next to you ❀ l.s.

fifty three - making progress

Louis couldn't stop thinking about what Harry said that night. The thought haunted him -- he saw the words on book covers and street signs and the keyboard of his computer, sometimes in and sometimes out of order. After so much time spent praying for a glimpse into Harry's brain, he hated the parts of him that had started wishing he had never heard his boyfriend's confession.

Because even though he heard it, he wasn't sure there was anything he could do to change it.

He also couldn't stop thinking about how truly, deeply proud he was. Every time he remembered how Harry had talked himself back from the edge, Louis found himself drowning in happiness; if he didn't have a shred of dignity left, he would be crowing about Harry's accomplishment from the rooftop of the tallest building in town.

It was sort of disorienting, really -- the conflicting feelings of helplessness and pride. He didn't quite know what to do with himself.

The next night, he unlocked his front door expecting an empty apartment waiting to greet him; instead, he walked straight into a warm, homey glow from his kitchen and the sound of Harry singing to fill the silence.

"Lou?" he called out, abruptly cutting his song short.

"How'd you get in here?" Louis joked from the entryway as he kicked off his shoes.

"Broke down the door then bolted it back up," Harry replied without even a moment's hesitation. He could be quite witty, Louis had learned, when he wasn't overthinking and second-guessing.

"Oh, shut up, silly." He wandered into the kitchen, drawn in by a delicious smell and the promise of seeing his favorite person after a long day. His breath caught in his throat when he entered the room, though, and he stammered out, "Harry, what . . ? What is all of this?"

Harry had essentially turned his tiny kitchen into a makeshift restaurant, with three pots and pans going on the stove and three little candles lit on the table, set out neatly in a row. In the place of a real tablecloth, he had draped one of his thin quilts over the counter, creating a strange, delicate balance of sophistication and coziness.

Harry turned away from the stove for the first time, unrolling the sleeves of his sweater to tug the knitted fabric over his hands. "It's an apology dinner."

"An apology dinner?" Louis repeated, slipping off his coat without looking away from the scene -- he couldn't take his eyes off of Harry if he tried. "What do you have to apologize for, angel?"

Harry was tugging at his rings, looking everywhere except at Louis. "No, i-it's not like that. Not exactly, I just . . . in therapy, he told me that instead of apologizing when I feel guilty, I should try to show people how much I care about them. A-And I care about you -- you know I care about you --"

Louis had crossed the room in the blink of an eye, framing Harry's face with his hands. "I love you," he said firmly. He surged forward to kiss Harry's forehead, then his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. "I love you so, so much. I don't think you'll ever truly understand."

"I do. I do understand," Harry replied quietly. "I love you just as much."

He stepped forward to slot their lips together, soft and hesitant. Louis immediately took control of the kiss, cupping Harry's jaw and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. He slid his hand down Harry's cheek, gripping his chin gently as he slipped his tongue into the younger boy's mouth. Harry smiled as he parted his lips for Louis, letting his boyfriend kiss him deeply for just a few more seconds before he stepped back.

He pecked Louis's lips a few times, giggling and shoving the older boy back by the shoulders when Louis tried to pull him back in for more. "Stop, stop it! I'm almost done. You can go do whatever, if you want. You don't have to sit here and wait. I can just call you when it's ready."