Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The wind is cold as Harry kneels, but the boy in his lap is burning.

Time slips past, and he doesn’t know how long he stares, but Harry fights to keep his mind carefully blank.

The boy in his lap turns to look at him.

Louis.

Hope fills his chest and bursts into nothing in one smooth motion. Louis’ eyes drift over Harry’s face, but they’re empty, vacant. Harry wonders if he’s staring at the water in Harry’s hair, running down his cheeks, clinging to his eyelashes. As Harry watches, Louis turns away and starts to crawl mindlessly towards the lake.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is tiny. “Louis, please don’t. Louis?”

Louis’ hands are in the water, and then his elbows, and then his knees before Harry finally jumps to action. He wraps his arms around Louis’ middle, wincing at the harsh line of the man’s ribs and tugs him backwards. They fall together onto the cold ground; Louis’ back a hot weight against Harry’s chest.

“Louis, please, Louis?” Harry can feel the too-thin body shaking above him, and Louis’ dislocated arm hangs limply at his side. “Louis please say something?” Harry loosens his grip, waiting, but the man only pants quietly. “You need to come back Lou, please? For all of us, not just for me.”

Harry doesn’t know why he’s still talking; he’s not expecting an answer.

He tucks his chin over Louis’ trembling shoulder. “Don’t leave me Lou.” He whispers. “We can’t lose anyone else. Anyway, the others really like you. I promise Lou, Ed thinks you’re funny, and Reem thinks you’re strong, and Nick called you ‘cute for a mountain man’, which is pretty amazing coming from him, and Lux-- you can’t leave Lux, Lou. You just can’t.” Harry’s voice catches and he stops for breath.

All around, the wind tugs at the trees. Harry breaths out slowly, relaxing his arms. “I’ve been so scared Lou. I don’t want to lose you, I’ve only just found you, so you have to be ok, alright?” He moves a hand, stroking it gently down Louis’ over-heated side. He’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling. “But, I mean—you aren’t trapped or anything, ok? I know I’ve got you right now, and I’m so, so sorry, but when you’re better I mean, you aren’t trapped here. Not anymore. No one’s going to stop you if you want to go.”

Louis is calm in his arms, and Harry lets his arms drop. “Lou?” He whispers hopefully.

Louis jumps to his feet and bolts towards the water.

--

And now Louis won’t stop moving.

Harry blinks away the fresh tears in his eyes. His legs are tingling, and his muscles are burning but he can’t let go, Louis needs him.

He’s hauled the man out of the water for the second time, cringing every time Louis’ dislocated shoulder swings unnaturally, and now he’s holding him down; sitting on his legs and pinning his good arm. Louis’ eyes are rolling in his head as his back arches.

“Lou shhh, Louis you’re going to be ok, just hang on.” The platitudes don’t ease the cold weight in his stomach.

Harry shivers, unclenching his muscles for a second as Louis pauses and draws in a few shaky breaths.

Harry’s jumper is soaked and heavy and his jeans are clinging to his legs and the wind is so, so cold, but beneath him, Louis is still burning. Harry lets his shoulders drop and rests his forehead against Louis’ chest. The man’s putting out heat like a furnace, and Harry has never wished for someone to be frozen in his arms before, but he wishes for it now.

He can’t bear it. He can’t bear Louis’ struggling breaths or the pained noises every time his injured arm moves. He’s still now, but it won’t last. There’s blood on the man’s chest where his stitches have ripped, and the same arm that’s hanging loose from his shoulder is decorated with canine teeth marks and broken skin.

And impossibly, he’s still fighting.

You can do this.

Dimly, Harry wonders if maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to the man.

Harry takes a shaky breath. “You’ll be be ok, Lou. You will. You’re so strong. I can’t believe how strong you are. God, you’ve been through so much—You’re gunna be ok. We’ll get you the antidote, and we’ll pick up Lux and we’ll go home. You don’t need to worry about anything anymore Lou, it’s all going to be ok. We can decide what to do together. We--”

His voice catches and his throat tightens, and Harry coughs out a sob, tilting his head to rest his cheek against Louis’ fever-hot skin. “You’re going to be ok.” He whispers. “Please be ok.”

He screws his eyes shut, but the tears keep coming; hot and stinging, mingling with the lake water that’s wetting his face. “Please.”

Louis twists suddenly, nearly bucking Harry off, and Harry sits up with renewed panic. “Stop it! Lou, stop it! Stop!”

Louis’ eyes are still rolling and vacant, and it tightens Harry’s chest, sending spikes of fear through him. The smaller man is almost silent in his struggles – only twisting and turning in his fight to get free.

“Lou stop it!” Harry chokes out, fear stealing his voice.

It isn’t right. Harry grits his teeth as the panic suddenly morphs into a wave of anger; ripping through his exhausted mind. How can this be right? Louis has fought so hard! It isn’t fair!

Harry drops his weight fully, pinning the smaller man to the ground and searching his face desperately, but there’s nothing he can recognise in those blue eyes.

He chokes out another sob. This isn’t Louis. Louis is cautious curiosity and dry humour and quiet strength, he’s cheeky and generous and humble and enduring. This isn’t Louis!

Harry shivers as the wind picks up, mirroring the chaos in his chest, tossing branches around carelessly and stirring up the hard forest floor.

Something crashes behind him, and more branches fall, and leaves rustle, and suddenly Harry realises that it’s not the wind, and he can hear movement and footfalls and that there are people rushing through the bushes.

He lifts his head in alarm, searching the trees desperately.

“Harry!”

His heart is in his mouth and he’s so dizzy he can’t see. Liam. The relief that sweeps through him is like an electric current.

“Liam!” His voice is rough and shaky and he clears his throat, taking a few slow breaths. “Liam! We’re over here! Liam! I’ve got him!” He cranes his neck desperately. Please. Please.

“Harry? Harry!” And now it’s Zayn shouting out through the trees, Harry turns towards the sound and finally he can see them – two dark shapes crashing towards him.

Please.

He holds his breath, waiting, waiting, and then there’s a rush of air and movement and he can smell blood and sweat and dirt and there’s a plastic bottle being waved in front of his face and Harry’s shaking so hard that he can’t even reach for it.

“Harry! Harry we’ve got the antidote! We found it! We’ve got it!”

