Chapter Text
The air is warm in the way that feels like liquid sunshine, like the light itself is bathing Harry’s skin in the syrupy softness of its glow. The bedsheets tucked carefully over his naked shoulders make the heat just the slightest bit unbearable and as Harry swims lazily to the surface of his consciousness, he becomes aware of the fact that the sun is shining directly into his eyes, or it would be, if his eyes were open.
He doesn’t move for a while, taking inventory of himself without moving quite yet. He’s curled up like Louis is still in his arms, but he’s alone in the bed. Harry stretches one leg out slowly just to test his theory, and his toes encounter still warm but empty bedsheets where Louis should be. He considers burrowing a little deeper into his pillow and nodding off again, but his mind starts moving before he gets the chance, so he surrenders instead to the sunshine and lets himself drift.
A few years ago, the mere thought of waking up alone would have sent him into a tailspin. There was a time when he was so intertwined with Louis that it seemed like even their breathing needed to be perfectly in sync at all times or else everything might come crumbling down around them. They’ve grown up a good bit, though, and grown apart in a number of small, important ways, and Harry thinks it’s rather healthy that he’s glad to have the bed to himself right now so he can stretch out into Louis’s cooler side of the mattress. He doesn’t know where Louis is, or what he’s up to, but that’s okay; Harry will find him at some point, will give him a good morning kiss and ask him if he’s already had his tea, and Louis will probably say yes and offer to make him a cup, and then they’ll go and do whatever it is they each have to do for the day until they come back together at night to curl up around each other and go to sleep. It’s not quite the whirlwind, all encompassing love it used to be, and sometimes Harry wishes it could be again, but he understands why things have changed.
There’s still a lot of things they don’t talk about, a lot of things they don’t bring home with them at the end of the day, and a lot of things that don’t even need to be said. The world is the world and it sucks sometimes, but it’s far away when Harry’s at home and Louis’s here with him and none of it needs to matter when it could just as easily be ignored. Harry tries to open up sometimes, tries to bring Louis into his world, but Louis’s got a world of his own to tend to, and it feels like more often than not they are on two separate planets and the universe just keeps expanding.
He knows that things could be worse, hell, they have been worse, but sometimes he wishes Louis would just let him inside. Just a few days ago, Louis finally came up with the title of his first album, Walls, and Harry thinks nothing has ever been so fitting.
Louis has been through so much in the past eight or nine years, has experienced so much heartbreak and trauma and pain, and it’s like he uses each and every experience as a new brick in the wall he constructs to keep the whole world out, including Harry. He holes himself in until the only person he has left to turn to is himself, and as hard as Harry tries to take the walls down brick by brick, Louis only ever lets him get a peek inside before he seals the holes again and shuts him out.
Even then, though, even when Louis has convinced himself that he has no one in the world aside from himself, Harry loves him to pieces. Even as he tries to scale the walls and ends up with bloody hands and bruised knees he knows he’ll never stop, if only so that he can peek his head over the top sometimes to remind Louis how loved he really is, even when he feels all alone. He’s never alone, not really; even when he’s all hidden away behind all of his guards and barriers, he knows Harry’s sitting just on the other side, waiting for him to come back around.
The light in the bedroom shifts, and a shadow falls over Harry’s eyes, interrupting the bright sunlight that’s been turning the inside of his eyelids pink for however long he’s been awake. Harry blinks his eyes open slowly for the first time, looking up to find that Louis’s head is the thing obstructing the light from blinding Harry any further.
He’s out on the balcony, cigarette in one hand with his phone pinched between his shoulder and his ear. He’s laughing about something with whoever’s he’s talking to, lighting up his cigarette and then slipping his lighter back into his pocket, legs swinging idly where he’s sitting on the railing with his back to the door. Harry hates when he sits like that, because they’re on the second floor of the house and if Louis falls he’ll break his neck, not to mention that the railing is probably still slick from the rain last night, but Louis never listens when Harry tells him to get down.
Harry watches him for a while, heart beating in time with the gentle rhythm Louis’s socked heels are tapping against the iron railing. He blows a cloud of smoke into the air and then laughs again at something over the phone, throwing his head back and letting the sun spill through his hair in pieces and fragments while his shadow shifts over Harry’s gaze. Harry smiles, letting his eyes fall closed when Louis shifts again and the sunlight washes over Harry’s face again.
He ends up drifting off again for a little while, listening to the far away sound of Louis’s voice through the balcony door. He wakes up as Louis is crawling back into bed with him, his eyes fluttering open quickly as Louis takes back his rightful place from the pillow Harry’s been cuddling. Harry just smiles and tugs him closer, burrowing into his chest and going still when Louis’s arms settle around his shoulders, one hand burying itself automatically into Harry’s hair.
Louis’s legs are bare where they tangle with Harry’s but he’s still in the soft jumper he was wearing outside, meaning he just shucked his trackies and climbed back into bed. He feels and smells like sunshine and Harry can’t get close enough to him, his golden boy, his bright, beautiful sunshine boy.
They spend the rest of the morning curled up together, and some of the early afternoon, as well, until Louis’s stomach rumbles under Harry’s weight and he starts whining about wanting something to eat. That sunshiny feeling doesn’t leave Harry’s skin all day, and he’s so lucky to be able to love someone who wears sunlight like a sweet perfume, but he knows exactly how cold it can get; sometimes that brightness turns to murky darkness and it’s like winter in Louis’s arms, like cold wind whipping salt against tender skin. He’ll take the sunshine when he can get it, though, in any amount, even when he feels like he’s drowning in it. Maybe things will be different again tomorrow, but Harry will wear the tan from today like a shield against whatever storms might be brewing on the horizon.