C H A P T E R    T W E N T Y S I X

Causes and Cures

(23 days til' Christmas)

❄●❄

"LADS! YOU MADE it."

Louis tossed his jacket over one of Liam's outstretched arms, stepping around him and into his apartment. He felt Harry on his heels, heard him mumble an apology on Louis' behalf and hand over his own jacket.

"When'd you get back?" Liam asked, unfazed. He shut the door behind them.

"Like half an hour ago," Harry told him; Louis was already in the kitchen, reaching for the fridge to get himself a beer.

"We came straight here," Louis added. "Feel blessed."

"I don't know if that's the word I'd use," Zayn chimed in from the same spot on the living room sofa where he always is. "But happy to have you. If only so that we can get these songs finished and move on from them. Jesus Christ, we're going on, what? Four nights now?"

"Tonight's the night," Niall agreed, raising his own beer bottle into the air with a tip of his head. "We should go out after."

Louis handed Harry a beer and led him into the living room, squeezing beside Zayn so that there was room on his other side. Harry was warm next to him - he was always warm, actually. Which was nice, because Louis was always so bloody cold.

"I'll have to take a rain check," Harry said once they were sitting, offering Niall an apologetic smile. "I've got plans in the morning. Need my sleep."

"You had all weekend to sleep," Zayn raised a brow. "Unless you did other things instead."

"Buzz off," Louis butt in, the back of his neck heating up. He hoped it wouldn't travel to his face unnecessarily. "We were in my childhood home with children around every corner and my mum. Who do you think I am?"

Niall snickered, and Zayn rolled his eyes, but the little smirk on his lips kept Louis on edge for at least a solid five more minutes before the reminder that Harry was going to be busy in the morning finally distracted him. He already knew about this, but he supposed he made himself forget. Normally when Harry doesn't work in the mornings he spends the night. It'll be the first time in a while that won't be the case.

And Louis gets it, he really does. He'd have joined Harry were it not for the circumstances. Also if he had been invited.

"So, how was your weekend off?" Zayn asked, leaning forward to catch Harry's gaze. "Harry, was Lou's family all you hoped it would be?"

"Even better. And nobody shit on my lap this time, so that's a win in my book."

Louis smiled at the memory. "Are you implying that if Niall shits in your lap one night you'll lose the desire to join us every night we get together?"

Falling into the recliner across from them, Niall scrunched his brow. "Hey. I've never shit in anyone's lap."

"You've come close," Louis reminded him.

There was a pause while everyone thought on this, and it seemed to click for Niall and Zayn simultaneously. Niall's lips tightened, and Zayn barked a quick laugh before clarifying. "Are you talking about that night in Manchester when the vodka gave him gas? Like, violent gas?"

From somewhere behind the sofa, Liam giggled. "Oh yeah. I've forgotten about that."

Shaking his head slowly, Niall pressed the tip of his beer bottle against his bottom lip. "Fuck vodka."

When Harry cleared his throat, Louis glanced over at him, and his expression had Louis stifling his own giggle. With a wrinkled nose, Harry said, "That sounds...unpleasant." He met Louis' gaze. "But no, I wasn't implying that."

"You don't even know the meaning of unpleasant. Not until you have vodka gas," Niall quipped.

No matter how entertaining this conversation was - and it really was - Louis could only forget about Harry ducking out early tonight for a short moment before it was back, taunting him. And it's not that he wanted to be invited; he certainly wouldn't go, and it'd just be a waste of an invitation. But...perhaps he wanted to want to be invited.

"Should we order takeout?" Liam was asking. Louis shook himself out of whatever funk he'd fallen into.

Zayn tipped his head back to be able to peer at Liam. "I can make something instead. What've you got here?"

"Oh, actually I just bought this stir-fry..."

Before he'd even finished responding, Zayn was already climbing off the sofa and following Liam into the kitchen, and soon their voices were merely soft mumbles faded into the background. Louis watched them until they were gone, and then immediately he looked to Harry and wiggled his eyebrows.

Harry was already looking at him with a similar expression.

"Well," Louis said.

"Domestic," Harry agreed. "Anyway, let's get to work."

❄●❄

HARRY LEFT SHORTLY after they returned to Louis' flat. Originally Louis had intended to stay with the other lads so as to keep his mind off it, but his mood progressively got worse as Harry's departure from him grew nearer, and so he ducked out as well.

Lottie was gone at Tommy's when they first got there, but despite having the whole place to themselves, Harry was insistent on getting enough sleep before his early morning.

What Louis wanted to know was who in their right minds thought Christmas shopping before an 8AM shift was a good idea? Honestly? As if actual Christmas shopping at a decent hour wasn't already more than enough.

And of course that's why he wasn't invited to tag along. Louis knew this. It was the only logical explanation, because Harry would have loved to have him along otherwise. But Harry knows Louis hates Christmas, and so he's leaving him out of these plans. He's going to go with that girl he works with instead, the one who likes Christmas as much as Harry does.

It made so much bloody sense that he forced himself to accept it and move on with the night once Harry finally left him.