And then Zayn’s behind him helping to pin Louis’ legs and Liam’s uncapping the bottle and another sob escapes Harry as he collapses to the side, curling around Louis’ struggling body, tucking his nose into his tangled, wet hair as all the fight goes out of him and the world turns quiet. “We’ve got the antidote Lou.” Harry whispers, exhaustedly. He kisses the side of Louis’ head. “You’ll be ok.”

***

Louis is confused.

There's heat, and water, and heat, and pain, and cold, and pain.

And then there's Niall.

--

There's crying.

It's his family, Louis thinks, but then maybe it's not.

--

There's a flash of blonde, after that, and a burst of laughter, and then quiet talking and a weight in his hand.

And then there's more talking, endless talking, and Louis is floating in grey and mist and sometimes he feels pain, and other times he feels nothing at all, and sometimes there’s crying, and other times there’s silence.

--

And slowly, slowly, everything starts to fade, and Louis lets out a breath.

--

But then there’s more crying, and suddenly Louis thinks that maybe he’s not ok with that? Maybe he wants the crying to stop?

He does want the crying to stop.

He needs the crying to stop.

He can’t bear it. He can’t listen to it. He never could stand by while somebody cried.

So he takes the breath back, and the crying hesitates.

But it doesn’t stop, it hasn’t stopped.

So he sucks in another breath, and another, and it hurts. It hurts so much, and he’s so tired, but the crying has stopped, so Louis keeps doing it.

--

“—don’t—Lou – please?”

Everything hurts. Lou. A memory tugs at Louis, but he doesn’t know what it is, he can’t grasp it, and the pain is making everything foggy.

There’s more grey, and then something strokes across his forehead, trailing water over his skin.

Water. No. No! He twists, but he can’t get away, and he can’t understand why water’s bad, but it is. He knows it is. It’s wet. It’s bad.

He twists again and suddenly the pain’s gone and the fog swirls back up and then he’s back to feeling nothing.

--

“—ouis? –Can –me?”

There’s Niall.

Louis doesn’t understand it, but the man’s everywhere. Blonde hair in his dreams. Blonde hair in front of his eyes.

--

“Louis?”

And there’s Harry. Louis sees him a lot – long hair moving in and out of his vision.

Sometimes it hurts, and Louis wonders if maybe he survived, and he’s slowly dying. Other times, there’s no pain, and Louis thinks that maybe he’s already dead. On those days he’s sad to see Harry. He hasn’t seen Lux though, so at least she might be alive.

There’s more water, this time on his lips, and he’s so thirsty, so very thirsty, but water’s bad, isn’t it?

“N--” His voice isn’t working, and he jerks himself back, but it sends a wave of feeling through him, and it’s too much to process, and then there’s water dripping down his neck, down his chest, and he tries to shout but his voice isn’t working and more of the silent grey rushes up to swallow him.

--

There’s no more water after that, but something soft and spongey is put into Louis’ mouth sometimes, and then there’s wet trickling down his throat, but it’s not on his head, and it’s not touching his face. He thinks it might be ok.

--

“Louis, can you hear me?”

Louis is cold.

He’s cold, and it’s the best feeling in the world. He never wants to be warm again.

He shivers, and suddenly there’s a hand on his forehead and then a loud exhale.

The hand moves away. “Looks like your temperature’s coming down, let’s get you a blanket shall we?” The voice sounds kind, but he doesn’t know it, and before he can say anything there’s something heavy pressing onto his body, weighing him down, pinning his arms.

He tries to push it away, but his arms aren’t working, and he’s starting to get warm, no he’s getting hot, and he doesn’t want to be hot, he’ll burn, he can’t burn, he doesn’t want to burn!

He rolls his body to the side and yelps as it sends shooting pains down his arms and neck, and he tries to spin back, but he’s trapped and it hurts and his vision is starting to fade out again.

And then suddenly there’s a new voice, and it’s shouting to ‘Take it off him!’, and it’s a voice he knows, and the weight is gone and the cold rushes back and the relief makes his eyes water.

“He doesn’t like the blankets, they upset him, he likes to be cold.” The voice is calmer now, and it’s sinking into his bones, helping him to relax. “It’s ok Lou, just go back to sleep, I’ve got you.”

He thinks he hears an apology from someone, but he’s so tired and he isn’t hot anymore so he lets his eyes fall shut and sinks back into the grey.

--

There’s pain again. A lot of pain, and a sort of sickening sense of movement, and Louis’ ears are ringing with whispered apologies.

And then it stops.

Am I dead?

***

The blonde haired man’s chest moves slowly, each breath sleep-heavy and soothing.

Niall.

The name comes to him suddenly as Louis stares over at him.

It’s Niall.

Louis turns his head to stare at the light grey ceiling. Niall being here isn’t helping his chances of being alive.

Then again, death looks an awful lot like Harry’s living room.

Only there’s a second bed next to him. With Niall in it.

Or maybe, ghost Niall?

Blue eyes blink slowly open, and a careful grin spreads across the face of the figure that might be Niall.

“You’re looking better.” The voice has an Irish lilt to it.

Louis stares. His head is too heavy to nod, so he huffs, his breath slipping out in a quiet grunt.

“Sucks doesn’t it?”

Louis frowns. What sucks? Being dead? Is this Niall’s way of telling him he’s dead?

“Pretty sure the movies said cyanide’s supposed to be painless.”

Cyanide? Louis shuts his eyes. Cyanide.

Broken shreds of memory tease him; something about a ruined jaw, something about cyanide. Another blonde dances in front of his eyes, and he gets the urge to giggle. Bond. James Bond. There’s a memory maybe, something about cyanide tearing away a man’s face?

Was that what happened? Had Louis lost his face? He tries to bring up his hands, but his arms aren’t moving. But, no… Louis moves his jaw carefully from side to side. That can’t be right.

Not real then, a film—that’s right, it was a film. Louis opens his eyes – had he shut them? He must have shut them. Niall’s still lying there, jaw intact. Definitely a film. He should watch it again sometime.

“Or maybe they just had more painkillers back then.”

Oh, of course. The world ended, didn’t it? No more films then.

Bits and pieces are coming back to Louis, and it’s painfully familiar, pun intended. But that must mean—he’s alive?

Niall is frowning at him seriously, and Louis has a moment of panic that they actually are dead, and Niall’s just working up the courage to tell him, but it passes quickly as the man nods.

“I reckon you’re still a bit out of it aren’t ya Louis?”

Louis snorts, and it hurts, but Niall grins and he thinks it was probably worth it.

“All right mate, let’s see if we can communicate. One blink for no, two for yes?”

