the road. There’s not a soul.
He can see his footprints in the fresh snow, leading all the way from where he came from. But there’s something strange. Yes, Harry’s footprints are there, clear as day, but...there’s only one trail. Only Harry’s.
Only Harry’s footprints are there.
He can’t think, he doesn’t know what’s happened, can’t process it in his mind. One minute Louis was there, beside him, and now he’s not. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s going into some kind of hypothermia. People don’t just disappear into thin air. They don’t.
Venturing back down his driveway with his feet shuffling unevenly beneath him, Harry continues calling for Louis, desperate. He’s worried for the fact that Louis could be hurt more than he’s concerned that maybe he’s gone completely insane and made Louis up in his head. Still, only Harry’s footprints are visible, there’s no one in any direction as he whips his head around, his face is numb and his hands are ice and his heart is about to pop, he’s sure.
Reluctantly, Harry turns back towards his house and goes inside, trying his best to warm up even though he’s still chilled to the bone.
******
“Mom?” Harry shouts late the next morning when he hears the front door slam. His socked feet slide against the linoleum until he’s at the door, seeing his mother shaking snow from her sleeves and toeing off her boots. “Mom, you okay?”
“Yes. Had to call a tow, but I made it,” she says halfheartedly with a little smile before pressing a kiss to her son’s forehead. “I pray you got home okay last night? I heard they cancelled the buses.” They head together into the kitchen and Harry nods, suddenly feeling a bit seasick. He’s still concerned and confused and it makes his chest ache. The memory of last night doesn’t seem real. It couldn’t have been. He must’ve just made it all up in a dream. Yes. A dream.
“I stayed overnight with a friend of mine from the office. The poor thing, I felt awful being a burden to her last night.” The get to kitchen and Harry busies himself with starting up the kettle. “It was the anniversary of her son’s death,” Harry’s mother lets out in a huff of breath, sitting down at the table and letting her head fall into her hands. “I told her I’d find a motel but she would have none of it.”
Harry hums in a mixture of understanding and sympathy as he fixes some tea for his cold and tired mother. He’s not really paying attention until he hears the crinkling of a newspaper and sees his mother leafing through the issue lazily. It’s a few minutes later when Harry’s bringing a steaming mug over to the table that his mother speaks again.
“Oh, see here. In the obits, she put one in for him. She does every year.”
He doesn’t quite remember or understand what she means until he thinks about it for a moment. The thing is, Harry’s heard his mother speak of a woman she works with at the office, Jay, and little things about her son that never seemed to stick into Harry’s mind. But suddenly he remembers hearing that he died, but it was so long ago he’d nearly forgotten. Something clicks and then everything really doesn’t make sense and the floor is spinning, the walls shaking. Harry’s cheeks light on fire and he’s rushing to grab the flimsy newspaper from his mother’s grasp.
There in the grimy black and white of the obituary section is a tiny picture of Louis, of his Louis, looking just as he did the night before. Underneath is a passage in small font that Harry probably wouldn’t have seen if he wasn’t paying attention.
In adoring memory of Louis Tomlinson, dear son, brother and friend.
Dec. 24, 1991 - Dec. 23, 2010
“He was only just about to turn nineteen, your age now,” Harry’s mother goes on softly but to Harry her voice sounds far away. “I only met him once at Jay’s place a long time ago. You would’ve liked him, I think. He was a sweet boy.”
“How-w - what h-happened? How d-did he - ?” Harry stammers out and wipes his sweaty, shaking palms on his pant legs. His mother notices that her son is suddenly quite upset and she eyes him quizzically. “It was a car crash three years ago during a storm,” she reaches up and places a hand to Harry’s cheek as his eyes begin to water. “Harry, Harry, it’s okay.” She wraps her arms around her son’s torso as he stands and she remains sitting in the chair, her head against his chest where she can feel small sobs wracking through. “Shh, honey.” She doesn’t quite understand what it is about the situation that’s got Harry so unnerved but as she knows he’s always been a very sympathetic, sensitive boy.
Harry’s entire world is spinning now and the vice grip in his chest is tightening exponentially as the minutes drag on. “Th-three years? Y-you’re s-sure?” He doesn’t feel his mother’s arms around him nor can he hear her soothing voice as he squeezes his leaking eyes shut and tries not to scream. All he can see is pointed teeth and a friendly smile, mussed brown hair and glittering eyes, those eyes . Louis’ eyes. Blue and full of laughter. Full of life.
After a while the initial stabbing hurt has dulled into a steady throb in his chest and Harry can stand upright again, pulling away from his mother’s embrace. He turns swiftly and disappears up the stairs, leaving his mother wondering what in the world just happened to her boy.
Up in his room, Harry swings the door shut behind him and paces back and forth in front of his bed. If Louis wasn’t real, if he was dead, if he was a ghost - Harry wants to cry again because he’s just so confused and how could any of this be true? How could it makes sense? He can still feel Louis’ heat beside him and he’s filled with a crippling kind of pain in his chest and his brain is beating, pounding, puzzling. He must have dreamt him. He must have made it all up.
Something bright red catches his eye from across the room and he rushes over to it, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes on the floor on the way. Harry bends and reaches down with wide eyes and grabs up the soft wool scarf, Louis’ forgotten scarf, in his rough hands.
He holds the red wool in his hand, staring at it and squeezing it, feeling nothing except utterly perplexed and infinitely crestfallen.