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"I realised I'm in love. It's always been right in front of me. - Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell
-
The stars have a funny way about them.
The way they twist and turn, intermingle and retract, tangle and tie, leads the fate of those they're linked to. They hold the power of those oblivious who live below them. And every movement directs their paths.
A certain sudden jolt lead two quietly orbiting constellations into a colliding path, much different from their original, long-term harmonious actions.
It just took a while for them to figure it out.
-
Present
"Shove over, you brute!"
It's a sharp yet typical equivalent of a greeting from Louis Tomlinson, as Harry waits patiently at a cramped tea shop in a brick-laden Southampton district. There was already hot tea and soft cookies waiting for Louis by Harry's hand - punctuality was never a part of Louis' strong suits.
Although the time never hit its mark, these little meetings were always infallible and as reliable as a concrete foundation. They had quickly become a Monday morning ritual between the pair.
They're both in sprawling Southampton for the same reason at the same university - they became inexplicably bonded and connected through an invisible string of lasting friendship that has withheld the trials and tribulations of the past eight years. Harry invested himself in creative English writing craft, while Louis whittled away at tuning mechanisms creating the perfectly rounded music.
And while they both quietly bantered over daily nonsense and whatever World Cup matches were lined up for the day, the stars out of sight above them schemed and plotted, while turning themselves backwards to the pair's beginnings.
-
Wilmslow School, Cheshire (Harry aged 10, Louis aged 11)
The tinny lunch bell was a saviour for the school children.
Every day, Harry enthusiastically took to his language studies in the bleary morning among his drowsy and unamused class mates. He took to the twists and turns and the complex rule systems like a seagull took to white capped seas.
Always with doodles hidden away in the margins, Harry's pristine blue notebook was filled to the brim with whimsical rhymes and curious short poems that could only come from the inquisitive mind of a talented child. His teacher, Miss Steep, always noticed the peculiar wording of her young pupil. He immersed himself so deeply into the words, there was no hesitation or restraint between the crisp leaves and his sprinting mind.
Aside from his talents, Harry was still a child. At ten years of age, Harry had neat ringlets dashing his head in chocolate, with flushed cheeks rosier than the sunset and dimples as least as deep as the Pacific Ocean. He was a pretty child, and was often told so by the athletic, popular boys. "You're much too pretty and girly," they'd taunt. "Girls would love to put bows in your hair", they'd leer. His uniform was always the neatest, leaving Harry to be the picture of ideal childhood prep.
Harry didn't particularly care. But he was always sat alone.
On a mid October day with crisp wind slipping under doors and tossing deceased leaves against the windows, the bell rang for lunch, Harry sat in the back corner, and for once, he was not to be sat all alone.
The stars simply winked at one another.
Mere seconds after Harry had eagerly opened his green plastic lunch box, a shadow fell over him. He slowly tipped his chin upwards in confusion. Strange, Harry thought. Standing before Harry was a ethereal boy he had never had the pleasure of seeing before. His soft and layered fringe sharply spiked with gel at the tips, leading down to his sharp face. All angles and danger. His eyes were a most fascinating shade of blue Harry had not had a single clue existed. A fresh freckle rested under his eye. The boy had a messily knotted tie and a thick zip jumper over his regulation uniform, shielding his slim and shaped build. He embodied the look of freedom that only comes with a lack of care. It made Harry envious of how he could exist as such.
More predominantly, Harry noted he was gorgeous.
Before he could even get out a single sound to this boy, Harry suddenly had a body on level next to him. The boy had taken no opinion from Harry; it was if someone had just forcefully pushed him down into the adjacent seat. He rested a Spider-Man water bottle and a piece of pizza before him, prior to tilting his head towards a confused Harry.
"My name's Louis. I'm new here."
The stars giggled.
-
Manchester City (Harry aged 16, Louis aged 17)
Smoke filtered through the air as Louis and Harry lay together on a ratty jumper spread on a corner of Louis' roof.
The two boys had unquestionably and unspokenly became a tightly knit pair after Louis' first day at Wilmslow. Fast forward six years of companionship, two girlfriends (one Harry's and the other Louis'), one boyfriend (Harry's - he shrugged one evening and said "boys are pretty, girls are pretty, people are pretty and that's it" at the dinner table and his mum cried quite a bit), too many questionable fashion choices, and countless memories, and they were sat on the roof with a cheap joint basking in the night's beauty.
