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Louis likes to think that Harry's morning smile is his best one.
It's sleepy and half covered by the sheets but it shines so bright and Louis' the only one in the whole world who gets to see him smile like that.
Harry doesn't smile at anyone else like he does at Louis, is the thing. He saves these smiles for him only, and Louis sometimes wonders if the moon and the stars peak out from the sky to look at it gleam, too.
And every time they do wake up together and Harry smiles at him like that, Louis' stomach twirls and spins with butterflies like it's the first time they met. And Harry will kiss him, still smiling, and Louis will smile, too, and they'll lay in bed until one of them has the urge to get out and shower and, on a normal day, the other will follow in foot.
But today is a little different. And by a little he means a lot different because when he wakes up Harry's not beside him. The other side of the bed is cold and it takes him a few moments to remember that, oh, yeah. The Fight.
And it's like, fights between them don't happen very often. They're both normally very peaceful and calm, all snuggles and kisses, not rough and wild, but sometimes they may spend too much time together, which Louis reckons caused them to blow up at each other last night, and the night before that as well.
He cringes just thinking about it, how they both had angry tears streaming down their faces, with harsh words coming from their mouths. Using each others feelings like punching bags and screaming the worst possible things they could ever think of.
It really wasn't pretty.
The night had ended with Louis throwing his phone at Harry's back, and the latter mumbling something about sleeping on the couch, which of course, only caused more anger between both of them.
("I want the couch. You take the bed," Louis had argued, voice tired. It was nearing two in the morning and screaming for an hour and a half sort of makes you sleepy.
"No, your back hurts when you sleep on the couch," Harry had spoken calmly, had cooled down much quicker than Louis had, "Take the bed so you aren't aching in the morning."
And, like. Even when they were pissed at each other Harry was the sweetest boy in the world and it wasn't even fair because how on earth is he supposed to hate him when he acts like that?
"Whatever," Louis mumbled, and so what if he was acting like a stubborn toddler, he thought. So fucking what.
"We'll talk about this in the morning!" Harry had yelled up to him as Louis slammed the bedroom door shut, and well. That's what he had said the night before, too.)
Slowly and carefully, Louis rolls out of bed and drops his feet onto the hardwood, rolling his lips into his mouth as he pats his hand around the bedside table for his glasses. He shoves them on his face and throws Harry's jumper on over his bare chest before padding across the room to the bedroom door.
When he peaks his head out, he hears nothing. There's no telly playing in the distance, no music blasting from the kitchen, no cuss words from the bathroom. It makes him feel tiny and small, knowing the flat may be empty, that Harry might have called it quits and left.
"Haz?" He calls quietly, voice rough with sleep, as he makes his way down the steps to the kitchen, where, to his relief, Harry was.
His back is turned to the door, and he's naked, save for a loose pair of pants, and judging by the position of his hands, also making breakfast. So this at least gives him a few moments to think about what he's going to say.
Last night had been bad, no doubt about it. But they were both still here. Neither had left or gave up, but that doesn't mean everything is going to be fine.
And Louis knows what he has to say. He knows the words are needed for them to be alright, but, like. He's choking on these itty bitty words he hasn't even said yet and it's causing his heart to pound and his hands to shake and he can't decide what's worse, losing Harry or losing his pride.
Harry chooses that moment to turn around, of course, with Louis' shaking hands and tired eyes and then they just look at each other.
It's possibly the most painful few seconds of Louis' life.
Those moments of dead, numb silence, where words are hanging above their heads and stuck on their tongues. And it'd be so, so easy to just apologize, and hug and kiss and make up but it seems like that's far away from either of their minds.
And like, Louis wonders if the moon and the sea did this on purpose. Elbowed each other playfully and decided to make it hard for them, for everyone. The sky and the universe and fate in general are normally oh so kind, but, like. When it comes down to it, they're just constantly shaking their life like a snow globe.
It's still silent between when the tea kettle starts to whistle, high pitched and annoying.
They both have said nothing when the eggs start to burn on the stove.
It's the moment the sun chooses to start to shine in through the window when they both croak out, "I'm sorry," in broken whispers.
And then Harry's taking three big steps and Louis' taking one small step and they're hugging, tight and close and Louis feels the breath get knocked out of him but he doesn't even care. He doesn't even care.
Harry whispers nonsense into his hair that Louis can't understand, it may be French or German or maybe even English but it's apologies and they mean something, somewhere.
And, like. Others will argue that this isn't even a big deal, that couples fight all the time, but this is HaryandLouis and spending three hours away from each other is torture, spending a night in different bedrooms is like hell and just being able to hold each other is a bit like a dream.
"Missed you. I'm sorry. I love you," Louis whispers into his chest, and he knows that they should talk about the fight, try to get things figured and settled but he's not sure he wants to leave the comfort of Harry's arms ever, ever again.
They stand in the middle of the kitchen, holding each other and swaying carefully back and forth, saying nothing and everything at the same time.
"I'm a bit afraid you'll fly away from me," Harry admits quietly after a few moments of silence, causing Louis to tilt his chin up to look at him, eyebrows furrowed, until Harry elaborates.
"I mean, like. You're so you, and you have such big thoughts and feelings and sometimes I just feel so far away and I want to hold you down to the ground forever," Harry rephrases, brushing the fringe off Louis' forehead, and replacing it with is lips.
"Haz. Haz, it'll be okay," Louis whispers and tip toes to press their lips together, once, twice, three times. "We'll be okay."
And Harry smiles at him, the one he saves just for Louis and only Louis, and he silently thanks whoever gave him this boy.
The stars might be making things more difficult than they need to be, Louis thinks, but they aren't making anything near impossible.