15 Days of One-Shots

Dear Harry

15 Days of One-Shots (4/15) 

When the love of your life is away, fighting a war, the only power you have is with the ink of pen and paper, sending him as much as you can enclose in an envelope. Nine letters Louis wrote to Harry during his tour of duty in Iraq. 

You’re still sleeping here next to me as I write this, I’m mailing it out today, before I drive you to the airport. You should get it a couple days from now. I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner, it’s just spending time with you during these last few days seemed more important than sending a letter to future you.

The way you sleep is really truly hilarious, I know you’re usually the first up and get to make fun of the way I sleep, but I’m awake first now. I couldn’t sleep.

But because I couldn’t sleep I got to admire the way your mouth just lies open all night. Think how many bugs you’ve swallowed. Babe, that’s gross.

You’re probably going to get sand in your mouth, over there.

Fuck.

Remember when we first met, in the library, and you were stressing because if you didn’t pass a test you couldn’t get into the special forces you wanted to get into. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t approached you, to help you study that night.

We wouldn’t have been together, but at least you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into war. You’d be safe. I could’ve kept you safe.

And now I can’t.

Baby, I love you so much. Please take care of yourself out there, and write back soon. Miss you already,

Louis.

-o-

Dear Harry,

I’m glad you made it there safely, that Niall boy sounds absolutely hilarious. Are you sure about him? If so, we should try to set him up with Liam. Right? I know what you’re thinking, they’d never go together, but we gotta do something about Li, because him sulking around isn’t helping anyone.

Bring him back with you, when you come back.

Nothing much has been going on here, I’m pretty sure I’m close to a raise at work. You know, that’s a pretty substantial income, once your back, maybe we should talk again. About a baby.

Don’t worry about that now though, just worry about taking care of yourself.

The bed’s still kind of warm in your spot. I mean, not literally, it’s just my brain making shit up but still. And it smells like you, and that part must be true, because the cat won’t leave your pillow. Fucking cat. Doesn’t even want me when I’m the only one around.

I’m sending those biscuits you like, along with an extra pair of socks, because your mum is worried yours are going to get wet, and you’ll catch pneumonia and die. I would’ve pointed out that you’re in Iraq, not Vietnam, but didn’t have the heart to. She misses you so much Haz.