C H A P T E R T H I R T Y
Anne and Adam
(19 days til' Christmas)
❄●❄
TO PUT IT mildly, Louis was pissed.
He didn't really know if his anger was directed at Harry, or perhaps himself, or maybe the whole situation in general, but he did know that he's off-the-rails pissed and it only seemed to continue to escalate.
Meeting Gemma was nice, though. Even Ed, although the bit of jealousy that flared in Louis was an unpleasant surprise. He hoped he'd get over that. He didn't seem to struggle with the idea of Harry's old friendship before, but being here to witness it combined with all the other shit he's seen in the last hour or so is probably a recipe for disaster. Louis promised himself he'd revisit the issue sometime later – it's not his most pressing concern currently.
Currently, that most pressing concern is where the fuck he is and why Harry didn't warn him. Why doesn't the hospital have some kind of name like any other hospital he's ever been to? Why weren't there signs on the road – well, path of some sort – to indicate the town name? Why did they take a fucking carriage here? What kind of place is this?
It was...maddening, not knowing. He didn't know anything at all. And he couldn't ask Harry any of these questions right now because the whole reason they're even here is for Harry's mum, and Louis wasn't a shitty person. He wouldn't make this about himself. Whether he was angry with Harry or not – and he still wasn't really sure – he won't take it up with him until later.
Until then, here he sat, in a waiting room disguised as a nightmare, making small talk with Gemma and Ed while he waited to meet his boyfriend's mum, whose condition was still mostly a mystery. And it's not that he wasn't enjoying getting to know them, it's just... It's hard to really get passed the hospital staff walking by in the most horrific elf costumes he'd ever seen, the flickering fairy lights in every single direction he looked, and that god-awful holiday music playing far too loudly over the waiting room speakers.
But as much as he wanted to escape whatever hell he's managed to find himself in, when Gemma and Ed asked him to accompany them to the hospital cafeteria for a quick bite, he refused as politely as possible.
"Are you sure? Harry might be a bit. If he and Mum get talking it can sometimes take them a while to quit," Gemma was saying.
Louis waved a hand, hoping his eye wasn't actually twitching when "All I Want for Christmas Is You" began playing. "I'm alright, honestly. I think I'll just wait."
More than he wanted to escape, he was starving. He didn't know how long that train ride had been, but it felt like most of a day. He hoped they couldn't hear his stomach.
"Okay. Well, we'll be right back then. Want something?" Gemma asked.
She really did look very similar to Harry. At first, Louis didn't think so, but then the resemblance eventually hit. They make a lot of the same faces and smiles, and they have almost the exact same humor. When this became apparent, Louis almost didn't know how to act around her. It was like being in the presence of a celebrity. It was hard enough to believe Harry existed, but now there were two of him?
It was one reason he was excited to finally meet their mum. If they're both so similar, they must get it from somewhere.
"No, thanks though," he said. "I'm good."
Ed clapped his shoulder much like he had done to Harry earlier. "I heard your stomach growling like crazy on the way here, mate. I'll grab you a snack."
And then they were gone. Louis knew he had to chill the fuck out. He had to save his mood for later, had to wait until they left this god-forsaken hospital – hopefully until it was just himself and Harry somewhere. He still wasn't sure if he was specifically angry with the poet or just in general, but regardless he didn't want to express it to anyone else.
But this resolution certainly didn't stop him from being on edge and a little jittery by the time Harry finally returned.
"Hey," he said, sounding much calmer than he'd been earlier. Louis looked up from his lap at the sound of the familiar drawl. Harry was furrowing his brow. "Where'd they go?"
"Cafeteria."
"I told them to wait with you."
Louis stood and lifted a shoulder. "I told them to go. Don't worry about it."
Harry was looking out into the hallway as if that'd allow him to see all the way down to the cafeteria where his sister and Ed were likely already sat eating. Almost absentmindedly, he slid his arm around Louis' waist and tugged him a little closer, and Louis had to audibly smirk with a small, amused breath through his nose before Harry would look at him.
"I said don't worry about it," Louis repeated.
