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Silence should be peaceful this morning, but it's not, because Harry's still asleep and it's nearly noon.
It's been three days since his cat Pepper died, a beautiful black-and-white spotted tuxedo cat that spent most of her days sleeping on Harry's bed. They were best friends, which could be the understatement of the year. Harry absolutely adored her, brought her around every new person he possibly could, just to share the love.
He's moving out of his parents' house and into Louis' flat in a month, which technically doesn't mean anything because Harry is constantly here, lying in his lover's bed in his oversized clothes. Sometimes he'd bring Pepper with, putting her in a pet carrier just so she could spend time with the both of them. So Louis loved her, too, but she was never as adored as when she was with Harry.
It's not easy taking care of somebody when they're grieving, but it's even harder to be the griever. Louis hasn't dealt with death in his family, not any more than a very, very distant family friend when he was a kid. So when Harry called him and broke the news of his cat's passing, he wasn't sure what to do.
During the phone call, Harry did nothing but cry, only managing to get the important words out. The rest of it was unintelligible blabber, so Louis had to get in his car and speed to Harry's house to comfort him.
Then Harry couldn't get off the living room floor until Louis carried him back to his room, and he wouldn't leave his bed either. Not until Louis forced him to the bathroom so he wouldn't end up pissing himself.
And it's been like that for days. Ever since Pepper was put down, Harry hasn't been himself. Of course he's going to be upset over this, but it hurts to see.
Like this morning, when Louis' consciousness finally stirs, he can feel the dip of a body in the mattress next to him. He brought Harry back to his house after that first day, trying to put him in a different environment so as to save at least a little bit of his sanity. Harry brought Pepper's cat bed with him, about the size of a pillow, and he hasn't let it out of his sight ever since.
That cat bed is hugged to his chest now, lying on his side with his face buried in his pillow. Louis' heartstrings feel tugged at just looking at him, the way he frowns even in his sleep. He moves closer to him, wrapping an arm around his middle, and hopes it doesn't wake Harry up. He wants him to sleep, because the poor guy keeps waking up in the middle of the night in tears.
Unfortunately, Harry wakes up and his once near-comfortable breathing starts to pick up. Louis feels horrible for waking him, about to snuggle him back to sleep, but Harry turns around and shoves his face against his chest, immediately bursting into tears.
"'S okay, sweet boy," Louis coos, his first instinct to say something, anything. Harry likes to hear him talk, to know there's something good to look forward to when he wakes up. It doesn't help much today, but the least he can do is try.
Harry doesn't reply, because he can't, because he's weeping against him and he doesn't think it'll ever stop. His grip on Louis' jumper is so tight it hurts his knuckles.
His lover kisses the top of his head softly, rubbing his back the best he can when Harry's shaking a little. He can't tell if it's from the December weather or from his occurring meltdown, but either way he feels like it's his own fault. "'M sorry I woke you."
"Do..." Harry begins, and then attempts to control a muffled sob. "Do you ha-have to work today?" he eventually asks, question full of impending dread.
Louis shakes his head, pressing a smacking kiss to his temple now. "No," he answers simply. "Not until after Christmas, bub."
So he only has three days off, with tomorrow being Christmas Eve (and also Louis' Birthday), but that's enough for Harry. He continues to hold tight onto him, refusing to let go for the slightest second.
"I'm sorry, Haz," the older boy says again.
"For what?" Harry sniffles harshly as his shoulders rack.
"The way you're feeling," Louis says, and he really means it. He'd take every sob of his and make it one of his own if he had the mere ability. "Can I, um... We don't have to get out of bed if you don't wanna, but... Can I get you something to eat, or...?"
His lover trails off at the end, but Harry understands his question. He hasn't eaten much in the last three days, and wasn't really planning on it today, but Louis' hard to resist. "Don't leave," he begs, squeezing him in an embrace.
"I won't, Baby."
"Okay," Harry snivels in relief, letting out an audible cry. It just feels good to let everything out, even if it hurts. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Louis kisses his skin once more, shushing him.
The curly-haired boy doesn't pull back for a while, just crying, but his boyfriend's soft touches are doing wonders to heal him. "I'm sorry, Lou," he whimpers again.
Nothing comes from Louis' side of the conversation, all he does is keep on kissing him and rubbing his back.
