Shattered. ls

Three.

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2016

Harry emerges from the bathroom with a towel over his waist and his hair a mess upon his head, beaming at the sight of his soulmate perched easily on the rickety old chair in the corner of the bedroom, his nose in a book and his body rolled beneath one of Harry's jumpers (that's far too large for his petite frame). The sight is certainly one for sore eyes and he finds himself stopping to gaze at the man for a long moment.

"I need to pop to the library, there's another text I need, and also stop by at Waitrose if you don't mind." Louis says- chirps- happily as he dog ears the corner of his page and watches with loving eyes as Harry gets dressed. "I thought we could go together, it won't be for long, but I'm feeling clingy today."

Harry lets the words roll over in his mind, carefully turning them over again and again to let the significance of Louis feeling clingy sink in. He's not feeling clingy; he subconsciously knows there's a limited time left with his mate.

Harry nods quietly, stumbling to the wardrobe in search of an outfit; relishing in distant noise of the birds and the rhythmic pattern of Louis' heart that thrums in his fragile soul. It's calming to him, knowing that Louis is alive and well, that he will have years and years more of memories to hold on to. The possibility of a second mate lingers for only a moment before it's gone, buried beneath the sorrow of his looming death.

"Shall we get going, then?" He mumbles, ending up in front of Louis' curled figure and leaning down of aching knees to rest his nose to the man's hairline, breathing in the feeling of him once more. Louis hums out an agreement and promptly removes himself from the chair, that sways ever so slightly on crooked limbs.

With a hand resting firmly (but not too firmly, just the right amount of pressure) on Louis' waist and the other in his pocket, Harry guides his mate through the windy streets of their town and towards the high street. It's warm enough to not need coats, and the pair meander idly with a slow conversation.

The tall, bricked building of the library is just a domineering as it has always been, but Louis is not scared by the presence of such a place and skips through the doors with a laugh in Harry's direction, knowing (and loving) his soulmate's hatred of the library.

Harry pushes through the doors and into the slightly too dim hall, the place is filled to the brim with books and the likes. It's almost too much to take in as he navigates the winding isles in search of Louis.

The lad is running his finger along the spines of the novels as he goes, back and forth through the isle as he hunts down the Lord of the Flies. Harry spots him easily in the peaceful place, the yellowed lighting hollows his cheeks and sharpens his blue gaze as he taps the spine of a book a few times in contemplation.

Swooping in, like a kingfisher would to its prey, Harry curls his arms around Louis' body and lifts the boy with ease, pressing a long kiss to his temple as he does so; easily catching Louis off guard and emitting a squealing laugh from the man.

"Harry!" He laughs, wiggling to the ground once more; his smile seems to glow against the glossy books and the terrible lighting. "I love you," Louis sings, pressing a languid kiss to his mate's parted lips. It's short, and full of emotion that does nothing but shatter Harry's heart into seven million tiny pieces. (And in such a dark library, there's no way he could find them all again)

Because Louis is so happy, so delighted to be where he is, to have his soulmate with him and to have so much love in his life; it hurts Harry more than he ever thought it could. Because Louis has no idea. He'll die soon, in less than twelve hours, even, and he doesn't have the heart to let the pain in his lungs and the ache of his legs show. He's not even sure why he's dying, but he can tell something isn't right, but Louis can't know.

They leave the library with a book in hand and a hand in the other; their soul tattoos aligning as they walk, lovingly swinging their arms in time with their steps.

"I thought we could get those little pudding pots you love, H." Louis hums, the small Waitrose in view. "I invited Lottie and Gems for dinner tomorrow,"

"Oh," Harry breathes. Blinking away the sharp pain the flares through his lung all of a sudden. "That's a lovely idea, we need some more milk as well."

"I almost forgot! Milk, milk, milk." Louis smiles.

-0-

2008

The spring air feels great, and Harry throws his bag to the ground beside Niall and slings off his blazer without a second thought. It's miraculously twenty degrees in May and everyone is stripped down to their school shirts, blazers and jumpers screwed up in their bags without a second thought.

Niall and Harry chat for a short while, soon joined by a sweaty Liam (who refuses to remove his blazer and look anything close to uncivilised), and Zayn, who doesn't talk but doodles in his maths book while attempting some quadratics.

"Lads!" A yell announces the arrival of a red faced Louis, whose tie is yanked halfway down his chest, a proper slob. "Lads!" He calls once more, the four boys pausing in their eating of lunch and chatter as he runs over. It's odd, no one runs around the school, they're far too old for that, but Louis is obviously in a hurry and excited, so nobody cares. "I got another tattoo," He pants, hands coming to rest on grey trouser clad knees, a maroon blazer in one hand and his bag chucked on the ground by Liam's feet.

"Let's see," Niall chirps. Everyone gets excited when a soul tattoo rises. Louis holds out his arm, the same one that's wrapped up in a rope, and shows the rather large compass that rests upon his forearm. The bold black oddly bright and, in some way, glowing against his sun kissed skin.

"Sick, mate." Zayn nods, pulling the arm closer to examine further. It's rather silly how Harry didn't make the connection between his ship and Louis' compass, how he brushed off the odd swooping of his chest at the sight, thinking it was excitement and nerves for his best friend.

The compass has an arrow pointing home, which Harry finds unexplainably cute, and he slaps the skin with a grin and lets Louis take a seat on the grass beside him.

"When do you reckon my tattoos will rise?" Niall is yet to receive any, though he is elder than Harry and should have got at least one by now.

"You're a late bloomer, Ni, nothing to worry about." Liam smiles, patting his knee (slightly patronisingly, but that's just Liam). "Sophie from tutor hasn't any, either. No worries."

"Yeah." Niall breathes, somehow knowing that there wouldn't be many rising any time soon.