Although their bond was unmistakable, there was some sort of invisible thread of change that had been spun between them over the past months. It could have been simply stress from life and school and absolutely shitty family, it could have been typical coming of age, but it felt more mature and stronger than that. Harry, always having been the perceptive one, felt the compass pointing towards him.
Lying there, side by side with shoulder blades digging into the shingles, Harry could twist his head to the right and behold beauty. And he knew. The thread was his. Even with unruly curls falling and catching on his eyelashes alongside a layer of fresh smoke clouding the air, Harry could sharply pick out the beauty in his childhood friend.
Louis held the joint with grace between his thumb and forefinger, with his elbow propped against his hip. He was lying in profile to Harry. The unusually bright moon shone down, illuminating each highlight and contrasting each shadow. It was as if a layer of silver lined Louis' features. His eyes were lightly shut, his eyelids fluttering naturally, never able to be still. Louis' mouth lay gently open, slowly blowing out the white smoke from his latest drag. Over time, Louis had barely grown taller, instead turning into a curvy, lithe animal of muscle and power. He was equal parts young London model and Premiere League football academy member. He acted as a magnet to Harry's hazy eyes.
Harry quickly reached his hand out, Louis silently handing him the joint, intuitively knowing where Harry was and what he wanted, even with his eyes shut.
And, well, isn't that how their whole friendship went?
Harry took a slow drag of the joint, shutting his own eyes and letting the words filter through. Fuck, where's his notebook when he needs it?
Silver-edged ethereality
Bathing in fog
Deep basin of pulchritude
Blind to adoration.
Not his best, but all he could remember in the moment.
"Louis, Lou," Harry mumbled incoherently. He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself, the darkness, or the actual Louis.
"What is it, Harry?" Louis whispered slowly, stealing the joint back and hollowing his cheeks. "Silver," Harry mumbled. "You're silver and I'm iodine."
-
Manchester (Harry aged 17, Louis aged 18)
It was their last year of school prior to university, and everyone was in varying states of cataclysm.
Social groups were sealed in cement, and everyone anxiously awaited for the inevitable period after Christmas holidays when papers would be shipped off to universities and fingers would go numb from being crossed. Harry and Louis were not popular by any standards, but by this point, they had their little bubble built around them.
It was nice.
Louis had brought forth the brooding and unparalleled majesty known as Zayn. They technically both should have been sat in university lecture halls, but they stayed another year. He sat huddled with them each day at lunch, all bones and leather sheltering a ever thoughtful and gentle being. In Harry's language and literature class, he tipped back onto his chair's rear legs and leaned against the wall, keeping his head tipped down and occasionally flicked his eyes towards the board.
Harry had found the straggling Niall one year as he fell up the stairs, laughing merrily and brushing it off. Harry had questioned whether he was alright, and he just kind of stuck around since then. He was loud and cheery, but no where near obnoxious. Niall was a light and a genuinely good person to have around. Without fail, he would make some grand entrance at lunch and crack a wide laugh.
Along with Niall eventually followed Liam, the most selfless and honest of them all. He was known for his amazing work ethic, leaving him rarely any time to spend with the boys. But he cared deeply and paid close attention to them, wordlessly giving up space in his home and his heart.
They were an odd bunch, but they all fit like a jigsaw.
Zayn would kick around footballs and draw amusing caricatures, Niall would supply them all with copious amounts of laughter and alcohol, and Liam would make study notes. Louis and Harry remained trapped in their little slice of life.
Sure, they were mates with the other three, but they took up each other's rooms and revolved in each others' spaces more than anyone else.
School was useless. They knew what they wanted, they trudged through their studies, and their lives carried on. The question was where to go.
Zayn and Niall were both hellbent on London. "City lights and a whole new type of life," Niall had said. Zayn just shrugged and said he's going to follow his girlfriend, Perrie. They all smiled, and Louis had pinched his cheeks to Zayn's horror and cried "You're all grown up, my baby is in love!" Everyone had laughed, but it was hollow. They were faced with the sudden realisation that they had mere months before they would all be off to adulthood. The always organised Liam had lost some of his composure, as he felt overwhelmed by the pressure and the broad variety of choices lent to him through his immaculate marks. He was tempted to travel for a gap year before uni.
