Close to Nowhere (Larry Stylinson)

seventeen

...

After an indefinite amount of time spent in a burning building, the fresh air outside was a shock to his system. Cold and startlingly clear. The first breath he took resulted in an endless cough but still he stumbled forward.

There were flashing lights, and people lined up a safe distance from the building. Someone holding another person back, and that person breaking free, running towards Louis.

Louis met him partway and collapsed into his arms. His body went limp and he just let Harry hold him. Through the sirens, the crackling fire, the house falling apart behind them. The flashing lights, the burning blaze, the moon high in the sky. The darkness. The journals still clutched to his chest.

"You idiot. You absolute fucking idiot."

Harry was crying. Louis coughed, and snuggled closer to his chest. Where the world smelled like smoldering fire, ashes, and smoke, Harry smelled like earth.

People rushed up beside them but Harry wouldn't let him go. Louis was fine with that; he didn't want to leave the warmth of his embrace. The air was so cold around him.

"We have to get him to the hospital," someone insisted.

"Fine," Louis croaked, tugging at Harry's shirt. "'M fine."

"At least sit in the back of the ambulance," Harry whispered in his ear. He tried walking them backwards but Louis was completely spent and limp in his arms, unable to move.

Exhaustion weighed him down, heavy in his bones. He stumbled, and then strong arms were grasping him around the torso and the backs of his knees and he was being lifted into the air, and the world swayed.

People swarmed around them as Harry sat them in the back of the ambulance. Louis was grateful because Harry didn't let him out from his arm, which felt protective and comforting. He was given an oxygen mask which he struggled to hold up to his face, so Harry pressed it there with the hand that wasn't busy stroking his shoulder.

The medics treated his minor burn wounds and cleared him for the time being. Louis remained swathed under Harry's arm, oxygen mask pressed to his face as they both watched the house burn. The fire department didn't get here in time and it was no use, now. The foundation was already burning, the entire thing up in flames. Tex stood watching it crumble, Jessie by his side.

Charlotte had hidden journals in the wall of her bedroom. There was no doubt they held evidence of her father's misdeeds, a sort of historical proof that could solve multiple cold cases. Joseph Thomas was sexist even for his time in the way that he put women on a pedestal and would protect their purity to the death. He murdered at least seven men who threatened his family's honor and buried them all in the garden.

Louis would hand over the journals to the sheriff tomorrow and wash his hands of the case. He would take the next flight back to Chicago and then... And then what?

If Louis wasn't breathing oxygen from a mask he would tell Harry about his vision. But he had a feeling Harry already knew. He was always a few steps ahead of Louis in terms of their relationship, always the one to initiate their monthly dinners and even fly out to where Louis was when the distance between them seemed too great to overcome.

Louis wondered now how he thought Harry didn't care about him in that way. It wasn't that he didn't see it before, but that he chose to ignore it. The way Harry cared for him freaked him out. Spending his whole life isolated from everyone around him, it felt like the only option to push Harry away.

The sudden self-awareness was startling and Louis tried not to think about it. One of the medics wrapped a blanket around him and then he pressed closer to Harry for his warmth.