Louis’ eyes keep falling shut, and he tries to force them to move for him, but he isn’t sure if it worked.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hah.

“Do you know where you are?”

Two blinks.

Harry’s rooms. He’s probably in that bloody nightie again. What had Lux called it? The sick dress?

Louis winces.

“Ah, that’s good!” Niall grins. “You remember Harry’s rooms?”

Two blinks.

He remembers.

Niall’s grin widens. “Harry’s here. He’s been taking care of us, but there’s a lot of other stuff to be done. Lux is here too, but Harry’s taking her with him these days- introducing her to everyone. I think he’s worried she might jump on you if he leaves her here.”

Louis flexes his toes, wincing at the sparks of pain that shoot through him. It’s probably for the best, that.

“He wouldn’t let her see you until the doc said you’d be ok. I wasn’t awake for most of it, but if it was worse than how you look now, it can’t have been great. Sorry mate, your looks have taken a bit of a beating. We’ll get you sorted though, soon enough. There’ll be a few of us going through rehab.”

Louis looks at him more carefully, his vision a little cloudy, but when he focuses he can just about make out the hollow cheeks and grey tint to the man’s skin.

Two blinks.

“Right, what else. You know they found Liam right?”

Louis hesitates. Maybe he isn’t remembering everything--? He thinks—he thinks he probably had known that, but it’s all so blurry. He’s frowning, and he can’t remember what happened, and he doesn’t know how he got here, and weren’t there monsters? Dogs? There was water wasn’t there? He was burning?!

“Louis?” Niall frowns. “Liam’s fine, he-- Ah shit, I’m sorry mate, I’m doing this all wrong aren’t I? Listen, we’re in Harry’s rooms, you’ve been out for six days, Harry’s here, Lux is here, Liam’s safe, ok? You’re safe.”

Safe.

The panic leaves him as quickly as it arrived, his body too exhausted to hold on to it.

Safe.

Louis shuts his eyes to blink, and when he opens them again Niall’s sitting up, and there are long shadows where there weren’t before.

“Lou?” Another voice, Harry’s voice, but Louis’ eyes have fallen shut again, and all he can do is nudge his cheek into the hand that drops down to brush against it. “Hey Lou.” Harry whispers.

And then there are footsteps, and this time there’s a heavy hand on his ankle, and a different voice. “Welcome back mate.”

Liam.

And then there are more footsteps; light, quiet footsteps, and two tiny hands reach up and grip his palm, and another voice, this one curious, excited, small. “Lou-e?”

We did it.

Louis smiles as he slips into sleep.

--

It’s strange to know that he’s free. Louis thinks he should feel more about it, but it’s just – strange. He’s not sure he believes it. The curtains are open, the door’s unlocked… he’s not a prisoner anymore. It’s a victory maybe, but it doesn’t feel like one.

It’s not like he could leave anyway. His arm reminds him daily that it’s recently been pulled from its socket, and his chest and ribs have never really had the chance to recover.

The pain is constant; sometimes aching, sometimes stabbing, but Louis is glad of it. It takes his mind off the shadows that move in the corners of his eyes, from the dryness in his throat. Phantom echoes that chase him in his sleep. There’s a bang from outside and his heart races.

His eyes dart around the familiar room, searching for a distraction.

“The window’s open.” Louis’ voice is rough, but Niall’s been encouraging him to try and use it.

“He speaks!”

Louis glares. Maybe next time he won’t bother.

Niall laughs beside him, glee abruptly morphing into a wince. “Oww.” Niall pauses, shuffling to sit himself up. “‘suppose I deserved that.”

Louis snorts. “Window.” He prompts.

“Ah right. It’s on account of Lux.”

Lux? Louis shakes his head, confused.

“Well she’s not had much chance to go outside, ‘specially not in daylight, so Harry’s letting her have the windows open.” Niall pauses and shrugs. “And of course, someone’s allergic to being warm.” He says carefully.

Louis flinches. He’s not burning anymore, and that’s what matters. He shivers, grateful for every gust of cold air that tugs at the open curtains. “You only succumbed f’ five minutes.”

There’s an affronted snort from the next bed over. “Ah so that’s how it’s going to be? I get you to talk and this is how you repay me?” The blonde is smiling his wide smile and Louis thinks that they all might be a little giddy because somehow they’re all alive.

His lips quirk up.

“And he smiles!”

“Who’s smiling?” Harry putters quietly across the room, grinning widely, and something in Louis’ chest catches. He stops when he’s next to the bed, one knuckle dropping down to brush the curve of Louis’ lips. “You’re smiling Lou?” He mutters.

Louis’ smile inches up as warmth tingles down his neck.

“You’re looking better.”

Louis nods, his lips twitching.

“Well--” Harry grins, shaking his head. “Let’s get you sat up then. Doctor Niall, some assistance?”

“I’m recovering!”

“Nonsense, all that lazing around’s no good for you. Time you got back to work.”

Niall huffs and throws back the covers, slowly spinning his legs over the edge of the bed.

Louis stares.

He’s in the nightie.

He’s in the lacy, Victorian-style nightie.

Louis’ smile widens, and inside his head, tiny figures perform an elaborate victory dance. Niall’s in the sick dress. Niall’s in the sick dress, and that means that Louis isn’t.

“Shut up you.” Niall pokes a finger at him. “Just wait for it.”

Louis snorts again. Wait. All he ever does is wait. He is the fucking Olympic champion of waiting. Even when he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

Harry carefully pulls Niall to his feet.

“I’m up!” Niall starts to wobble. “I’m not up! Hazza save me!”

More warmth tingles through Louis’ chest as Harry gently lowers the Irishman back down onto his bed with a chuckle. “Maybe not today then.” Louis can hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “But you did really well, good job Niall!”

“You realise I’m not three, right Hazza?”

Harry grins, turning away as Niall rearranges himself on the bed. “Looks like it’s just you and me then Lou.”

Louis grits his teeth as Harry leans forwards, the man’s long hair brushing Louis’ cheek. It smells clean, and Louis has to fight the urge to bury his nose in it.

“After three Lou.” Harry’s lips brush the shell of his ear and he shivers.

“One, two,” Louis takes a deep breath as Harry counts.

“Three.” Louis whispers back.

Harry’s arms are strong as he slots one behind Louis’ back, gently pulling him up and back, and Louis takes a deep breath as he’s settled against the pillows. He’s up! He’s actually sitting up! His vision is a little spotty, and his head is spinning, but he’s upright!

