next to you ❀ l.s.

fifty nine - opening day

A week later, Louis jolted awake to the sound of Harry screaming.

He was rolling over and closing the short distance between them before he could even shake the sleep from his heavy muscles, his elbow sinking into the soft mattress as he reached out into the darkness. He could tell Harry was already awake by the muffled sobs that filled the quiet room, only barely loud enough to pierce through the heavy quiet of the early morning, and he found himself thanking God that they had decided to spend the night together in his apartment.

"Harry," he croaked, clearing his throat to fix his raspy voice. His hand found the younger boy's knee, and he squeezed, tracing his thumb over the lowest part of his thigh. "Harry, come here."

"It's okay," Harry insisted. His fingers found his boyfriend's arm and squeezed, like he needed to comfort Louis more than he needed Louis to comfort him. "I'm okay. Go back to sleep."

"Baby."

One word, and Harry couldn't hold back the sob that pushed up through his throat. He folded his knees to his chest, curling up into the furthest corner of the bed. Louis's voice was caring and his touch was gentle and Harry wondered if the stubbornness and the helplessness rooted deep inside of his chest would ever just stop fighting.

"Harry," Louis spoke again, sitting up fully. The blankets were bunched up around his waist, his bare chest a shining light even in the darkness. "Sweetheart, come here. Please."

Harry shook his head before he could think once, squeezing himself into an even tighter ball of shaking arms and legs. "I'm okay. I'm sorry."

The space between them on the mattress seemed to stretch out endlessly, a boundless ocean of tangled covers and wrinkled sheets. The only sound in the room was Harry's heavy breathing. Louis was uncharacteristically patient, watching the silhouette of Harry's figure closely as his vision adjusted to the dark room.

"I-I'm sorry," Harry stammered out again. "I didn't meant to wake you up, I-I didn't want --"

"Baby, shh," Louis pleaded, his own heart pounding in his ears. His hand was still on Harry's knee, but he hadn't moved any closer. "Come here. Come here, baby love. Let me hold you."

Harry sniffled again, swiping his damp cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater, then crawled into Louis's lap, tentatively wrapping his body around Louis's own. Louis's chest was warm and solid beneath him, and Harry exhaled a pathetic whimper, guilty and grateful all in the same instant. The older boy just cooed quietly in his ear, cradling him with the perfect balance of tenderness and stability.

"It's okay," Louis soothed him gently. "You're okay."

"Fuck," Harry groaned, his own voice ringing in his ears. His lungs shuddered from the lack of oxygen, and his fingers dug into Louis's shoulder blades, almost scratching. "Fuck. I can't even believe this. It's been so long."

Louis shushed him again, his lips ghosting over Harry's temple. "Breathe. Breathe for me first, angel. It's okay."

Harry was still shaking, his chest and back heaving in time together. "Why tonight? Why --"

"You've been so stressed, sweetheart," Louis told him, almost like a gentle reminder. He felt tears welling up in his own eyes, and he blinked them back furiously. "Breathe. It's not your fault. You've just been putting a lot of pressure on yourself."

"I hate it," Harry mumbled, even though he knew that Louis already knew. He finally let himself relax, dropping his head limply into the crook of Louis's neck.

"It's alright. You're alright." He tucked his chin over Harry's head, cradling the trembling boy to his chest. "I'm right here. I'm here."

And Harry could feel him, his body warm and soft beneath his hands, but his mind was still so deeply ensnared in his nightmare. His heartbeat pounded erratically in his ears and his throat, remnants of darkness and heaviness and hatred fogging his vision --