Harry tried to open his eyes, but he found that his eyelids were far too heavy. He whined softly into the darkness, shifting restlessly. The pile of blankets only made him feel more trapped, and he fought back against their hold on him, uselessly weighed down by stiff muscles.
Warm fingers brushed over his cheek, cupping his face gently. He would recognize Louis's touch in the deepest of sleeps. The panic coursing through his veins settled instantly. He melted into his boyfriend's arms, sighing as the tension in his muscles faded from confusion to clarity.
Harry's mind, though, cleared as well. The fog lifted, and through the haze, he saw a young boy, alone in the middle of a large living room. The images were blurred, distorted, like looking at a picture with his eyes half closed. He tried to rub his eyes, but he found that his muscles were too heavy, pinned down by sleep's suffocating embrace.
Harry blocked out the static of his other thoughts, trying to force the obscure dream into focus. It was like pressing play on an old, pixelated movie, but the people's voices rang through clearly.
"Why isn't he here?" the boy on the couch called out. The words hung in the air like they were written, waiting for anyone to acknowledge them.
Just a moment too late, a woman entered the room. "He'll be here," she told the boy. "He just has to finish up some things at work first."
"But it's Christmas," he protested. He looked eerily familiar, but Harry couldn't quite place him. "How come he's always late for Christmas?"
"He has to work."
"None of my friends' parents work on Christmas. You don't work on Christmas."
She sat down next to him on the couch. "Your father's work is different. Be patient."
The lights flickered, but the people in the dream didn't react. They froze for a few seconds, then skipped forward, every subtle movement stiff and robotic. As his dream snapped from frame to frame, Harry finally had a chance to study the young boy's face, and he made the connection all at once.
It was Williams, he realized -- one of Louis's business associates -- and this wasn't the first time that Harry had dreamed about him. He studied the child closely until he felt certain; he had only met Williams once, but he could feel the connection.
He could see this young boy still standing behind the harsh businessman he observed in Louis's meeting.
The floor rumbled with sound, echoes of not enough, not enough, not enough -- but the woman's mouth didn't move, and the boy's mouth didn't move. No, these were thoughts, a glimpse into a son's deepest fears. The windows shook and the lamp flickered, and Harry tried to memorize the scene before it was gone.
The walls collapsed like crumpled pieces of paper. In the blink of an eye, the room disappeared, and Harry was ejected from Williams's childhood memory. He curled in on himself instinctively as the spirits ripped the dream away from him. They had given him a flash of the future through a piece of the past, but they only gave so much at one time.
Even in hindsight: what could a memory like this possibly mean?
Harry woke with a gasp, bolting upright in bed. He had to rub his eyes a few times to make sure that he wasn't still dreaming, blinking slowly just to remind himself that he could. Goosebumps peppered his bare arms, and he shivered, feeling scared, confused, and achingly alone.
The bedroom was dark, swathed in shadows, but not nearly as suffocating as his dreams. Louis must have carried him to bed while they both fell asleep on the couch. He glanced at the warm body beside him, exhaling a breath of relief at the peaceful expression on his boyfriend's face.
Louis slept on his side, curled up the way he usually curled himself around Harry. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed from the built-up warmth of their blankets. Even with messy hair and his favorite oversized t-shirt, Harry never felt safer than he did with Louis sleeping beside him.
But he knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to sleep so soon after a disorienting dream. He carefully untangled himself from the covers, rolling out of bed. His head felt fuzzy more than it actually hurt, but he could use a boost of caffeine.
If he could only get to the kitchen without alerting his overprotective boyfriend. Amused, Harry wondered if Louis was really the psychic one. He glanced back toward the bed just as the older boy stirred, smiling fondly.
"Haz?" Louis murmured a moment later. He lifted his head slightly, reaching out into the space where Harry had just been. His brow furrowed when his fingers met empty sheets.
"Right here. Just going to get something to drink."
