C H A P T E R    T W E N T Y E I G H T

Help and Home

❄●❄

                  IF LOUIS WAS one of those people who found winter charming or cozy or, or...however those people find it – and to be clear, he's not – he might say that today would be a particularly strong example, or evidence. London winters really do have a little something, he supposed.

                  But since he wasn't one of those people who were so easily endeared by a fool's season, he ignored the design on Lottie's black coat made by snowflakes unable to melt thanks to the obscenely low temperatures. He ignored the frosted edges of the wall of windows along Gibson's storefront, and he ignored the light layer of that glittery white fluff dusting every possible surface not disturbed by human feet or curious hands.

                  If he was one of those people, he might say that it was all quite pretty.

                  He beckoned Lottie inside, tired of seeing his breath every time he sighed or exhaled sharply. The familiar bell that rang above them caught Molly's attention immediately, and she greeted Louis with a bright grin, in the middle of wiping the counter down.

                  "Hi guys," she chirped. "Beautiful day, i'n it? Wish I wasn't cooped up in here. What'll it be, then?"

                  Louis was already pulling out his wallet, grateful Molly knew well enough not to make him respond to her first comment. "My usual and then whatever she's having," he said, nodding toward his sister.

                  "What does Harry usually get?" Lottie asked. "He raves about it constantly. I just want to try it."

                  "Peppermint hot cocoa it is. These are on me," Molly said, refusing Louis' payment. "I'm feeling generous. They'll be right up."

                  Louis offered Molly an appropriate smile and nod, but then he tossed Lot a sideward glance. "I wasn't aware I was on a date with my boyfriend."

                  She rolled her eyes, examining the muffins and cake pops in the display case beside her. "Buzz off, Lou. Sue me for wanting to relate to my future brother-in-law in some way."

                  He had nothing in his mouth yet, but he began coughing, shooting her another look that wiped the smirk off her face. Her lips transformed into a guilty pout instantly. "Sorry. So, where should we sit?"

                  Shaking off her comment to the best of his ability, Louis turned toward his black sofa like clockwork. But instead, he jerked his chin toward the booth right near the entrance – one with a perfect view of the black sofa. Lottie went to sit while he waited for their drinks, and when Molly had them ready, he tipped her double what he usually does.

                  "You know, there's no point to me paying for your drinks when you do this."

                   Louis winked. "Oh. Then give that back, I'll use it on my refill."

                  "Where's your better half? I miss him. He's much nicer to me, and he brings me cookies."

                  "He's busy spreading Christmas cheer, singing loud for all to hear, and all that."

                  Molly raised her brows. "Wow. Quoting a Christmas movie. I'm impressed. Does that mean you've changed your mind about – "

                  "No, it means I'm dating the human equivalent of an elf. I quoted it with bitterness, couldn't you tell?"

                  "Bring your sister her drink before it gets cold, you scrooge."

                  Flashing an exaggerated, toothy grin, Louis gripped both mugs in his hands and spun on his heel, expertly navigating two full, hot drinks back to the booth – Harry's booth. Harry, who was playing magical Christmas fairy with his hotel friends elsewhere while Louis continued hating the loathsome holiday here with his sister, who was supposed to be distracting him but had so far only managed to drudge up things that didn't need to be drudged up. Ever.

                  "Peppermint hot cocoa, steaming and just the way Harold likes it," he said, sliding Lottie's mug over to her. "Speaking of our dear old friend, this is actually the booth he used to sit in when he came here unbeknownst by yours truly. Guess why he chose this particular booth."

                  Lottie was blowing on her drink; Louis fought the urge to remind her how futile that was. She paused to purse her lips, and her blue eyes danced around the room before they returned to him. She shrugged. "Tell me."

                  "Because it has a perfect view of that sofa," he explained, pointing over his shoulder, "where I sit when I come here. He'd just...sit here and waste all of their napkins with bored scribbles for hours, simply because he had a big, fat crush on me."

                  "Are you trying to make me vomit before I've even tasted this?" she teased. He knew she was teasing because her lips were upturned in that way that told him she was actually interested in hearing more. She thrived off of learning more about his personal life anyway.

