Fading

Chapter Nineteen

Harry wakes up with Louis shivering in his arms. They're both still naked and Louis has tucked himself into Harry's side, subconsciously chasing Harry's warmth in his sleep. His face is pressed into Harry's neck, and he's wedged his legs between Harry's. Harry didn't let go of him in his sleep, his arms are still wound around Louis' tiny waist. He knows he gives off a lot of body heat, Louis has told him before, but Louis usually wears a sweater and pyjama pants to bed and without any flesh to insulate him his teeth are almost chattering in his sleep.

He glances at Louis' alarm clock and realizes he's only slept a few hours, even though the sun is already shining through the sheer curtains. He laid awake listening to Louis' breathing; let his fingers slot in the spaces between Louis' ribs so he felt every inhale and exhale. His mind ran through every single thing he should have noticed, every single way he failed Louis. He's traced it all the way back to the very first day in the studio when Louis didn't drink the syrupy sweet coffee Harry brought and just picked at his scone.

Harry couldn't keep in his tears last night, but even with letting them out the knot in his chest hasn't loosened. All night he felt like he was trying to hold onto thin air, like Louis was seconds away from slipping out of his grasp. He's just so tiny, so frail, so thin. Harry doesn't know what he's going to do yet. He's terrified to confront Louis because he knows how easy it is to send Louis cowering back into his shell. He also needs to make sure he's right about Louis, before he asks.

He's going to make Louis breakfast, just like he would any other morning, but this time he's going to properly watch, like he should have been doing all along. He brushes his fingers across Louis' back, feeling the goosebumps on the skin pulled tight across his shoulder blades. He presses a kiss to Louis' hair and slowly untangles himself. Louis lets out a little whimper when Harry carefully moves his head from his shoulder to the pillow, but he doesn't wake.

The blankets pool at their hips when Harry sits up and it still makes him suck in a sharp breath when he sees Louis. Harry can't decide if seeing Louis in the light is better or worse. It's worse because now he can really see just how thin and jagged Louis is, he can really see, in comparison to his own thigh, or his own arm, just how tiny Louis is.

Harry thinks maybe it's less terrifying this way though, without the moonlight casting shadows in the hollows where flesh should be. Without the shadows making Louis look more like a skeleton. It's beautiful in some way, how fragile, how delicate Louis is. His skin always holds that slight hint of gold and when his face isn't twisted with hesitation he looks a little softer. Harry knows though, that even if he'll always be able to find the beauty in Louis, this isn't okay. Those bones aren't okay.

Harry slowly slips out of bed and pulls the covers up around Louis, tucking around the edges to cocoon him in. Next to the bed is the electric heating blanket Harry bought for Louis; it hasn't been being used because Harry is over every night and he usually keeps Louis warm enough. He plugs it in and turns up the temperature dial, before draping it carefully over the too-small lump that is Louis under the covers.

Louis sighs contentedly in his sleep, his face relaxing where Harry has tucked the blankets up to his chin. Harry pulls on a fresh pair of sweatpants from the drawer Louis gave him to keep some clothes in. It meant a lot to Harry when Louis offered him a drawer. Like maybe, even if he couldn't say it out loud, Louis was offering Harry a little bit of permanent space in his life. Harry knows sometimes he tends to read too much into things, but he has hope.

Harry goes to the kitchen and starts gathering the ingredients for pancakes. He was hoping cooking would give him a distraction from his thoughts but that isn't happening. All he can think about is how much Louis always says he loves Harry's pancakes. Now Harry can only wonder if it was always a chore for Louis to eat them. If Louis resented the pancakes Harry made him. If he had to force himself to swallow them. He feels like an idiot for how much he's always loved cooking for Louis, when Louis has really hated his food this whole time.