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It had started with a walk to the park.
Harry was a flower child at heart, always wanting to go out and explore. He loved to take long walks to absorb nature, have it cling to his skin and ‘To touch the grass and connect with the trees. They have so much to tell us, Lou. They feel, too.’ He could play Louis like a fiddle, lip poked out and eyes big and pleading as he asked. Harry’s eyes, wide and glistening—and, Christ, were those tears?—were practically begging him across their table over breakfast. So, Louis relented, slipping on a clean pair of jeans, a jumper and shoes before following Harry out their flat and towards the park.
Harry was always several steps ahead, bouncing every so often, full of life and energy even in the early hours of the morning. Louis couldn’t bite back the smile that came to his face because Harry was adorable like that. By the time Louis had caught up with Harry, he was flat on the grass on his back, smiling so wide and bright that it was blinding. He looked so in his element that Louis never wanted anything more than to snap a photo and capture the moment.
Harry rolled over, sitting up and extended his arm, holding out a flower towards Louis shyly, flushing a soft, pretty pink. Louis was this close to just leaning down and taking a hold of his boy's face and kissing him until he couldn’t differentiate between his up and his down. As he leaned over to grab it, a blur slapped the flower down, drawing his eyes over to meet green slitted ones. Those eyes belonged to a black cat without a collar, it far more focused on the flower that was now dangling to and fro before it’s eyes then him. It’s paw came out and swat again, and Harry looked like a child on Christmas, forgetting all about giving the flower away and playing with the animal instead. It was equally as cute, so Louis chose to ignore that his gift was pretty much given away to a cat.
Harry was better with animals then he ever was, anyway.
He saw the question in Harry’s eyes before it was asked, and Louis’ gaze fell away quickly. Realistically he knew there was no reason to say no and deny Harry when he happily goes ‘They’re so pretty! Look, Lou, it can be ours! No collar!’ And, alright, Harry could have the damn cat because he was already cradling it, the cat’s paws a striking contrast against Harry’s white shirt. It nuzzled Harry’s neck and if the feline could make Harry beam like that, all teeth and dimples, then, yeah. They were keeping the damn cat.
It’s tail swished languidly as they began to walk again, Harry gaining ahead like usual, mumbling out loud the kinds of food it ate and what he was going to name it once it had gotten a proper bath. Louis was about to smile again, but the cat was staring at him, unblinking—almost unfazed of anything around it, gaze intent—and suddenly, without warning, it jumped out of Harry’s arms. Harry stopped in his tracks, trying to reach to grab the animal back but it was quickly getting away. Harry followed it so quickly, calling out to it, not looking where his feet landed. And—
the first time Harry happened to die, it was an accident.
Harry, fucking Harry, didn’t hear the blare, didn’t look away from the cats fleeting form. He just had to catch it and bring it back because it was his cat. Their cat, and it was important.
“HARRY!”
The second wail of the truck's horn caught Harry’s attention, and as soon as his head turned left, the world stopped moving for Louis. Collisions on televisions were nothing compared to the real thing: unbelievable but horrifically, terrifyingly real. Everything around him was drawing in white noise, and he could see people running by him, mouths moving but no sound coming out.
And when the sound finally filtered in, he realized that someone was screaming. The sound was deafening, frightening. It didn’t sound human. It took a minute to realize it was him. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes stuck on the blood pooling from Harry’s head on the paved street.
No.
No, no, no, no, no—
A hand was pressed to his forehead, and his eyes snapped open.
Harry’s usually bright eyes were filled with nothing but worry, staring down at him with confusion and so much love that Louis’ had to touch him and make sure he was truly there. To make sure there were no wounds, no blood. And when Louis fully came to he sat up and saw that they were in bed, duvet pulled off to the side, legs tangled together like they always were. And slowly, he could let himself take a breather. They were not outside in the park and Harry wasn’t bleeding in the middle of the road. Harry wasn’t dead.