That left Louis and Harry.
Harry had cornered Louis in his yard one November afternoon after school. They sat together, Louis always to Harry's left. Silence stretched thickly through the air, impenetrable and sharp. Louis sighed and cast a look over at Harry. He was already looking from underneath his fringe.
"What are you doing, Louis?" Harry asked bitterly, his head hung low.
The curve of his spine bent like a sapling bowed by the wind, his stress and anxiety evident. Louis' heart ached in sympathy. Harry was so fragile, and he was not much different from the pretty young boy with the poetry. He was still as soft-spoken and still as wordy and still just as desperate for something. He was never destined to be Louis, who didn't put up with any bullshit nor tolerated deep reflection.
"I don't know, Harry, I don't. But I'm thinking of going south, and I want you to come." Louis rubbed his hands on the sleeves of his jumper, the skin cracked from the cold.
Harry lifted his head and maintained piercing eye contact with Louis. Louis, who was sat cross legged, the dip of his waist seen through his jumper, the rough spot on his lip from biting a bruised rose. He was angled and rugged and so beautiful. Untouchable. The stars sparkled.
"And what the hell are we going to do in southern England?" Harry spat. He wasn't angry at Louis, he was just ticked at himself for wanting more of Louis, for getting into this messy rush before university, for just being himself. Louis smiled sadly. It was weak and just a little bit bitter himself.
"Southampton. I go for sound engineering, cos I've all those bird classes like tech and computers under my name, and you go into some English program. You and your pretty words."
-
Present
You and your pretty words, Harry had written on the side of his leather journal while waiting for Louis in the tea shop. Everything had changed for them, but not much at all at the same time. They had gone through the first year of university without much trouble, but without much development. Well, Harry had entirely changed from a physical standpoint - he was a six foot tall mess of tattoos and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. His hair stopped going down and began being pushed up and grown out. His closet moved from baggy chinos and polos to miscellaneous band shirts and the tightest jeans he could find.
Harry might have changed how he looked, but he was still confused over Louis and he still doodled in the margins of his book.
Every Monday morning, through hell or highwater, they meet at this run-down, brick-laden tea shop on the corner. Their dorm buildings are close and they spend more than enough time together, but come mornings, Louis needed cookies and Harry needed Louis.
It came to be when Christmas Eve of their first year fell on a Monday and Harry was sat writing ridiculous poems about confusion and losing your heart in your childhood friend's hands. Fate and the stars may or may not have had Louis walk in. Harry was always acutely aware of where Louis was in proximity to him. He could pick him out in the middle of a crowd, he could read his body language, he could see what he wanted to say by the lilt of his mouth of the angle of his eyebrows.
He was so beautifully tuned to Louis.
And so when the door creaked and a rusty bell clattered, Harry snapped his head up and slammed his moleskine shut. Without Harry's knowledge, Louis was just as aware of Harry's presence. He had walked into the shop, pulling his hands out of his pockets to feel rather than spy curls and paper in the corner. He knew that sound of moleskine. He just knew it was his Harry sat there. They had sat together sipping away at their drinks and relishing the fresh cookies when Louis grumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that, Lou?" Harry quizzed. "Couldn't hear you through those cookies, mate," he teased. "I just have a strong antipathy towards Mondays, but these cookies are, like, a near-religious experience." Harry had burst out laughing, dimples like the moon's craters. "Why don't we have cookies and tea here every Monday morning, then?"
It was a deal set in stone. Now, the same creaky door swings open to reveal a disheveled Louis who beelines towards Harry. He nabs a soft cookie and presses a kiss to Harry's cheek. It's endearingly special seeing the blushed blossom spread across his cheeks and the light behind his eyes. Looking down, the stars giggle. Louis flings open a leather satchel that was hiked on his small shoulder. He looks so good today, Harry thinks.
A big American Apparel zipped hoodie the same as his own, a tight black shirt, worn skinny jeans and broken down Vans. He likes Louis the best like this, when he doesn't try or give a fuck. Reminds him a lot of their first encounter, in all honesty.
"Harold, dear, have you heard of the popular social media site known as Tumblr?" Louis pulls out his laptop, bouncing his feet on the floor as the site loads. Louis reveals his already carefully constructed blog, theme and all. It's minimalistic and professional. "Another guy in my class, Matty, he uses it to post his audio shit and reblog any other stuff he likes," Louis smiles. He seems genuinely excited over his shiny new piece of social media.
