feels like we're in a dream (you know what i mean)

Cruise AU, in which Louis Tomlinson is a successful artist who needs a getaway to finish his new collection. He winds meeting award winning musician Harry Styles, and eventually the sunrises aren’t the only thing Louis falls for.
Or, the one where Louis and Harry end up together on a cruise they both meant to take alone, and the stars really end up as the main character.

Notes:

hellooo!! so please just give this a chance, it gets really good i promise! thank you to rian, my lovely beta. i love you endlessly. here's some handy things to help your journey through this fic:
listen to this playlist while you read (it sets the mood trust me)
listen to this playlist (in order!) after you finish !! it’s sort of a timeline :)
happy reading!
twitter: longlivevinyI
spotify: blissoshea

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“And we will sleep by the ocean

Our hearts will move with the tide

And we will wake in the morning

To see the sun, paint the sky” – Coastline // Hollow Coves

The first time Louis sees him, the boy is standing on the deck of the Aurora, despite the biting cold. The boy’s hair is being blown around by the wind, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He must be freezing, wearing only some loose, high waisted grey pants with a soft green jumper, but if he’s cold, he doesn’t look it.

It’s the first day of a five-week cruise, originally scheduled for the warm summer weeks but for some reason was postponed to the heart of winter. Louis had briefly considered staying at his cozy flat in London, but almost immediately banished the thought from his mind, deciding that a winter ocean full of blues and whites would work just as well for his canvases.

Louis is an artist, his main medium being paints, and he’s becoming quite well known in the UK. His latest pieces sold very quickly, and very well. He’s known for his landscape paintings that capture the light and intricate beauty of nature.

When Louis first lays his blue eyes on the young man standing at the bow of the massive ship, his attention is captured immediately. The cruise is full of older men and women, which is precisely why Louis chose it. He needs peace and quiet to create his masterpieces, and a cruise of teenagers would not have provided the level of sanctuary required. This being said, the younger boy (mid-twenties is Louis’ guess?) is rather out of place. Just like Louis.

The boy is tall and slim, eyes cast straight downward at the shifting sea in an almost melancholic way, yet his balance is steady.

The boy must feel watchful eyes, as he shifts and looks over his shoulder from his quiet staring at the sea. Louis immediately turns, feeling that he would rather not make the stranger uncomfortable. Louis returns to his large sketchbook, preparing himself to work.

He spends the first few hours watching the area around him, noting the sea’s changes. How the sun reflects off the waves, flashing light into Louis’ eyes. Louis studies the cloud formations, and how they form and dissipate. He could sit on the deck with a cup of tea and simply watch the clouds for hours at a time.

The earth’s natural beauty never ceases to amaze him, flooring him with how the colors and light blend together in a way that’s challenging for him to replicate. But not impossible. He has made it his life’s work. His paintings are renowned for being not only stunning, but also incredibly realistic.

Louis sighs, returning his attention to his attempt at sketching the mix of altostratus and cumulus clouds above him. It takes him the better part of the afternoon, but by the time he’s gathering his things to get ready for dinner, he has figured out how the lighting works in this small corner of the Atlantic Ocean.

That night at dinner, Louis ends up seated next to the boy he had seen earlier. The dining room has a long table in the center of the room, for people alone on the cruise like Louis to socialize and eat. The sides of the room are lined in smaller tables, and families and couples fill most of them. Louis is sure that recognition must have flickered across his face upon seeing the boy, but he quells it as quickly as he can, not wanting to come off as a strange someone who’d been staring the boy down earlier. Unsure how to start conversation, Louis is planning on staying quiet for most of the meal.

“Hello,” A deep voice floats above the quiet chatter in the dining room.

Had the boy been speaking to him? Louis tries to surreptitiously turn his head to the left.

“Yes, you. What might a young lad like you be doing on this ship?”

Louis is stunned into silence. The boy is even more stunning up close. His hair is rather short but curly, slightly blown about, and his green eyes are bright. His eyelashes are long and thick, and his lips are red and perfect. Decidedly not thinking about the boy’s lips, Louis realizes he needs an answer.

“I could ask you the same, now couldn’t I?” Louis tries to joke, but something in the boy’s face changes as his face falls and he glances away. “Didn’t mean to press. I’m Louis Tomlinson, and you?” asks Louis.

Lifting his green eyes again, the boy replies. “I’m Harry, it’s quite nice to meet you. I’d figured that nobody on this cruise would be my age, but you’ve proved me wrong.” Harry says, the corners of his lips quirking up.

Louis notes Harry’s reluctance to provide a last name but decides not to press him again. They only exchange a few words, but it feels easy. Maybe they can be mates for the next few weeks.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation, Louis smiling every time he gets a laugh out of Harry. Strangely secretive Harry. Every time Louis would get close to the subject of why Harry was here, on the Aurora of all places, Harry would shut down a little bit, taking a bite of food and skirting around the question.

Louis ignores it during their meal as their conversation switches topics quickly and they regain their easy manner, but Louis finds himself lying awake later that night, tossing and turning.

Louis is a romantic at heart. He overthinks and considers every person he meets, wondering if there’s chemistry. Most of the time he’s resigned to accept that there’s nothing there. This one feels different though, Harry feels… closer? He knows that Harry is firstly, probably not gay. He also knows that the chance of them being mates is slim, let alone anything more. Still, his body and heart seemed to be gravitating towards somebody he had barely spoken with for more than an hour.

Louis doesn’t sleep for most of the night, and he would love to blame it on the fact that he hasn’t slept in a room alone for years (his dog Clifford sleeps with him) but in all honesty… It’s Harry. Something about Harry has captured Louis’ attention.

Rising early the next morning to catch the sunrise, Louis grabs a coat and his sketchbook, walking to the dining room for a cup of tea. As he sits at a table right against a window, he watches the sky start to shift ever so slightly from its black to a lightening grey.

There is something about sunrises for Louis. He’s done an entire collection devoted to them and it was one of his most successful to date. More than how his art can benefit from the sunrise though, Louis simply loves watching the sky change colors. Like a brush being drawn slowly across the canvas that is the sky, the light grey at the horizon chased back the night, lightening the whole world. It’s magical to Louis.

After sketching for awhile inside, Louis feels inspired by the sunrise to go for a walk around the deck. When he opens the door, he is hit by a gust of freezing wind. He’d grabbed the wrong coat, clearly. As he’s debating going back to his cabin for a different jacket, or possibly just another one to layer on, he sees Harry walk out of a stairwell on the other end of the deck. The sun isn’t fully risen yet, so Louis can’t be positive, but he’s pretty sure it’s Harry. Curiosity gets the better of Louis’, and he starts down the deck, gritting his teeth against the cold.

Getting closer, he slows, realizing that though it is Harry, he seems completely engrossed in what he’s doing.

“He-ey there Harry,” Louis manages to get out, his teeth chattering. His hands are still wrapped around his cup of tea and it’s doing nothing to warm his hands, but oh well.

Harry jumps, turning quickly around and slamming the journal that he’d been writing in shut.

“Louis. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?” By the end of his sentence, Louis can tell that Harry isn’t really mad at him.

“I got up to watch the sunrise and I saw you on the deck, so I thought I’d come say hello. If you’d like me to leave I can.” Louis says in an attempt at a friendly tone, though he’s still shaking from the cold.

“No, its okay. I did the same thing. The sunrise is rather inspiring, don’t you think?” Harry asks Louis with a warm smile.

Nodding, Louis slips into the chair next to Harry, pulling out his sketchbook to capture the rays of sunlight now peaking over the horizon. As he pulls his pencils out of his tote bag, Louis freezes, glancing over at Harry.

“Is it… okay if I work here with you? I saw your journal.” Panic flashes over Harry’s face until Louis hurriedly adds “I didn’t see anything in it of course, it’s just sitting in your lap.”

“Of course. I’d love to share the best part of the day with you.” Harry says with a more relaxed smile.

Turning back to the sunrise, Louis begins sketching again, capturing the rays of light perfectly. He hears the scratching of a pencil behind him and smiles to himself, not thinking of what Harry might be writing, just immensely happy that Harry already trusts him enough to work next to him. Whatever Harry is doing is private and important to him, and Louis can respect that. His art is the most personal thing in the world to him, and releasing it for the world to see has been one of the most difficult things Louis has ever done.

Unfortunately, the sun’s rays are doing nothing to penetrate the freezing cold, and Louis has long since ran out of tea. Despite the cold, Louis is absorbed in his work, so he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a warm blanket being draped around his shoulders. His head shoots up and over to look at Harry who… isn’t there anymore? He turns every which way, until he hears the sound of someone laughing behind him. His head spins around so hard he cricks his neck, and it’s only then, while he’s massaging his neck, that he sees Harry.

Harry is standing against the wall, holding two cups of steaming tea that are spilling slightly. Because he’s laughing so hard. At Louis. Louis has made him laugh this hard, which brings a smile to Louis’ face as well.

“You were looking sort of cold there,” Harry says in a teasing tone, “so I went to get more tea. And a blanket. And then you clearly hadn’t noticed I was gone when I got back so…” Harry starts to smirk again, walking back over to sit next to Louis, handing him a cup of tea.

Laughing, Louis turns back to his work. For about two seconds.

“You’re quite good you know. Nothing on my work of course, but very impressive.” Harry comments.

“I’d say thank you, but I’m not altogether sure it was a compliment,” Louis replies dryly. “Let’s see it then.”

“My work? Oh no,” Harry replies. “Absolutely not. It’s for the eyes of three people only. Me, myself, and I.” Harry says in a serious voice. “Unless you insist.”

“I do insist. Show me your artwork, Harry who still hasn’t told me his last name,” Louis says, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry rolls his eyes and stands. “Come on Mr. Tomlinson. Time to see my gallery.”

Quickly gathering his things, Louis follows Harry into the very nice part of the ship. The first class suites that more resemble apartments than cabins. Louis’ room is by no means miniscule or cheap, but he didn’t feel the need to live in a really really fancy suite. Harry apparently, did. It’s like, a proper apartment.

Pushing open the doors to his cabin, Harry leads Louis inside.

“Welcome to my humble home. For five weeks.” Harry adds the last part with a smile.

Louis is initially taken back by how large the space is compared to his own but looks around interestedly. He loves the artwork on the walls that was most definitely brought by Harry himself. The cabins didn’t come lavishly decorated. Louis is taken aback at some of the art to be quite honest, knowing that if they were originals, they came with a hefty price tag.

Already knowing the answer, as he’s familiar with almost all of the famous pieces, Louis still asks. “So? Which one of these did you do?”

“Oh! Come with me.” Harry says with a grin, leading Louis into a different room (“The guest room,” he says, even though he’s on this cruise alone) with a bed in it, along with various musical instruments? Louis has a very rudimentary amount of musical knowledge, but he sees a keyboard, a guitar, and an ukulele? Some recording equipment too. Before Louis can ask, Harry grabs a piece of scratch paper and draws two stick figures looking at a semicircle with lines coming out of it. A sunrise apparently.

“Get it? It’s us this morning. I’m so talented.” Harry says.

The drawing is so ridiculous that Louis has no choice but to laugh. And then they both laugh. For a long time. Harry presents the picture to Louis, who tucks it in his pocket.

They hang out around Harry’s cabin and Louis knows he should be working, but. He rather enjoys spending time with Harry.

“So, Louis,” Harry begins with a conspiratorial grin, “Who’s waiting for you at home? Secret lover? You must not love her much to leave for five weeks without her.” Harry snickers.

“You’re a dumbass, you know that Harry? I’m a proper gentleman. I would absolutely never leave a girl for such a time. Then again, I’d never date a girl in the first place,” Louis finishes quickly and takes a sit of water before glancing at Harry, who’s sort of staring, sort of smiling.

“Really mate? Do you just come out to people like that? I usually let them get to know me first,” Harry says in a rather joking tone, and throws a pillow at Louis.

“Yeah Harry, I just shout it on the street,” Louis says with an eye roll. “We’re going to be spending a proper 5 weeks together, figured I’d get it—” Louis breaks off. “Wait. You— hold on.”

Harry sits there trying and failing not to laugh at Louis’ utter lack of attention to his words.

“That took you quite some time,” Harry says, doubled over laughing. “I guess we’re just two gay men having a good time on a cruise ship. This should be fun.” Harry jokes, waggling his eyebrows. Louis launches a pillow at his head and it starts an epic pillow fight that goes on a bit longer than is probably acceptable for two grown men.

Too soon, it’s time for them to go to dinner.

In the dining hall, they choose to sit at a small table alone rather than the long table in the center of the room. It’s a booth, and Harry surprises Louis by sliding in next to him rather than across.

“Do you have pets?” Louis asks in between sips of tonight’s squash soup.

“I wish. I’ve always wanted a dog. I’m too busy and I travel too much to take care of one properly though. I assume you do?”

“How could you tell?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes slightly, taking a bite of the garlic bread that is aggressively average. It needs more garlic if it wants to be called proper garlic bread.

“You seem like you’d be a good dad, but since you haven’t mentioned kids, I assumed it was a dog. Am I right?” Harry asks with a smirk.

Biting his tongue and taking a very very long time to swallow his soup, Louis huffs. “Yes. His name is Clifford. I hate the way you could just tell though. I don’t think I act that mature, honestly” he says, shoving Harry’s shoulder.

“Hey, I never said mature. I said you seem like you have a dog. Massive difference.” Harry says with a chuckle.

After dinner, Harry suggests going for a walk on deck because the wind has died, and the sky is clear for the first time since they’ve been on board. The stars will be excellent, he says.

Harry is strangely quiet, resulting in Louis babbling to fill the silence, talking more about Cliff. Eventually, Louis notices Harry’s lack of engagement and falls a bit quieter, allowing them to walk in silence, enjoying each other’s company.

Unexpectedly, Harry spins on his heel so that he’s leaning over the railing. Louis leans forward next to him, both of them staring out over the open ocean in silence.

It’s a dark night, and the light of the boat is enough to let them see the waves, but not too bright that it obscures the stars. It’s a comfortable silence, and even though it is a little chilly, their arms being pressed together as they lean on the railing keeps Louis plenty warm. Louis shifts his weight on to his tippy toes and leans out a little father to look down the side of the ship.

“Careful Lou, you might fall over the side.” Harry says, breaking the silence. “I might be handsome as a prince and I might be charming, but I’m not jumping to save you.”

Louis laughs lightly but leans back to where both of his feet are resting soundly on the deck.

“The stars.” Harry says softly, breaking the silence again. “They shine so far away, so far above us, but we still see their light. Anywhere in the universe, you can look up and see the stars. I’d like the stars to be my home, I think. I’m always on the move, but the stars are everywhere. If the stars are my home, I’d never really be away. I think I’d feel safer.” Harry finishes softly, glancing over. “Sorry if that was too much.”