Harry stared at him for a moment with a loaded expression, his eyes heavy with something unsaid. Whatever it was, it remained that way as he said instead, "Sorry. Ready?"
"To meet your mum? I was born ready."
And so they re-entered the hall (much to Louis' chagrin) and Harry led Louis to a door left open only a crack. Before going inside, Harry tapped his knuckles against the hard surface. "I'm back," he called out, pushing the door open slowly.
"I hope you've not returned empty-handed," a warm, albeit tired-sounding voice answered from inside.
Louis put on his parent-teacher conference smile – always a good go-to when he wasn't sure how to act – and followed Harry into the small hospital room. In order to keep a friendly expression on his face, Louis avoided looking absolutely anywhere other than the bed and Harry's mum lest he catch sight of another strand of garland and completely lose his shit.
Unsurprisingly, Louis was greeted with a Harry smile on this woman's face. And if Louis was surprised by how similar Harry and Gemma looked, well.
And it was in about one second flat that Louis decided he was going to leave the best first impression Harry's mum had ever experienced. He wasn't sure how many boys Harry's brought home before, but he would be the best. Despite everything today, Louis would do this one thing. It'd make him feel a little better about himself, if anything.
"Hi," he began, hoping his parent-teacher conference smile was warmer than usual, that his eyes had a friendly twinkle to them. "I'm Louis."
She looked...exhausted, quite honestly. But that Harry smile was there, and the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled so intensely that Louis couldn't even tell if she shared her son's green irises or her daughter's brown ones.
"Louis," she began, reaching for his hands. He closed the gap between them quickly and let her clasp his wrists. "I'm so happy to finally meet you. 'm Anne."
Louis felt his smile become genuine, and heat rose to his cheeks, his neck. He wasn't embarrassed, he was just actually very happy to be here, despite everything. Despite fucking everything. And this surprised him more than anything.
"Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I'm sorry, of course, that it's happening under these circumstances," he said.
She released one of his wrists for a moment to wave a hand, but the movement looked difficult, like her arm weighed a lot more than it should. Instead of reaching for his wrist again, she let that arm fall back onto the bed, deciding instead to slide her other hand into his. She appeared to be attempting to hold it tightly, but Louis could feel her grip weakening by the second. Worried, he tossed a quick glance over his shoulder at Harry, who was standing back a bit to give them a moment. But it looked like he had already noticed his mother's state.
"Mum? Are you okay? Do you want me to get someone?" he asked, stepping forward to stand beside Louis, who set her hand down carefully and began backing away to give Harry room.
"I'm fine, Bub," she insisted, her words slurring a little, connecting where they shouldn't. As if to prove her point, she reached for Louis again.
Mostly to avoid making her hold her arms suspended in the air for too long, Louis hurriedly returned to his previous spot, meeting her reach and letting her hold onto both of his hands this time.
"I've heard so many wonderful things about you, Louis," she told him, eyes trained only on him. Again, he felt his face and neck warming from something akin to pride. "You're even cuter than Harry said you were."
Nearby but out of Louis' line of sight, Harry offered up an embarrassed groan, and Louis could picture him ducking his head, biting down on his lower lip. He felt a smile tugging at his lips again.
"Thank you," he laughed. "I can see now where Harry got all his charm from.
"I imagined a lot of ways your first conversation would go," Harry muttered, "and of all of them, this was my worst case scenario. So thanks."
"What are you on about?" Ed suddenly piped up from the doorway. Behind him, Gemma was zeroing in on her mother.
"Mum?" she asked, stepping around the slow carrot-top – who was handing Louis a poptart – to approach the bed as well. She squeezed in between Louis and Harry. "What's happened? You look – "
"I'm just a little tired, Gem," Anne said, sighing heavily. "Don't worry so much."
"I think maybe you've had enough excitement for one day, hm?" Harry decided, reaching forward to brush a piece of his mum's hair out of her eyelashes. "How about we leave you to get some rest?"
Though her eyelids had been drooping, she snapped them open so quickly Louis almost forgot she'd just suffered a heart attack. "Don't go. We hardly got to know each other yet," she said, and Louis realized she was talking about him.