                  "If you think that's sickening, let me finish. Those napkin scribbles weren't scribbles at all, but poems. Poems that he was writing about me. Remember Cheekbones, the song Zayn forced you to listen to a while ago?"

                  "Yeah?"

                  "That was one of his poems. We just tweaked it and gave it a melody."

                  Louis felt himself smiling at the memory – all of the memories, really. Of the night he found the poems and the day he met Harry for the first time. God, the first time he saw him he couldn't even form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. He couldn't even remember the last time someone rendered him completely speechless like that. Only Harry.

                  And that song. Singing it for him when they'd finally finished it. That look on his face had almost been too much; he was grateful the lads were around so that Harry couldn't actually say anything, because if he had, whatever came out of his mouth might have crumbled every last resolve Louis'd had. First of all, he'd have snogged the life out of the boy right then and there. And then... Well, and then who knows what?

                  "Why's it called 'Cheekbones' then? I've always wondered," Lottie asked, pulling Louis out of his own head.

                  "Because, like I said, the poem was about me. And he calls me that. Cheekbones. If we got the song, he got to choose the title. That was the deal."

                  Her nose wrinkled slightly, but she was still interested. The expression was amusing, and Louis found himself chuckling when she said, "That...is sickeningly cute. I want to hate it."

                  "Yeah, yeah. Anyway," he said, waving a hand and bringing his tea up to his lips.

                  "Anyway," Lot agreed, breathing a sigh. "How are we doing your winter break this year? Mum is obviously going to want to see us all, and I'm sure Tommy's family will want me to come around at some point. Harry will probably – "

                  Oh, no. One of the last things Louis wanted to talk about right now was break plans, because they weren't break plans, they were holiday plans. Christmas plans. And he just...didn't. He didn't want to deal with that or think about that or...just, no.

                  "Lottie, please. Must we?"

                  "What? I think it's smart to get this figured out now while we still have time to make the plans. That way everyone will get to see whoever they need to see and everybody is happy."

                  "Seriously. We can talk about this later, maybe, maybe with... We'll wait for Harry and Tommy before we discuss anything. There's no point without them, and I just don't – "

                  His phone began ringing, effectively silencing both him and Lottie. At the sight of Harry's name flashing across the screen, Louis nearly gave thanks aloud.

                  "Perfect timing as per usual, Harold. What's up?" he answered. Lottie continued to stare at him, impatient. One brow remained raised.

                  "Louis. Hi. I'm sorry if I've bothered you, I don't know... I don't remember if you had plans today, I'm sorry, but I thought you were done with work already and – "

                  Slightly alarmed, Louis' brow furrowed and he dropped his gaze to the table, pressing a finger against his free ear to block out Gibson's background music. "Hey. I'm free, Harry, what's going on? Is everything alright? You sound...frantic."

                  "I'm..." Harry tried, huffing a sigh. When he spoke again, Louis knew something was wrong. "I'm okay. Sorry. I was just wondering, uh..."

                  Hoping to hear better, Louis motioned for Lottie to wait there while he got out of the booth and stepped outside. He faced his sister through the window, pressing his forehead against the glass as if it would help shield him from the crisp London winter breeze.

                 "Just wondering what, Harry?"

                  "Um. What would you say if I asked you to meet my family?"

                  And see, Louis might have mistaken this as a continuation of the same conversation Lottie was just trying to have with him. The difference was the tremor causing Harry's normally smooth voice to shake a little. But Louis couldn't tell if he was just on the verge of emotion or if it was something else entirely.

                  "I'd love to meet your family – " Louis started slowly.

                  "Right now. We'd go tonight, as soon as the train gets here."

                  "Harry, I'd love to meet them. Of course I'll go with you, but what's brought this on? And are you okay? Where are you?"

                  "I'm home, I'm... I'm at my place, I'm packing. I just... My mum's had a heart attack and I have to go and I just wanted you with, but I know you have work, and I'm. Louis."

                  Louis' eyes met Lottie's worried ones when Harry said his name – a desperate, emotional crack causing Louis' own throat to swell up with emotion. He knew next to nothing about Harry's family, but it didn't matter in the slightest when Harry said his name like that. Of course he'd go, his job and all other consequences be damned.