“You did it Lou.” Harry whispers, pressing a gentle kiss onto Louis’ cheek.

Warmth floods through him, and his smile widens.

“Ok, seeing as you’re up, shall we try a drink?”

Harry darts away, still smiling and jogging back a moment later with two mugs. He sets one down on the table and then heads purposefully towards Louis.

“You first Lou, you’re probably a bit dehydrated.”

Dehydrated. Louis’ thoughts start to slow. He swallows thickly, finally focusing on his body, letting in the feelings that he’s been so carefully blocking out.

He’s thirsty.

His throat feels thick and his body aches and he’s so thirsty.

It sends a hot flush of adrenaline through him, and his heart speeds up.

In the corner of the room, something moves. Another wave of heat floods through him, scalding, and he’s so thirsty.

Something cool presses to his lips, and that’s ok, but then it tilts and there’s water, and he’s too hot and thirsty and he wants it but he can’t have water, he’s supposed to be better, he doesn’t want to die, and the water splashes against his lips and he slams them together, and then there’s water splashing onto his chin and dripping down his chest and he’s not supposed to be wet! He doesn’t want to be wet, he doesn’t want it!

He tries to move away but he’s too heavy, and he’s drowning, wet and thirsty and trapped under the water, and he holds his breath desperately, his chest starting to throb and his head spinning.

Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t drown.

And someone’s shouting at him, and there are hands on him and it’s the same as before and Louis remembers the pain and he doesn’t want it!

And then suddenly there’s no weight on his chest, and no hands, and there’s cold air on his bare arms.

“Louis can you hear me? You need to breathe. Louis you’re in our rooms, you’re safe. You’re healthy. You’re not drowning. You’re ok. You need to breathe.”

The voice keeps going, and Louis latches onto it.

“Louis you’re safe. You’re lying on a bed, can you feel it? You’re on a bed and you need to breathe. Can you breathe?”

His lips are pressed shut, and his head is swimming, but Louis shifts slightly, and it’s… soft. It’s not the forest floor. It’s not wet.

“Louis you’re in our rooms. You’re lying on a bed, it’s soft. There are blankets on your legs. There’s a chair just by your hand.”

Louis’ hand reaches out and bumps into something. It’s hard. It’s plastic. It’s cold.

He’s in Harry’s rooms.

Louis sucks in a breath, and it feels strange, but it feels ok, so he takes another one, and he coughs, and this time there’s no water, so he does it again.

He’s in Harry’s rooms. He’s not drowning. He’s in Harry’s rooms.

“Louis you’re ok. You’re safe. You’re here.”

I’m here. Louis looks up, letting his eyes focus, and there’s the grey tile of the ceiling. I’m still here.

His pulse is racing, but his breathing is starting to even out.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“Lou, it’s ok. It’s understandable.”

Louis shakes his head.

“Lou, look at me. I’m going to need you to trust me on this.”

Louis keeps his eyes trained firmly on the ceiling.

“Lou,” Harry’s voice is slow and cautious. “Can I touch you?”

His skin feels a little like it doesn’t belong to him, and his heart is still racing, but Louis is so tired of being afraid, and maybe it’s not the best idea, but he nods.

Harry’s hand grazes carefully down his arm, and he’s using his knuckles, stroking gently, and oh. He is here. He’s safe. He’s with Harry, and this is real.

He takes a slow shaky breath. He’s not ok. But there are people here who need him to try, so he clears his throat. “Try again?”

“I—are you sure? We can try to make a straw out of something.”

Louis shakes his head carefully, still looking at the ceiling. “Again.”

“Ok Lou.” Harry whispers, slowly bringing the mug towards him. “We’ll try again. Can you think of anything that might help?”

Louis opens his mouth to say no, but then—“Your voice.”

Harry smiles.

--

They try again, and this time Louis focuses on the mug as it presses cold and heavy against his lips, blocking out the feeling in his body. He focuses on Harry’s voice, letting it ground him, reminding him where he is. He focuses on the soft mattress beneath him, and the scratch of the sheets.

The water is cold, and that makes it easier, and once he’s holding the mug securely Harry pulls his blankets off that the breeze from the open window is biting at his legs. It sends cold shivers through him, and that helps too. He sips carefully as his heart finally starts to slow down.

Harry smiles again. “Good work Lou.” He takes the mug back when it’s finally empty and carefully lowers it to the floor.

Louis hasn’t had much use for embarrassment these past years, but his sudden outburst has left him feeling flushed and shaky, and he still can’t bring himself to look over at where Harry’s taking Niall his own mug.

“Louis, it’s ok.” Niall’s lilting voice filters through the quiet. “It’s not like you’re alone here. Didn’t you wonder why we’ve got mugs and not glasses?”

Louis shakes his head. He hadn’t, why would he?

Niall huffs self depreciatingly. “That one’s on me mate, I can’t stand to see that water. Dunno what I’ll do when it rains. Don’t know why either, I never made it to a lake or anything, and the heat was worse than the thirst. To be honest Lou, there’s a reason I’m ok with the windows being open in April. It’s bloody freezing in here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Something warm takes root in Louis’ chest, and he finally allows himself to look over at the blonde. His eyes are sparkling, and beside him, Harry’s smiling.

On cue, a gust of cold air blows through the window and Louis shivers, opening his mouth, but Niall keeps going, a thread of mischief creeping into his voice.

“And you really should notice Louis, I mean, you’re not exactly dressed for it, if you know what I mean.”

Louis frowns at their grinning faces. He’s in a blue t-shirt – the soft blue t-shirt that he’d ended up in the last time he was recovering here in fact. Harry’s t-shirt.

Harry’s grin widens.

Maybe the stress of it all has been too much for them? It’s just a t-shirt.

“Wha…”

Harry grins and nods towards Louis’ uncovered legs.

Louis frowns and looks down and oh.

Oh.

He’s wearing a skirt.

A lacy, soft yellow skirt.

It matches.

“It’s for easier access Lou.” Harry’s face is the picture of innocence, and something tight and painful and tense finally uncoils from Louis, falling away and leaving him lighter.

“Easy access my arse.” Louis huffs.

Harry grins cheekily. “Exactly.”

What—Oh.

Oh.

Warmth spreads out, easing through him and brightening some spark that Louis had thought was long gone.

He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Harry.” Louis taunts. ”All you had to do was ask.”

