There’s always something about war that changes people, makes them tread heavier and slouch further. Louis had always thought that here, in an old, tiny English town so far removed from the front line that he’d never have to witness this, but Harry is standing here in the entrance of his bookshop, his curly hair shorn short, his camo heavy on his shoulders.
It’s a bit unsettling, because to Louis, Harry has always been something more–he’d always been a ray of sunlight, his smile bright enough to lighten a dreary day. He’d always walked with a bounce in his step, had always been gentle, despite his cheeky personality. He’d always seemed untouchable, as if nothing bad could ever hurt him.
And yet.
“Louis,” Harry says almost desperately, and he’s all wrong–doesn’t fit with the homey, wooden walls of Louis’ bookshop or the flowers growing by the windowsill outside. “I don’t..”
He trails off, wringing his hands, and instinctively, Louis looks down at his hands–the hands that were gentle enough to weave flower crowns, the hands that will be holding a gun come tomorrow. The hands that will soon have to shoot; aim and fire at other people, other scared, innocent boys who are all just defending themselves.
Queen and country, after all. God save the queen
And Louis doesn’t know Harry all that well, but he knows that Harry is scared shitless, afraid of the war and the blood and the violence. Of falling and not getting back up, of not seeing his mother or his father or his sister or even his bloody cat. So he walks to the counter, picks up a little pocketbook of poems that he’s reread over and over that the ink seems to have smudged, and hands it to Harry.
Harry clutches it gratefully, like a lifeline, even though his eyes are curious, questioning. Louis looks down at his hands, at the hands that, come tomorrow, will be bloodstained.
“Come home,” he says, and he doesn’t know where the words come from, but it seems to reassure Harry, make him a little more brave. “Come home to me.”
Harry takes a deep breath, nods, and tucks the book into his pocket.