February felt about the same as October. The whole winter was a blur in Louis's mind, flashes of crisp new coats and steaming, home-cooked dinners and warm, tangled covers.
And Harry.
He stole a glance into the kitchen, smiling when he caught sight of Harry's side profile. Finally, Harry was starting to put on a bit of weight, his cheeks pink and squishy where they used to be pallid and bony, almost sunken into his skull. A single glance into the next room settled Louis's nerves -- because after all this time, Harry was finally starting to look healthy and happy.
It was hard to believe how much could change over the course of a few months. Louis's life had gone from mindless routine to daily changes, watching Harry grow from feeling out of place in Louis's world to feeling safe there. He watched Harry grow into the space he was meant to fill.
"Red," Harry said, sitting across from Niall at the kitchen table. "Red. Red. Black. Red. Black."
"This is too easy," the Irish boy complained. He paused his card-flipping for a moment, studying Harry intently for a moment before deciding, "Try the suit! That'll be more fun than the color."
"Leave him be. He's not your personal entertainment," Louis quipped from the living room, one eyebrow raised in a protective glare. He and Liam were engaged in a cut-throat video game, but he always had an eye or an ear on Harry.
Harry just smiled, ignoring Louis's overprotective remark, and he continued. "Hearts. Spades. Uh, hearts. Diamonds. Diamonds. Clubs . . ."
"You're such a pushover," Louis complained, his tone a bit whiny.
"You just wish you were as talented as him," Niall shot back. They had gone through the entire deck already, and Harry had only confused two cards. He shuffled and started flipping again.
"No, I wish you'd give him a rest. He's going to have a headache later because of you."
"I'm training my brain," Harry waved him off, patient and always eager to please. "It'll be good for me. I've got to keep my psychic talents in tip-top shape if I want to keep my job, right?"
"Well, don't train for too much longer. I want you to be able to sleep tonight."
"You worry too much," Liam told him. "And while you're busy worrying, I'm going to beat your ass at this game."
Louis rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it. I could beat you half-asleep with my eyes closed."
"It's nearly five. You should start getting ready if you're going to make your dinner meeting," Harry told them. "Um, spades. Diamonds. Spades. I think it's supposed to snow tonight. The roads might be bad, and they'll only get worse the later you leave."
"Snow? It's February." Liam's tone was thick with disbelief. His eyes didn't even leave the TV screen, still intensely focused. "It hasn't snowed in February for . . . what, two years? Three?"
Within the next hour, tiny spots of snow were spiralling past the large window in Louis's living room. Liam gave Harry an annoyed glare from where he was standing, but Harry only laughed.
Louis looked on from the hallway, tying his tie with expert fingers. There was no doubt that his friends had accepted Harry into their circle; in fact, there was a good chance that both Liam and Niall liked Harry more than they liked him anymore. Harry and Niall had grown closer than high school schoolgirls, always gossipping and giggling about something new. As hard as Liam tried to hate Harry for his psychic abilities and his lack of filter, Louis watched as the other boy's soft spot for Harry grew and grew.
He listened with a smile on his face as Liam and Niall bickered about the snow, heading back into his and Harry's bedroom to grab his suit jacket. It was hard to believe that only six months had passed since the day he met Harry in the diner; his entire world had changed since that day, the air around him fading from dark gray to sparkling green.
He thought back to the night when he had finally told Harry that he loved him: how Harry's face had lit up brighter than their Christmas tree; how he had launched himself across the room into Louis's arms and peppered kisses all over his face; how he had fallen asleep with a smile to the sound of Louis whispering those three little words over and over into his hair.
Those three words sounded normal now. They fit into their homey apartment as naturally as the old, worn couch or Harry's favorite electric blanket. Louis used to feel strange having someone else in his space; now, he and Harry were ships in the night most of the time, seamlessly moving side by side until they collided into each other's arms.
Things that used to be strange had become second nature -- like, when Harry first started sharing Louis's bed, Louis loved to watch him sleep. Not in a creepy way; well, not exactly in a creepy way. He just liked seeing Harry at peace.
When Harry first moved in, he curled up in a tight ball to sleep, like he was so terrified to take up the smallest bit of space. These days, he sprawled out across their shared bed, his long limbs touching nearly every edge of the mattress in some way. And Louis's heart was full.
"We're going to be late for this dinner if we don't get going," Liam's clipped tone cut through his thoughts. Louis couldn't help the groan that escaped him.
"Can't we just skip?" he pleaded, glancing back to find his friend and colleague waiting for him in the doorway. "Act like our cars broke down or something?"
Liam raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Both of them?"
"Carpooling is good for the environment," Louis pointed out. "We'll get the sympathy card and the 'go green' card."
"Somehow, I don't think the investors are going to buy that argument." Liam cocked his head in the direction of the door. "If we're going to show up, we might as well show up on time."