Silence follows, and by silence it means they don't say anything more. It's only Harry's upset sounds ringing throughout the bedroom, until he says, "I wish she was still here."
Louis's lips linger by his temple. "She was in pain, Hazza," he responds, like that might make him feel better. "I don't think she wanted to be here much longer."
"I guess," Harry sniffles miserably.
His lover caresses the back of his head lovingly. "You gave her a really good life, H. Nobody could've loved her more than you."
The other boy nuzzles his warm face across Louis' neck, silently thanking him for putting up with him all this time. Louis has both of his hands under Harry's jumper, rubbing his slightly clammy skin.
"Let me know when you're feeling better, 'cause I have something for you," Louis brings up.
It piques Harry's interest, of course. He picks his head up and looks at him, his tear-streaked face now visible. "Hm?" he questions, wiping his damp cheeks.
Louis shrugs nonchalantly, though Harry is positive he has something big hidden up his sleeve. "Was gonna wait 'til Christmas, but I wanna give it to you now."
"What is it?" his lover asks, needing to know now that Louis brought it up. It's always been like this, since they can remember. Louis acts a little too normal about non-normal things sometimes.
The grin threatening Louis' lips is enough to convince him to get out of bed, sitting up and taking Louis with him. "Give me ten seconds," the older, calmer boy says as he presses their lips together. He's ignoring, well, everything about Harry's current state, like how his face is flushed and puffy from crying or how he hasn't changed out of this jumper in four days because it's the last thing he wore before Pepper was put to sleep.
Harry waits impatiently in Louis' bed, knees curled up to his chest while he tries to gather back his steady breathing. His shoulders still shudder a bit as he breathes, and he wishes he could get it under control before Louis gets back. He always wants to look his best around him.
Before he can do anything about it, Louis is back in the room, carrying a large wrapped item under his arm. He motions for Harry to scoot back toward the headboard so he can set it down on the mattress, sitting down next to him. "Well, go ahead, open it," he coaxes, fingertips brushing the back of his neck.
The curly-haired boy is a little afraid to do so, anticipatory on what could possibly be inside this gift wrap, but he slides a finger underneath and tears it open anyway, taking in a deep breath.
As soon as the back is clear of wrapping paper, he takes the item out and flips it around, and then he has to fight his tears off again.
Pepper is painted on a canvas, looking so real Harry wants to reach out and pet her. Louis must have commissioned someone to do this the second Harry brought up the idea of Pepper getting sick. It's been in the laundry room for less than a week, ready to be put under the tree in the living room, but Louis couldn't wait any longer.
"It's..." Louis starts. "I got this 'cause I wanted it to come before you moved in," he explains with a hopeful smile. "So I thought, what better way to make you feel at home."
Harry's teary eyes are welling up as he speaks, but they don't seem like they're sad ones. He cups a hand over his lips to hide his smile, sniffling some more.
He won't look away, even after Louis waves a cautious hand in front of his face. "Are you okay?" he asks worriedly.
He's kind of in a trance, blinking at the art on the bed with his his chin atop his knee. All of a sudden he leans over and tackles Louis to the mattress, giggling between his snivels. "I love you so much," he sighs deeply into the crook of his neck. Louis can hear his voice quiver.
"I love you, H," Louis holds him with one arm, beaming smile on his face, until Harry pulls away and goes to kiss him, then he has to fight it off.
"Thank you, Lou," the boy on top of him murmurs between comforting kisses. "Thank you."
"Mhmm."
"I can't wait to move in with you."
Louis can't kiss him when he's talking so much. "Mm-mm," he hums distractedly.
Harry moves away to catch his breath, still smiling sheepishly. Louis waits for him to come back, always so patient. It feels like Harry is the only thing he has patience for.
"You pick where we're gonna hang it," he says, pointing his eyes toward the painting.
His boyfriend immediately looks up at the empty wall space above the headboard, scared to say it in case Louis doesn't approve.
"'S perfect," Louis interrupts his pondering silence, brushing Harry's unruly curls back so he can kiss his temple. "How about we hang it up your first night here?"
Harry only nods, sniffling finally dying down. He wraps his arms around Louis' bicep, head on his shoulder. "'M hungry."
"I'll make you something, if you get in the shower," Louis only half teases.
"Okay," he nods, kissing him one more time. "Love you, L."
"Love you, H," Louis says, squeezing his shoulder before he can leave. "'M proud of you."