He figured the best way to do it was to sleep it off. Morning will come, Louis will be busy at work while Harry and what's-her-name are off doing whatever it is Christmas lovers do, and then when he's finished Harry will be free and it'll be as if the shopping never even took place.

As Louis climbed into bed a couple hours earlier than he usually does, he realized that this plan wouldn't work because Harry had to work after, and then he had that stupid caroling practice or whatever it is. They were trying to put together some ridiculous party after all, so he couldn't very well skip it.

And is this how it'll be every year? It might be a bit forward to think about, but if Louis and Harry were still together this time next year, would it happen all over again? Would Louis have to sacrifice some of his time with Harry just so that the lad could enjoy a holiday he clearly loves so much? The same holiday that Louis loathes with his entire being?

What if they make it to a third Christmas and the same thing happens? Is this something Louis is willing to live with for the rest of his life? Again, it goes without saying that this is hypothetical, of course. It's more likely that he'll do something to screw up this relationship before next Christmas even comes close. But on the off chance it works out...

God. What if his screw up ends up just being...who he is? What if Harry gets sick of having to avoid all mention and celebration of Christmas in front of Louis and leaves?

Or worse... What if Louis gets sick of Harry? What if he gets tired of having to avoid his cheery boyfriend every time the holidays roll around?

Louis thought about this all night. Despite hitting the hay hours before he normally does, it was well into the early hours of the morning before he finally gave up thinking about all the ways his relationship could go wrong and tried closing his eyes.

Which was shit, of course. The second he did, a set of blue ones - brightest he's seen them in a while - stared back at him. Like they were mocking him. Once a screw-up always a screw-up, they seemed to say.

Swallowing, Louis rolled over, eyes wide. He remained that way for the rest of the night, too afraid to try closing his eyes again. By morning, Louis was wishing for the first time in his life that he could stop hating Christmas.

❄●❄

LOUIS CAN ONLY recall one other time when he was certain he was going to quit his job before his lunch period, and though he didn't do it then, he's certain he might do it today.

His headache was killing him, he felt like he hadn't slept in a week, and though he wasn't hungover he definitely felt like it. Fuck it all, honestly.

When lunch finally did roll around, he hurried home. Like the first time this happened, he popped some pills and decided he would nap through his free period. The eyes would surely be gone by now, right?

They were, but it didn't matter much. He was too restless to properly sleep, and when he got up to go back to work, he felt worse than he had before. Great.

Lottie was in the kitchen making herself a sandwich when Louis slipped in to grab a Red Bull from the fridge. He felt her watching him, felt her immediately recognize that something was wrong. His only hope was that avoiding her searching gaze would keep him safe from any prying she might be planning on doing.

"See you later," he told her before he left the kitchen, but she caught his arm.

"Here," she said, handing him the sandwich she'd made, now in a plastic bag.

"Eat your sandwich, Lot."

"Food gives you energy too. I can make another one."

So he took it, because fuck if he had the energy to argue with her any longer. Halfway to the door he realized he hadn't thanked her, and he already felt like shit, so the last thing he needed was another reason to keep feeling that way.

But when he turned, he found her furiously tapping away on her cell phone, her brows knitted with concern and her bottom lip trapped beneath her teeth.

Sighing quietly to himself, he left her to it and was off, pulling his flat door shut behind him.

And he should have known, really, who she was texting. Looking back at that moment now, he doesn't know how it didn't dawn on him. He must be really dense sometimes. Or maybe he's just too out of it. He supposed that could be it.

Because when he finished with work, Harry was there, waiting outside his door. How he got into the building, Louis didn't know and didn't really care, but he approached him slowly as if he had to worry about setting off a bomb. He wasn't sure why.

"Hey..." he began. "What are you doing here? Haven't you got work and...practice, or whatever, tonight?"

Harry had been leaning against the wall opposite Louis' door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black jeans, his hair down and a little wild probably from being out and about in London's winter wind all morning. He pushed off the wall and stepped towards Louis, removing his hands from his pockets and letting them dangle at his sides. "I took the night off. Wanted to see you."

And even though Louis knew Lottie had texted him, knew that was the only reason Harry was here now, Louis was relieved. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and maybe even smiled a little. "You just spent all weekend with me uninterrupted."

A corner of Harry's lips twitched upwards. "Except by your thirty siblings, step-dad, and your lovely but ever-present mother."

Louis scoffed. "Thirty. Twenty-eight - get your facts straight."

Harry's lips finished uncurling into a proper smile, and he leaned forward to press his lips against Louis' forehead for a short moment. When he pulled away, Louis found himself following, his body automatically leaning forward to fill whatever space Harry tried putting between them. He caught himself as soon as he realized he was doing this and coughed awkwardly, unlocking the door and letting them both inside.

Without any words exchanged between the two, Louis took to the kitchen table to start grading his kids' first drafts of their midterm papers while Harry began putting something together for dinner. There was no talk of Gibson's or writing with the lads. It seemed to Louis that Harry was perfectly content with staying there only with him for the night, and Louis didn't have any immediate plans to fight that.

