next to you ❀ l.s.

fifty two - a close call

Along with the late-January snowstorms, the very first exams of the semester were also sending chills through the bookstore. Louis, Liam, and Niall were riding a constant rollercoaster of stress, juggling their first major projects and papers along with studying for a few scattered exams. The end of January felt like a snowstorm that had been brewing over the first three weeks of classes, a crashing avalanche waiting to be unleashed.

Harry, on the other hand, had been to three therapy appointments, and his therapist had grown on him a little each time. After his first appointment, he had knocked on Louis's front door around dinnertime and curled up in his boyfriend's bed for almost two hours, avoiding the older boy's worried gaze and his carefully-worded questions.

"He was really, really nice," Harry had confessed after about an hour of silence.

He finally turned over to face Louis, who had settled into bed behind him with some of his study materials, not yet pressing Harry with any questions he wasn't ready to answer. Harry's cheeks were damp and flushed from crying, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

"I just promised myself that I would tell him everything -- try not to lie, you know -- and it was so hard. It was so much harder than I thought it would be."

"Oh, sweetheart." Louis set his computer to the side, shifting his papers so Harry could take their place on his chest. He cupped the back of Harry's neck, cradling him with much-needed stability.

"But I'm going to keep trying," he had promised, muffling his soft sniffles in the warm fabric of Louis's sweater. "I promise I'll keep trying."

And he did.

They found themselves at an overcrowded bar on Saturday night, laughing as they watched Niall strike out with yet another round of sorority girls. There wasn't a trace of shame or regret on the Irish boy's face when he made his way back to the bar -- he just shrugged his shoulders with an amused grin and ordered another drink. The cheap neon signs cast blue letters over his pale skin, spelling out the shadow of B-E-E-R, the light distorted over the bridge of his nose.

Harry was sandwiched between Liam's broad shoulders and the familiar curve of Louis's waist, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He barked out a laugh when Niall dangerously slid his brand new beer bottle across the slick table on purpose, grinning like an idiot the whole time.

"Oh, for god's sake, Niall!" Louis exclaimed, catching the thin-necked bottle right as it was about to tip off of the edge of the counter. "How many have you had, anyway?"

"More than three," Harry supplied, helpfully pointing to the three empty bottles gathered just behind Louis's elbow.

"Less than five," Niall added at the same time, snatching the full bottle from Louis's hand and taking another swig. He cheered excitedly, clapping the older boy hard on the shoulder. "We're having fun!"

"Christ, Ni. You always hit me so hard," Louis complained, rubbing at his shoulder.

Harry started to laugh again, well-prepared with a snarky comment about Louis's lack of muscle (because if he was lucky, Louis would prove just how strong he was as soon as they were alone), but then Liam cleared his throat loudly, prodding insistently at Harry's shoulder.

"Turn," the other boy instructed Harry quietly.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, glancing back toward his friend. "What?"

"Turn that way," Liam directed, tilting his chin toward Louis and Niall. His face was serious, and Harry's heart thudded solidly against his ribcage, drumming out his concern and confusion.