Louis simply stares at him, transfixed. “If I had anything to drink, I’d toast to that.” He manages to reply. Harry laughs.

“Did you really not sneak any onboard? You are actually a little princess, aren’t you?” Harry teases. He grabs Louis by the arm of his coat. “Come with me. You’ll get your toast.”

It appears that Harry is either very good at smuggling things, or simply bribed the inspectors so well that they let him bring more alcohol than a small bar onboard. More than a large bar to be quite honest. Louis is almost alarmed, wondering if Harry had been planning on drinking it all alone, as he hadn’t really planned on meeting Louis.

Harry is rich, and Louis is catching on to this. Louis wanders towards the harder alcohol but Harry bends down and wraps both arms around Louis’ middle, picking him up and setting him down on the sofa.

“I said a toast Lou. That means champagne,” He calls over his shoulder, walking to the refrigerator.

If Louis’ heart skips a beat at the nickname, that’s not something Harry needs to know.

“Okay so. Here is a ridiculously large glass of champagne to start,” Harry announces, coming back to the couch and sitting down next to Louis, but leaving a reasonable amount of space between them. They have their champagne and quite a few shots of tequila, and both of them end up drunk.

Harry likes to sing when drunk apparently.

“Wait here, don’t move,” Harry says, putting his hands on Louis’ shoulders and pushing them slightly to make Louis stay on the couch. He returns a minute later holding a guitar.

“Are you going to sing me a song?” Louis asks in an amused tone, wondering how Harry’s going to manage pulling this off when he can barely walk.

“Yes Lou. Wait and see, I’m rather good.” Harry sits down on the opposite part of the L-shaped couch and puts the guitar on his knee. “What do you want to hear? You’re the princess after all,” Harry says with a laugh.

“This is all you Harry, I’ll enjoy anything.” Louis says with a smile, still skeptical.

“Hmm” Harry hums, thinking. “This is my favorite song by one of my favorite bands. I’ve actually met the lead singer,” He mumbles the last part, looking sort of embarrassed.

Louis smiles encouragingly, and Harry takes a deep breath, looking down at his fingers as he starts to pick at the strings, and once he has the pattern down, he closes his eyes and starts to sing.

“I took my love, I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
'Til the landslide brought me down”

Louis had already been impressed with Harry’s ability to play while drunk from the moment he heard the first string, but his voice comes out clear and low, perfectly in key. Harry has a beautiful voice, really. Louis is completely spellbound.

“Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

Harry continues singing, his voice flowing over the notes effortlessly, his fingers never faltering on the strings. He’s completely lost in the music, and Louis just stares, lost in Harry.

Harry finishes the song, and opens his green eyes to meet Louis’ blue ones.

“Incredible, Harry,” Louis tries to say, but his voice comes out a bit raspy and low.

Harry just smiles a little and throws back the rest of his drink. “Thanks, love.”

Drunk Harry is ridiculously clumsy as it turns out, and he accidentally knocks a glass on the floor, where it shatters. As Louis is helping to clean it up, he accidentally cuts his hand on a sliver of glass, so he asks to use Harry’s restroom to clean up.

Harry gets up to show him where it is, but stumbles in his drunken state and falls onto the couch. Feeling concerned, Louis assures him that he can find it himself, and begins walking down the hall. He’s checking every door, and sees that there’s a small bathroom attached to a different, larger bedroom, what must be Harry’s room.

Walking into the bedroom and closing the door, he starts looking for the band-aids. He finds one eventually, and after fixing up his hand, Louis goes back out to the main room to see that the lights are off, and Harry is nowhere to be found. Louis doesn’t have to look very hard to find Harry spread out on the bed in the guest room. It isn’t very late, but Harry’s had a lot to drink, so it makes sense. He looks asleep, so Louis is about to pull the door shut and go back to his own cabin but Harry looks really uncomfortable.

So Louis goes over to Harry’s bed and takes off Harry’s shoes and tucks him in. Harry’s somewhere else mentally, drunk and tired and basically asleep, but at some point Harry notices Louis and mumbles his name, but Louis just gently pushes him into the pillows and whispers to him, “Sleep Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And when Louis goes back to his cabin, he doesn’t really fall asleep. Again. Harry is completely ruining his sleep schedule, but it’s worth it.

They fall into an easy though thankfully more productive schedule, which consists mostly of watching the sunrise with steaming cups of tea, huddled with blankets in the chairs towards the front of the ship. They each work on their projects, Louis beginning to plan the pieces of his next collection. Harry continues to scrawl in his journal, still secretive and closed off if Louis asks about it.

They’ve developed a habit of going to Harry’s cabin at night for a few drinks, sometimes ending up watching a movie, or Louis listening to Harry drunkenly yet talentedly strum a guitar. Louis has decided that Harry is a very talented singer, and he’s covered some of Louis’ favorite songs in the dim glow of the lights in Harry’s cabin, as well as some (a lot) more Fleetwood Mac.

Louis is beginning his paintings. It’s halfway through week two out of five, and Louis has made rough sketches of what he wants the first 4 pieces to look like. The first is a glowing sunrise coming over a distant isle, modeled from the view when they passed close to a small island, the mountain in the middle splitting the light into two beams, cutting through the mist from the waves crashing on the cliffs jutting up from a small rocky beach. Louis had wanted to capture the moment perfectly and decided to snap a picture for reference rather than recreating the scene from memory as he has in the past.

The second piece is a still-life, another picture snapped in the glow of the rising sun. It’s a table with two steaming cups of tea, a blanket bundled on the chair that was barely in frame. Harry is in the blanket, but you can’t tell from the picture. Snapping pictures is becoming a larger and larger aspect of Louis’ art this season, and it’s making his paintings even better.

He’s also started capturing moments for himself, snapping a picture of a particularly beautiful cloud or even of Harry when he isn’t watching. They’re growing closer and closer and it scares Louis. He really wants to be mates with Harry, but sometimes his heart isn’t controllable. It reaches out over the walls he’s built; it moves through the mountains and valleys of reason. Want and desire stretch from Louis’ heart to the very ends of his fingers, a want to be with Harry every second of every day, gravitating to his side. Which was not supposed to happen. Fuck. Louis was not allowed to fall for Harry. Friends only, Louis kept telling himself. It wasn’t exactly going well.

Their cruise is stopping off in a small town to pick up supplies and drop off a few people, and Harry and Louis decide to spend their time off the ship together, wandering through the quaint town. The small and slightly run-down buildings by the sea have a sort of rustic charm to them, letting the two boys feel like they’ve stepped backward in time. They reach a road that ends in a steep staircase down to a small beach, and Harry starts towards it eagerly, stopping short when Louis doesn’t follow.

“Lou, come on,” Harry insists, crossing his arms. “What is it now?”

Harry has started using this new nickname nearly all the time, and it makes Louis’ heart flutter each time, as much as he’d like to deny it.

“Don’t wanna get my feet wet.” Louis mumbles, shuffling his feet.

Harry snorts, laughing at Louis. “Just leave your shoes on then. We’re going.” he says, mock seriously, walking up to grab Louis’ arm.

“Harry, no!” Louis complains, pulling against his tugging. “If I leave my shoes on, I’ll get sand in them. There’s no solution but to stay right here.”

“Lou.”

Sighing, Louis steps forward to follow Harry. “Fine.”

Harry makes Louis go down the staircase first so that he can’t back out. Halfway down, Louis slips and loses his balance. He almost falls, but catches himself, feeling warm steadying hands on his shoulders.

Harry steps down another step so that they’re at the same level and moves his hands down Louis' sides to rest on Louis’ waist, sliding his body around Louis to step down again so that they’re the same height.

“Careful there Lou,” Harry murmurs. “Can’t have you dying on me now.”

Heart beating a million miles an hour, Louis continues down the staircase, behind Harry this time. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Harry jumps down the small bit between the last step and the sand and spins around before Louis can hop off down to the beach, holding out his hand.

“Come on,” Harry smirks, beckoning his hand for Louis to put his hand in Harry’s.

Quirking his eyebrow, Louis places his hand in Harry’s, stepping down onto the hard packed sand. Harry holds Louis’ blue eyes in his green ones for a split second, and then, without breaking eye contact, raises Louis’ hand to his lips and lightly kisses it. He brings Louis’ hand back down from his face, holding Louis’ eyes in his.

Louis feels out of breath for no reason, staring into the unique green jewels set into the young boy’s face. Staring into Harry’s eyes feels to Louis like falling through a shifting tunnel of emeralds in all shades, moving and changing and undoubtedly exquisite. Harry lowers their hands, not holding on, but not letting go. Leaving the choice to Louis.

Louis holds on.

The boys spend nearly an hour walking along the wide, flat beach, hand in hand. They don’t talk about the hand holding though. They talk about the waves, the sand, the people on the cruise, the birds flying above their heads. They talk about almost anything but the hand holding. The sand was hard packed and easy to walk on, with tiny waves lapping at the shore. They decide to take their shoes off and walk at the edge of the waves, so Louis has to stop to take off his shoes (he’d left them on after all). When he stands back up, he awkwardly hesitates, not sure if he can grab Harry’s hand again. Harry gives him a goofy smile and starts chasing him down the beach, eventually tackling him into a sand dune. Both boys start laughing, out of breath from running. They meet eyes and there it is, another intense moment. Louis’ breath catches and he feels like he can’t breathe for another reason now. He feels trapped, but in Harry’s gaze. It’s a good sort of trapped.

Later, the boys walk back to the town and they have a little while before they have to be back on the ship. Louis has half a mind to stall, thinking that he would be perfectly happy to stay on this small isle with Harry forever.

They walk into a small internet café that provides computers. It had somehow been coincidental that neither of them had brought a cell phone or laptop with them. Harry has recording equipment for unknown reasons and Louis has a camera, but they’d both wanted some time away from the world. Louis sighs and turns to Harry.

“I promised my mum I would update her as soon as possible. I’ll just be a second, get us some coffee to bring back?” Louis suggests, nodding to the counter.

Harry walks over to order them the drinks and Louis sits down at the slightly old computer, pushing the card from his camera into the slot on the side. He’d promised his mum some updates on his work. He didn’t usually share his works in progress, but it seemed he was doing everything differently these days. He attaches the pictures to an email, and writes to his mother, mentioning the cold, the tea, the food, his cabin, and everything except Harry. For no reason really, it just feels like he’s caught in a dream, and telling anyone about Harry will break the trance.

After Louis sends his email and logs off of the computer, only remembering to retrieve his memory card at the last second, Harry comes back with two steaming mugs.

“I paid extra and they said we could keep the mugs,” Harry says, his green eyes bright and excited. “Look, they have the name of the café on them. The Beachwood Café. They can be our souvenir from this stop. Let’s find something every time.” says Harry with a smile.

They meet eyes, about to have another intense moment, as Louis has officially dubbed them (to himself), when Harry’s watch goes off. They both start, and Harry glances down at his wrist, first annoyed, then panicked.

“Lou, we have five minutes to be back on board! We’re going to have to run,” Harry says quickly, gathering his coat and mug, regretfully tossing the coffee out the window because he can’t very well run with it. They throw their coats on and race down the narrow, cobbled streets. At one point, Louis starts down the wrong lane, and Harry grabs his hand to pull him in the right direction. They fly through the streets hand in hand, and though Louis feels tired and out of breath and nervous about missing the boat, it’s an undeniably cliché moment, something out of a coming-of-age film.

They make it up the gangplank in the nick of time, but for some reason they don’t stop running until they’re in Harry’s cabin where they collapse on the floor.

“Water,” groans Harry, dragging out the word. “Louuuu get me water, my throat hurts.”

Sighing, but standing to fetch the water, Louis grabs the mugs from where they sit on the floor so that he can fill them. They gradually regain their breath, and instead of going to dinner, they eat some leftovers from the night before and watch a film. It’s a movie about a couple on the coast of Italy, but somehow the main character turns out to be gay, and Harry stiffens where he had ended up learning on Louis’ shoulder. Harry sighs, and Louis gets the message, switching it to a random channel. Louis finds it so ridiculous that straight men are cast as gay characters. It’s really aggravating. Unfortunately, that random channel turns out to be The Voice which seems to make Harry even more tense. Louis isn’t sure why, but trying to ease the tension, he turns the TV off and turns to Harry to find something else to do.

“Hey Lou, fancy a walk under the stars? We haven’t done that in awhile,” says Harry with a slightly forced grin.

Agreeing, Louis grabs his coat and one of Harry’s scarves (just because it’s cold. That’s the only reason). He follows Harry out to their place on the bow, and they stand and stare out at the stars and the waves.

“Louis, I’ve got to tell you. I don’t want to, but I’ve got to, because I feel like I’m taking advantage of the fact that you don’t know, and I still want to be your mate once I tell you I—"

“Harry. Spit it out, it won’t change anything. I promise.” Louis assures him, smiling curiously.

“Styles. That’s my name. Harold Edward Styles.”

Harry winces at Louis’ sharp intake of breath.

“I’ve heard of you.” Louis murmurs.

“Is that all you’ve got to say? Lou. Say something. Please.”

Louis is still collecting his thoughts when he sees tears start to fill Harry’s heartbreakingly vulnerable eyes. He spins on his heel, turning to rush back to his cabin. Louis tries to call after him, but his voice catches in his throat and the words die before they ever reach his lips.

Louis stands at the railing for the better part of an hour, collecting his thoughts. Or possibly just processing them. It isn’t a big deal to him, but he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his mate, Harry, is actually a famous pop star.

He eventually heads back to his cabin and falls into bed wearing his clothes, coat and all, the smell of Harry’s scarf keeping him awake. Louis’ eyes fill with tears. Why didn’t he call out? Why couldn’t he say anything? Harry probably hates him. Louis can’t imagine how hard being a celebrity would be. He knows that he’d feel like everyone was only close to him for his fame, and he can see why Harry didn’t tell him.

He tries to recall, but all he knows is that Harry is a rock? pop? singer-songwriter, but that’s about it. He knows that Harry is a big deal, but his knowledge all comes from his younger sister. Louis tosses about and about in bed, missing Clifford’s breath beside him, missing having anyone beside him. The smell of Harry’s scarf floats to the front of his mind again. Deciding he can’t wait until morning, Louis slips out of bed and out the door of his cabin, his feet tracing the familiar route to Harry’s door.

Louis gives himself a five count in front of Harry’s door before knocking. He makes himself wait, but after counting to 30 there’s still no answer. Louis bangs on the door harder, calling softly through the door, “It’s me.” There’s still no reply, so Louis tests the knob. It turns, opening onto the mess that is apparently Harry.