There’s a moment of silence, as Harry and Niall both stare in surprise, and then Niall is turning to grin up at Harry, and a flush is creeping up Harry’s neck.

And then Louis is snorting quietly, letting a slow smile creep over his face, and suddenly Niall’s snickering, and Harry starts to chuckle, and their laughing and they’re alive and Louis feels better than he has in years.

--

The days go by in a haze of recovery and sleep, and bit by bit, the world goes on.

Pain is a constant companion, but it keeps his mind off of other things; stops the memories from being overwhelming. Louis never thought he’d be grateful for pain before.

There are other problems though; he’s jumping at shadows and he’s hyper vigilant. Harry comes in and out occasionally, supplying Louis with quiet words and small touches and they help a little, relaxing him one muscle at a time.

Days pass quietly, and Louis finally realises that maybe Harry’s trying to give him space, only it just makes him nervous, and he’s trying to give him quiet, but that only leaves Louis with his thoughts, and eventually Louis can’t take it any more, and he breaks, and he confesses.

I can’t take the silence.

And so they talk.

Louis learns that Simon’s creatures – the ones that the guards released – are all dead, most of them killed by the survivors during the fight, and those that ran outside had simply drowned. The pregnant creatures, he learns, are still there, being cared for by the guards. He tries not to think about it, but sometimes he imagines he hears the sound of sandpaper.

There’s a funeral service for all those who were lost, and Louis and Niall aren’t well enough to go, so Harry writes them a list of names of the dead. They spend the evening going through them, Niall telling Louis stories about the ones he knew, and Louis trading stories of his own old compound and the people he’s lost. It’s sad, and a bit strange, but by the end of it all Louis thinks they both might be better off.

After that, Liam comes to visit, and though the conversation is stilted and uncomfortable, Louis is glad of it. He thinks he might even forgive the man when he learns that Liam hadn’t known what was going on any more than he had, not until those last two days, and he hadn’t been working with Simon, not really.

“I didn’t know what to do.” He confesses to Louis one night after Niall’s fallen asleep. “I thought we’d lost him,” he nods over at the blonde, “and then Simon said he’d dosed everyone else as well and the only way to save you was to keep you all afraid. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Louis nods and reaches out to squeeze his hand.

After that things are better between them, and another weight falls from Louis’ shoulders.

Lux is in and out of their rooms, nervous around Liam at first, but warming up quickly, and Harry tells him that she still struggles with being outside in the daylight, but she’s getting used to it, and she’s ok as long as Harry or Zayn are there.

Louis doesn’t think he would trust Zayn with Lux, but he trusts Harry, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.

Days pass, and it’s familiar for Louis and yet different. It’s the same place, and the same people, but there are no secrets, and somehow it’s both happier, and much, much sadder. The first time Liam smiles at him again, carefree and happy, it hits Louis that he did that, that maybe he has a place here, and when Harry sits beside him and slowly chokes out that Louis is free to go if he feels he needs to, Louis finally accepts that he doesn’t want to.

Harry hands him back a tiny ball of tinfoil, confessing that he took it with a shaky tear that Louis doesn’t understand. He looks down at it, carefully – it’s been rolled up too tightly to be used again, as if Harry had understood that it was important, but not really why. He smiles down at it and squeezes Harry’s hand.  

Later, he has Lux gather some sturdy bits of twine, and the two of them weave a necklace around it that she wears proudly. His heart lifts when he catches Harry staring at it with a dopey smile.

A few days later, a new doctor is brought in, and Louis learns that the two compounds are living together temporarily whilst everyone heals. He also learns that Reem isn’t looking so good – the cyanide dose she was given was too much for her body, and she’s been comatose ever since.

“You can’t always tell how much is in a bottle.” Harry tells him and Niall quietly one evening, after Lux has been sent to bed and the twilight is flickering through the open curtains. “We’re mostly using apple pips, but you can’t tell how much is in each one. Maybe if Lou was still here--”

She was their chemist, Louis remembers.

The three of them wince, and Harry squeezes his hand before bidding them both goodnight and heading away.

It’s a heavy weight on the compound, the people that were lost, and Louis wonders if they’re talking about it, and if they’ve discussed what to do about those of them that are left. Once, he gathers up his courage and asks Harry, who shakes his head and mumbles something about a meeting. They’re going to have a meeting.

“When?” Louis asks.

“There are big decisions to make. We’re waiting until everyone can be there.” Harry replies gently, and it’s enough for Louis to work it out.

Me. Niall’s not walking yet, but he’d be strong enough to go if he needed to. They’re waiting for him. It makes something warm settle in his chest.

A few days after that conversation, a nervous Zayn comes to visit, and Louis and Niall finally get to hear his side of the story.

“You should have told us.” Niall snaps at him, when he hears that Zayn had been trying to dtop(stop) Simon all along. “We would have listened.”

Zayn swallows nervously. “I didn’t think— everyone trusted Simon. I thought if it came down to him against me--”

We’re all strangers, really.

“You thought we wouldn’t believe you.” Liam mutters sadly, from where he’s sitting cross legged on Niall’s bed.

Behind Louis’ own bed, Harry stands silently.

After that the story comes out quickly, the five of them piecing it together with the help of Simon’s five guards. “They’re not settling in so well,” Harry tells Louis after his first meeting with them. “People are blaming them. Mostly they stay at the hospital, taking care of the patients.”

They should be blamed, Louis thinks spitefully, and then he feels guilty for hours afterwards, because they’ve all done terrible things in the name of survival, and what would Louis have done if someone he trusted had told him it was the right thing to do?

“They thought it was the only way,” Harry told him, “in the beginning”.

In the beginning, the government had set up crisis centres, and Simon himself was just an ordinary worker, somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy, giving orders certainly, but not much else.

They never found out what his previous occupation had been, but the man had taken to organizing like it was in his blood.

But then more and more people had died, chipping away at their power structure, and it had been Simon who’d understood what was important: transport and communication.

Simon had swept in with confidence and began gathering resources – both materials and people. He’d made sure that he knew everything that was going on, trying to cut off problems before they happened, setting up experiments, arranging his staff to be trained with practical skills. He’d understood power, and perhaps more importantly, Simon had understood people.

When there had been hope, he’d used his institutes as a beacon, welcoming people and promising safety and a future. When hope had run out, he’d used his institutes as a threat. “People need something to fight against.” He’d told Zayn once.

Maybe it had even helped, for a while.