"We'll be back," Harry promised. "Right away in the morning. You'll wake to your favorite face in the world, just like old times."
"Mine?" Ed said.
Louis found himself snorting. Gemma peeked over at him, looking pleased by this reaction.
"Thank God that only happened once," Anne breathed.
"It's Gem's fault," Ed shrugged. "I can't do horror films; you all know this."
"Anyway," Harry said, pointedly glaring at his old friend, "Louis and I are going to go. But we'll be back."
"I'm going to stay," Gemma said, her eyes trained on her mum. But then she lifted them to meet her brother's. "The house is open."
A corner of Harry's mouth turned upwards into Louis' favorite half-smile. "It's always open."
❄●❄
THAT GODFORSAKEN CARRIAGE was waiting for them outside, and it wasn't alone. Though, Louis would admit that of all the things he's witnessed since arriving here – wherever here was – he supposed the carriages weren't the most frustrating thing. They were ridiculous and weird, but he could deal if he must. And apparently it was beginning to look like he must.
Ed had left with them, leaving Gemma to watch over Anne by herself. He would be taking the second carriage to work, and Louis had no idea where that was because when he'd asked, Harry cut Ed off and changed the subject to something about a bakery and cookies. And now Ed was gone, having offered his own house as well and claiming that if they stopped over later to visit, he'd be there.
Alone with Harry in the carriage, Louis didn't say much. He wasn't sure what to say, so he stared out the tiny, frosted window at the blurry lights that bedazzled every single house. And the houses were more like cottages, really, if Louis was being honest. When he looked past all the Christmas decorations, they were actually quite cute. Louis thought maybe someday he'd like to live in one somewhere. Not here.
Besides, it was almost too hard to look past the decorations anyway. Wreaths adorned every door, garland framed every window. They weren't moving fast enough for the combination of the frost on the glass and the darkness of a frozen nighttime to make those bloody lights blur. Louis wished that would happen so that he could forget what he was looking at, what it all means. Why it's such a familiar scene.
And then he saw it. A snowman – fantastically done, really. It was as perfect as a snowman could get, Louis figured. Each section of it was the right size, and it wore a black top hat and a scarf, and there were buttons up the middle and a carrot for a nose. Sticks for arms with gloves where the hands should be. Louis stared at it, following it with his neck even as they began to pass it. What struck him the most was that the snow around it looked untouched like the snowman was just always there, not made by any human, as permanent as the houses. He'd only ever seen one other snowman come this close to perfection.
He dropped his gaze to his lap, nauseous. This was his own personal hell.
What if this was the secret Harry was talking about? That he comes from fucking Christmas Town and that if they ever want to keep seeing Harry's family, Louis will have to suffer through the visits. Because he was suffering, and he knew that Harry could see it, feel it.
Or what if, instead, everyone here is just kind of crazy? No one seems crazy, but... There's no other explanation. Nobody can be this Christmas-obsessed. No entire town can be this obsessed.
That's the thing, though. These kinds of people must exist if Louis does. Louis is one end of scale, one extreme. He hates Christmas. There has to be balance. The world likes balance. So if he exists, then these people must exist also. The other side of the scale, the other extreme. The people who live and breathe Christmas.
And honestly, what are the odds? What kind of cruel joke is the universe playing on him, having the boy he loves be the opposite extreme?
Louis suddenly felt his heart sink to his stomach, felt the blood drain from his face at the thought of that word. He'd just... It had crept on him. He'd never thought it before now, didn't expect to think it. He didn't think it on purpose.
He looked back to the window unseeing, mostly because it'd be harder for Harry to see his face this way than it would be if he continued to stare at his lap. He couldn't feel his own fingers, but he's certain he's gripping the wrinkles in his jeans on the sides of his thighs, is certain his knuckles are probably white if it were possible to see them inside this dimly-lit carriage.
How could he already love Harry like this? Already? How could this be happening at all after the last time?