The couch cushions were strewn every which way, chairs tipped over. Broken glass in the kitchen, Harry’s coat on the couch, an empty bottle of Vodka on the couch. A lump of worry and guilt in his throat, Louis picks his way through the mess, making his way to Harry’s bedroom.

Louis finds Harry sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed, another bottle of vodka in hand. He’s crying softly, not looking up when Louis enters, but his shoulders tense and Louis knows that Harry has heard him.

“Harry. Harry, look at me. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you right away but it doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t. I’m not a crazed fan, I don’t care. Get it through your head. To me, you aren’t Harry Styles, the talented new musician. You aren’t Harry Styles, the next big name in modeling or acting or whatever it is that you do. You’re just Harry, my friend. Understand?”

Harry gradually looks up as Louis talks, but his face is still broken. “Louis, you don’t mean that. You don’t understand. Nobody just wants me.” He whispers.

“Harold Styles. I said it and I meant it,” Louis says tersely, moving to sit down next to Harry, taking the bottle from him, taking a swig, and setting down on the other side of him. Louis glances over at Harry and the expression on his face is heartbreakingly vulnerable, ready to shatter again, but hopeful simultaneously. “C’mere,” Louis murmurs, wrapping Harry in his arms, pulling him to his chest as he strokes his hair. A few tears fall from Harry’s eyes, but Louis knows that they’re happy tears, relief tears. Harry slowly relaxes, exhausted from his crying, and also really wasted. Hopefully he remembers this part in the morning.

Harry’s breaths start to even out, but Louis needs him to sleep in a bed, so he lifts Harry up and tucks him under the covers. He leaves to grab some Tylenol and a glass of water to leave by Harry’s bedside, but sort of ends up cleaning the whole cabin in the process. When Louis finally makes it back to leave the pills with Harry, he stubs his toe on the doorframe.

“Ow, fucking hell,” Louis swears a little too loudly for being in a room with a sleeping person. Harry stirs in his blankets, opening his eyes halfway. “Shhh, Harry. I was just going to leave. Go to sleep,” Louis whispers to him, walking over and rubbing his shoulder. Louis turns around and has his hand on the doorknob when Harry’s voice floats through the dark.

“Stay. Please, Louis.”

Louis stays still for a moment debating. He turns to Harry, and nods once, before he remembers that Harry can’t see him.

“Okay.”

He slips off his coat and shoes and pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed just enough to slide underneath them. He’s drifting off when he hears Harry again.

“Thank you.”

Louis wakes up the next morning after Harry, confused for a moment as to where he is and what’s happening. Also why he’s in bed in jeans and a jumper. Once he remembers, he’s faced with a truth. Last night was the first night since the cruise started that he slept through the night and felt rested the next day. He’s still groggy, but he can tell that he got real sleep.

Slipping out from under the covers, he shivers in the cool air. He strips off his admittedly dirty clothing and hops into the shower that adjoins Harry’s room. He feels bad using Harry’s shower, and he admittedly doesn’t like to wash Harry’s scent off, but he really does need a wash.

The scent thing turns out to not be an issue, when Louis realizes that he doesn’t have anything to wear and Harry has a large closet. Louis smirks to himself. Problem solved.

He walks into the living room five minutes later, dressed in a pair of Harry’s jeans and a hoodie that was also found in Harry’s closet. The hoodie is meant to be loose on Harry, so Louis is drowning in it a little, but he likes the look. Harry looks up and sees him, a smile flitting across his face.

“That’s my hoodie.”

“I know.” Louis holds the eye contact until he blinks, and the intense moment is broken.

“I’ve made some breakfast for you. If you’d like some.” says Harry. He pushes a plate toward Louis with some eggs and a piece of toast.

“It’s good, Harry. I’m impressed.” Louis comments.

“Thanks,” Harry grins, puffing up and looking quite pleased with himself. Please, Louis thinks, rolling his eyes mentally. If I compliment him anymore, he’ll explode.

“As you’ve probably noticed,” Harry says, gesturing around, “We missed the sunrise. We can go sit on the deck though. I hear it’s quite nice today. Not too cold, and you missed working yesterday for the island anyways.”

Louis agrees, finishing his plate and planning to meet Harry on deck in five minutes. He walks quickly back to his cabin, gathering his supplies and leaving back to the deck straight away. He opts not to change, enjoying wearing Harry’s clothes more than he probably should.

Harry looks up when he sees Louis coming, a smile breaking over his whole face. Louis has noticed that whenever he shows up, Harry’s face changes. Whether Harry is sad or engrossed in his work or simply zoned out, Louis’ appearance changes Harry. Louis has thought that it’s a bit like the sun’s first rays breaking over the top of a cliff in the very early morning, right at sunrise. It starts with his eyes and spreads until his entire face is consumed in a smile just for Louis, because of him. It warms Louis to the core.

They hold their eye contact as Louis settles into his chair and begins mixing his paints. He’s almost done with this one, and he’s excited to send a picture to his mother. They work in silence for awhile, but when Louis hears the scratch of Harry’s pencil, he realizes that this is their first work session since Harry, you know, told him.

“You’re writing songs, aren’t you?” Louis asks, already knowing the answer.

Harry sighs, sitting back against his chair. “That’s what this trip was supposed to be. It’s supposed to inspire me, but I haven’t had any inspiration for songwriting other than ‘don’t get drunk and make your new mate clean up after you.’” Harry stares at the clouds resignedly.

Louis finishes what he’s working on and decides to take a break and talk to Harry. The layer needs to dry anyway. He sits back into his chair, looking over at Harry.

“Well, wait for it. I feel like the songs will come eventually. What’s the phrase you music types use? ‘Wait for the right time and it’ll write itself.’ The songs will come. You just need more time, which luckily you have. It’s the last day of week two. You’ve got three more.” Louis smiles encouragingly.

Harry seems reassured, knocking Louis’ shoulder with his own, and Louis’ necklace falls out of his shirt. The one with a heart shaped charm on it.

“What’s this?” Harry asks in a curious voice.

“It’s a necklace from my mum. She gave it to me the first time I sold a big piece. A piece big enough to genuinely go towards my income. It’s my good luck charm,” Louis adds with a smile.

Harry leans in. “The detail is gorgeous. Can I look closer?” Not waiting for a reply Harry leans forward so that his face is level with Louis’. Harry locks eyes with Louis, grabbing the charm with one hand and slowly breaking his eye contact with Louis to look down at the pendant. This would definitely qualify as an intense moment in Louis’ book.

Harry makes a small pensive noise and without looking away from the charm, reaches both hands behind Louis’ neck.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Louis asks a little breathlessly, and Harry raises his eyes to Louis again. Their faces are impossibly close. Louis can literally feel Harry’s breath on his lips.

Harry stays silent and pulls his hands back, Louis’ necklace dangling from one finger.

“What did you think I was doing?” Harry teases Louis, sending him a glance.

Harry takes a minute to look at the necklace in all of it’s detail, noting the silver chain and clasp, along with the delicately shaped heart.

“It’s beautiful. She must really love you, Lou,” said Harry, his voice catching slightly on the word love.

Smiling, Louis nods and turns around so his back is to Harry and says with a laugh, “Put it back on before you drop it, I’d pitch you overboard to find it.”

The rest of the afternoon goes by quickly, Louis putting the final touches on his painting. It’s his favorite one, similar to the sunset over the island, but this one’s point of view is from the island where he and Harry spent the day. It’s closer to his heart than a simple glimpse from the deck of a ship. He lived that moment, and immortalized it on his canvas. He’s perfectly captured the sun, setting this time, over the cliffs that they climbed up and down. He’s quite proud of it.

As the sun sets, the boys sit back in their chairs to watch the last of the sun’s rays fade into the ever darkening sky, swallowed by the darkness slowly moving from the east. Sitting in silence, they watch the sky shift and move, each of them quietly enjoying the other’s company.

Eventually, they pack their day’s work and go to their respective rooms to get ready for dinner. They’re out of leftovers, and there’s open mic night in the dining room. Louis is trying to convince Harry to sing. Harry doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but there’s nobody their age on the cruise to recognize him.

Louis finds himself nervous, trying to decide what to wear. It isn’t a date, but going to dinner? Open mic? Not to mention all the hand-holding and intense moments that have been happening. They haven’t talked about it at all, and Louis prefers it that way. Saying anything might pull them out of the daydream. It feels like a date to Louis.

Louis decides on some jeans and a white button down shirt, throwing a jumper on top, the layers giving him a slightly dressed up look. He nods at himself in the mirror, steeling his nerves and making himself walk out the door.

He finds Harry in the dining room in almost the exact same outfit, but Louis’ jumper is a navy blue, and Harry’s is forest green. They laugh and begin eating, playing their favorite game that they’ve made up. One of them chooses a random person in the dining room, and tells the other what they imagine the person’s life to be.

“Okay Harry. Pick your person,” Louis says, taking a sip of water and leaning back.

Looking around, Harry’s eyes settle on a group of four, what appears to be two middle aged couples sitting together. The men sit next to each other, apparently discussing a recent game, while the women sit and talk in quiet voices. The women are wearing dresses, one grey and the other floral, and the men are wearing jumpers, one of them red and the other royal blue.

“Okay,” Harry starts, after thinking for awhile. “Floral is married to Red, and Blue is married to Grey. They didn’t know each other before this cruise. They have rooms near each other, and kept running into each other in the hallway, so they decided to spend some time together. They aren’t fans of the cold, so they sit in Floral and Red’s room and sip wine and eat crackers. The plot twist,” Harry says grinning (his stories always have a plot twist), “Is that Red and Blue are snogging each other in the kitchen when the women have gone on a walk. See how Red just knocked Blue’s arm? They’re falling in love. Blue’s gonna suck him off later,” Harry says with a grin, winking and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Louis is surprised at Harry’s saying that out of the blue and takes a bite of food, looking down. He’s trying to hide the flush in his cheeks because oh my god Harry can’t just say that to Louis and have him not overthink it, but Harry takes his lack of reply the wrong way.

Harry stares at Louis for a half a second before pushing his chair back and rushing from the room. Louis looks up when he hears Harry leaving and calls out confused,

“Harry? Harry, wait,” Louis calls, a little loudly, but he’s drowned out by the chatter in the room. Louis rushes out after Harry, finding him standing at their spot on the bow. He runs up behind Harry and grabs his hand, making him turn around.

“Harry,” Louis gets out, a little out of breath.

“Louis, I’m sorry” Harry says, sounding exhaustedtiredscaredsadanxious but doesn’t pull his hand away. “I’ve been feeling things and thinking things and if me saying that put you on edge then I clearly shouldn’t be thinking those things and I’m sorry and I’ll try to –”

“Harry.” Louis says, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand and looking into his green eyes. He can barely see them in the dim glow coming from one of the stairwells nearby, but he knows what they look like.

He’s memorized them. He’s memorized every inch of the face inches from his own, how the curve of Harry’s nose shapes his face from the side, and how his lips turn up when Louis makes a joke.

How his eyelashes flutter when Harry’s nervous, and how his shoulders move when he huffs out a breath. How he bites the inside of his lips together when he’s cold.

How his lips fall open when he’s surprised, like now, when Louis interrupted him.

“Harry.” Louis repeats. “Harry, Harry, Harry. Don’t ever think that you shouldn’t think your thoughts. I like them.” Louis says, leaning closer. “Every. Single. One.”

Louis stands on his tiptoes to press his forehead to Harry’s, feeling Harry’s breath on his lips, Harry’s hand in his.

“Lou?” Harry murmurs, brows furrowed in confusion. “Is this you saying what I hope you’re saying or am I misreading this?”

“I’d say you misread a lot,” Louis breathes out with a hint of a laugh. “but this isn’t one of those moments,”

Harry’s body freezes, his eyes moving from shocked to something near relief and finally moving to fondness. Harry’s green eyes search Louis’ blue ones for a split second, and Louis’ breath catches, feeling overwhelmed in Harry’s gaze.

“Lou,” Harry breathes out, closing his eyes and tilting his head forward to capture Louis’ lips in his own. He lets go of Louis’ hand and moves one of his hands up behind Louis’ head to tangle in his hair, the other reaching around Louis’ waist to pull him closer.

Louis’ heart skips more than a beat, but he falls into Harry, moving his hands to cup Harry’s face, holding him in an embrace, pulling him closer. He relaxes into Harry, feeling safer and warmer than he has in a long time. Harry’s tongue swipes across Louis’ lips and Louis’ tongue darts out to deepen the kiss. Harry spins around, pushing Louis against the railing.

“Shit, Harry,” Louis breathes. “Don’t push me overboard.”

Harry smiles against Louis’ lips but doesn’t stop kissing him. Harry kisses him again and again, never wanting to stop.

They jump at the interruption and then laugh when a voice crackles over the loudspeaker.

“If anyone wants to participate in our open mic night, it’ll be opening in a few minutes in the dining hall.”

“We should go, Harry. I want to hear you sing sober,” Louis says, grinning. He grabs Harry’s hand, pulling him towards the stairwell that leads to Harry’s room. Louis pulls him in for a kiss. “Let’s grab your guitar. Sing me a song.”

In the dining room, Harry fidgets with the capo on his guitar and checks the tuning one last time, singing under his breath. There was a signup sheet with five slots, and Harry signed up to go last. He and Louis sit in a booth in the corner of the room, drinking tea.

“Lou, what if someone recognizes me? We’re the only ones without phones. I won’t know if I should expect a pack of fans at our stop day after tomorrow or not. This is a horrible idea.”

“Harry Styles. You have stage fright, don’t you? A Grammy award winning artist with stage fright. Go figure,” Louis laughs, but presses a kiss to Harry’s temple.

“They’re old Louis. I’m singing Fleetwood Mac, and even though I love Stevie Nicks and I know it front to back, I’m scared to mess it up. We’re friends actually.” Harry says, laughing at Louis’ eyes roll.

“I know Harry. You only mention it every single day.”

The first four acts aren’t amazing, and that’s Louis being nice. They’re either off pitch or forget the words, and by the time it’s Harry’s turn the audience seems restless but too polite to get up and leave.

“Our final performance tonight is by Clifford Styles!” The announcer calls out over the dining room, and everyone’s eyes shift to Harry as he shifts and gets ready to stand up.

“You got this,” Louis says, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Clifford never lets me down.”

Harry shoots a grin at Louis, amused with the name they chose to be safe on the off chance that someone might recognize Harry’s name.

Harry walks up to the makeshift stage at the front of the dining room, and sits down on the single stool that’s there, in front of a microphone. He avoids eye contact with the crowd until he’s slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusted the microphone to the right level. He puts one foot up on the bar across the bottom of the stool and it gives him a relaxed look.

The lights are dim in the room, and the focus has all fallen on Harry. Louis can tell that even though he was nervous in his seat, he seems completely at ease now that he’s on stage, and the audience can tell as well.