Louis grumbled incomprehensibly, but he relaxed, burying his head in the pillow. Harry leaned in to kiss the side of Louis's head once before tiptoeing out of their bedroom.
He grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts as he left, dressing slowly as he made his way to the kitchen. It had been a long time since he had such a vivid, visual dream; usually, his nightmares were mostly sounds, an amplification of the chorus of voices he heard when he was awake.
As he made his coffee, he couldn't help wondering what it all meant. He picked apart the images, the snippets of conversation. Finding meaning in someone else's memories was a difficult task.
The knock on the door came just as he sat down at the counter to drink his coffee.
Harry reached for his phone and frowned, surprised when the clock showed that it was nearly ten at night. Blushing at the memory of his afternoon with Louis (and the reason that they wasted the day sleeping), he went to the door, opening it without checking the peephole.
"Hey," Liam greeted him. He was still in his collared shirt and work pants, but he had his jacket slung over his shoulder. He glanced into the apartment, surprised that Louis wasn't hovering just behind Harry. "Sorry to just drop by unannounced. Is Louis sleeping already?"
Harry nodded, ushering Liam inside and closing the door behind them. "We slept all afternoon, so his sleep schedule is all sorts of strange. I can wake him up if it's important, though."
"No, no. It's not that important. I'll just leave him a note and catch him tomorrow."
"Well, I just made coffee. You're welcome to stay."
Liam quirked an eyebrow. "Coffee? This late at night?"
"Starting the day off right," Harry replied with a small smile. "Is that a yes to caffeine?"
"Oh, why not. You've convinced me."
Sure, his friendship with Liam was still rocky, but they were finding a place in each other's lives.
"Hold on. I'll make you a cup."
"Thanks," Liam replied. As Harry disappeared into the kitchen, he took a seat in the armchair, sitting back to wait. The apartment was quiet without Louis disrupting things, but even after a few months, it was strange to see Harry existing so seamlessly in this familiar space.
A minute later, Harry padded back into the living room with two steaming mugs. He set Liam's coffee on the side table, then curled up on the couch opposite him.
"So," he said. His gaze flitted from Liam's wrinkled shirt to the wine-colored stain on his pants. The other boy had come straight from a date, Harry pieced together, but he asked anyway: "How are things?"
"Good, good. Things are calmer. No random murders, no hidden explosives. It's like vacation."
"Normal life does feel a bit abnormal now," Harry agreed with a small smile.
"Tell me about it. Every time my phone rings, I half expect one of you to be in the hospital."
"I mean, my first real phone call ever was about my boyfriend waking up in the hospital, so."
"And now your boyfriend calls you to annoy you all the time," Louis interjected from the hall, his voice still raspy with sleep.
The older boy was smiling when he entered the living room -- not at the memory of being in the hospital, but at the fact that Liam now included Harry in "us." It was still strange to see Harry and Liam sitting together peacefully, but it was a sight he could get used to.
"Hey," he greeted Liam, still rubbing his eyes. He leaned over the back of the couch, squeezing Harry's shoulder and kissing the top of his head. "Hi, baby," he whispered before addressing Liam again. "What are you doing here? Thought we were meeting tomorrow to sign contracts."
"I got a call from the investors this evening. Change of plans."
"What change?"
"They want us to fly out and meet them next week. Your secretary has the details already."
Louis's face changed in an instant, his sleep-soft expression hardening into something a bit more defensive. He rounded the couch, taking the open space beside Harry. He wasn't at all surprised when Harry shifted a bit closer to him, leaning into his side.
"Out to LA?" he asked. Even with his intense gaze trained on Liam, he stretched an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Why?"
Liam shrugged, apparently unphased by Louis's stiff reaction to his news. "They want to meet us in person, get a sense of how we work. I know it's been a few months since we travelled, but it's normal for investors to want to form relationships face to face. What's your problem?"
"I don't have a problem."
Liam's eyes met Harry's, and they shared a disbelieving look. "Just tell me what's going on so we can work it out," he said, earning an irritated glare from Louis.