Louis, looking forward to publishing his craft to the entire world. So, so unlike Harry.
Coincidentally, Louis picks that moment to turn his gears towards Harry's. He fully turns his small body in his seat, lined fully facing Harry.
"You could make one too, you know. Finally post some of that gorgeous poetry of yours." The hesitant and precautious manner in Louis' voice has lasted through all the years whenever Harry's poetry has been brought up. And it's all because Louis has never read a single word, not even a title. Harry wouldn't let him.
When you spend years waxing poetic about your best mate from your heart's deepest cavity into battered journals, you keep the books closed and tight to your chest. His words are designed for him and himself only; Harry's words are so carefully picked from his vocabulary to create this acutely pinpointed timeline of confusion, friendship, fascination, and muddled love. Although only to be kept to himself, Harry's poetry could be understood by two. A shiver ran down Harry's spine at the thought of Louis reading his words. They were too raw and too personal, and he was fucking terrified of being shut down. Louis noticed. He had always had some sort of strange feeling that Harry was sheltering something, but he would never prod or force him. He carried on aimlessly rambling about how Matty said this and Matty said that, while Harry listened and let his mind run a bit.
Who said Louis would have to know Harry's Tumblr?
-
The first two months of their second year of university passed.
Mondays were still a thing.
Weekends and the occasional weekday were theirs for the taking. Harry lives in a older dorm building on the south side of the campus. The water, bustling with ships and activity, could be seen through his small dingy window. He couldn't open it. He felt cramped and stuffy, as his memory recounted him with the feeling of sea air, yet all he had was the air pumping through the floor vent.
Aside from the window, Harry's room was quite pleasant. It held the standard pine bed frame and spring mattress, the wobbly desk in the corner, and a small closet cut into the wall. He had quickly maneuvered the space into his own; Harry's miscellaneous posters filled up the cork board, photos of himself with Liam, Niall, Zayn, and Louis sat in a frame beside his bed while a photo of his family sat upon the desk. A stack of all the notebooks Harry had every owned hid beneath the bed frame.
On the north eastern end, Louis was placed into a more modern building. Glass and chrome shone everywhere, while windows overlooked a courtyard with Saint Mary's Stadium and the bridge into downtown Southampton in the distance. Louis was well pleased to be able to view a Premiere League team's stadium while having a smoke out his functioning window with a small roof ledge.
Louis and Harry spent good amounts of time at each other's buildings. That Matty boy happened to be next door to Harry, and when Harry had met him in the bathroom, he had softly smiled and said, "You're that Harry Styles, aren't you? I'm Matty Healy. Nice to finally meet you, mate." before ducking back out, his hair falling across his head and his leather boots thudding the tiles.
A young mother Harry had befriended in his course was a pastel-haired Lou. She called Harry "love" and sneaked him brownies. Louis teased that he was being cheated on. "Eight years tossed away for pink hair and brownies? And her name is even Louise? I'm shattered, Harry."
"Never would rid of you," jokes Harry, cracking a small smile. It was the truth.
Giving him a chance back in Wilmslow was an irreplaceable beginning. Louis had tampered with his mind, had locked his heart to anyone else, and had filled his notebooks and journals with cryptic sentiments.
-
Unfortunately, the stars were not feeling pleasant.
They found one boy to have fully comprehended his attraction to his friend, who was shutting himself out. They need the other to somehow come to recognition, even if it requires an unorthodox tool.
Even if it requires something unexpected.
-
It is five past three in the morning, and Harry can hardly see through the bleary sleep masking his eyes. He was on the verge of passing out, but he pulled his laptop off the floor and onto his bed. After rubbing his face with the back of his hand as the computer booted up, Harry frustratedly kicks his duvet off his spindly legs, tangled in the soft cotton. He feels mildly childish, but he cannot be bothered when Louis sits at the forefront of his mind. Swearing under his breath, Harry stoically toys with his thoughts as the Tumblr homepage lies before him.
It was a risk, posting his works online, even if he hid behind a unrelated URL and no personal identification. But since Louis had presented the idea, Harry has questioned what elation and freedom may come with a new outlet. A single boat horn sounds outside as Harry's new dashboard loads.
