Chapter Text
Two months later, Louis sat on the porch swing of Harry's Hampstead home, a steaming mug of tea cradled between his palms as he watched the morning mist roll across the expansive garden. The soft creak of the swing's chains provided a soothing rhythm, grounding him in the present moment as his mind occasionally threatened to drift backward.
He'd been living here since his release from the hospital. After a week of deliberation, they'd decided London was safer than LA— closer to family, farther from the American press that had become ravenous for details about his ordeal. The secluded property with its tall privacy hedges and state-of-the-art security system provided the sanctuary he desperately needed.
More time than he’d felt had passed since that night on the hospital roof. Two months of therapy sessions, of nightmares that gradually became less frequent, of learning to exist in his own skin again. Physical recovery had come faster than anyone expected— the stitches were gone, the bruises faded to nothing, leaving only a few pale scars that Harry traced over with gentle fingers if Louis allowed him to be so close. It was rare, but it was private, and safe, and theirs.
"Morning, love," Harry's voice came from behind him, warm and familiar. Louis didn't startle anymore when Harry approached—progress, his therapist would call it.
"Morning," Louis responded, his gaze not moving from the garden. Early spring was coaxing the first green shoots from the ground, rosebuds peeking from their bushes. Serenity.
Harry settled beside him on the swing, the wood creaking gently under his added weight. He handed Louis a plate with toast and eggs, the steam rising in the cool morning air.
"You're up early," Harry observed, his voice soft as he pressed a kiss to Louis' temple.
Louis nodded, accepting the plate. "Couldn't sleep past dawn. Thought I'd watch the sunrise." He took a small bite of toast, chewing slowly. "The garden's coming along nicely."
"Gemma helped me pick out some new perennials yesterday," Harry said, gesturing toward a freshly planted section. "They'll bloom all summer."
Louis smiled faintly. "Planning ahead, are we?"
"Always," Harry replied, his dimple appearing as he returned the smile.
They sat in comfortable silence, the gentle rhythm of the swing lulling them both. Louis leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of him.
Maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.