“Hello, I’m Cliff,” Harry says with a grin and a small wave to the crowd. “I’ll be playing my take on a song by Fleetwood Mac, I hope you enjoy.” He takes a breath in and lets it out, pulling a pick from his pocket and putting it between his lips. Harry begins picking at the strings, his hair falling slightly in his eyes but once he gets the rhythm down, he closes his eyes and lifts his head up, tossing it back slightly to get the hair out of his face.

The pattern he’s playing is unfamiliar to Louis, even though he’s heard almost every Fleetwood Mac song ever to exist over the last week. It’s in a minor key, and it’s a rather slow tune.

Harry takes the smallest pause to grab the pick from his mouth, and starts strumming a pattern instead.

He blows a tiny bit of air from between his lips and begins to sing, his voice ringing out clear over the room through the speakers. It’s instantly the best act and the room begins to sit up straighter, realizing that Harry has some talent and this isn’t going to be painful to sit through. Louis notices and sits up a little straighter with pride, smiling at the stage.

Sweet wonderful you
You make me happy with the things you do
Oh, can it be so
This feeling follows me wherever I go

I never did believe in miracles
But I've a feeling it's time to try
I never did believe in the ways of magic
But I'm beginning to wonder why

Louis recognizes the lyrics now, it’s “You Make Loving Fun”, but Harry’s changed it to be slower and more acoustic. Louis decides that he most definitely likes Harry’s rendition more.

Don't, don't break the spell
It would be different and you know it will
You, you make loving fun
And I don't have to tell you but you're the only one

Louis is starting to realize the implication of Harry’s words, and he starts losing himself in Harry’s voice and the low lighting and his own thoughts. His vision tunnels and he zones out, completely trapped in Harry. His eyes unfocus and begin to stare at Harry at the exact time, and Louis gets lost in his thoughts. Harry’s right. They have something, but they can’t break the spell, they can’t talk about what they have, because they make each other happy and saying anything, letting reality in, would crush it.

Harry drops the pick on the floor and starts picking again, finishing with a final pluck of a low string, and the dining room bursts into real applause for the first time that night. Louis registers this and his vision stops tunneling so much, his eyes readjusting to reality. Harry meets his eyes and there’s something deeper there than the smile that’s on Harry’s face for the crowd. It’s an instant of connection before Harry turns to murmur a thank you to the crowd, and then Harry’s walking back to where Louis’s sitting.

“Really good, Harry. I’m proud of you for doing that,” Louis starts off, putting a small smile on Harry’s face. “You were definitely the best one there.” Louis adds in a whisper.

Harry’s eyes roll a little but Louis can tell he’s definitely happy with the compliment. Harry grabs Louis’ sleeve and tugs on it a little, his guitar already over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s goooo,” he laughs out, pulling Louis from the dining room.

The two boys half walk, half run down the ship’s deck to Harry’s room, and somewhere along the way their fingers end up intertwined.

Harry shoves open the door to his cabin and runs to the back room, putting his guitar on its hook before Louis has taken off his shoes and closed the door. He comes back out of the guest room to find Louis quite literally running into him in the kitchen, jumping into his arms for a hug.

Louis' arms wrap around Harry’s neck, and his legs around Harry’s waist. He leans his forehead into the crook of Harry’s neck and gives it a small kiss.

“I’m glad you did that Harry. I think it was really good for you, I can’t put my finger on why, but it was,” Louis says into Harry’s neck.

Harry smiles into Louis’ hair. “Thank you Lou, I’m glad you made me do it. I wanted to come on this cruise to isolate myself from every single person on this planet, but somehow I ran into you and that plan got tossed to the side.”

“Harry,” Louis starts, pulling back a little bit and causing Harry to set him down. Harry sits on the edge of a bar stool. Louis stands in front of him with a more serious expression on his face. “What are we doing?” He whispers, closing his eyes and touching his forehead to Harry’s.

“I don’t know Louis, but I don’t want to stop, and I don’t want to think about it yet.” Harry whispers back, tilting his head up to capture Louis’ lips on his own.

Louis is taken by surprise but relaxes into the kiss, one of his hands reaching behind Harry’s neck and the other wrapping around Harry’s middle to pull him closer. Harry stands up and lifts Louis with him without breaking the kiss and carries him to the sofa, laying Louis on his back.

The kiss is intense and full of meaning and heat but not the kind that makes Louis want to turn Harry over and fuck him. It’s the type of heat that can only be otherwise described as total and complete passion, a wanting to be as close as possible, the type of passion that would mold two people into one being if it were possible.

Hands and tongues and kisses and a fingertip brushed over the nape of a neck. It’s all soft and heated at the same time, but eventually Harry has to come up for more than a single breath.

“Louis—” Harry starts, but Louis presses a finger to Harry’s lips and shakes his head.

“Just hold me for awhile.” Louis whispers, not wanting to break the moment around them. Harry’s arms snake around Louis and without meaning to, they both drift off to the sound of each other’s soft breathing and beating hearts.

When Louis wakes up the next morning, the other side of the couch is cold. His heart misses a beat and a bolt of nervousness shoots through his chest, as he wonders whether Harry decided this was a terrible mistake and somehow left the ship never to speak to him again. Then he hears the running water. He sighs audibly and throws himself back onto the couch cushions.

Louis runs a hand over his face and drags himself into the kitchen for a glass of water, and then makes his way to the guest bedroom. Because he sort of maybe ended up leaving a toothbrush and some other stuff at Harry’s place in case he stayed the night. Harry must be showering in his own bathroom, because he isn’t in the guest bathroom when Louis goes to brush his teeth. Louis mentally smacks himself upside the head for being disappointed (honestly, what did he think would have happened? and why would Harry have even been in the guest bathroom?) and finishes making himself presentable. (Kissable, if he’s being honest. Louis’ still reeling from the night before, but in a good way.)

Louis was planning on going back to the kitchen to make a snack but as he starts walking past the open door of Harry’s bedroom, he hears a… yeah. That was definitely a moan. Louis can’t help himself, and he slips through the open door of Harry’s bedroom. Harry moans again from behind the bathroom door, which Louis notices isn’t quite closed. Louis is a respectful person. He respects people’s privacy. But the door was cracked open. It was an invitation. Had to be. Harry moans again, louder this time. Fuck. Louis is getting really turned on by this and it’s completely unfair. So he pushes the door open and slips inside.

“Fuck, Louis” Harry hisses, moaning out Louis’ name.

Louis’ eyes widen, and he thinks that he’s been caught watching Harry, but Oh. Then he realizes. Harry is getting himself off to the thought of Louis. Ok. So. He can’t just stand here watching (he could but why would he) so he starts quietly taking off his clothes. He still has on his clothes from the night before and he’s undressed completely and silently when he accidentally nudges his belt with his foot and it clicks on the tile floor.

“Fuck.” Louis hisses, snapping his eyes up to look at Harry, where he meets green eyes instead of Harry’s closed eyelids. Harry looks momentarily panicked, then surprised, and then a small smirk settles on his face.

“Harry—” Louis starts, meaning to apologize, but he’s interrupted.

“Louis.” Harry says. It sounds more like a moan, but that’s beside the point. “Come here.”

Louis’ jaw drops mentally. His face stays still, but he chokes out, “You sure?”

Harry nods, and Louis slips into the shower, relaxing into the stream of water that turns out to not be as hot as it seemed. Or maybe Louis’ skin is just warmer than usual. Whatever. Harry moves his hand to tangle in Louis’ hair and kiss him until Louis breaks the kiss and moves to kiss Harry’s neck, sucking softly at the skin below Harry’s jaw.

Louis leans back with a smile and drops down in front of Harry

Afterwards, Louis looks back up at Harry who smiles down at him sort of breathlessly and opens his arms slightly. Louis realizes that he wants a hug, and slides back up to rest in Harry’s embrace. They relax into each other’s arms under the hot stream of water without talking, just enjoying each other.

They eventually separate and end up taking turns washing each other’s hair which ends with soap suds everywhere but their hair. Oh well. Louis is sort of having the time of his life. When Harry finishes rinsing the last of the soap out of his hair and turns off the shower, he turns around to meet Louis’ eyes before they step out of the shower and there’s another one of those intense moments, but Harry ends it by stepping forward to press his lips softly against Louis’, but there’s no heat behind it. It’s just a tender gesture, and it makes Louis’ heart flutter dangerously.

Louis follows Harry to his room, both of them dressing comfortably in jeans and soft jumpers. Harry makes his way to the kitchen and begins to heat the kettle and make tea.

He grabs his notebook and Louis his sketchbook, and they spend the morning on the deck with warm tea, watching the gray clouds move across the slightly lighter gray sky. Harry hums under his breath for awhile, and Louis tries to sketch Harry, much to Harry’s amusement.

And the whole time there are brushes. Glances. Parted lips, the brush of Harry’s finger across Louis’ wrist while they’re publicly on the deck.

A stolen kiss while they walk through the hallway to Harry’s cabin.

A passionate one once the door is closed behind them.

They stumble through Harry’s living room to the couch, smiling into the kiss like teenagers, and end up cuddled in each other's arms as closely as possible, Harry pressing soft kisses to the top of Louis’ head and running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck.

Louis sighs, and turns his head to look up at Harry with a smile.

“What?” Harry asks with a raised eyebrow and a smile, rubbing Louis’ back to get him to answer.

“Feels like we’re in a dream,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s chest, his head turning back to its original position against Harry. “It's perfect and I don’t want to wake up. Wanna stay here,” Louis says, the end of his sentence falling out of his lips in a sigh.

Harry’s chest tightens at Louis’ words, and how they reached into him and drew out his own emotion so perfectly. He hadn’t known the word for his feelings until now, but Louis was right. They were living in a perfect moment, suspended in time and floating above every problem in the universe. They were living in a dream, and it wasn’t an emotion that could be explained. Only Louis and Harry knew what Louis meant.

“Yeah, Lou. We’re in a dream.” Harry whispers into Louis’ hair, and they stay like that until without meaning to, they drift off in each other’s arms, each of them lulled to sleep by the soft sound of the other’s beating heart and soft breaths.

They wake up sometime hours later, much past dinner time, so they sort of shuffle in the dark to collapse into Harry’s bed and slide under the duvet, cuddling into each other without having to talk about it. It felt so comfortable, so familiar and safe, that Louis’ half asleep brain nearly got choked up thinking about how he’d been so lucky to find this beautiful boy with deep and enchanting green eyes.

The air smells nice. Louis tries to shift around, but his muscles are sleep heavy and his body does not want to move. He opens his eyes to find Harry sitting in front of him in a chair beside the bed, holding a cup of tea next to Louis’ face.

“I thought that might wake you up.” Harry smiles. “How do you feel?”

Louis just lays there for a minute with his head resting on the pillow and looks at Harry’s face, illuminated by the soft morning light coming through the floor to ceiling windows in the bedroom. The light is hitting Harry from a slight angle, illuminating his hair and the tips of his eyelashes. The gold glow of the sun on his lashes throws his green eyes into a kaleidoscope of emerald and jade and every shade of green in between. Louis lets a small smile dance over his lips while he studies Harry’s face quietly and slowly wakes up.

“What is it?” Harry asks, sounding concerned by Louis’ silence and confused by Louis’ smile.

“You’re breathtaking, Harry Styles.” Louis murmurs, his voice still raspy from sleep.

Harry’s face lights up, and he smiles at Louis happily. “You’re breathtaking too, Louis Tomlinson. Drink your tea and take a shower because we’re stopping again today, remember? We have to go find a souvenir. I’m gonna go try to figure out something I heard in a dream last night,” Harry says, leaning down to lightly kiss Louis on the forehead. “I’ll be in the other room.”

Louis sighs at the feeling of Harry’s lips on his skin and closes his eyes again. When Harry leaves, Louis finally slides his legs out of the duvet and takes a sip of the tea that Harry’s left on the bedside table. It’s perfect, just how Louis likes it.

Louis is standing up to walk to the shower when he hears a few strings being plucked from the other room. Louis smiles and walks over to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and hopping into the shower, smiling to himself again when he remembers what happened here two mornings before. He’s intrigued and enraptured by Harry, who’s the softest, sweetest and yet most intelligent person every single day. Louis loves it.

When Louis finishes his shower, he stands for a minute in front of Harry’s closet, trying to decide what to wear. Harry had been in some loose jeans and a light green jumper with red lines on the cuffs, so Louis opts to dress similarly, in jeans and a red jumper.

He walks over to the other bedroom and comes up behind Harry, leaning down wrapping his arms around Harry where he’s sitting on the corner of the bed with his back to the door.

Harry starts a little but leans back into the embrace, setting his guitar down. His back is to Louis but he looks down at Louis’ sleeves and laughs, tilting his chin up to glance at Louis’ head over his shoulder.

“Was this accidental or did you remember that tomorrow is Christmas Eve?” Harry asks with a grin, holding up his arm next to Louis’, showing him that they’re wearing red and green.

“Wait,” Louis says. “That can’t be possible. Tomorrow can’t be my— never mind.”

“Louis.” Harry’s eyes narrow a bit. “Tomorrow’s your what?”

“Tomorrow may. Or may not be. My. Birthday?” Louis says hesitantly.

Harry grabs Louis’ arms and swings him down and around so that Louis is laying on the bed, and Harry spins around and puts his hands on either side of Louis’ head so that he’s holding himself over Louis’ body.

“You didn’t tell me this why?”

“I don’t like, a big deal made out of it, it’s always overshadowed by Christmas.” Louis says with a huff, looking at Harry’s determined face.

“This is going to be your best birthday ever. We’re celebrating today when we stop. Go put on something else, Tomlinson. We’re going on a hike.” Harry says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Are you bloody mad? It’s literally the middle of winter. We will freeze to death, Harold.” Louis says, using Harry’s real name from dramatic effect.

“Fine. You’re the birthday boy. But can we please walk along the cliffs a bit at least? Alone?” Harry asks with what are nearly the most convincing puppy dog eyes Louis has ever seen, and he grew up with sisters.

Groaning, Louis gets up and trudges from the room, calling behind him “FINE! I’ll get my coat,” with what’s probably an obnoxiously overexaggerated sigh tacked on the end.

It’s about 11am when the cruise ship docks at the small pier. The passengers have a rather longer stop today, the cruise requiring that they be back by 8:30 pm at the latest, which will be long after darkness falls this time of year. Louis and Harry are the first ones off the ship, heading into the small town quite close together, but not hand in hand. Harry’s still paranoid that someone will spot them even though they’re quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

The sun is actually shining today, but it’s still quite cold out so they both have on jackets over their jumpers, unzipped for now, partially because it’s not quite cool enough for that but partially because Christmas colors.