But as the population had continued to shrink, Simon’s methods became crueller and crueller in the name of Humanity. And one day, when they’d finally found a way to keep their species going and it was looking like they might be saved, something finally changed.

Because one day, a scientist called Lauren looked down at what she had done – at that first pregnant patient, screaming and desperate, and she’d decided that this wasn’t humanity. Humanity was already dead.

So she’d gone to her friend Zayn – one of the early volunteers who Simon had taken a shine to – and together they agreed to do something.

At first, they tried to bring more people to their cause, but Simon was the master of manipulation, and somehow no one ever stayed convinced for long.

So they waited. “It wasn’t easy.” Zayn confesses quietly. The room is silent, and lit only by moonlight. Atmospheric, Louis thinks. “But we couldn’t risk Simon finding out our plans. It was horrible. We were waiting for enough of Simon’s supporters to die, and—we wanted them to die.” He admits it quietly – a thread of horror in his voice, and Louis finally lets himself forgive Zayn, because it’s clear that the man will never forgive himself.

He carries on with the story, and they learn that Simon had slowly merged his compounds together, splitting the people into groups. A few hundred he let live outside, farming and supplying him with the necessities. The majority, he kept in hospitals, experimenting on them in his quest for a cure, and a very small number, a number including Louis, were tagged with radio transmitters and left to fend for themselves.

“How did we not know?” Harry whispers.

“He didn’t want us to.” Niall replies, just as quietly. “He told us what we wanted to hear and we believed it.”

There’s silence, as the four of them are lost in thought until Zayn picks the story back up. “After that, Lux was born.” He tells them.

Lux had been born, and so Zayn and Lauren had put off their plans; just until she was a little older, just to be sure she would be safe. And for a few years they plotted and planned and watched as more and more people died, and then finally time ran out, and Zayn lost the one person who was keeping him going. He lost Lauren. “I should have done something then.” Zayn admits, and Louis thinks he can see him shaking. Harry sets a hand on the man’s arm. “I should have, but Lauren was dead, and I was so afraid. I couldn’t do it.”

Zayn had convinced himself to wait, and so he had, until Louis came.

“Louis was the tipping point.” Harry whispers, and Zayn nods.

“The experiments were so horrible, but no one new was coming in – or no one healthy at least, and I’d gotten used to it.” Zayn turns to him then and smiles sadly. “And then you came Louis, and I remembered that I’d promised Lauren that not one single person more would go into that hospital. Not like that.”

They all pause, lost in thought.

I’m sorry. Louis thinks, but then he’s not really sure that he is.

Zayn clears his throat. “I thought the only way that people would listen was if they saw it for themselves. Some of the hospital compound – Ameeta’s people had started to succumb, and Simon had taken them. I told them their people were here.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Harry whispers.

“I know.”

“People died.” Liam’s voice is empty.

“I know.” Zayn’s voice is shaking. “I was wrong. I know that now. I didn’t think—I was desperate. And it’s worse…” How can it be worse? “I think Simon was dosing his own compound. I think he might have been doing it all along, so that he always had people to experiment on.”

Louis feels sick, and he reaches out blindly with his hand until he finds Harry’s. Warm fingers wrap instantly around his. It helps, a little.

“You told me Simon was going to take Lux away.” Harry says, when the silence is starting to make Louis’ head throb.

“I wanted someone to come. I needed someone to see. I only had one chance – if Simon found out what I was trying to do he’d have killed me, so I tried everything. Ameeta wouldn’t have believed that Simon would take his own compound members, so I told her to come here, and I made it so that you would go there. I’m so sorry.”

“He experimented on me.” Niall whispers.

“I’m sorry.” Zayn chokes out, and Harry can hear the tears in his voice. “Niall I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself, I--”

“Zayn, stop. Stop. I know mate, I know.”

“It was my fault. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, and you made some shitty choices, but you’re no more to blame for what Simon did than we are for not knowing, or Louis is for being the catalyst. Zayn, Simon was to blame. Not us.”

Another weight falls from Louis, and he hadn’t even known it was there. He squeezes Harry’s hand.

The nightly talks continue for a few days, and Zayn learns that Simon had helped convince Ameeta to attack Harry’s compound as part of his ‘vaccination’ experiment. “I’ll kill him.” Zayn grits out.

“He’s already dead.” Harry whispers.

“It’s not enough.”

“I know.”

It’s not much, but after that, something settles in Zayn and Louis is grateful, if only for the affect it has on Harry, Liam and Niall. It’s taking time, but slowly they’re recovering. One night Louis wakes with a start to find Harry sprinting into his rooms.

“Lou? Louis?!”

“Harry?” Louis rolls onto his side and looks over, and Harry sags with relief.

“I thought—I dreamed--” Harry walks over and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Sorry.” He stands for a moment, quietly looking from Louis to a still sleeping Niall. “It’s going to take some time isn’t it.”

“We’ll be ok.” Louis whispers back.

“We will. We’ll be ok.”

Louis offers his hand and Harry takes it and squeezes it, holding it against his chest for a moment.

“We’ll be ok.” Harry says again, and he presses a kiss to the back of Louis’ hand before he lets it go. “Night Lou.”

“Night Haz.” Lou whispers back.

One evening, Louis finds out that Greg has run away. “We don’t think he’s succumbed.” Liam says, after a day spent searching for him. “It seems like he couldn’t take the guilt. He blames himself for what happened.”

“He killed people.” Louis points out, and then feels guilty when he sees the three other wince.

After a long, painful conversation, Louis learns that Simon had taken the man’s sister. “We don’t know if she went looking, or if he just took her,” Harry says, “but Greg found out and Simon used it against him. He promised to let her go if Greg did what he asked. I don’t think he really understood what he was doing. Simon told him it was a vaccine, he didn’t know what would happen.”

They keep looking for Greg, but there’s no sign of him.

Time moves on, and slowly, the compound returns to normal, and then one evening, as April turns to May and Niall is walking short distances and Louis can stand on his own, Harry sits them down and tells them that it’s time to decide what to do with the rest of Simon’s patients.

“When?” Louis asks.

“Tomorrow.”

--

Morning comes quickly, and somehow Louis finds he and Niall have gone from slowly helping each other wash and dress to waiting, silent and pale for Harry to collect them. They’re both perched on the edge of Louis’ bed, and the strain is making Louis’ head throb.

“What do you think we should do?” Niall’s usually cheery brogue is tight and quiet.

Louis shakes his head.

Niall sighs. “Harry should be here by now.”

