Louis finishes his letter to Harry the next morning while Harry is making him eggs, even though his stomach is in knots and he doubts he'll be able to eat much. He finishes off the letter with a flourish before capping his pen. There's an air of finality to it as he neatly folds the letter and sticks it into the empty envelope he's got sitting in front of him, the one he made Harry scour the entire flat for.
He makes sure to make devious eye contact with Harry the entire time he's licking the envelope - he knows he's over-licked it when it won't even seal properly, so he makes Harry find him another, which he seals with not nearly as much tongue swiping. He scribbles something quickly on the front of it, too quick for Harry to get a chance to look, and shoves it deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt.
"Do I get to read it now?" Harry asks from where he's standing by the stove, bare-chested with his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips as he concentrates on frying the sizzling bacon in the pan in front of him.
"No," Louis says simply, suddenly feeling very tired, mostly because of the cancer and all, but also because he doesn't want to have this conversation.
Harry frowns, turning to narrow his eyes at him, one hand still holding the spatula. "You said it was for me."
"It is for you. But you don't get to read it now."
"When do I get to read it, then?"
"Like, um. After," Louis mumbles, fidgeting in his chair as he feels Harry's gaze on him harden. He hears the sound of the burner being turned off, spatula being put back on the counter, Harry's footsteps approaching and he squeezes his eyes shut tight because he really, really doesn't want to have this conversation right now, or maybe ever.
"After what, Lou?" Harry asks, voice dangerously low.
"You know what." It comes out harsher than he intended. He can't help it. His head is starting to throb and he fights the urge to close his eyes again.
"Lou." Harry's voice is gentle now, watery, like he's going to cry. Or maybe he's already crying; Louis can't bring himself to look at his face. They've both been doing a lot of crying lately. Louis doesn't like it.
"I, just," Louis sputters, wracking his brain for the words he's looking for. "Wanted to, like, give you something. Of me. That's...me, in a way, if that makes sense. So you can have it...when I'm, um. When I'm not me anymore, I guess." He brings a hand up to rub at his eye and it comes away wet. He doesn't know when he started crying but all he knows now is that he is crying and he's pretty sure Harry is, too, and he can't stop.
"Oh, Lou," he whispers, and he's aiming for his mouth but ends up kissing his cheekbone instead. Close enough. "Okay," he says finally, looking resigned. "I'll wait to read it, then. Until...after." The look on his face makes Louis' heart ache. The look of understand and resignation and sadness because he understands now and that's all Louis has ever wanted from him but seeing it now just makes him want to disappear.
Soon, he thinks. Soon.
YOU ARE READING