His heart was throbbing in his chest. He hoped Harry couldn't hear it, but he'd be surprised if he couldn't. He knew he was panicking, but damn it all, he couldn't let Harry know. Anything. That he was panicking or what he'd just thought to himself, because if he knew it could... Louis didn't even want to think about it. The last time wrecked him. And this time, there's a possibility of a worse outcome: it wrecking Harry.
The carriage came to a stop, and Louis was so close to hyperventilating that he was desperately grateful to climb outside, even if it was so cold that the crisp air burned his throat.
Harry follows him out, resting a hand on the small of Louis' back absentmindedly for a moment before stepping around the carriage, presumably to speak to the driver. Louis has to remind himself not to flinch away.
The Styles' home looks almost identical to every other house they'd passed on the way here. Louis took in the wreath, the lights, the various other holiday-themed decorations before turning away to watch his poet ask the carriage driver about his daughters.
"They're well," the man smiled. His graying mustache curled a little at the tips, and Louis realized he's never seen a mustache like this in person – only films or television. "They miss their favorite teacher, though."
"Ah, well. She's going to be alright. I'm sure she'll be back to work before they know it," Harry assured him, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets.
"Glad to hear it. Tell her hi for me," the man said, readying to leave. Before he did, he tipped his head and lifted his hat off his head in departure, revealing something unusual that Louis had to blink before he could be sure he'd seen it correctly.
But he had. A set of delicately pointed ears. Harry had seen them too, and he whipped his head around to Louis.
It felt like the last straw. If the nurses at the hospital were going to dress up like Santa's elves, then...fine. Whatever. They were in the children's ward anyway. But this? Fuck this.
Shaking his head, Louis hurried inside the house, feeling like he might throw up. It was too much, this entire night. Meeting Anne and Gemma and Ed was nice, but everything else, it was...he couldn't handle this. Not without having somewhere to go, to shake it off, to work through the memories ripping through his mind like a plague sent specifically to ruin him. He dropped his bags by the door, and before he could close it behind him, he heard Harry saying his name.
The second the door is closed, Harry has it open and has followed him inside. "Louis. Look, I wanted to tell you, but – "
Louis spun around on his heel abruptly to face Harry, startling him enough that his sentence broke off, eyes a little wide and frantic and lips parted, ready to continue.
"I'm glad your mum is doing well. I need to take a shower," Louis said.
It only took Harry a moment to respond. "I want to explain, please, about why – "
"I need to take a shower," Louis tried again. His voice shook this time, and he hated himself for it.
But it worked. Harry dropped his gaze and stepped around him, disappearing into a room off the hallway behind Louis. Alone, Louis stumbled forward to his bags and suitcases and dug out a change of clothes. By the time he's finished, Harry has returned with a towel and handed it to him.
There wasn't anything Louis could say yet, so he looked away and hurried into the bathroom. The shower was already going, already hot enough that steam was beginning to fog up the top of the mirror above the sink. Louis didn't really want to see himself anyway.
Inside the shower, Louis couldn't be compelled to stand for very long. He sat beneath the stream and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead against them. He pretended he was back on his bridge, looking out at the Thames, and closed his eyes.
In his head, he was seeing Harry's town again. The lights, the decorations, the snowman. But he's moving too fast, can't see it as clearly. He looked to his right, but Harry wasn't the person beside him, and he's not in a carriage. He's in a car.
Blue eyes – bluer than even Louis' own – were looking back at him, and they're accompanied with more features this time: dark brown hair, so dark it's almost black; scruff and stubble across his jaw, his chin, his upper lip. Just like Louis remembered.
The gray knit winter cap he was wearing was familiar too, because Louis had given it to him years ago. He wore it every winter.
There was a smile, a big, toothy one that used to warm Louis from his face to his toes no matter how cold the weather was.
Louis lifted his head from his knees and stared at the wall of the shower, letting that face in his memory vanish for a moment. It was hard to keep his eyes open with the shower water falling into them, but as he blinked that stinging pain away, he vaguely realized that that was the first time in almost a year that he's actively thought about more than just his eyes.
A final echo of his memory, Louis found himself whimpering a name that tasted very different on his tongue these days.
"Adam."