They sit in silence a little longer, until the front door quietly clicks open and the man in question pokes his head round.

His face is blank, and it sends a shiver down Louis’ back, but some life comes back into his eyes when he glances over.

“I’ve brought you some presents.” His smile is weak, but it’s there at least.

Beside Louis, Niall perks up, a wide eyed expression on his face that Louis has remembered is curiosity. He’s getting good with faces now.

Harry pushes the door open and Louis leans forwards to get a better look. His eyes widen. How—

“Wheelchairs?” There’s incredulity in Niall’s voice, but his grin is widening and Louis can read the excitement on his face. “Where on earth did you find wheelchairs? I thought they were all gone? Simon said--”

The room abruptly turns sombre as Niall cuts himself off with a heavy sigh.

Louis snorts quietly. Simon. He watches silently while Harry wheels the two chairs into the room. There’s a suspicious reddish-brown stain on one of the arms.

Harry parks them both by the bed, and walks over to Louis as Niall starts the process of levering himself into one. “He was using them to move his patients around.”

Niall hesitates for a second, and Louis sees the exact second that he registers the blood.

The trip to the meeting is silent.

--

“There are ninety seven of us left.” Harry’s voice shakes a little, but he keeps his calm. “And that’s not counting the twenty seven poor souls still in the hospital.”

Louis shivers in his chair.

Everyone’s there – gathered in the large space of the cafeteria; some standing, some sitting on chairs, some on tables. There are new faces, and a few that Louis already recognises. He trades cautious smiles with Ed, and gets a thumbs up from Nick; relieved to find the man healthy after their compounds had fought. He sees the child from the hospital compound – the one he’d injured – sitting in the corner, his arm still in a sling with their doctor beside him, and there are the three new babies in the back, drawing looks of fear, joy and longing in equal measure. There’s Little Lux, staring around the room with wide-eyed curiosity from her stronghold in Zayn’s arms.

There are people missing though – Reem, and Lou – and Louis can feel the absence of more, even if he can’t picture their faces.

Two of Simon’s five guards are there – the others still taking care of the women in the hospital, but they’ve asked to waive their right to vote, and it might not be the most useful response to the guilt they must feel, but they’ve made their choice.

“You all will have heard now what Simon said.” Harry pauses. “Everyone south of Birmingham is in this room. That’s half of England and Wales. Gone.”

A few sounds of protest flit around the room, and Harry nods. “As people have pointed out, we don’t know how much of this is true. There might be other places like here. There might be other survivors.” Harry hesitates, and Louis knows that this is the bit he’s been dreading. “We’ll have to decide what we do about that later. But this is not what today’s meeting is for.”

He glances over at Ameeta, and she steps forwards, picking up the speech, reminding Louis that she was in charge at the hospital compound.

She nods. “As Harry says, we have a bigger decision to make today, not just for ourselves, but for our entire species.” A quiet muttering starts up, and Louis glances around the room, noting the uneasy faces. “I know it’s a big responsibility, and we don’t know who else is out there, but for now, we’re the only ones left, and we have to decide what type of people we want to be.”

The muttering grows louder, and she steps back, giving the floor to Harry.

He smiles weakly at her, and when he turns back to the crowd, his face is the blank mask that Louis has come to know and dread. But for once, Louis is glad that Harry has some kind of defence, because this isn’t a conversation anyone should have to start.

Louis can see his chest moving, deep steadying breaths, and Harry takes a long pause before he finally speaks. “We have to decide what to do with the last of Simon’s patients.”

Louis had expected some kind of response, but the room is quiet.

Louis gazes round at the sea of silent faces. Some angry, some blank, some afraid.

“I--” Harry clears his throat, and his voice is weak, and shaky. “The plan is to discuss the possible options, and then put them to a vote…” He trails off. 

More silence.

Louis should help. He opens his mouth, not really sure what he’s going to say, but Harry takes a deep breath and seems to steel himself.

“We have a few options, as far as I can see.” He lets out a slow breath, and his shoulders settle and his spine straightens. “We can kill the patients now, ending their suffering and killing the unborn babies.” There are a few shouts from the crowd, and Harry holds up his hand. The noise stops.

“We could keep the patients alive.” Harry continues, and Louis thinks he sounds detached, as if he’s trying to disassociate from the situation. “Either just until the babies are born and then we kill the mothers, or indefinitely, continuing Simon’s program from the notes he left.”

This time there are no sounds from the group, and as Louis gazes around he can see almost every face staring at the floor. Against the wall, Lux has buried her head against Zayn’s chest, feeling the tension even if she can’t understand it.

“Or--” Harry finally glances over to Louis, and for just a second the mask slips, and Louis can see the desperate pain that the man must be feeling. “Or we give the patients the remainder of the antidote that Simon made and see what happens.”

Killing the unborn babies and probably killing the mothers. Louis shudders.

The room is silent, as the options sink in. Murderer or torture? Louis thinks numbly.

We can’t make this choice.

The pause stretches on, and the air is heavy, and Louis suddenly wonders if maybe they’re just going to stand here forever, because they can’t make this decision.

“There’s another option.” The voice is quiet, and it’s a girl Louis doesn’t know who steps forwards. She’s young, maybe 18, maybe a little younger, and she’s from their own compound, he thinks. “I’d like to volunteer.”

“Sorry?” Ameeta calls gently from across the room.

“I’d like to volunteer.” Louder this time, firmer.

This isn’t the Hunger Games.

The room is silent, and Louis can feel the thoughts, heavy in the air. Volunteer for what?

As if answering his mind, she steps forwards. “If I succumb--” she shakes her head, frowning, “if it happens to me, I don’t want the antidote, I want to volunteer myself.” She swallows, and Louis can hear it from across the room. “I want to volunteer myself for the breeding program. To keep our species alive.”

Louis’ heart is in his mouth, and he shakes his head automatically. They can’t do that to people, they can’t do that to anyone.

“Laura no.” Harry’s voice is loud and firm. “We can’t do that to you. It isn’t an option.”

Laura. So many people he doesn’t know, so many faces and names and people and they’re healthy and alive. You can’t.

“It’s my body.”

“I know but--”

“It’s my choice.”

“But--”

You can’t. We can’t.

“Harry.” Ameeta interrupts quietly, her voice cutting off the murmurs of the crowd.

“It’s what she wants.”

“She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for! She didn’t see--”

Laura steps forwards, raising her voice. “I saw. Harry, I was there, I saw.”