"Harry, baby." He pressed a reassuring kiss to the side of Harry's head, letting his lips linger as he spoke. "Could you go heat me up the soup you didn't finish at lunchtime? I'm a bit hungry."
Harry nodded slowly, turning his head to give Louis a short kiss. He knew that Louis was plenty capable of heating up a bowl of soup for himself; obviously, the older boy wanted to speak with Liam in private, and Harry had a hunch about why.
"I'll make you some toast, too," he said as he stood from the couch. "With butter?"
"Sounds great, darling. Thank you."
Louis watched Harry go with a small smile, happy to see that Harry was wearing his sweatshirt. As soon as the younger boy disappeared into the kitchen, that smile dropped from his face.
"I'm not going on a trip," he snapped at Liam. His voice was low but his tone was harsh. Sleepy Louis disappeared, replaced by the much meaner, much more stubborn Businessman Louis.
"What? Why?"
"I'm not going."
Liam frowned. "These are really important investors, Louis. You can't just say you're not going without a real reason why."
"Because I can't go on a trip right now," Louis argued. "Seriously, Liam, Harry and I just --"
He cut himself off, glancing over his shoulder into the kitchen. Chances were, Harry already had a thousand voices in his head echoing this very conversation, so Louis wasn't even sure why he was worrying about keeping Harry from overhearing. He lowered his voice anyway.
"Harry is finally okay with us being apart, like, for normal, everyday things. I go to work, and he goes to work, and he's not having panic attacks about it anymore."
Liam looked confused. "Panic attacks? That was a thing? When? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Keep your voice down. I didn't tell you because it wasn't a big deal. Harry was just insecure, I guess, like . . . I think he felt like every time I walked out the door, I might not come back." He leaned forward, propping his elbows up on his spread knees. "But also, I didn't tell you because you already hated him -- oh, don't even try to argue. You hated him."
"I was concerned," Liam said, choosing his words carefully, "about his intentions with you. I did not hate him. And our relationship improved a lot after he anticipated a fucking homemade bomb in my building!"
"Yeah, yeah, but you still would've taken any opportunity to judge him harshly."
Liam shook his head. "Not anymore."
"Well, now you know what was going on. And you have to understand why I can't risk throwing off our routine right now. It's too soon."
"Are you really worrying about Harry's new routine? Or your own?"
"Ours," Louis replied stubbornly, crossing both arms over his chest. "It's our routine, and I'm not going on a trip right now.
"You should go," Harry called from the kitchen. Louis glanced over his shoulder, cursing under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.
"I kept my voice down!" Liam exclaimed defensively, his tone ringing with disbelief. "Maybe we should've talked about this outside."
"I would've heard anyway," Harry's voice came again. "I've been getting some sneak peeks and previews of this conversation since last night, honestly."
Louis cursed again, but Liam just cocked his head toward the kitchen. "Go talk to him. I'll wait. I don't have anywhere to be tonight."
"When do we have to decide?"
"Not until the end of the day tomorrow. You've got some time."
"He'll be ready to finalize plans tonight," Harry interjected again, annoyingly certain. Louis gave Liam another indignant glare before standing from the couch and heading into the kitchen.
He met his boyfriend at the counter. Harry was perched on a tall stool, halfway through buttering Louis's toast.
"Your soup is hot, too," he said, not looking up. "It's in the microwave."
Louis ignored him. He wrapped both arms around Harry, hugging him sideways. The younger boy dropped his toast onto the plate, wiping off his hands before letting his fingers wrap around Louis's forearms, clinging to him.
"Baby," Louis whispered. Even his whisper seemed loud in the quiet apartment. "Talk to me."
"Nothing to talk about," Harry replied honestly. "Your decision is already made. Trust me."
"I do. I trust you, but are you really okay with me leaving?" He nudged his nose against Harry's temple, savoring the sweet smell of his fruity shampoo while he still had the chance. "I just want you to be absolutely sure."