When Harry was finished and they both had a bowl of whatever brothy soup he'd concocted sitting in front of them, Louis slid half of what was left of his papers across the table. He wouldn't normally consider Harry qualified enough to assist in grading papers, but they were about metaphor... And Harry's a poet, is he not? He must know plenty about metaphor. Besides, they're only first drafts. Louis couldn't bring himself to feel too guilty about it, especially since it meant he'd be finished sooner.

Unsurprisingly, due to not sleeping a wink this past night, Louis began nodding off with three papers left. After shaking himself awake twice, he began holding open his eyelids, desperately wanting to complete his work. Just three more. Three more.

His vision began blurring next. With a sigh, he sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, willing himself to wake up. Come on, he growled at himself in his head. You've had sleepless nights before.

He knew it was harder because it's been so long since he's suffered one. Harry's presence quelled this issue a while ago - ironic that he's now unintentionally the cause of it. The cause and the cure at the same time.

Suddenly, Harry was taking Louis' hand and pulling him slowly from his chair. And as much as he wanted to, Louis couldn't fight it. He was just too tired.

Harry led them into Louis' room and shut off all the lights but the bedside lamp. Again, neither of them were speaking; Louis was thankful for it, because he isn't sure he'd be able to form coherent responses or understand anything Harry said. Besides, having Harry with him - even in silence - was far better than not having him here. This was enough.

Harry slid his hand into Louis' side pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping and scrolling until he found whatever he was looking for - Louis' music. He'd turned on one of Zayn's playlists with the volume low and set it on the nightstand before climbing onto the bed.

With his back against the headboard, he reached for Louis' hand again and gave a gentle tug. And like, obviously Louis wanted to join him. Obviously he was going to. But first, his half-asleep mind needed a second to analyze Harry's chosen position. Why didn't he lie down? Normally when he remains seated like this he wasn't planning on staying...

"Stay?" Louis mumbled, still standing beside the bed.

Harry looked genuinely remorseful for what he was about to say. "I work in the morning now. I traded shifts with Ella to get tonight off."

Giving in, Louis lifted the covers on his side of the bed and slipped beneath them, scooting closer to Harry until he could wrap his arms around his torso and rest his head against his abdomen. Harry rested his arm across Louis' back and shoulders in order to brush his fingers slowly across Louis' forehead, keeping his fringe out of his eyelashes.

Louis was nearly asleep when he mumbled, "Stay anyway."

But as soon as the words were out, he realized how ridiculously needy he sounded. God. Sitting up and leaning forward to bury his face in his hands, Louis amended, "Uh. I mean... Thanks for dinner, H. And helping with the papers. You don't have to stay, you should... You can leave whenever you want. Of course you shouldn't stay."

Harry reached forward and gripped his shoulder, just firmly enough to get him to lie down again. "I can stay. I don't mind staying, I'll just have to leave early."

"You shouldn't do that. Don't feel like you have to just because I'm spewing nonsense. I'll be alright. I'll pass out soon anyway."

As if he'd be able to avoid seeing or hearing Harry's response entirely by doing this, Louis rolled over, facing away completely. He hoped Harry wouldn't feel guilty about leaving if he thought Louis was going to fall asleep immediately.

He won't know that yet again - despite nodding off at the table just moments ago - Louis couldn't close his eyes.

"Louis."

He felt it happening, then. That god-awful feeling when you know you're going to cry and it's inevitable. His neck, chest, and face grew warm and clammy. A lump lodged in his throat. His eyes were welling with tears that he fully intended to suppress. Fuck.

Harry said his name again, and just to get him to stop, Louis tried to say, "I'm fine. Just tired," but it came out all wrong, and Harry could hear it. He could hear the thickness that came from somewhere in your throat - some people called it emotion, but Louis called it defeat. Whatever it was, Harry heard it.

There was a quiet, slow exhale from behind him. "Come here," Harry breathed.

Louis tucked his chin into his chest, worried he was going to cry, but Harry was already sliding down, fitting beside Louis the way he usually does and snaking his arms around him.

Giving up, Louis turned over in his arms and pressed his face against the part of Harry's chest right underneath his chin. His own hands clenched the material of Harry's shirt somewhere around his stomach, and after a moment of this position, Harry rolled them so that he was on his back with Louis half-cradled on top of him.

And Louis didn't end up crying, but if his eyelashes were a little damp up until he finally fell asleep, nobody had to know.

❄●❄

WHEN LOUIS WOKE for work feeling like he'd just come out of a coma, Harry was already gone. It didn't upset him; he knew Harry would be gone for work. At least he stayed.

Feeling heavy and mildly disoriented, Louis sat up, shoving away his comforter and rubbing at his eyes. Thoughts and visions of the way he was acting the previous night had him cringing, and he opened his eyes as quickly as possible. Thank god that's over, he thought.

But it had happened. And yesterday, too many things had felt like a big deal, and he was seeing the eyes again, and he didn't sleep, and then he literally almost cried...

Pressing a hand against his forehead and pushing his hair back, Louis blinked. Because all of that didn't even have anything to do with the argument they'd had about Olivia's dad and still didn't finish discussing. The argument they decided to put off until they got home.

Frowning to himself, he realized he and Harry probably really need to talk.