“But you haven’t felt it.” A new voice chimes in, and Louis startles as Niall wheels himself forwards. “It’s like being burnt alive, and there’s no relief. Nothing at all, and you’re so thirsty you think you’re going to die from it, and then you want to die from it. And nothing helps. Nothing at all. You’ll feel like you’re losing your mind, and you’ll beg for death every day, for nine months. You can’t Laura, you can’t.”

She takes a step back, swallowing, her face grey. “Well then I guess we’ll have to find a way to make it easier.”

“There’s no--”

“Niall.” She puffs out air, her face tight. “Not now. Maybe not ever. But we need to do something, and I can do this. I want to do this.”

Louis wants to stop her, but he doesn’t know what else he can say, and he wants desperately to stop this conversation, but it needs to be said.

“You can take the antidote though. You can be cured.” Niall’s voice is desperate now, and Louis wonders how well the two of them know each other. It’s strange to think that he’s still so new. He doesn’t even know Harry’s full name.

“Like it cured Reem?” There’s a ripple of nerves through the crowd. “Like it cured Lou?”

“We don’t know what happened to Lou.”

“Niall.” She whispers. “It’s my choice. This is what I want. The antidote could kill me anyway. At least this way it won’t be for nothing, and we need this. I’m volunteering, Niall. Those poor women Simon took, they didn’t get that chance. They didn’t choose this. Let me choose it so they don’t have to.”

Niall shuts his eyes and hangs his head, and Louis’ chest tightens.

No.

Harry steps forwards, his eyes hard. “Laura, you--”

“Me too.” Louis breath catches as another woman steps forwards, and Louis recognises Perry, Perry who he’d talked to about washing machines on his first real day at the compound. “She’s right. Laura’s right.”

“And me.” This one he doesn’t know. Someone new, he thinks, someone from the hospital.

“And me.” The last voice is the loudest, and Louis doesn’t have to look up to see Tracy walking out of the crowd.

His heart sinks.

“Harry.” Tracy walks up to Harry then, reaching out to touch the man’s arm. “Harry this could be the only thing that can work. We know what we’re asking for.”

“You don’t.” Harry whispers, his eyes wide.

She nods. “Maybe not completely.” She concedes. “But Harry, people need hope.”

She turns then, and Harry follows her eyes to the very back of the room, to the three sleeping babies and to little Lux, where she cuddles quietly against Zayn.

“Everyone needs hope.” She whispers, and Louis shuts his eyes so he can’t see the tears running down Harry’s face.

--

It’s evening when the gathering finally breaks up, and Lux has long fallen asleep in Liam’s arms. Zayn has wheeled Niall back to Harry’s rooms, and the rest of the survivors have broken away in groups to talk, or gone off separately to be alone with their thoughts.

They move silently along one of the lesser-used tracks; an unspoken agreement that they need to be alone for a while. The wind is cold, and the sharp sting reminds him that he’s cured, he’s alive. The sun is orange as it slowly sinks, casting shadows on the wispy clouds. Louis waits patiently as Harry finally shuffles to a stop, turning them both to look out over the first of the wheat fields. In the distance, Louis can see the shed that he’d locked Liam in when he’d tried to escape all those weeks ago. The memories are strange, like they belong to a different Louis.

“Did we make the right decision Lou?”

Louis jumps slightly, shaking his head to clear it, but when Harry frowns in concern hastily changes it to a nod.

The meeting had been painfully long; filled with discussion and arguments, and broken up only for food or drink, or when one of the little ones needed attention. They’d made a decision, finally:

The pregnant women would be kept as they were until they gave birth, and then given the antidote. Despite the one or two optimists, no one really expected them to recover, or even to survive, but they had to try.

But it’s not over.

Louis shuts his eyes. “It’s what we voted for.”

“I know. But is it right?”

Louis sighs. “Nothing about this is right. But I think it’s the best we can do.”

Harry nods, staring out. “Do you think there are more of us out there?”

“I’d always thought--” Louis swallows heavily, pushing past the lump in his throat. “I always thought that my sisters might be out there. I thought they might be in a farm.”

Harry tangles their fingers together, and it helps Louis to find his voice.

“Everyone said farms were these big scary places where people were trapped.” He clears his throat, still unused to long sentences. “So when I didn’t see any other people, I just assumed they were all captured. I thought there were big prisons with thousands of people.” He looks down at his battered boots, dirty and scuffed. “I thought they’d be there.”

“I’m so sorry Lou.”

Louis shakes his head. “It was silly.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I’ve watched too many films.”

Harry smiles, and brings Louis’ hand up, pressing his lips against it gently. “Hope is never silly Lou.”

Louis smiles, the kiss warming more than just his hand.

“What do you hope for?” He whispers.

The last traces of orange dance across the sky, lighting Harry’s cautious smile. “Just little things, for now.” He drops to his knees beside Louis’ chair. “I hope that Lux gets used to all these people. I hope that the compounds can work together. I hope that the harvest this year is good.” He stares up at Louis, and there’s something else, something nervous in his expression. ”I hope I get to hear you laugh. I hope that someday you’ll let me kiss you.” Harry looks down. “I mean—if you want to.”

Warmth zips through Louis, tingling from the tips of his fingers, right down to his toes, making his blood fizz and his heart beat faster. He smiles.

“Harry?” Louis wraps his hand in Harry’s heavy jacket and tugs at him, and Harry falls forwards with a surprised squeak that makes Louis smile wider.

Something part brave and part reckless and all pre-word’s-end Louis washes up inside of him. “I think I can manage that.” He grins, pulling them together.

Harry’s lips are chapped and cold, and it makes Louis’ blood sing. It’s chaste, and sweet, and cautious on both their parts, and Harry tastes like clear air and new beginnings.

When they pull apart Harry’s grinning, and Louis can feel his mouth stretching to return it.

Harry sighs, a small, contented sound. “What did you hope for Lou?” His expression turns cautious, and he reaches out to stroke his knuckles down Louis’ arm. “I mean, besides finding your family?”

Louis shuts his eyes with the taste of Harry on his lips and thinks about the compound. He thinks about Lux, and Liam and Niall, about Zayn and Tracy and Ameeta. He thinks about Harry.

Family. He’d hoped for family. And he may not have found his family, but somehow, somewhere along the way, he had found a family.

Louis smiles and squeezes Harry’s hand. “This.” He says finally. “I hoped for this.”

Though much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Ulysses by Lord Alfred Tennyson