"You need this deal. And Niall thinks we spend way too much time together."
Louis frowned, pulling back to look Harry in the eye. "He told you that?"
Harry nodded up at him, smiling at the way that Louis's brow furrowed.
The older boy huffed. "He's wrong."
"I know. You still have to go."
"I don't have to do anything, H." Louis sat up, one arm still draped over Harry's stomach. "This is a big deal, yeah, but we don't need it."
"You're going," Harry repeated firmly. He paused for a moment, his voice wavering as he added, "As long as you're careful. I don't think anything bad is going to happen -- I would know, but . . ."
He thought back to his dream, and he almost asked Louis if any of his other associates would be on the trip. If Williams was going, too, maybe Harry could actually make sense of his dream.
The guilty look on Louis's face stopped him. The older boy already seemed worried sick about leaving Harry alone, and adding more stress to Louis's decision was the last thing he wanted to do.
"Nothing bad's going to happen, baby. Besides, still a few days before I have to go. Plenty of time for you to get a bad feeling and tell me to stay." Louis assured him. "Plenty of time for --"
"For fun?" a familiar Irish accent interjected from the next room.
Louis's grip on Harry's hand tightened even as he rounded the counter to poke his head into the living room. "How in the absolute fuck --"
"I let him in!" Liam called out, his tone ringing with regret. "I told him not to eavesdrop, but he isn't a good listener."
Niall skipped into the kitchen just then with Liam on his heels, completely shameless. "Let's go out! The bar awaits!" he cheered, hopping up into the stool beside Harry at the counter.
"What? Are you kidding?"
"Oh, come on, Louis. Liam already told me that you barely have any work to do while you're prepping for your trip."
"I-It's not about how much work I have!" Louis sputtered out. His thumb rubbed circles in the back of Harry's hand, a silent plea for their friends to just leave them alone for once. "Have you ever considered the fact that you might be a third wheel, Niall?"
"I'm the fourth wheel, actually," Niall shot back. "Liam's the third."
"Oh, Christ," Liam complained, but he was grinning.
"And we aren't a fucking car," Louis replied without missing a beat, adding firmly. We are not going out, and that's final."
"Lou," Harry said softly, pursing his lips into a pout. Louis glanced at him once, quickly, before dropping his head onto the counter, groaning dramatically. He didn't have to be psychic to know how their night was going to play out.
/
An hour later, they were out. Also an hour later, Harry was drunk.
With all of the changes in Harry's life over the past few months -- in stability, in confidence, in insomnia -- he was still a lightweight.
While Liam and Niall danced in the middle of the crowded room, Louis sat with Harry at the bar, encouraging him to drink water. After only two and a half drinks, his cheeks were flushed, every word stumbling clumsily into the next. Luckily, he was a happy drunk. His normally nonexistent filter disappeared completely.
He giggled when Louis tucked a fallen curl back into place, swatting the older boy's hand away. "Don't touch me! We're in public. It's inappropriate -- there could be children!"
For the record, there were no children at the bar. "Sorry, baby," Louis said anyway. "How's your head bubble holding up?"
Harry scrunched his nose. "Thought helmet," he corrected, adorably earnest. "You came up with the term, Louis. How come you can't remember it?"
Louis pursed his lips to suppress his smile. "You're right, darling. Thought helmet."
Holding up one finger, the younger boy continued: "It's hard to think about thinking, you know. I have to think about my thoughts and a lot of other people's thoughts all the time. I need constant fortification to keep the, um . . ."
"Thought helmet," Louis supplied helpfully.
"Right! The thought helmet comes in handy." His brow creased, and he ran a hand over Louis's stomach like he needed to make sure the older boy was real. "Is someone singing, or is it me?"
"No, love, people are actually singing."
He tapped Harry's chin lightly, turning his face in the direction of a booth where a small group of drunken college students were bellowing "happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear . . ."