                  "Work is work. I'll figure out something to tell the school. Don't worry about that. We'll leave as soon as possible."

                  Harry exhaled over the line, but Louis thought it might have been the release of a quiet sob. "This is all my fault."

                  "Harry, of course it isn't. I'll give you as much proof as you need once I get there, okay? Just hang tight. I'm going to go pack, and then I'll be there."

                  After they hung up, Louis didn't even have to go back inside. Lottie could already tell something was wrong, and she hurried out, her hardly-touched drink and an extra tip left behind in the booth.

                  "What's happened?" she asked.

                  Louis was watching his feet intently like he couldn't very well focus on anything but making sure he remained upright. "His mum's had a heart attack. We're going to see her."

                  "Where? How far away does he live?"

                  "Beats the hell out of me. North. That's all I know."

❄●❄

                  ON THEIR WAY over to the hotel, Louis called the school. While he made up some excuse about a close relative falling extremely ill and having nobody else who lived near enough to care for them, Lottie drove like an absolute maniac, and Louis felt his stomach settle in his throat in at least four different instances by the time they finally came to a stop outside the extravagant entrance.

                  Lottie helped him unload his things – he'd over-packed, but what was he supposed to do? There was no way to know how long he'd be gone. And if he remembered correctly, Harry's trip home a while back seemed to take a lot of travel time. How far north did he live?

                  Anyway, for as much as he packed, he did manage to lug it all inside on his own. He bid Lottie farewell and reminded her to feed the cats before the doorman ushered him inside, almost in a hurry. Probably due to the biting cold, Louis figured. That'd make sense. Not that it mattered, as it was always bloody freezing inside the lobby as well.

                  Harry wasn't waiting for him there, and he hadn't expected him to. The poet is likely still packing, or if Louis knew him like he thought he did, pacing. Maybe crying – he sounded like he might cry on the phone, so he could be doing that by now. Louis picked up his pace, hustling into the nearest elevator and poking the button for Harry's floor.

                  The stretch of hall he'd have to trek down before he reached 52J was alarmingly long today, but he pushed the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows and began dragging his luggage without hesitation. Before he even reached the door, he could hear Harry babbling to someone on the phone inside. Louis knocked three times.

                  Harry opened the door, his phone pressed against his ear, and he looked for all the world like he hasn't slept in a week. There were bags under his eyes that Louis didn't remember ever seeing there before, and with his hair thrown up into a messier bun than usual, Harry looked...older.

                  As a greeting, Harry quickly leaned forward and kissed Louis' forehead, off-center like he wasn't in a right enough mind to aim, so it landed somewhere between the area just above his left eyebrow and his temple. And then he was gone, retreating to his bedroom probably to finish packing. Louis left all of his stuff right there near the doorway, shut the door behind him, and hurried to help his frantic boyfriend.

                  "...and I get that, right, but how long until the train gets here, Ed? Will it get here in time to get me there in time? I mean, I'm..." Harry was saying, trailing off and kind of panting as if he didn't have enough breath to fully say everything he needed to.

                  Louis spotted clothes essentially strewn everywhere across Harry's bed and even still half-folded on the floor. There was an open suitcase on the dresser near the other side of the room, and Harry looked to have given up on caring about what his clothes would look like after just tossing them inside. Most of them were no longer folded, and there didn't appear to be a rhyme or reason to what Harry was packing.

                  Deciding to reign in his own questions and concerns about Harry's mum (and also his mild excitement about meeting Harry's family and finally learning about his hometown) until later, Louis gently pushed Harry's hands out of the way of the suitcase and began folding everything inside of it. He organized the mess that had piled up in there, and then he continued packing, seeking out all the important things Harry seemed to have forgotten in his haste, like underwear and socks.

                  When almost every article of clothing that had taken up residence on Harry's bed and floor were packed, Louis slipped into the kitchen to see what Harry had in terms of drinks. Unsurprisingly, he found what he needed for the peppermint hot cocoa he knew Harry loved, and he went to work creating it.

                  By the time he was finished, Harry was off the phone. He sauntered into the kitchen, and suddenly, he no longer looked older than usual. Now he looked younger, like a little boy terrified about the fate of his mother. He stood beside Louis until the hot cocoa was properly stirred, and when Louis slid it over, Harry ignored it and reached for Louis' hands instead.

