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The Cabin – One Week Before the Wedding

They didn't tell anyone they were going.

Just packed a small bag, left a note on the counter at Rooted ("Gone to breathe—back soon"), and drove through quiet roads and yellow-tipped trees with Willow curled in the backseat, unimpressed by the playlist but content in her little travel nest.

The cabin looked the same. Still smelled like pine and leftover laughter.

They walked in and immediately exhaled.

Willow trotted ahead, tail high, reclaiming her dominion as if months hadn't passed. She hopped onto the same window bench she'd claimed last time, stared out at the trees, and ignored them both for a full ten minutes.

Harry set their bag down. Louis wrapped his arms around him from behind, chin on his shoulder.

"Remember the last time we were here?" he murmured.

Harry smiled, leaning into the touch. "You nearly burned dinner, Niall drank out of a candle holder, and we all fell asleep in front of the fire."

Louis chuckled. "Best chaos I've ever known."

⸻

That Evening – Just Them

They cooked together, lazily. Harry chopped vegetables. Louis stirred a pot while telling a wildly inaccurate ghost story. Willow circled their legs like a judge awaiting the final meal verdict.

After, they sat out on the back porch with blankets and wine, fireflies blinking lazily across the grass.

Louis stretched, gazing up at the stars. "Do you feel ready?"

Harry looked at him, not the sky. "I've never felt more ready for anything."

Louis turned his head, smile soft and a little crooked. "Same."

A few moments passed. Harry scooted closer until their thighs touched, until their hands found each other's without needing to ask.

"I keep thinking," Harry said, "about all the versions of us that led here. The you that knocked on my door to complain about my watering can. The me who didn't know how to flirt and just offered you succulents."

Louis laughed, quiet and fond. "You flirted with a cactus."

"And now I'm marrying you."

They leaned in, kisses slow, lingering. A touch to the jaw, a hand in hair, the kind of closeness that didn't ask for more—because it already had everything.

⸻

The Next Morning – Sunrise & Something Gentle

Louis woke up first.

The cabin was quiet, wrapped in the pale gold of sunrise. Willow was asleep at the foot of the bed, tail twitching in dreams.

He turned on his side and watched Harry breathe, soft and steady. His curls messy. His lips parted. His hand, even in sleep, reaching out, curled where Louis had been.

He leaned down, kissed his shoulder.

"You're it for me," he whispered.

And in the hush of morning, with birds waking in the trees and the wedding just days away—Louis felt a peace he didn't know he needed.

They didn't need more time.

Just more moments.

And they'd have a lifetime of those.