-
By the time the sun rises and the waters of Southampton are bathed with early commercial boaters and golden red hues, Harry has typed out thirty of his favourite poems and has posted seven to Tumblr.
Anyone with any fragment of human feeling could see the raw unrequited love hidden behind Harry's phrases of confusion and salvation. Anyone could pick out the moments Harry laid himself bare and honest, and the ones where he simply thought he had a beautiful friend, full stop. The countless references to oceania and coming of age splayed through almost each poem. Harry sits and clicks to post his personal favourite. It revolves itself around four lines his drug-addled mind spat out and managed to stick.
He lies in angles
A silver-edged ethereality
Bathing in fog.
He lies in angles
A deep basin of pulchritude
Blind to adoration.
I lie in prose
A weak and hollow ditch
Of iodine and sentiment.
"You and your pretty words."His mouth frames out.
Mine trembles.
*
Each and every poem he posts, Harry leaves an asterisk at the ending. From those frost bitten nights on a Manchester roof, Harry witnessed millions of stars, but they were all dimmed and residual next to the one breathing smoke beside him.
-
Harry realises it's a Monday.
He leaves with a scarf, the latest leather journal, and a chewed pen. He rushes through ordering the usual tea and cookies, barely having sat down before Louis enters the building. He directs a pointy toothed smile towards Harry, who returns one indenting his dimples.
"I don't think you understand how much I truly do love these encounters, Harry," Louis says. He's in an especially good mood today, Harry can tell, judging by the lilt in his voice and how he does not make a chore of removing his jacket. Underneath the denim number, he sports Harry's old Vampire Weekend shirt, spread soft and thin through the years. He has absolutely zero clue when Louis must've nicked it, but Harry's throat closes up all the same. He looks gorgeous, and even more importantly, he looks like he's been hiding in Harry's heart. Louis thuds down beside Harry, his laptop already half open. Louis chatters on about something Matty showed him on Tumblr.
"I know you've told me you don't want to put anything of yours up on Tumblr, but Matty was scrolling through his dash and found this poet who's only first started posting a few hours ago but has thousands of notes already." Louis carefully turns his laptop towards Harry, displaying a short free verse with 10, 485 notes.
There is no title, and the URL is silentsmoke. There is, however, an asterisk at the end.
And Harry cannot breathe.
It's a poem Harry had messily scribbled about the soft dip of Louis' waist contrasting with the line of his collarbones. He was drunk and 17 and so hopelessly blinded by Louis. Louis looks over at him, chest tight and eyes worried. Harry seems mid apocalyptic, like his mind has just crashed onto a rocky shore. It's terrifying how Louis seems to have suddenly lost him elsewhere.
Without a sound, Harry mouses over to the blog's homepage, scrolling until he hits his favourite, the one about the pretty words and the smoke. Sounds outside seem dimmed, and all that can be heard in the tea shop is a gentle whir from a few machines. Louis accepts his laptop back as Harry turns it towards him, revealing careful words he has never read before. He soaks it in, reflecting upon the curious familiarity of the quote nestled near the end. Louis' mind rushes backwards as the stars spin and twirl. He recalls the tense talk in the grass after school, as Louis proposed to Harry his random vision of university for the two.
"You and your pretty words," Louis whispers. Harry shows Louis the spine of his leather journal.
The glassy moss of Harry's eyes lock with the whirling tide pool of Louis'. Silence thickly swamps the air as it had back on that day. A cold and fragile pair of hands find Harry's jaw as tea-warmed mouths lock in lost desperation and time. It's all real; it's all true. Harry's bright star and smoke blower is here and feels, feels like he himself does, as they slowly kiss in the back of the tea shop. Louis pulls back first, only far enough so his bruising mouth can brush Harry's cheekbone.
"Do you realise," he mumbles, "how infatuated with you I've always been, but how I stomped it down for so long because you fucking scare me?" They breathe together, feeling the lingering taste of smoke and stardust on their tongues. "You know what? I think," Harry whispers, "it was never meant to be easy. It was never meant to be comfortable and not at least a little bit expected. But it's right, it's so right."
-
Go down,
Soft sound.
Midnight,
Car lights.
Playing with the air,
Breathing in your hair.
Go down,
Soft sound,
Step into your skin?
I'd rather jump in your bones.
Taking up your mouth,
So you breathe through your nose.