                  "It's my fault," he said, practically a whimper.

                  "It's not," Louis said immediately. "It just happens sometimes."

                  Harry was shaking his head before Louis even finished speaking. "It's my fault because I wouldn't do what she wanted me to, what everyone wanted me to. She took it all on herself, and it was too much for her. She already did too much, always worked too hard. My fault."

                  Though he hadn't remembered this before, Louis recalled again the first time Harry had gone home. There had been some reason his whole family wanted him to stay, something they'd wanted him to do. That must be what he's on about now, what his mum must have taken on in his absence.

                  And although he promised proof, Louis didn't respond because he couldn't. He didn't know enough. He wouldn't know enough until they arrived or until someone told them about Harry's mum's status. Hopefully the train ride wouldn't be too long.

❄●❄

                  LOUIS PEEKED OVER at Harry, who has finally calmed down to the point of absolute silence. It's been two hours since their train departed. But while Harry appeared to be much more comforted, Louis was feeling the absolute opposite.

                  He wasn't sure what had him so on edge, but the entire atmosphere of this contraption was unlike any other train he's ever been on. The people were different, the conductor was different, the...the air was different. And Louis didn't like it. Not one bit.

                  Unfortunately for him, he had no clue how long he'd be enduring it, either. Harry wasn't speaking. He kept his hands clasped in his lap and stared out his window, a darkening London long disappeared, replaced by snow-covered forests and seemingly unoccupied lands stretching out before them that Louis didn't recognize at all. He had no idea where they were, where they were going, or how long it'd take to get there. But he couldn't find it in himself to bother Harry and ask.

                  So Louis fidgeted in his seat every so often, trying to piece together what was specifically making him so anxious. He thought it might just be the whole train in general, but normally even Harry's presence can quell those issues. This time it was like Harry was a part of the train, a part of whatever was putting Louis off. He hated that.

                  Perhaps he could sleep the trip away. They'd arrive, and Louis will have missed the entire thing, but at least once he woke they'd be able to get the hell off this piece of shit. And once they were off, Harry would be Harry and Louis would be fine, and God knows where they'd be but at least it wouldn't be here.

                  "Just so you know," Harry suddenly said, his voice soft and a little hoarse from not being used for a while. Louis looked over at him, but he continued to gaze out the window. "My home is nothing like Doncaster or London, or...probably anywhere you've ever been. Things are different there."

                  To keep things light-hearted, Louis wanted to reply with something snarky or sarcastic, his usual bravado, but Harry's voice was so grave that Louis felt that speaking up at all would be utterly inappropriate.

                  After a while, Harry continued, this time turning to look down at Louis. "You'll understand why I never told you about any of it."

                  "Is this your secret?"

                  Without missing a beat, Harry said, "Yes."

                  "I thought you wouldn't tell me yours until I told you mine?"

                  "You still have a secret?"

                  Louis' eyes dropped to his lap in something close to shame. It wasn't so much having accidentally admitted that he'd lied to Harry about having already told him the whole story. No, what was worse was hearing in Harry's question the fact that Harry had already known there was more to it. "Yes."

                  Another moment of silence followed, but then Harry said, "I was going to wait until you told me yours, but it looks like my secret just became a victim of circumstance."

                  Louis swallowed and closed his eyes, unsure of how to respond. Harry had known all along that Louis wasn't totally forthcoming. He had known and had just let Louis proceed, let him keep the secret. How long would that have lasted? Did Harry truly have enough faith in Louis that he thought a time would come when he would tell all? Or was he just trying to accept that Louis was a liar, would always be a liar?

                  Louis felt his heart hammering in his chest at the realization that he was on a path to losing the boy beside him. The poet, his boyfriend, his friend. Just to keep a secret. But Harry was keeping one too, and how long would that have gone on? Would he have just never brought Louis to meet his family? To see his hometown? What was happening?

                  Like he could hear Louis' thoughts, Harry reached for Louis' hand and squeezed it once. Louis's gaze shifted from his own lap to their clasped hands, and his worries eased a little, just for now.

                  Harry's voice was trembling slightly when he spoke. "I'm sorry in advance, Cheekbones."