Harry shows Louis the pamphlet he found on the ship explaining the different paths they can walk, and they choose a small trail that’s relatively flat and traces the cliffs for a few miles. It’s a simple out and back walk, so they don’t have to do the whole thing if they don’t end up wanting to, Louis reasons.

They walk down the narrow dirt path that winds and follows the curve of the cliffs, just feet away from the edge that drops straight down over a hundred feet? More? Until the steep granite disappears into the deep, blue, churning ocean. They’re hand in hand, mostly enjoying the silence and the beauty of the island, but occasionally pointing things out. A bird overhead, an unusual flower, a shape found in the clouds (they disagree about those).

The sky is overcast, because when is it not, but the clouds above are multilayered today; instead of the usual sheet of thick, uniform grey, the sky is split into separate layers, some closer to earth and some farther, some places thicker and darker while the sun threatens to peek through in others.

About halfway to the end of the dirt trail, Harry spins around without warning and tugs Louis into his arms, enveloping Louis’ smaller body with his larger one.

“Right now, I feel so happy. My work is amazing, and I love the people that I usually have to spend time with every day, but eventually I just need a minute.” Harry mumbles into Louis’ shoulder. “I need a minute to breathe, I want to stop time and just sit until I can figure out the next thing. This is that minute. You are that minute, that calm, that next thing. I feel so calm, so happy, so at peace. So—” Harry stops leaning back to smile at Louis properly. “I feel so happy.”

A bit of sun somehow breaks through the clouds, and the beam somehow lands perfectly onto them. It comes from somewhere behind Harry and falls onto Louis’ face, warming his features, sparkling on his eyelashes, brightening his eyes. As the sun illuminates Louis, Harry gasps with a huge smile.

“What?” Louis asks, laughing and pulling back from where their foreheads have fallen together.

“The sun, you—” Harry blinks. “You’re all… you’re so… you’re so golden.” Harry says, seemingly in awe. He tilts his head to the side, with very fond eyes. “You’re my little sun,” he says, moving back forward to capture Louis’ lips with his own.

On their way back from the trail, they walk through the town, fingers intertwined while they look at the different shops and vendors. As they meander through the quaint town, Harry walks a little ahead of Louis, tugging on his hand and spinning Louis around underneath his arm, almost as if they’re dancing. Harry pulls some money out of his pocket and drops it on a merchant’s table and smoothly pulls a bouquet of sunflowers out of a bucket resting on the ground, twirling to hand them to Louis.

“For you, because you’re the sun.” Harry says with a grin, presenting the flowers to Louis, and then laughing when a massive grin breaks over Louis’ face.

Louis doesn’t say anything, but reaches out to take the flowers and leans in to peck Harry on the cheek.

Later, they end up at the edge of town, where the sidewalk runs along the edge of a cliff. There’s an old wooden fence there, and they lean on it to watch the sun slip down below the sea. It ends up peeking out from under the clouds for a few minutes before slipping below the horizon, and Louis and Harry just stand in silence, hand in hand, while they watch the sun set. It’s a peaceful sort of moment, filled with all the words they can’t say.

They had stopped by a little café earlier in the day, so that Louis could send his mum a few pictures of his paintings in progress and Harry could check to see what his manager had said. Harry had actually been in a bit of a bad mood for a while afterwards, so Louis assumed that it hadn’t been a good email, but he’d tried to ignore it because Harry did not like talking about his manager. Louis had never met the guy, but he honestly wouldn’t have a problem shouting “Fuck Jeff Azoff!” with his entire chest. Anyways. They stop again to see if they’ve gotten replies to their emails, and Harry hasn’t, (“He’s ignoring me. I told him I wouldn’t do something he wanted.” Harry laughs), but Louis did get an email from his mum.

Dear Louis,

I’m so pleased to hear from you. You sound different. You aren’t telling me something. I’m a mother; I know these things. I miss you dearly, and I can’t wait to see you. Not too much longer until you’re back here and I can tease you in person! Send more pictures of your WIPs, they’re lovely!

Sending every bit of love,
Mum xxxx

Louis laughs. He should have known he couldn’t keep his fond over Harry out of even his emails. He shoots his mum a quick yet evasive email, skirting around answering her question and attaching some more pictures instead. He’ll own up eventually, but he can’t exactly tell his mum in an email that he’s kissing? Dating? Falling for? Harry Styles, music sensation. That should definitely be said in person.

They’re hungry again because of course they are, so they find a little restaurant with a very nice intimate atmosphere, candles and all that, which Louis would normally never bother with, but it’s Harry, and Harry wanted to eat here, so Louis will eat dinner here if it’s that last thing he does.

“So I think that this was a nice day,” Louis grins across the table at Harry as they finish their wine. “Got to spend some time together off the ship and all that.”

Harry looks down at their hands, clasped together over the table. “Oh yeah. Definitely a very very good day, my little sunshine.” Harry adds the end with a grin, nodding to the bouquet of sunflowers sitting beside them on the table that Louis pretty much did not let go of since Harry handed them to him. They eat and drink wine and Harry insists on paying because “This is effectively your birthday dinner Lou. Please let me?” So Louis does because Harry’s puppy dog eyes are getting ridiculous.

After Harry’s paid, they sit back and watch the sky. They’re sitting next to a window, and the full moon is rising out above the ocean where the clouds have miraculously cleared up a bit.

“Let’s go, H. I have one more thing that I want to do.”

They walk inland for a bit, away from the ocean, until Louis pulls Harry down a side street and they end up in front of this park entrance.

“I read about this in a guidebook earlier. It’s this big field park thing that’s owned by the community so nobody can come in and build it up. It’s open to the public and it seems like a nice place to sit and stare at the moon. One of the best activities known to man,” Louis says, grinning at Harry as they walk down the path to the huge field.

There’s a big flat area down a bit further, but to get to it, there's either a stone staircase or big hill that they have to go down.

“Stairs”

“Hill”

They speak at the same time. Louis crosses his arms. “Hill.”

So. Hill it is. Birthday and all that.

They start to walk down, but a few steps in, Louis laughs and breaks into a sprint down the hill, his arms flung to the sides, jacket flying open as he runs as fast as he can. It feels infinite, cosmic, immeasurable, to feel the biting wind on his face, his feet flying through the grass, his throat burning from the air rushing down it. He lets out a whoop, and reaching the bottom of the hill he throws his arms into the air again and spins around. He stretches his arms out as wide as they can go and slowly spins in a circle, with his face tilted toward the moon.

“Come on, Harry!” he shouts. “Run!”

So Harry does, letting himself go in the same way that Louis did, and feeling equally out of breath when he reaches the bottom of the hill. It’s a good sort of breathlessness, the sort that comes after letting your soul breathe from something as simple and free as sprinting down a hill.

They lay down in the middle of the huge field, hands intertwined between them.

After some time, Louis laughs.

“What?” Harry asks, rather perplexed. Nothing had happened in the last five seconds that was even remotely amusing. It was literally silent?? Louis moves his hand from where it rests in Harry’s and pokes Harrys stomach, moving then to rest his head where he poked Harry. Louis starts humming and waits for Harry to catch on. Eventually, Harry catches on right in time and lets a little huff of a laugh out of his nose and sings the line with Louis.

“And the moon rose over an open field.” Their voices blend exquisitely, Harry’s deep timbre mixing with Louis’ slightly higher one, the harmony that neither of them meant to create floating through the empty air that’s thick with emotion.

“Interesting choice for two Brits, hmm?” Harry chuckled, the motion of his stomach from his laugh bouncing Louis’ head a bit.

“It’s a good fucking song, Harry.” Louis says nearly too seriously. “The world does not in fact revolve around Fleetwood Mac.”

Eventually, they make their way back to the Aurora. They agree that it’s been a long day and they drag themselves through the hallways of the ship to Harry’s cabin, falling into Harry’s bed. Louis has basically given up living in his own room? He literally brought most of his clothing over here earlier in the day and if he’s being completely honest, he wears Harry’s jumpers like 99% of the time. So.

Its been like. Twenty five minutes and neither boy can fall asleep and so Louis eventually just rolls over and scrambles on top of Harry and kisses him. It’s slow and meaningful and says all the things that even Louis, the romantic that he is, can’t say. It’s I had an amazing day today and I want to spend the rest of my life watching the moon rise with you and I can’t believe you bought me literal sunflowers that’s the most romantic thing anyone has done for me ever. Of course, because they’re young men on a cruise together in the dead of night, the kiss rapidly turns heated and eventually, neither of them have quite as much energy as before.

Louis gets woken up on his birthday with Harry’s lips wrapped around his dick, which, okay. As far as birthdays go, it makes the top five with absolutely no difficulty whatsoever.

They sort of spend the day doing absolutely nothing, but Harry sends Louis away for an hour and when Louis returns, there’s a chocolate cake waiting for him. Louis is completely perplexed as to what he did to deserve Harry, but whatever the twist of fate was that led him here, it resulted in Louis being completely and utterly whipped for this tall English man singing him Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs.

It’s become rather a tradition of theirs, so they grab their coats and walk the length of the ship under the stars that fill the sky so completely. The wind is biting, like always, but Louis feels like he could never feel properly cold again as long as Harry’s by his side.
-

Its been another week and it’s been amazing. Louis wakes up every morning in the arms of a man he’s begun to care so deeply about that it scares him. He goes to sleep every night the exact same way.

Louis has a problem with confronting reality. His smart brain is telling him that it’s New Year’s Eve and this cruise ends on the twelfth of January and that means they really don’t have that much time left and how does this work in the real world and does this work in the real world? But whenever Louis’ thoughts start to go down that particular unpleasant path, he stops them by leaning over to kiss Harry. It works rather well if he’s being honest.

And then it’s been another week of absolute bliss, and it’s the day of their final stop, and all of a sudden Louis physically cannot spend a minute more than three inches away from Harry because somehow they went from having five weeks to having five days and Louis is not ready. He’s starting to hate this stupid fucking dream analogy he made up because dreams end. That’s the whole point. But he isn’t ready to wake up. Not even close.

Louis wakes up late and stumbles into the music room, as they’ve dubbed it. Their cabin (technically Harry’s but potayto / potahto) has changed dramatically since week one, but not physically. It’s more in the emotional sense. The guest room turned into the art room. Harry’s room turned into their room. The bedroom. Not Harry’s bedroom. Their bedroom. It’s terribly domestic and makes Louis’ heart swell more than it probably should, but.

Harry is laying back on the bed in the music room, plucking at strings and muttering nonsense under his breath. He flops his head to the side on Louis’ arrival, groaning.

“I am a shit musician. I literally cannot come up with a single line.”

Louis laughs and moves to pull the guitar from his hand and hang it back on the wall, snuggling into him. “Actually, I’m the shit musician. And you’re most definitely the shit artist,” Louis teases, his brain flashing back to that first sketch that Harry made him that is most definitely not tucked into his wallet at the bottom of his bag.

“That, Tomlinson, might be true,” Harry starts teasingly, “but I would paint the whole world for you, of you. Every shade of blue in your eyes reflected into the sky, every inch of your heart immortalized in the sunrise, every rise and fall of your body blended into a world full of snow capped mountain peaks and fathomless valleys,” Harry mumbles softly into Louis’ shoulder. Louis’s heart skips maybe three beats. He’s way too far gone for this man. Harry sits straight up, pulling out of Louis’ arms. “True, you, paint the world?” He starts mumbling.

Louis rolls his eyes and gets up. Harry’s effectively ruined the moment; once Harry gets an idea for a line, he’s gone. Louis will not be getting any attention for a solid ten minutes. He gets up to go make them some tea and sure enough, he isn’t even halfway to the kitchen before he hears the plucking of some strings and an excited shout. “Got it!”

Louis smiles with a heart full of fondness for the beautiful musician that he’s fallen for much too hard, and proceeds to make their tea.

An hour or so later, they’re walking through the streets of the last stop on their trip, another small town. They buy a container of fresh fruit from a little vendor and find a secluded spot to sit right by the cliffside. Harry’s brought a blanket and sitting at the edge of the cliff in the wind, with the sun overhead, it feels like a proper picnic.

It’s a rather beautiful afternoon, the sun out for once, with seagulls floating on the wind and soft clouds floating scattered across the sky. The wind bites at their cheeks and flutters their eyelashes, but Louis will take it all to see the way the wind moves Harry’s hair, tousling it, giving him a windblown and incredibly stunning look. Maybe Louis is completely whipped, but that’s irrelevant. Harry is objectively the most stunning man on the planet.

Harry holds out a strawberry for Louis to bite into, and when Louis pulls back to chew, a grin pulls at the corners of Harry’s mouth.

“What?” Louis asks when he’s swallowed the fruit. “Did I get it on my chin?”

“Nah, you have strawberry lipstick though,” Harry smiles into the sentence. “It’s very cute.”

Harry reaches forward and grabs a grape, tossing it in the air and leaning back to catch it in his mouth. He forgets that he’s at the edge of a cliff though, and even though he isn’t quite in danger of falling over the edge, Louis still lunges forward and catches Harry in his arms, rolling them away from the cliffside.

Louis ends up on top after their roll, and he looks down at Harry fondly.

“I feel like I should say, even though I’ve got a rather shit voice alone, I’d sing every song if it was you on guitar. As long as you’re there with me,” Louis says softly, leaning down to brush his lips against Harry’s. It’s terribly romantic and the slight touch sends shivers down Louis’ spine like it’s their first kiss.

Harry smiles into Louis’ lips and kisses him again and again and it really feels like something out of a cheesy romance novel and then Louis sighs and rolls over to lay next to Harry because of course his brain had to remind him that it’s already Tuesday and they have to part ways early Sunday morning and he is most definitely not prepared for that.

“Lou, what’s wrong?” Harry asks when Louis lays back, reaching over to tug him around so that Louis’ head is resting on Harry’s stomach. Harry starts pulling his fingers through Louis’ hair as softly as he can, and it slows Louis’ heartbeat to a normal level.

“Nothing,” Louis hums, and turns his head slightly to look up at Harry. “Same old same old. Don’t know where we’re going with this. But let’s not talk about it. I’m not ruining our last stop.” Louis finishes with a smile, standing up and holding his hand out to help Harry up.

They end up at a little café which, by some luck, has some computers that they can use. Awfully old clanky things, but whatever. Louis has an email from his mum because of course he does. As he probably could have predicted, it contains a simple “So love. Who is it? Tell me everything x” and Louis in turn shoots back a “Tell you later mum. Love you :)” and closes the browser to go grab coffees for himself and Harry.

When he stands up, he sees Harry at the computer across the table from him, looking deathly pale. He looks like he’s about to cry, and Louis decides not to intrude. Harry will tell Louis when he’s ready.