Harry blew out a relieved breath, laughing a bit. "Oh, good. I thought I was going crazy."
"Nope. You're just as crazy as usual," Louis assured him. He had given up on hiding his amused grin, his entire face glowing as he watched Harry study the crowded bar. It was so similar to that first day in the diner when he had watched Harry shamelessly analyze everyone in the restaurant, picking out every detail of what they wore, how they spoke, and how they carried themselves.
He sometimes wondered how Harry saw him that day, his rigid posture and his fancy suit. Louis wondered if it only took one look for Harry to recognize his soulmate or if he had to analyze the little details, adding them up to realize the important role that Louis would play in his life.
"I've got a lot of noise in my head," Harry told him solemnly, breaking Louis out of his thoughts. He poked at the back of Louis's hand over and over, smiling crookedly when Louis drummed his fingers against the wooden surface of the bar. "But not more than usual. It's the same. I think."
"It's loud in here," Louis said, "for everyone. Probably not good for your brain, hmm?"
Harry shrugged. He picked up one of Louis's fingers, then let it fall back onto the bar. "I could fall asleep sitting up," he announced. "Someone's playing a lullaby."
Louis overpowered Harry's grip on his fingers and intertwined their hands properly, making the younger boy pout. "You want to go?"
"No!" Harry exclaimed, affronted. "Of course not. Why would we go?"
"You've got work in the morning, baby, and I need to get some things done before I leave for my trip."
"But my thought helmet is fine!" Harry argued. He leaned into Louis, resting his forehead on the older boy's shoulder. "I'm not even drunk enough for my thought helmet to fall apart. This isn't even a real party."
"We'll get you to a real party another time," Louis promised. "I think it might be time to call it a night. Let's go home."
Harry sat up properly again, looking up at Louis. He tilted his head to the side, studying the older boy carefully. "Home?"
"Yeah, baby. Want to go home? Get some sleep?"
He leaned in, wrapping both arms around Louis's waist and squeezing hard. "Want to sleep with you," he said, loud enough to earn a few judgemental looks from the people sitting and standing around them.
"Alright. Good to know," Louis replied, cringing. He smiled awkwardly at the couple sitting just a bit further down the bar, rubbing Harry's back in a silent plea for him to shut up for once in his life.
"Louis?"
Right. Of course he wouldn't. Louis shook his head, unable to believe that he ended up with the least filtered soulmate in the entire universe.
"Yes, darling?"
"I think I'm drunk."
"I know."
"Is someone speaking French?"
He snorted. "No, petal. That one really is all in your head."
"Oh."
Louis pulled back a bit, cupping Harry's jaw tenderly. He studied the younger boy's face, taking in his dilated pupils and alcohol-flushed cheeks. It probably wasn't very nice to take advantage of Harry's lack of filter, but Louis really needed to know.
"You sure you're okay with me leaving, darling?" he asked again. He carded his fingers through Harry's curls, keeping him close. "If you don't want me to go, I won't go. Simple as that."
"I don't want you to go," Harry said, his brow creased with a serious sort of focus. It was harder to find the right words when he was drunk; he tried to choose them carefully, but they just ended up pouring out of him, unfiltered. "But you will go. I want you to."
"That doesn't make any sense. You want me to go or you don't?"
"I don't, but I do. You have to go. You're going to go, Lou. I already know. So you might as well stop beating yourself up over this decision. You're going, and you can't stop --"
"Okay, okay. Okay, H, I'll go. I'm going."
His arms were still looped around Louis's waist, and he let his head fall forward, burying his face in his boyfriend's chest and clinging to him as he murmured, "As long as you're coming home to me as soon as you're done."
Louis sighed fondly, resting his cheek over the top of Harry's head. "Always," he promised. He opened his mouth to say more, but Harry interrupted him first.
"Lou?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm drunk. Did you know that?"
"Yeah, baby, I know." And Louis wondered if this was how Harry felt all the time -- like he knew something that everyone else should know but didn't care enough to notice.