17BLACK

Chapter 50

Louis' POV:

The pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree is standing obnoxiously in the middle on Harry's living room. Mocking me and reminding me of my lack of capability to deny Harry of his annoying pestering.

Okay, incredibly adorable pestering.

The tree really is ugly. With the cheap ornaments bought at a crap store last minute hanging loosely on the limbs that look as if they might fall off if a speck of dust lands on them. It's a weird combination - the height of the tree isn't bad but the lack of thickness is a deal breaker.

I curl my legs tighter to my chest and grasp my warm tea firmly. Harry snores loudly from the bedroom and I swear he's going to wake up the neighbors. The lights from the festive decorations outside are pooling in from down below the penthouse, illuminating everything in a warm colorful glow.

I long to go into the bedroom and crawl in beside Harry, but it's pointless to just lay there. Sleep has long ago left the station and somehow I didn't catch the train.

I shiver a little from the air on my legs. All I'm wearing is a pair of Harry's briefs that he has grown out of and his shirt. I could have gone by my place to pick up clothes but I much rather prefer Harry's scent and the softness of his shirts.

I debate on whether or not to turn the television on, but that would wake up Harry and I know how he's not been getting a lot of sleep lately. It's a miracle that he's sleeping now. I wake up frequently now and just stare into the darkness, pretending to be asleep, while Harry is focused on the ceiling with his hands clasped on his chest. I don't know why he has trouble sleeping, I know for certain that it's not nightmares and I sleep like a baby with him in the bed with me.

Usually, at least. Not like tonight.

I remember staying up all night with Will, anxiously awaiting Christmas morning and the mysterious arrival of the presents from Santa. We never made it all night, of course, and woke up on the floor next to the tree full of presents underneath.

I take a sip of tea, relaxing at the warmth put to my throat.

I shiver again. This time it's not because of the cold. It's caused by the memory of being hit repeatedly by the familiar leather belt by Will's father. As if hitting us enough would expel our sexuality preferences.

I finish off my tea and set the cup down on the glass table.

I jump at the sudden noise from the bedroom, and freeze, listening. Harry isn't snoring anymore.

"I'm in here, Harry." My voice travels through the large penthouse, echoing off the walls and it seems as if I'm alone. I'm standing up to investigate Harry's awakening when Harry strolls into the living room.

"I'm fine. You can go back to sleep." I walk around the couch and stand in front of Harry only to get no response.

"Harry?" I poke his shoulder and that seems to jolt him. He walks smoothly past me though, as if I'm not even next to him.

I follow him into the kitchen, where he opens a cabinet. I stay where I am and watch carefully. Maybe he's sleepwalking? Will had a little problem with it when he was a teenager. I found it quite hilarious when I got a film of him trying to seduce our curtains, but he didn't find it near as funny. Eventually he grew out of it, as most people do.

If he is sleepwalking, then the best thing to do would be to gently guide him back to bed. It's dangerous to wake a sleepwalker. Not for them, but for the person waking them. They're like a sleeping tiger that you don't want to disturb for the sudden outburst is inevitable.