Louis grabs the warm drinks, (he’d opted for mochas instead of coffee because chocolate, obviously) and walks outside to wait for Harry. They’d spent longer than they thought by the cliffside, but it didn’t really matter because the ship was staying in this port overnight, the first time it had happened on the whole trip.

Harry comes outside and accepts the cup from Louis, wrapping his hands around it rather tightly. Louis notices his discomfort and nudges him.

“D’you want to walk around or head back? Have some alone time?” Louis asks softly, trying to help Harry out a bit here.

“Back please,” Harry says, his voice sounding fragile and close to breaking, which sends a knife right to Louis’ heart. If a person did something to make Harry sound like this, Louis is ready to search the whole world to find them and shove them off a tall building.

They get back onto the ship, and as they approach the corridor that leads to Louis’ actual cabin that he hasn’t actually entered for nearly two weeks, Harry pauses.

“Lou,” Harry hesitates. “D’you think I could have a minute, just, alone?” Harry’s whisper is enough to shatter Louis’ heart into a million pieces, but he doesn’t miss a beat before standing on his tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Harry’s temple.

“Of course, love. Take the time you need. I’ll come and check later?” Harry nods at Louis' words and Louis squeezes his hand one more time before slipping down the corridor to his right. If Louis’ ears had been any less sharp, he would’ve missed the sharp intake of breath and small sniff come from the man behind him. It takes every ounce of willpower in Louis’ body to keep walking forward, only stopping to look back at the place Harry had been standing once Louis reaches the door to his cabin. Harry’s gone.

Louis takes the time to pack. He has to do it at some point, and it’s a good distraction. He packs up everything that’s still in his room and puts it by the door. Somewhere along the way, it hits him in the chest that they never picked up a souvenir on their last stop. He tries to not let it bother him.

He’s basically started wearing exclusively Harry’s jumpers, so the only things that he doesn’t have packed are his jeans and such. He paces around and around his room, trying to figure out what exactly had Harry so shaken. He prays with his whole being that nobody close to Harry had passed away, that everything was okay. Please let it be career related, Louis thinks. Anything related to his music, Harry can move past. But Louis has spent enough time with Harry to know that Anne and Gemma are the most important people in Harry’s life.

Eventually it’s been three hours and Louis is going out of his mind, so he steels his nerves and yanks the door open and quickly walks the familiar route to Harry’s room. He’s convinced that his eyes were closed half of the time, but he could walk this path in his sleep at this point.

Three knocks. Then three more. Then Louis pulls open the door. The first thing that hits him is that the cabin is remarkably clean. Like, there are no clothes scattered around the room like there were this morning. The silence hits him next. There’s no record in the record player, no sound coming from the music room. He starts walking through each room, his heart speeding up each time he doesn’t find Harry.

Then he hears it. A soft click, from Harry’s bathroom, from the bedroom. It’s like the entire atmosphere of the earth was trapped inside Louis’ lungs and he exhales for maybe thirty whole seconds. His feet move him to their bedroom room faster than he thought was possible.

Harry is standing in the middle of the room, looking at Louis standing in the doorway. He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, looking absolutely wrecked. Harry moves his arms and Louis’ confused at first but then he realizes that Harry wants a hug and Louis has literally never moved faster. He wraps his arms around Harry so tightly that he thinks he might break Harry’s ribs and starts to tug Harry over to their bed. Pulling him down, they end up cuddling together, Louis the big spoon for once, still holding his arms around Harry’s middle.

“Harry,” Louis finally speaks, breathes really, with the way it comes out all breathy and quiet. He almost thinks Harry didn’t hear him until Harry hums quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off.

“Don’t apologize for needing time, Harry. We’ve all been there. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but if you feel comfortable, I want to know. I want to know how I can help you, Harry. I want to be here for you.”

Harry doesn’t answer other than a quick exhale and inhale, and Louis nearly thinks he’s overstepped until he feels Harry’s shoulders tremble. Harry rolls over to face Louis, the light of the moon reflecting the tears pooled in Harry’s eyes and the shining tracks of salty tears that run down his cheeks.

“Oh, H.” Louis whispers, leaning forward to kiss the tears on Harry’s cheeks away, pressing kisses to Harry’s forehead and hairline and the ridge of Harry’s eyebrows and every inch of Harry’s face that Louis can reach. He pulls Harry closer and lets Harry’s breaths even.

“It’s my job. It’s always my job. It’s my manager. It’s the whole fucking industry. It’s just so fucking hard sometimes.” Harry’s voice takes on an almost angry edge at the end, but it’s entirely overpowered by the broken vulnerability of it. He rolls back around and Louis just hums to him and gently strokes his stomach until they both drift off to sleep. It’s just as they’re drifting off that Louis hears Harry mumble, so softly that Louis almost doesn’t catch it.

“Thank you, Louis.”

It’s later, much later, that Louis wakes up to an empty bed. He reaches over, but the spot next to him is cold. Harry has been out of bed awhile. The realization makes Louis’s heart stutter and he slips his legs out from under the duvet they ended up under. He shivers when his feet hit the cold floor, and starts to shakily walk toward the door, not having fully woken up yet.

Louis gets an eerie sense of déjà vu as he slowly pads through each empty room, looking for the man that captured his heart and crept into his soul. The cabin is too quiet, too dark. Even as he checks each room, Louis can feel it in his bones. There’s no click this time. There won’t be. Nobody waiting in the other bedroom, no light on in the bathroom. There’s just nothing.

Louis is alone in a too-big cabin, one made for a rock star with enough money to rent himself such a large, open space. A cabin made for a rock star who’s used to spending his nights alone in grand hotel rooms. But this space isn’t meant for Louis. Louis doesn’t belong here. Not without Harry in his arms.

For the briefest second, Louis thinks that maybe he should search the whole ship, the whole island that the ship is still docked at, fuck it, the whole world for Harry, but. Louis knows. He just knows. If Harry isn’t here? He’s gone. For good.

Louis just crumples. His legs really and truly do give out, and all of a sudden, he’s on the living room floor on his knees with his body folded over them. His lungs won’t take in air, his mouth tastes like sandpaper. Eventually he gathers enough strength to pull himself up, but he knows he won’t make it. He falls onto the couch, and stares into the darkness until sleep drags him under. It’s not real sleep, just dozing and slipping in and out of consciousness.

One of the times he wakes up, Louis feels like he needs to cry but he can’t, the tears just won’t form in his eyes and he starts gasping, just trying to get air into his lungs but his throat won’t let him, and he just can’t stop falling apart on the couch at god knows what hour. But there’s no reason to pull himself together. Harry’s gone.

The next morning, Louis falls off the couch and catches his shoulder on the edge of the coffee table. It’s bleeding a little, so Louis slowly makes his way to the bathroom, pointedly ignoring the way his footfalls echo in the too-big room.

He walks through the doorway and freezes, his heart cracking impossibly a little bit more. The closet door is resting halfway open and the closet is empty, but Harry’s left five jumpers hanging in the front. The light green one that Harry wore at dinner the first night. A navy blue one that Harry would wear nearly every morning. The forest green one from open mic night. The white one with pink hearts that they constantly argued over wearing, but. The last one takes Louis’ breath away. It feels like a punch to the stomach. It’s the green jumper with red cuffs that Harry wore on Louis’ birthday eve.

Louis tears his eyes away and stumbles into the bathroom to slap a bandage over his arm and he forces himself to walk straight out of the bathroom, straight out of the cabin altogether, not lifting his eyes from the ground until he reaches his own cabin. He falls inside and his breath catches. He sees his packed bags by the door, the stark emptiness of his own cabin hitting him. He grabs his bags and turns right back around.

It’s been three days. Louis has eaten enough to stay alive, drank nearly enough to kill himself and slept maybe four hours. The eating is explained away by lack of appetite easily enough. And the drinking is rather self-explanatory. It’s the sleep that hurts to think about, the lack of rest that Louis doesn’t want to explain to himself because the thoughts cut straight to his chest.

He hasn’t slept because as soon as he closes his eyes, it’s just Harry behind his eyelids. It’s just green eyes, green jumpers, coffee and tea with a splash of milk and no sugar. It’s hearing a beautiful boy talk about the stars. It’s listening to Harry sing at open mic night. It’s running along a beach, and sprinting through narrow streets to arrive back to their room on time. It’s running through a field in the middle of the night and sitting at the edge of cliffsides as the sun sets. Sitting in the soft morning glow as Harry pulls at guitar strings. Lounging on the windy deck of a ship while Louis paints and Harry writes and the wind rustles his hair. It’s just Harry.

So. Louis hasn’t slept. The supercut that plays behind his closed eyelids is simply too much for his still shattered, still broken heart to handle.

The only positive thing that could possibly be said for the last few days is the completion of Louis’ paintings. The whole collection. It turns out that quite a lot of painting can be done when one doesn’t rest, Louis thinks bitterly, as he wraps the last canvas and places it in the box that’ll be going in a separate car straight to his manager, Liam, when the ship docks and unloads.

This time tomorrow, he’ll be seeing his mum, and later on he’ll have to talk to Liam about an auction of some sort, but for now, he’s sitting on the deck in Harry’s chair, with a cup of tea. He’s watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean, and he’s trying to convince himself that he’s going to be okay.

The next morning, Louis has sent his luggage (other than his backpack and suitcase with his clothes) down to the deck where it’ll be sent straight to a separate area, and he’s sitting in their bedroom. Harry’s bedroom. The five fastest weeks of his life are over and he still can’t decide whether they were the worst or the best. He’s wearing the forest green jumper and even though it doesn’t really smell like Harry anymore, he still keeps tucking his nose into the sleeve, trying to hold on to the last fraction of a piece of Harry that he has left.

The ship pulls into the port and Louis tunes out the announcement that they can begin leaving the ship in ten minutes. All it means to him is that he only has ten minutes left in this room. He stands up and slowly walks from room to room, dragging his fingers across the walls as he moves. The supercut plays on, each memory like a flash of light across his brain. Flash. Harry playing whatever bit of guitar he’s working on in this room. Flash. Harry and Louis cooking some chicken dish. Flash. Slow dancing in the kitchen, and Harry leans in to kiss Louis slowly, softly. Flash. Cuddled up watching cheesy romantic movies in the living room. Flash. Harry pouring them a glass of champagne.

Louis realizes that he’s reached the door. The door that leads out to the rest of the ship. One breath. Then another. Shutting his eyes tightly, Louis wills himself not to let tears fall. Not now, when he’s minutes from seeing his mum again. Right. He takes a last deep breath and spins around to look at the room one more time. Memorizes it. Maybe he’ll paint it one day.

“Louis!” He hears a shout as he steps off the gangplank. His mum is hurrying up to him, Liam at her side. He smiles, for the first time in half a week. Liam grins back at him, but his mum only purses her lips, seeing through him.

He holds his mum in a long embrace murmuring in her ear all the right sentences, about how much he missed her. Liam pulls him in next, wanting to hear everything, and wanting to see his new collection. Louis directs him to the area where Liam can collect his supplies and canvases, and once Liam’s out of earshot, Jay rounds on Louis.

“So? Who is it?” She asks, looking straight at Louis.

He keeps his eyes trained on the ground for a few seconds before looking past her, and he starts for the car as he replies with a bit of anger, a bit of sadness.

“Doesn’t matter anymore, mum. He’s gone.”

Three weeks of life later, life has somehow continued. The sun came up each morning, and Louis watched it rise higher and higher in the sky every morning, steaming cup of tea hand, Clifford at his side. He hadn’t realized how much he missed Cliff until he got home, actually. His heart still hurts, and maybe he does live in Harry's jumpers, but he’s grown more and more capable of actually living. He’s gone out a few times. He’s gone to meetings with Liam. He’s told bits and pieces to his mum. He’s told a bit more to Liam. The world still spins.

He hasn’t, of course, told anyone who exactly he fell for. He never gave Liam or his mum a last name. He might have had a day (or two. Or four.) Where he was incredibly pissed at Harry for just up and leaving, but he wouldn’t betray Harry’s trust like that.

Speaking of Harry’s trust, Louis has not actually googled Harry yet. The last three days without him, Louis had fantasized about looking his name up the second he had internet connection, but. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. And half of his heart was still in the dream world where Harry wasn’t Harry Styles™, he was simply Harry, the man Louis was head over heels for, who the rest of the world wasn’t also infatuated with.

So. Louis is sort of miserable, but sort of existing, and sort of needs to start getting ready for the event tonight. Liam’s done quite a bit of work putting together this art show and Louis really needs to be there on time. He’s become even more popular, one of his paintings apparently reselling for millions while he was gone, and the whole event is going to be rather upscale.

An hour later, he’s in the passenger seat of Liam’s car, getting a pep talk of sorts.

“Look, all you have to do is forget about Harry for one singular night and be the charming, charismatic boy that we all know you to be. Sell the damn paintings and then you can go back to moping, yeah?” So maybe it was a shitty pep talk, Louis thinks. But it’ll do the job.

Two hours later, Louis is ambling around, making small talk with some rich, famous people that Louis cannot for the life of him remember the names of. He’s sold a few paintings and they sold very well too. He’s definitely having a successful evening. The event is supposed to be over in maybe half an hour, but guests are already leaving, so Louis is thinking he can find Liam and get him to make up a reason for Louis to go home, but Liam finds him first.

“Louis,” Liam starts, looking sort of breathless and confused. “Someone just bought every single fucking painting left in the collection. They bought the whole fucking thing.”

Louis just stops and stares, his jaw hanging open. The combined value of his collection at the prices listed tonight is like, in the fucking millions. He had been expecting to sell a few and then lower the price and sell the rest later. He had not been expecting to sell the whole thing. Louis’ mind is still a little delayed when Liam keeps talking.

“Anonymous buyer, too. Absolutely wild, Louis. This is so big for you. This is actually massive. I’m gonna start sending people home, alright? No reason to stay.” Liam starts to walk away, and then thinks again, coming back to embrace Louis tightly. “So fuckin’ happy for you, mate. This is so so cool. So cool.”

Of course, it’s as soon as Louis is feeling okay that he decides to go and absolutely fuck it up.

He’d been riding a bit of a high. His paintings had sold and now he’s a literal millionaire, Liam had gotten a girlfriend (Maya, she was nice enough), and so Louis, Liam, and Maya had been going out a bit. They met this singer one night, Niall, and he’d been joining them all the time as well. He was fun, and he knew people so waiting in lines had become a thing of the past. They’d been having a good time. Things were improving.

So of course, Louis was sitting on his sofa earlier, and decided he wanted to google Harry. Whatever, he was feeling more stable. It would be fine. And then it wasn’t fine.

“Harry Styles linked to Victoria's Secret model Camille Rowe”

The first headline reads.

