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For some reason, he thinks, the one thing that could have made his time on Devil’s Island better, would have been a blanket.
There’s nothing quite like the security of draping a thick piece of cloth over you, curling under it in sleep. He missed it, he remembers.
As for right now, he is safe and warm underneath a fluffy blanket, resting on top of a soft mattress. He doesn’t remember how he got here, but assumes that’s fine, as he’s here now.
Louis is draped over him, as he usually is most nights, back in the barracks. Tonight his arm is around Henri’s waist, heavy with sleep, his face is pressed into the ball of his shoulder.
Tonight, though, he doesn’t shake the man off. Back at the barracks, he would usually allow Louis to come close during the dark cover of night, but would unconsciously push him away by morning. Just another way he was protecting them. He would allow them to draw comfort from each other, but not let the others know. Tonight, it doesn’t seem to matter, even though morning light is peaking into the room.
His confusion doesn’t bother him. He spends lots of mornings in the barracks woken with the shock of not knowing where he was. Today is simply no different.
Feeling bold, he turns into Louis and runs a hand over the mans bare side, just under his shoulder. He’s freezing, and unbelievably skinny, his skin bubbling over his ribs.
Henri has half the mind to shake him awake, tell him to go put a shirt on, but Louis is hard to wake, and Henri is too tired to put up much of a fight. Instead, he turns into him entirely and pulls him flush against his chest. Louis’ belly is wet, and cold, and Henri can almost think, in the back of his mind, that they’ve made their escape. That they’re on a boat in the middle of the sea and that they will be safe soon.
In his haze, he leans up, and Louis slides off him onto the pillow. A moment ago, the room was bright with morning light, but now it is dark with flashes of red, like warning lights, or sirens.
He slides his hands down to Louis’ belly, and is somehow not surprised to find he has been gutted. His insides have spilled out all over the sheets, staining them red as the room gets smaller, and hotter.
Henri tips him onto his back, reaches for him, wanting to wake him, wanting to bring him back to warmth, to life. He finds that Louis is peacefully gone. He slipped away from Henri in the night, and Henri did nothing to stop it. He failed. He failed at protecting him and now he is gone and he failed he failed he failed...
With a gasp, he comes too.
This time, he knows exactly where he is. No blanket, no mattress, no red light. This time he knows, by the feeling of his ankles having been locked down to the floor, that he is back where he started.
It always seems as though his dreams take him where he wants to be. Safe and warm and perhaps happy. That way, it feels a million times worse to wake up and have it all be gone.
Expect, in this reality, he gets to turn his head and see Louis.
He is suddenly filled with panic and fear, eyeing the man who is peacefully asleep with his arm under his head and his other resting easily in the space between them.
Terrified, Henri reaches out and touches Louis’ hand. It’s cold, too.
In a rush of movement, but still quietly as not to cause a scene, he pushes Louis into his back and rucks up his shirt. His belly is unmarked, soft and still all together. Henri presses his hand into it, reviling in the feeling of finally feeling body heat from the other man.
Louis bats his hands away, having peeked an eye open, and groaned ”Papi...” like this was a common thing. Like Henri waking with a shout and checking him over was something that happened enough to make it annoying.
Henri is finally able to breathe. His breath coming out in pants. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, gently replacing Louis’ shirt and smoothing it down.
Louis makes a soft noise, one of understanding, and reaches up blindly, his eyes still closed, to touch Henri’s cheek. It’s rattling under the force of his fear, his teeth knocking together. Louis lets his fingers dance across his skin gently, before letting his hand fall back to himself to wipe his eye with the back of his palm.
To Henri, this is just too much. He hasn’t failed yet. He is reminded in the soft way Louis moves, his easy breaths and rising chest. Henri longs...
In the dark, it’s fine. Henri drops his head into Louis’ chest, listening intently for the beat of his heart. He relaxes immensely when he finds it. His body droops, all twisted up, trying his best to press close with the minimal movement he has, his feet being locked down and all.
Louis huffs. He has nothing to say about the exchange. He’s still warm as Henri presses his ear to his chest, still warm as a hand finds his way into Henri’s hair.
He stays here for a moment more: Louis’ chest under his cheek, his heart in his ear, his hand running over his face. Louis’ hand settles on the curve of Henri’s neck, just for a moment. Henri is forever thankful.
He hasn’t failed yet, he is reminded, and he won’t, if only to have another moment of this. Just another moment.