Chapter Text
"Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable."
- Bruce Lee
----
It was already starting to get dark and the stars where blinking lazily above him when Harry reached the old and weathered building that held his apartement.
He sighed in relief. Finally home.
He was exhausted and felt so tired that his eyelids had been close to dropping a few times, also it was uncomfortably cold and his legs were killing him.
Running up and down hospital corridors from patient to patient all day was now causing him cramps and a sore back.
Also he had missed the last bus home (because he had forgotten his bag in the changing room of the clinic) and had therefor wandered through the cold streets of London for what felt like hours to get back home.
He grimaced as he felt the throbbing pain in his back.
His back had always been sensitive. That's why he did Pilates and other exercises for a strong back regularly even though he was only in his mid-twenties.
He really couldn't wait for the weekend to arrive! He seriously needed some time to sleep in and spend time with his friends, who he hadn`t seen in days because they all were busy working and studying.
Harry sighed, pushed open the creaky front door of the building and then walked, more like crawled, up the first set of the stairs, gripping the wooden rail for support.
It had been a long day. Hours and hours of work. And now all he was craving was some food, a place to lay down and maybe some tea. He didn`t even wanted to do anything. No, definitely not. Really really not.
He started on the second set of stairs.
Downstairs he heard someone entering, the door creaked and the person´s keys clattered together happily.
A minute later a sporty woman with a grocery bag overtook Harry. They knew eachother fleetingly and she greeted him and rushed further upstairs.
Harry said it back and groaned, he wished for the energy the woman had. She was already gone while he still pushed himself up the last few steps.
The neon light that illuminated the hall died for a second, fluttered, before it continued to spread cold light through the stairwell again.
Harry had finally reached the second floor. Thank god.
He planned to collapse on the couch as soon as he was through the door. He couldn't wait.
But despite his exhaustion he stopped at the big glass door, a fire exit, for a second and looked at the stars.
He had done that on his first night in this building, after long hours of carrying boxes upstairs, and he still did it whenever he came home at night.
The view was fantastic and the stars were so pretty and bright tonight, twinkling next to the moon and playing hide and seek behind the clouds.
The sky seemed so peaceful, but also as if it had many stories to tell, the stars saw everything after all.
Harry shook his head. Where were these thoughts coming from? Being all poetic was Zayn's thing, not his.
He huffed out a small laugh, drew a smiley on the slighty damp window and stepped away from the cold glass barrier.
He drove his left hand through his long curls, careful not to entangle them in the rings he was wearing and shook his head to himself again.
What a weird night. The whole day seemed odd and missing the bus had been the highlight. He was such a lucky dog!
The boneless exhaustion from running around all day also mingled with the dark sides of working in a hospital and all he wanted was to "recharge his batteries" as his mum used to say.
He sighed loudly.
It was his purpose to help. He had chosen that career path. He tried to help the patients coming into the hospital, he did the best he could, gave them smiles and sweets and reassuring words, but still he suffered from seeing pain, fear and death.
At least I always try my best, he thought to himself.
He was still on trial, but he had finished his studies and was being payed moderately. He was working hard and he would be a fantastic doctor. The best he could be.
All in all he was mostly happy with his life.
He felt like helping others was his destiny, he loved it and was proud when he managed to cure someone and provided them relief.
His job, friends and his family were making him happy and the few odd relationships and one night stands he had kept him, at least sexually, satisfied.
Sure it was a stressful job and sure he hadn't found and still yearned for a long-lasting and happy relationship, but he would continue living his life until he had found what he was looking for.
He still needed to fight his way up the career path and he also knew that actively looking for love was pointless, it caused bad luck.
Love would find him and even though he was exhausted now he would reach the comfortable stage of his job in a few years. He wouldn't give up. It would come as fate had planned it.
He walked the last few steps over to his door, pushed the small key into the slightly rusty lock, turned it and opened the door slowly.
It was the beginning of spring, at night it was still cold outside and even the stairwell had been chilly, so he was glad that he was finally home.
He shivered as the warmth slowly crawled up his back and settled over his skin like a thin blanket.
The light bulb in his small corridor fluttered like a nervous insect after he had hit the switch, but after a few seconds it evenly flooded the room with light and Harry was already so used to it that he didn't even noticed.
The flat was small and ratty, but the curly-haired man felt cosy and home in it's small rooms.
He was used to it and had lived here for years. And at least he was cleaning and tidying it, not like Zayn, who could barely walk through the things that were stapled on the floor of his apartement.
Zayn was a creative head, had been his best friend since they both had started to study in London years ago and clearly owned way too much stuff for his own sake.
Whenever the raven-haired boy spotted something he liked he took it back to his flat which was next to Harrys and used it to make art.
He photographed and drew and tinkered and Harry adored his work. It was mysterious and honest and sometimes a bit playful, but it worked for him and Harry knew that he would end up famous in one way or another.
He stepped into his livingroom, which was partly coloured a soft yellow, and took a deep breathe.
Time for a quiet evening on the couch, he decided and shrugged off his coat and shoes.
Zayn had told him that he was busy tonight, just like Niall, Ed, Cara and Grimmy had. Liam always worked the night shift on thursdays and his mum was probably already asleep. After all it was already after 10pm.
So it was just him. Noone to speak to and no distractions.
Harry found that he didn't mind much. He liked it quiet from time to time.
He dug up some vanilla scented candles that reminded him of home, lit them up, warmed up some leftover spaghetti from the day before, opened a bottle of red wine and curled up under the fluffy white blanket on his big and plushy couch.
While eating he remembered that the reruns of old "F.r.i.e.n.d.s" episodes should still be on and he quickly turned on the TV and changed channels until he had found the right one.
Then he sighed and sunk deeper into the cushions, the food balanced on his lap.
And after finishing his food he slowly fell asleep, dizzy from the wine with a full belly and tired legs.