“Who Is Camille Rowe, Harry Styles' (Rumored) New Girlfriend?”

It gets worse.

“Is Harry Styles Telling Friends He’s Ready To Propose To Camille Rowe?”

A lot worse.

Louis slams the laptop shut, emotions flowing wildly through his heart like ocean currents on a stormy day. Who the fuck is Camille Rowe? Does she know Harry’s gay? Is Harry gay? He never said specifically. Is he bi? Is this real? What the fuck?

So he calls Liam and Niall and tells them that the guy he fell for is dating someone new and now he’s sitting on his couch eating ice cream because fuck, does he even have a right to be sadmad? Does he even have a claim to Harry’s heart?

Louis jumps as the door opens. He grips his spoon a little tighter but makes no effort to move, figuring that if it’s burglars they can either get stabbed with a spoon, have some ice cream, or murder Louis. In his current state, he’d take any of the above.

It turns out that it’s just Niall and Liam. Oh well.

“Louis, what the fuck are you doing?” Niall nearly rips Louis’ arm off as he drags him off the couch and into Louis’ room, tossing Louis on his bed and going to Louis’ closet. He starts rifling through it, pulling out a suit jacket and tie, and finally holding up two pairs of pants.

“Which ones make your ass look good, Tomlinson?”

Louis’ lack of response and utterly confused look make the Irish man groan and he turns to Liam.

“Payno?”

“The ones on my right, your left.” Liam chuckles a little.

“Sorry, what the fuck is going on?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes.

“We’re late for my fucking awards show, you fucker. I don’t care what happened with loverboy, I am winning an award tonight and you are going to be there.” Niall huffs while Louis tugs on his clothes.

Upon hearing Niall’s words, all of Louis’ thoughts about Harry stutter and grind to a stop.

“Shit. That’s today. In like half an hour.”

Niall rolls his eyes, nodding. “Yeah, dumbass. Hurry up, we’re leaving in five minutes with or without you. But not really. So hurry up.”

Ten minutes later, Louis jogs out of his flat looking mostly decent, and he slips into the backseat of Niall’s car, apologizing profusely.

Niall laughs it off, saying he prefers to be fashionably late, and he turns up the radio. And then Louis is not okay again. He’s really started to avoid radio stations. The issue with being absolutely whipped for a major singer is that his fucking songs are everywhere. So of course, it’s Harry’s voice coming through the speakers.

“Niall, mate, change the station.” Louis tries, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“Not a chance, Styles is fucking ace. We’re like, friends. Sort of. We went out for drinks once. I accidentally told him all about your heartbreak though because I’d just had to listen to you for three hours and then I panicked and didn’t have anything else in my brain.” Niall rolls his eyes again.

And. What. The. Fuck.

Somewhere in Louis’ brain, he forgot that Niall is a musician. A rather large one at that. They’re going to a music awards show. Of course.

Louis has this whole twenty-minute car ride to think, but his thoughts are just bouncing around his head and it takes maybe half the time to just slow his heartbeat. It had literally never even occurred to him that he might run into Harry ever again. Before that stupid art show where Louis became a big deal, Louis was very small time and Harry was very big time. Louis had never expected their social circles to overlap. And now he was going into an award show that Harry was probably going to be at, and he had just happened to see all the headlines about this fucking Camille person today. Today sucks, actually, Louis thinks to himself.

They pull up to the red carpet, because of course there’s a red carpet, and Liam and Louis skirt around the back while Niall gets his picture taken six million times. They meet back up inside and mercifully, Harry is nowhere to be seen.

Niall’s just sat them at their table when he frowns. “Be right back,” he says, and walks over to talk to some female artist. Liam and Louis start chatting about all the people they recognize, and they’re just starting to debate whether or not Ed Sheeran’s new single is decent or not when Niall comes back positively glowing.

“Louis. I fucking manifested it.” Niall boasts, and Louis really does not like where this conversation seems to be going. “Selena’s voice is shot so she got someone to fill in for her opening. Guess who.”

“No.”

“Just guess.”

“No, I’m not gonna fucking guess Niall. Tell me”

“Fine. Shithead. Harry. Harry Styles is fucking opening. I so manifested that. I’m literally so powerful. This is so cool.”

This is so not cool, Louis thinks.

So then the lights have to go down and then there’s a spotlight and a stool and then there’s a man sitting on the stool and it’s Harry. And then Louis literally cannot breathe and he’s gasping for breath but its like the stupid air won’t go into his lungs. He tunes out most of what Harry’s saying and just stares through his completely tunneled vision. Because it’s just. He thought he was getting over it, right? But now it’s like, worse. Louis is sitting here staring up at a stage and all of a sudden all he can think is that oh my god he might be in love with Harry Styles. He can’t be in love with Harry Styles. But. He’s in love with Harry Styles.

And then it gets worse again. Because Harry starts pulling at strings. The supercut plays again, but it’s select clips this time. Faster. Flash. Harry playing in the music room. Flash. Harry singing Landslide in the living room. Flash. Open mic night.

“So your friends been telling me
You been sleeping with my sweater
And that you can't stop missing me”

Louis’ jaw drops. “No fucking way.” He says, a bit louder than he meant to. Niall shushes him. Harry keeps singing. Louis’ brain drags up the conversation with Niall from the car. There’s no way. But the line matches pretty fucking perfectly.

“And being here without you
Is like I'm waking up to
Only half a blue sky
Kind of there but not quite”

Louis really really really wants to believe that this is about him, but. He can’t. It would hurt too much if it isn’t.

“I'm half a man at best
With half an arrow in my chest
I miss everything we do
I'm half a heart without you”

Harry just keeps singing and Louis tries to tune out the lyrics at least but he still feels suffocated because he’s hearing Harry’s voice and Harry’s here in this room and Louis gets to really, truly see him. Harry’s here. Harry. Louis keeps repeating his name in his head like a mantra, hoping that somehow Harry will notice him or come talk to him or maybe decide to say, “By the way! This song is about this man named Louis that I met on a cruise. Just so you know.”

The song ends, people clap, and Harry starts to talk again. Harry’s talking. Louis is still reeling.

“Thank you very much. I wanted to sort of play some unreleased things to keep it interesting, I hope you liked that one, it’s called Half A Heart.” Harry turns his head away and clears his throat quickly, turning back to speak again.

Louis is frozen at hearing his voice again. It’s entrancing and Louis missed it oh so much.

“It’s rather sad, not sure if you noticed.” Harry continues. The crowd chuckles, and Harry starts again. “I get to sing two songs, so here’s another upcoming one. It’s called Sunflower, Vol. 6. Maybe. You know how it is,” Harry says, grinning at the crowd of musicians who nod and laugh back to him. “Thank you again for letting me fill in for Selena, and have an incredible night.”

Louis is frozen, his mouth hanging open. Harry Styles wrote a song called Sunflower Vol. 6. And Louis just can’t help entertaining the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it’s about him. Images flash across his mind. The sunflower bouquet. Walking along holding them in his hand. Harry spinning him around to buy them in the first place. But then Harry starts to sing and Louis can’t do anything but sit back and listen. He vainly tries to find lyrics that are his, that are about what he and Harry shared for five perfect weeks.

“I couldn't want you any more
Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor
I couldn't want you any more tonight”

Flash. Dancing around the kitchen, cooking their weirdly good chicken dish for the third time. Flash. Slow dancing when Harry woke up in the night to get water and found Louis sketching in the kitchen. Flash. Louis dragging Harry to bed after dinner.

“Your flowers just died
Plant new seeds in the melody”

And nearly every doubt Louis had disappears instantly. Because the sunflowers had been sitting in a vase on the counter, still very alive, when Harry and Louis had fallen asleep that last night. And they were gone the next morning. Harry had taken them.

And then all of a sudden Harry is off the stage and Louis can’t see him anymore and there’s awards being announced. It’s déjà vu again and Louis sort of feels like the floor is tilting under him, and did he really just lose Harry again?

Niall wins Best New Artist, and it’s either the giant screen showing Niall and Louis hugging when Niall stands up or it’s when Niall mentions him by name (“And thank you to my friends, Louis T especially, go look at his paintings by the way, they’re ace,”) but there’s a crash somewhere behind them, and Niall, ever the one to lighten the mood, decides to narrate the event.

“Ah. For those of you who can’t see, Mr. Harry Styles was so entranced by my speech that he’s walked straight into the waiter and they’ve toppled a table. That’s my cue, but thank you all so much, this means the absolute world to me.” Niall finishes, to claps and laughs.

Louis is sort of in a stupor all night. The awards eventually end, and drinks start getting passed around. And then Harry is walking around in Louis' frame of view and Louis’ vision does the tunnel thing again. Louis lets himself imagine that Harry’s looking for him, but of fucking course, Liam and Niall choose that moment to leave. But. At least they know that the other exists. Which, duh. But it feels monumental to Louis.

It’s the next day, and Louis is sitting at his kitchen counter again, his finger hovering above the follow button on Harry’s Instagram profile.

He doesn’t want Harry to think he like, cares about the follower count, because he doesn’t. He cares about Harry, and he’s still getting used to the sentence, but he loves Harry. He’s slept with this man and spent an extended period of time in exclusively his presence, but following him on social media feels like an unreasonably big step.

Louis decides that he’s being an idiot and pushes the button. He stares at the screen for half a second and then sighs again and clicks the button to turn on all of the notifs. He then proceeds to throw his phone across the room.

[louist91]: Harry Styles (harrystyles) started following you.

Louis chokes on his pasta.

Another day goes by and Louis is sitting in his living room playing Fifa with Niall and Liam when he gets a notification. It’s from Instagram, so his instinct is to ignore it, but.

[louist91]: harrystyles started a live video. Watch it before it ends!

So Louis drops the controller without a second thought and taps the notification. Harry is sitting somewhere, presumably in his house, with a white wall behind him that’s decorated with paintings. Louis starts to look at them, because he’s an artist so of course he’s going to check out the art.

He’s just placed a Tupperware of pasta from the refrigerator on the counter and he’s walking back from grabbing a fork when he drops the fork and his cup of water in the middle of the kitchen.

Louis just stares. Because Harry’s tilted his camera a bit and. Louis’ painting is on his fucking wall. It’s the one of their table with their steaming mugs and it’s on Harry’s wall. Harry bought Louis’ painting. And then Harry starts to laugh.

“Stella wants to see my house. Alright, but please don’t be a stalker, yeah love?” Harry’s voice says through the speaker on Louis’ phone.

Harry picks up his phone, flips the camera, and starts walking through his house. And it’s like every single noise in the world shuts the fuck up and if anyone is moving or existing they just got paused for a second, because Louis’ world is shattering into a million little shards. It turns out that possibly Harry does miss Louis just as much as every single bone in Louis’ body aches to be with Harry again.

Every time Harry walks into a new room, Louis is there. His paintings are there. Two realizations hit Louis with the force of a hundred asteroids slamming into the earth. First, Harry is the anonymous buyer. It seems obvious in retrospect but Louis had spent so much time trying to erase Harry from his consciousness that it never even occurred to him. The second is Harry’s lyric from Sunflower, Vol. 6 that Louis never really understood when he heard it, but it comes up to the surface of Louis’ consciousness again, and bounces around inside his skull, happy to be understood.

“You’ve got, your place, hung up high in my gallery”

Of course. It makes so much sense to Louis now, and he feels so full of emotion that he feels like his soul might jump straight out of his chest. He feels warm and cold and numb and full of feeling all at once. He’d spent so many weeks thinking that Harry had no regard for him, that Harry had just wanted to get away, and simply being confused. But this? This shows Louis that Harry still misses him. Maybe even loves him.

And so Louis cries. He really cries, for the first time. He lets it all go.

Every small corner of his soul that thought Harry had left for a selfish reason.

Every part of him that hated Harry for leaving.

Every part of him that was mad at Harry for being successful, that wished they could have met differently.

Louis lets his tears flow through each crevice and hill of his soul, every ridge of his heart. He lets it fill every corner and pull out the hardened parts, the mad, the jealous, the angry.

He lets himself fill those places with love. With hope. He fills those places with the knowledge that he will see Harry again. That Harry still wants to be with him. To see him. To love him.

Liam and Niall know. They know the whole thing. Every detail. Louis went out to them after the live ended, eyes red, with a smile on his face. He explained it all. They pulled him in for hugs, saying that the stars aligned when Niall was nominated for that award. That it would work out. And in the arms of his friends, Louis can’t help but agree.

The next day, Niall runs in the door while Louis and Liam are brainstorming Louis’ next collection.

“Louis! I got you in. I got us all in.” Niall shouts, out of breath. He’d clearly run up the stairs.

“Into what, exactly?” Liam asks, grabbing the phone that Niall’s waving around.

Liam’s eyes go wide and he wordlessly passes the phone to Louis, who gasps.

Niall is downing a glass of water, and gives them a smug look when he finishes. “You’re welcome!” He sings at them, walking towards the living room.

Louis looks down at the phone screen again.

It’s a text from a contact named “not payne just zayn” because apparently Niall thinks he’s a comedian after he called the wrong person one time. But yes, it’s from Zayn, the singer. The big one, Harry level, not Niall level. Niall’s getting there though.

niall: hey do u have xtra tix to styles release party

not payne just zayn: yeah, mate. i got a shit ton of invites how many do u need

niall: just me and two friends that good?

not payne just zayn: yea

niall: this is gonna be fuckin epic there will be drama

not payne just zayn: sounds interesting gonna need details later

niall: for sure, thank u so fuckin much

not payne just zayn: ofc irish, got u anytime

So Louis stares at the screen for awhile and then goes to hug Niall again because the Irish man so so so deserves it. He deserves it like a million times over.

Louis is dressed for an album premiere party and he’s shitting himself. He asked Niall yesterday what exactly it entails, and Niall said it was “a bunch of rich fuckers sitting around drunk and high and pretending to listen to someone’s music” so now Louis’ even more nervous. He doesn’t want to be talking about the love feelings to Harry if either of them is high or drunk, but. He’d rather have the conversation.

By the time they’re pulling up to Harry’s mansion where the party’s being held, Louis’ stomach is basically a bundle of hot nerves. There’s a ton of cars in the driveway, and they have to park nearly halfway down the drive which is ridiculously long, so they end up walking like, a quarter of a mile to Harry’s front door. Even Niall is too scared to ring the bell, so he texts Zayn and the door is opened to a ridiculously attractive man who pulls Niall into a hug, then Liam and finally Louis, murmuring in Louis’ ear “Nice to meet you, mate, I’m Zayn.”

“Figured,” Louis grins back at him when Zayn gives them a smile and nods his head towards the open door behind him.

Louis takes a final breath and walks through the door.