Louis sighed, but he followed Liam back out into the living room. Niall had already gone home, so Harry sat alone on the couch, wrapped in his intricate nest of blankets. He glanced away from the TV when Louis entered the room, his green eyes lighting up at the sight of his boyfriend.
"You're going?" Harry said. "It seemed fifty-fifty for a while there. Even I wasn't sure."
"Hush, you. Stop using your brain powers to analyze me." He bent down to drop a kiss to the top of Harry's head, squeezing him around the shoulders. His teasing tone softened. "Need anything else before I go? Another blanket? Cup of tea?"
"You're going to be late," Harry warned again, but he leaned into Louis's touch anyway.
"It'll be your fault, then."
"Louis William Tomlinson, I swear to God --"
"I love you." Louis cut him off, leaning down further to press another kiss to Harry's forehead.
Harry's faux anger melted away in a heartbeat. "I love you more."
"I love you most."
"I loved you first," Harry huffed, nudging his forehead against Louis's chin for another kiss.
Louis pressed a smile against his skin. Harry knew that he couldn't argue with that.
"Are you going now? You can't sit down for a few seconds before you leave?"
"I've got to go if I don't want to be late," Louis shot back. He gave Harry's shoulders one last squeeze before heading for the door, shrugging on his coat in one smooth motion. "Remember?"
"You're too important to care about being punctual."
"Oh, stop. And don't wait up," Louis warned. "It could take a while, and you don't need to stay up ridiculously late just because I have to kiss some important people's asses. Alright?"
"I won't," Harry promised as Louis followed Liam out the door. "Good luck!"
Naturally, he tried to wait up.
By around eleven, though, his eyelids were drooping. Harry clicked off the episode of Friends he had been watching, stumbling into their bedroom with a pout on his face. Falling asleep without Louis always seemed impossible, even with exhaustion weighing down his every muscle, and the voices in his head never failed to take advantage of his weakness.
Being apart from Louis (physically) had gotten easier. At first, he felt every step that Louis took in the opposite direction like a harsh tug on his heart, a twinge of discomfort that quickly turned into a dull ache in his chest. He started to associate being alone with the pounding, debilitating headaches that began when Louis left. After a while, the mere possibility of Louis leaving him for more than a few hours sent Harry into a tailspin, so Louis took to visiting him at work on his lunch breaks and coming home early in the afternoons.
Those first few months were tricky. What should have been the honeymoon phase was instead riddled with unstable ground, where Harry always feared the floor falling out from under him.
He was stronger now, though -- they were stronger. He didn't mind Louis leaving anymore, as long as he wouldn't be gone long enough for the voices to really set in. He didn't mind being alone with his thoughts (and other people's thoughts) for just a little while.
Especially when he knew that Louis was coming home.
Harry burrowed into the pile of covers that layered their bed, only his nose exposed to the cold, late-winter air. It seemed much colder without Louis's body heat combined with his own. As he drifted off, Harry made a mental note to ask Louis how to turn up the heaters without burning the apartment complex down.
Maybe that last thought was the reason that he dreamed of fire.
It was almost immediate: his mind went up in flames like it was doused in gasoline. He could feel the heat seeping into his skin, the smoke reaching for his lungs like long fingers down his throat. The roar of crackling wood drowned out any comprehensible words, and all Harry could do was curl in on himself further, too suffocated to call out and too disoriented to understand.
These nightmares weren't uncommon, especially without Louis beside him. Louis's arms around him seemed to dull the dreams, pacifying them into a state of clarity. It's not really a fire, Harry kept repeating in his mind. Fire didn't mean destruction; fire meant the voices were angry.
Then, as fast as the fire had swelled, brushing at the underbellies of the clouds above, his dreams abruptly lulled into a peaceful quiet. It was starkly cold, the sheets freezing against his bare skin.
Harry snuffled softly into the pillow. The bed dipped beside him, and Louis's arm curled around his back, soft lips pressing to his cheek. He tried to open his eyes but found that his eyelids were far too heavy, so he settled for a muffled groan of acknowledgement.
Louis's voice was like a lullaby. "You asleep, angel?"
"Not really," he replied, his words slurred into a mumble. "Too lonely without you." He threw an arm out without lifting his head or even opening his eyes, closing his fingers around the stiff hem of Louis's suit jacket and tugging a few times. "Come to bed, gorgeous. I'm tired."
"I've got to shower, love. Give me ten minutes, alright?" He crouched down beside the bed with a knowing smile on his face, brushing Harry's fallen curls away his forehead as he asked, "Can you stay awake for me, petal? Ten minutes?"
"I can. I will," Harry promised, his eyelashes fluttering delicately over his pale cheeks. "Can't sleep without you. Never."
Louis didn't have to be psychic to know it was a lie, but he pressed a kiss to the corner of Harry's pouty lips anyway. Sure enough, when he padded quietly back into the dark bedroom, Harry was fast asleep, like just knowing that Louis made it home safe was comfort enough.