Harry was pushing his fringe from his face, muttering in a voice thick with concern and sleep, ’You were screaming, Lou. Are you okay? Bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?’
And, no, Louis didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to think about the odd feeling of dread that should have been replaced with relief so he took Harry’s hand and kissed him on his knuckles and it was okay.
Harry wanted to go to the park.
Louis starred as Harry pleaded with the same eyes, twinkling with tears, and before his mouth could register what was said they were out the door and walking towards the park. Harry laid in the grass, smiling up at him and Louis wanted to smile back, he really did. He wanted to take the flower, but instead he grabbed Harry’s hand because—because, no. No, it was too real and scary and if he was somehow dreaming again, it wasn’t going to end with Harry dying.
Confusion flitted over Harry’s features but he didn’t ask, only followed, their fingers lacing together eventually as he was tugged along because Louis always had Harry in front of him. He never led, but this time he just had to set a change of pace and change the outcome. They talked about nothing worth the mention, but it was comfortable now that Louis was aware they were away from the park and Harry was safe. The sound of construction was ahead, but the area was clear and Harry had a habit of peeking around places he shouldn't have, anyway, so going past it was alright. Besides, Harry was going on a story about their mates, rambling on with ‘—and it was so funny, because Zayn’s face, like—it was all scrunched up like this, and then—’, and Louis was laughing along because there was no dread. There was no issue. There was nothing that could ruin that moment.
Until Harry spoke up about a cat.
Louis went to look back, but something jerked him away and he stumbled forward, falling to the ground by the sheer force of it. There was yelling again, and he didn’t want to turn as he was propped on his hands and knees, staring at the sidewalk. Because no. No, no, no, no, no—
And he couldn’t even see Harry from where the metal beams laid. Louis wished he didn’t know that Harry wasn’t behind or beside them. He couldn’t see anything from underneath, not an arm or a leg or something to signify Harry was there but what he did see was green slits and black fur and he was screaming loudly without hearing a thing.
Louis could feel himself trembling, already knowing that without opening his eyes Harry’s hand was pressed to his forehead, his soft voice murmuring reassurances into his ear. He only reached out and touched Harry on the back of his neck, rubbing circles there absently.
This time, when Harry asked to go to the park, Louis said no.
Harry wasn’t very happy, even taken to whining loudly, ’Please, Lou? It’s a waste to not go outside in this weather! Five minutes, pleeeease?’
But Louis only said he wanted to spend a lazy day with Harry and that he was still a bit shaken up from his dream, and that made Harry take his hands and bring him to the sofa.
They watched movies the majority of the time, stealing kisses and touches like teenagers, and Louis felt better. It felt safer because Harry was curled up against him, head tucked under his chin and away from the park. Away from things that could harm him. Eventually, Harry went up to use the bathroom and Louis fixed them tea, handing Harry his and smiled when he had to still blow against the steam, brows furrowing in concentration. Harry managed to convince him to sit on the patio in exchange for not being able to get his walk in the park, and they chatted for a while. Louis finally was at ease, finally pushing away that dread that had made home in his stomach lining. His gaze flickered upwards, towards the table across from them and—
Slitted eyes, swishing tail.
And he didn’t turn when Harry started to choke, the sound of china shattering against the stone. Didn’t flinch when Harry gasped Louis’ name, hand gripping at Louis’ thigh so desperately, and Louis? He—
woke up on his own, eyes trained on the ceiling, feeling a familiar weight on his chest that kept him grounded underneath the duvet. A soft yawn and Harry’s good morning kiss almost made Louis crumple—thoughts of this never being real, a loop playing over and over and over again…
And this time, he followed Harry to the park, watching him roll around in the grass. Saw his smile, reached for the flower and stared back at the cat. Looked it straight in the eyes as it prepared to launch itself off Harry’s shoulder. Followed when Harry began after it, and grabbed his love by the back of his shirt, yanking hard enough to move him backwards, feet scraping back onto the curb.
The blare of a horn was all he heard before it was black again.