The entryway opens into a long wide hallway, and Zayn keeps leading them back through the hall. “Harry does things a little differently. He prefers to listen to the music first and let everyone get high later. He really does use these things to make us give him feedback,” Zayn shrugs. “Don’t mind it, to be honest. His music is ace, and it’s nice to listen to it.”

Louis is somewhat calmed, hoping he can get to Harry before the drugs start getting passed around. Louis sighs, and follows Zayn into the next massive room. It’s basically a box of speakers. They’re built into the walls and ceiling and floor. The room is empty of everything but couches and chairs and a few tables with drinks; it’s clear that these release parties are the whole purpose of the room itself.

“We’re just about to start,” Zayn says to Louis, leaning over to murmur it in Louis’ ear. “Grab a seat.”

Louis lowers himself onto one of the empty couches and stretches his legs over to rest on the coffee table in front of him, and looks around, taking in more of the room. The light is coming from unknown places, small light strips hidden around the room, so the room is bathed in a soft, dim yellow glow. Normally yellow lighting makes Louis want to rip out his hair, but it somehow works here. The black leather furniture, the high ceilings, the wooden walls mixed with black squares of speakers built into the walls. It has an intimate vibe to it, but that’s probably what Harry was going for.

Suddenly the lights darken and fade into a deep blue and a sort of pink color. Louis glances at Niall, who’s sat down next to him.

“Album colors, I think. He doesn’t come in here for the listening part, Z said. Clouds our judgement or something.”

Louis nods at Niall’s words and leans back to close his eyes as the first notes start to play.

“Hey!
Golden, golden, golden
As I open my eyes
Hold it, focus, hoping
Take me back to the light
I know you were way too bright for me
I'm hopeless, broken
So you wait for me in the sky
Browns my skin just right”

It’s an upbeat song, but the lyrics make Louis’ heart clench. The last thing in the whole universe that Louis wants is for Harry to feel hopeless or broken. Also, Louis thinks, if his theory about Harry’s songs being for him is accurate, what the fuck? Louis is most definitely not too bright for Harry, and he never wants Harry to think that. Harry can have every single piece of Louis if he wants it. Louis’ heart is completely and irrevocably Harry’s.

“You're so golden
You're so golden
I'm out of my head
And I know that you're scared
Because hearts get broken”

Flash. Flash. Flash. The memories flood the space behind Louis’ closed eyelids faster than he can recognize them. Standing on the cliffside as the sun illuminates his face. Harry’s whispered words. The love in their eyes.

Louis’ own words, his own whispered fears at night, when he’d thought Harry was asleep.

The words Louis whispered to the moon. He’d asked the stars why he’d found Harry if his heart was destined to be broken. He’d told the moon that he was scared.

But now Harry was singing Louis’ words back to him, fixing his heart and wrapping his soul in a warm embrace.

Louis keeps his eyes closed, a single tear slipping down his cheek. If he’d opened his eyes, he’d have seen the way Harry had come to hover in the doorway, a finger over his lips for anyone with their eyes open. If Louis had opened his eyes, he would have seen the love in Harry’s eyes that were for Louis, and Louis alone.

The next song passes in a blur as Louis tries to organize his thoughts. Harry Styles is literally writing love songs for him.

“Walk in your rainbow paradise
Strawberry lipstick state of mind
I get so lost inside your eyes
Would you believe it?

You don't have to say you love me
You don't have to say nothing
You don't have to say you're mine”

Of course, the strawberry lipstick. Flashes of them on the cliff and Harry holding out the strawberry fly through Louis' mind. Louis is past the point of being surprised by the way the supercut, his and Harry’s perfect five-week dream, is being played through the speakers. Harry has immortalized their dream. Louis can’t help but wonder if this means that they don’t have to wake up, because maybe, if they’re really so in love, they can make it work. There has to be a way.

He’s been mildly confused by a few songs and tried his best to ignore the one that’s obviously about Camille when a piano starts playing.

“What am I now? What am I now?
What if I'm someone I don't want around?
I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling
What if I'm down?
What if I'm out?
What if I'm someone you won't talk about?
I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling”

And then Louis is really crying, tears falling thickly down his cheeks. Harry’s voice is so real, so raw, so broken. Louis needs to find Harry right at this very second. Every cell in his body is screaming to him that he needs to get to him, to find him and hold him.

Louis slowly starts to get up, determined to search the whole house if he has to, but just as he’s reaching the doorway, the next line hits him straight in the chest and he leans back against the doorframe, closing his eyes and sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor.

“And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you

And the coffee's out

At the Beachwood Café”

And Louis feels like his heart is split open and cracked and shattered but simultaneously full to bursting because even though Harry feels broken too, there’s a part of Louis that knows Harry hasn’t given up. He still wants Louis.

That’s when Louis looks up and sees Harry sitting on a couch at the end of the ridiculously long hallway, facing away from Louis, with his head in his hands.

Louis has never moved with more drive, more passion, more need. He pushes himself up from his place on the floor and starts walking down the hallway towards Harry, his footsteps slowly speeding up until he breaks into a sprint. His mind, his body, his spirit, they’re all dragging him towards the only place that he’s felt at home in the last few years, and it’s not a place. It’s a person. It’s Harry.

Harry looks up at the sound of Louis’ footfalls ringing out on the floor, echoing in the large space with high, vaulted ceilings. Harry’s home feels like a museum, Louis randomly thinks, but it works, because Harry is art. They’re art. Their love belongs in a museum, to be looked at for ages to come.

Harry stands up and starts moving toward Louis in a stupor, his face broken but hopeful, with traces of tears still lingering on his cheeks. They meet in the middle of the hall, spinning into each other, arms wrapped around each other tightly enough that it nearly hurts, but it hurts so good because Harry is here, he’s here in Louis’ arms and everything is right in the world again.

They’re hanging on to each other like they would hold on to life itself, and when they lean back to look at each other, it’s like Louis’ seeing the sun for the first time. Harry keeps his arms wrapped around Louis’ waist like he plans to never let go, and Louis is so incredibly on board with that plan.

“Lou,” Harry starts, his voice cracking.

“H.” Louis whispers back.

“God, Lou, it wasn’t my choice. Camille is for the media. Everything is for the media. Everything except you. You’re all mine. I swear to god, I never wanted to leave. I want to spend every minute of every single day with you. I want to wake up every morning and make you tea, I want to fall asleep every night in your arms. I want to hold you and be with you forever and ever.” Harry lets his forehead fall against Louis’ as he whispers the last sentence.

Louis doesn’t have a poetic sentence to say back, all he has is the love in his heart, the love that’s threatening to tear out of his chest. If the love and emotion in his chest were visible, it would overpower the hall they’re in, blinding every person on the planet. So Louis doesn’t have a coherent sentence. All Louis can do is tilt his head up and bring his lips to Harry’s kissing him softly first, and then with the passion and fire of a thousand suns.

It’s like their first kiss all over again. Every touch, every memory, every brush of their lips and gentle touch of their fingertips comes flooding back into Louis’ body. He tried to erase Harry from his mind, but his body remembers each plane of Harry’s face, each ridge on his fingertips. They mold together again exquisitely, and every facet of time and space exhales. The whole universe had been holding its breath, waiting for the two of them to come back together, and now they have.

“Harry,” Louis says, when he comes back for a breath, staring into the emerald gems set into Harry’s face. “Harry,” Louis repeats, biting his lip, tilting his forehead to meet Harry’s as they lean into each other. “I am so madly in love with you.”

“Thank god Lou, because I really am madly in love with you too.” Harry breathes, huffing a laugh against Louis’ lips.

They skip the party. Drugs were never either of their favorite thing to do, and the feeling of finally being together again is stronger and more exhilarating than any drug could hope to be.

They’re up on the roof now, cuddled up in a bundle of blankets and pillows, watching the stars. Harry had the good sense to build his house far enough from the city that it’s actually possible to see the cosmos, though maybe not as brilliantly as is possible from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

“H, you know how we were always going about this being a dream right? I think,” Louis pauses. “I think this is waking up. It’s going to change. It’s going to be different. But waking up, it isn’t always bad. If this is waking up, I want to wake up with you every day.”

Tucked into Louis’ arms, Harry begins to shake and Louis flips him over, eyes softening and the worry disappearing when he realizes that Harry is laughing, not crying.

“What?” Louis asks, a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m so happy right now Lou. My chest feels full and I can’t stop smiling and I just want to scream. I want to scream at the sky and shout thank you to the moon. Somehow, I got lucky enough to end up here, with you, right now.” Harry says, his smile so big that it’s starting to hurt.

“Do it then.”

“Do what?”

“Scream.”

So Harry does. He walks to the edge of the roof and throws his arms wide, looking over his shoulder for Louis. Louis jumps up and walks to stand next to him, spreading his arms as wide as they’ll go.

They interlock their fingers and look out over the cold night, the wind blowing through their hair, the stars and the moon glittering together overhead.

Together, they let out the loudest cheer, the loudest shout, that Louis has ever let leave his body. Because Harry is his. And he is Harry’s.

Harry looks over at Louis and Louis watches his eyes glitter in the moonlight, full of love and joy.

“You’re breathtaking, Louis Tomlinson.”

one year later.

Harry and Louis are walking down the beach in Malibu, hand in hand, watching the sun set over a beautiful sky.

Harry had come out about ten months ago. It was simple really. He’d been doing a live and pulled Louis over and kissed him. Needless to say, it wasn’t really management approved, and the hell that he’d gotten from the management company had been so awful that the two of them had moved to LA so that Harry could start his own management company. It was going extremely well.

Louis, being an artist, could literally work from anywhere, so he’d hugged his mum goodbye and flown here with Harry as soon as they’d bought a house. They’re perfectly happy, and so is Clifford, having all the space in the world to run down the beach.

The best part of Harry’s coming out (other than being able to walk down the street holding hands) was the fan response. Management could not have been more pissed, but the fans had been so happy for them. Louis can’t walk down the street without a smile or someone shouting that they love him. Louis finds it funny, because he’s positive that the fans can tell Louis is in it for the long run. They’d be threatening him to not break Harry’s heart otherwise. As if.

Harry reaches into the bag he’s brought, and pulls out a picnic blanket. Throwing it out over the sand, he sits down and pulls Louis down next to him.

“What is this?” Louis asks with a grin as Harry starts pulling more and more things out of his bag.

A bouquet of sunflowers. A carton of strawberries. A thermos of tea, and a smaller bag with tissue paper poking out the top. Louis knows that it’s their anniversary (they count from the night of the party because let’s be real here,) but he wasn’t expecting Harry to do all this. He himself had a plan, but.

Harry smiles at Louis’ confused glance and leans over to quickly kiss him. Pulling away, Harry murmurs against Louis' lips. “Look inside the bag.”

Louis looks up at him, raising his eyebrows, but reaches inside. He looks up with tears filling his eyes. It’s their two mugs from the Beachwood Café.

Louis carefully places them on the blanket and leans across the blanket and bouquet in between him and Harry to kiss him as hard as he can.

“God, Harry. I thought these were gone forever.” Louis says, sniffing a little bit, but with a smile.

“I took them when I left that night. I knew that wasn’t the end of us. Of you.” Harry smiles with so much fond in his eyes that Louis thinks it might actually be impossible.

“You’re literally perfect. I love you so much.” Louis laughs, reaching over to grab Harry’s hand.

“Louis, look around a second.” Harry says with a grin, in a slightly over casual tone. Louis looks around suspiciously.

“What, exactly, am I looking at?”

“The blanket. These are our souvenirs. I put them into songs so that you could always find them. But these are really them. Sunflowers. Strawberry lipstick.” Harry says, grabbing one and holding it out for Louis to take a bite of. “And the mugs. This is where our love started. But this, now, is how I want it to continue. Forever.”

Harry shifts slightly, and Louis, who has tears clouding his eyes, misses the motion. Louis closes his eyes and the tears fall. Harry kisses them away, and when Louis opens them again, Harry is holding a ring up in front of him.

“Louis, I want forever. I want to marry you. I want to keep living with you and I never want to stop waking up next to you. Would you do me the incredible honor of spending forever with me?”

Louis’ jaw drops, fresh tears spilling out of his eyes. He springs forward to kiss Harry, and Harry laughs.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes, completely, one thousand percent.” Louis laughs, still crying. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box. Harry’s sharp intake of breath makes Louis grin.

“You are not going to believe this, but I had the same plan, just… less romantic,” Louis smiles, gesturing to the blanket and items lying around them. “I actually saw you first. I was watching you stand at the bow on the very first day. I couldn’t believe it when you sat next to me at dinner. And I think I was gone right then. I want forever. I don’t remember the vows but Harry, I want you in sickness and in health and every other time in between. I want every single moment. I know I just said yes to you, but Harry Styles, will you marry me?” Louis finishes, holding the ring out to Harry.

Harry is letting tears fall down his cheeks and just nods, slipping the ring onto his finger slowly, staring at it for a second before he actually gets up and walks around to Louis so that all the food and flowers aren’t between them anymore. Harry tucks himself into Louis’ side and curls up, still crying a bit judging from the way his shoulders are shaking a bit.

Louis just strokes his hair and hums to him.

“You haven’t said anything Harry. Are you okay?” Louis murmurs into Harry’s hair after a minute or two.

“Can’t talk. Love you so much.” Harry whispers back.

Harry’s recovered after a while and they’re still cuddled on their blanket, another one pulled over them.

The sun has just barely set, and the first stars are peeking out from where they were hidden by the light of day.

“Lou?”

“Yeah, love.”

“You’re my stars.”

And it takes a second. But when Louis understands, it hits him in the chest like a punch. He flashes back to their first real conversation, the first time that Louis really got to see how beautiful and intricate Harry’s soul is.

“The stars.” Harry says softly, breaking the silence again. “They shine so far away, so far above us, but we still see their light. Anywhere in the universe, you can look up and see the stars. I’d like the stars to be my home, I think. I’m always on the move, but the stars are everywhere. If the stars are my home, I’d never really be away. I think I’d feel safer.” Harry finishes softly.

All he wants to do is hold the beautiful boy in his arms forever and ever.

He is Harry’s home, and Harry is his.

fin.

Notes:

thank you so so much for reading this, i can't tell you how much it means to me ! this fic is nearly a year in the making, and it's finally done !!! i most definitely cried writing this and more when i finished <3 thank you again to rian, my beta. bless your knowledgeable-about-the-rules-of-the-english-language soul.
please please please leave kudos and comments and message me on twitter to let me know what you think !! your thoughts are very very appreciated <333
also, here are the playlists again!
listen to this playlist while you read (it sets the mood trust me)
listen to this playlist (in order!) after you finish !! it’s sort of a timeline :)
follow me and send a message! thank you again for reading <333
twitter: longlivevinyI
spotify: blissoshea

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