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Harry knew something was wrong the minute he heard the door creak open.
He knew Louis was on his way for their daily 3pm nap, but Louis always loved to announce his presence by knocking on Harry’s door, loud and insistent and melodic. He kept knocking until Harry finally wrenched open the door, dimples deep in his cheeks, eyes glowing. Louis would lean up for a kiss, and then breeze past Harry and throw himself, sprawling, onto the bed, already sighing happily.
But today was a Bad Day, and on Bad Days, Louis didn’t have the energy to knock, and would glide almost silently into Harry’s dorm, his always bare feet padding lightly across the tile flooring. (Harry always worried that his feet were freezing, but Louis never complained.)
Harry was up before the door swung itself shut, English assignment forgotten on his computer, and opened up his arms, Louis falling into them, ragged and lovely.
“Hello, lover,” Harry whispered into Louis’s hair, his arms wrapped around his gentle, beautiful boy.
“Hi,” Louis grumbled into his chest, shoulders slumping further, leaning as much as possible into Harry like he was trying to melt them together. Harry wasn’t opposed to the idea.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He felt Louis shake his head minutely. The smaller boy brought his arms up and linked his hands behind Harry’s back, turning his ear to Harry’s chest. Harry watched his eyes close. There were deep blue bags pressed under them and Harry resisted the very very strong urge to kiss them away. Louis never liked when Harry brought attention to how tired he looked, even though Harry always reassured him he was never any less beautiful for it.
“Come on then,” he said instead, and led Louis the two steps over to his double long twin dorm bed.
Louis fell gracelessly onto the plain white sheets, slowly rearranging himself so he was lying with his head just near the pillows. His eyes closed again, and he sighed heavily and carefully. Harry wished that Louis would just talk to him on days like this, but the naps always made things better and softer, and sometimes Louis would mumble a bit about it after they woke up, still blurry and gentle from rest.
Louis was never more beautiful than just before he fell asleep and right when he woke up. Looking at him then was like that singular feeling you get when you’re lying on the floor of a room with large huge windows, and the late afternoon sun is pouring in over you, and everything feels suspended and warm and perfect.
Louis made him feel like there were wildflowers blooming up around his heart.
“Anything you’re in the mood for?” Harry asked gently, smoothing back Louis’ fringe. It made him sigh again in relief. Victory for Harry.
“Gatsby?”
“Always.”
His incredibly well-loved and worn out copy of The Great Gatsby was lying on his bedside table. Harry climbed on the bed, careful not to jostle around too much (but just enough, if not to see the ghost of an annoyed smile on Louis’ face), and arranged himself so his back was pressed to the headboard. Louis lifted himself up a bit and moved so his head was resting in Harry’s lap, his body curved around, tangling their ankles together. He tucked his arms up into his chest, fingertips grazing Harry’s thigh in lazy little circles. It kept his mind off things. Harry reached a bit and grabbed the book off his nightstand, and settled in against the pillows, one hand falling to the hair at the base of Louis’ neck.
“Anywhere in particular, love?”
“No. Anything works,” Louis said, voice a little tight. He breathed in harshly through his nose, and his fingers tensed the tiniest bit against Harry’s thigh. Harry kept combing his fingers through Louis’ hair, along the back of his neck, constant reassurance.
“You’re okay, Lou,” Harry murmured.
“I hate it,” Louis whispered, the words falling out of him. “I hate feeling like this. I hate that this happens and there’s nothing I can do about it. I keep…I keep trying and nothing works. I am trying so hard, H.”
“I know, I’m so proud of you.”
Louis exhaled again, hard, and Harry knew he trying to stop himself from crying. “I’m sorry I’m like this,” Louis mumbled, so quiet Harry almost missed it.
But he didn’t. He placed Gatsby down on the bed and scooted down so that he and Louis were lying on the same level, so he could hold his hands and look him in the eyes. This was very important.
“You never need to apologize to me, Lou. Not for anything, especially not this.” Louis was still looking down at their feet, so Harry scooted further down, angling himself so Louis couldn’t avoid him. At this angle, the bags under his eyes looked a deep purple, and his blue blue blue eyes were tinged with gray and Harry was in love with the most beautiful boy in the world.
“You are the most beautiful person in the world, starshine, inside and out. This stuff isn’t your fault. There’s nothing wrong with you.” Harry saw Louis’ mouth open to retort and cut him off before he had a chance to start. “All this shit is just some faulty wiring that got mixed into that beautiful, radiant head somewhere along the way, and I know you’re sorting it out, and everything is a process. Yeah? You’re…you’re really something else, Lou.” Harry swallowed against the sudden sudden stinging in his eyes. “I love you to the ends of this earth, and I am never going to leave you. So don’t apologize for this shit. You act like me reading to you and holding you and sleeping beside you is some great terrible chore for me.”
The very corner of Louis’ mouth quirked up. “I mean, you do love hearing yourself talk.” The crinkles by his eyes started to set in again.
Harry smiled, a dimple creasing his cheek, and inched up a bit, so their noses were touching. “Only because you love hearing me talk,” he whispered into Louis’ mouth, their teeth knocking together a bit.
He felt Louis’ mouth widen against his own, and another field of flowers bloomed behind his ribs. They were going to burst through his chest soon. He was overgrown with love. “I knew I never should have fallen in love with an English major, you’re all pretentious, gorgeous, assholes,” he said before pressing his lips to Harry’s.
Kissing Louis felt like stretching out in bed after waking up to the sound of rain on the windows, like coming home after a long day, like that first sip of tea on a cold cold morning. Harry never tired of it. (He could literally write sonnets about anything Louis-related. His English degree would never go to waste as long as Louis loved him.)
They broke apart after a bit, and lay next to each other, looking. Harry traced his thumbs under Louis’ eyes, and this time did not resist the urge to kiss the purple circles. Louis’ fingers slackened on his waist, but when he pulled away, his smile was easy and his eyes were bright.
“Thank you,” he whispered, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. Harry kissed him again.
“Still want me to read?”
“Hm. Maybe after our nap. Your voice gets all raspy when you wake up, I like it.” Louis’ eyes had already fallen shut but he wiggled his brows anyway for effect. Harry just rolled his eyes, thankful Louis couldn’t see it.
“I sound like a robot.”
“Yeah, but like a…like a beautiful, sort of sexy robot.”
Harry just scoffed and folded in closer to Louis, scooting down so his head was sort of resting on Louis’ chest, and wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, pressing his nose to his breastbone and pressing a kiss right to his heart. Louis sighed and brought his hands up to tangle in Harry’s hair, gently massaging at his scalp. “You’re such a sap, did you know that?” he said, voice already sounding far away. At peace.
Harry smiled into Louis’ heart space, blossoming. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”
“Obviously,” he heard above him, the soft smile finally safe again in Louis’ voice.