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An aching, tender spot on Harry’s cheek stirs him from slumber, eyes red and bleary from lack of sleep. With a groan, he sits up on the bed, rubbing his cheek with a frown on his lips. Early morning sunlight streams through the dusty white curtains above the bed, blinding him temporarily.
“Ow?”
With one hand on his cheek, he uses the other to lift his thin pillow—he’s never been one to use a pillow at all during sleep, prefers using his arms to rest his weary head on at the end of a long day. Underneath, he finds a small, black rock, indented into the mattress as if the Tooth Fairy had put it there themselves.
Except Harry hasn’t lost a tooth recently (he’d hope not; he’s 25 years old and any sign of baby teeth are long gone—also, what kind of Tooth Fairy would leave a rock as a gift?). And how did it get under his pillow?
“Strange,” he picks the rock up and holds it in his palm, staring at it as he thumbs the small divots and choppy cuts of the otherwise smooth rock. He chuckles softly, shaking his head in confusion as he stands, holding it in his hands to go and laugh about it with Louis, his husband.
“Lou!” Harry stumbles into their tiny kitchen, half-asleep as he shoves the rock in Louis’ face while simultaneously smacking his ass, squeezing lightly. He can get away with it; they’re married, after all.
He’s got a lop-sided grin plastered on his face, lines indented into his cheek from a good night’s sleep. “Check out this rock I found, babe.”
He doesn’t expect Louis to know why he found the rock under his pillow, but apparently, he does since he’s the one who put it there.
“It’s black tourmaline,” Louis explains, gentle, almost nervous in his stance, feet crossed over each other when he turns to face Harry properly, “And it’s not a rock , you big goof. It’s a crystal.”
That was nearly six months ago when Louis began exploring the healing properties of crystals and the benefits of keeping them around. It’s no longer uncommon for Harry to discover random colorful rocks—er, crystals —in their cupboards, or tucked within his bookshelf, or laying in a row on their windowsill near the front door of their apartment, soaking up the sun—recharging, as Louis puts it. Such as now.
“But why do you have to charge a rock? Do they start glowing or something? How do you know when they’re done charging?” Harry rambles, mouth full of potato chips as he and Louis sit on their tattered brown couch, legs crossed and facing the plethora of crystals lined up on the windowsill, blinds rolled up.
“No, no, I told you already,” Louis chuckles, crinkles forming in the creases of his eyes as he attempts to not choke on his food. He fails, miserably, and pounds his chest with a fist as he coughs before continuing, “It just… cleanses the energy. Like sleeping.”
“Okay,” Harry shrugs, throwing another chip into his mouth. Abruptly, his eyes light up as he rises from his seated position, a few crumbs spilling onto the freshly vacuumed floor. Louis deadpans at the mess, unimpressed.
With greasy fingers Harry picks up a small pink crystal, eyeing it closely, “What’s this one? It’s pretty. Like yooou.”
“Hey!” Louis frowns, snatching it away from his dirty fingers with a pink tint to his cheeks, “ That would be rose quartz.”
Harry pouts, wiping his palm on his basketball shorts as Louis wipes the crystal off on his jean shorts, “Okay… what’s it do?”
“Well… that’s a bit tricky,” Louis lightly squeezes the crystal in his hand, knuckles dimly whitening, “Lots to do with love.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, like,” Louis throws a hand in the air languidly as he explains, “Increases self-esteem, confidence, opens your heart to love, stuff like that.”
Harry gnaws on his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in thought, “How… how often do you use that one?”
Louis opens his mouth to answer, looking up to meet Harry’s solemn, soft eyes. He falters, taking one of Harry’s hands in his own.
Because it’s not that Louis ever feels like he’s having a hard time loving Harry; in fact, there is never a moment where his blood isn’t tainted with immense devotion towards him. There are simply… times when Louis isn’t feeling all that great, days where his confidence is low, or his insecurities get the best of him—and it has nothing to do with Harry.
Quietly, he sets the rose quartz back on the windowsill, eyes never leaving Harry, worry etching along with his delicate features.
“Not often,” Louis quips, voice soft. His fingers caress Harry’s rough knuckles, “Don’t have to. Not with you around.”
Hands cup Harry’s cheeks, pulling his face down to meet Louis’ lips in a quick kiss. Fingers pull at the back of Harry’s head, Louis carding the curls that lay there.
“Haven’t used it in a long time, actually,” Louis reiterates after Harry stays silent. Harry nods, understanding, and leans down to catch Louis’ lips once more.
A surprised laugh escapes Louis when Harry grips behind his thighs and pulls him up, Louis wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist instinctively. He giggles beside Harry’s ear, eyes crinkling at the sides as Harry makes his way to their couch, laying Louis down on his back as gently as he can.
(It doesn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped, because he steps on the TV remote and nearly bashes his face on the wall behind the couch, knee crushing Louis’ inner thigh, incredibly close to Louis’ groin. His forearm smacks the side table, and he takes an embarrassing tumble to the ground, all while Louis laughs so hard he wheezes, holding his belly.)
.♡.
Putrid incense immediately fills Harry’s senses the moment Louis opens the door to the “witchy” shop.
Despite Louis’ protests over Harry calling it such, saying it’s more “metaphysical” than anything else, yet Harry stands by the shop being solely dedicated to witchcraft.
(“They sell candy at the front counter. How is that ‘witchy’ in any way?” “Are those not packs of wands over there?” “No, love, those are incense sticks. And witches don’t use wands in real life.” “Why are they so thick, then? No incense stick looks like that in a normal store.”)
At first glance, the place looks like an old library, and perhaps it still is even after being revamped into all things witchy. Lining the cherry-wooden shelves are hundreds of books on spells, tarot readings, medicinal herbs, and things Harry’s mind simply cannot comprehend.
With a headache slowly pounding in Harry’s skull, he lets himself be dragged around by his husband, whose eyes are wide with a wonder only equivalent to a child entering Disneyland for the first time.
Except this isn’t Louis’ first time at this shop; in fact, he frequents the place so often the owner knows him by name and greets him upon seeing him every time.
“Baby, what do you think about me getting into Wicca?” Louis spins on his heel to face Harry, who's about to languidly grab a ginormous blue geode before Louis silently stops him by placing a hand on his forearm, moving his arm back down to his side, and interlocks their fingers.
“Maybe some other time,” Harry responds, vaguely aware of what ‘Wicca’ is. He’s more focused on the way their wedding bands clink together in their grasped hands. Louis seems satisfied with the answer, albeit a little confused, and continues on dragging Harry around to show him different objects within the tiny shop.
Louis can’t seem to stay away from the stunning array of crystals for too long, slipping out of Harry’s hand to approach a glass bookcase lined with crystals that have been shaped into a plethora of things, from tiny trinkets to large unicorn bookstands. Harry watches him go, eyes glittering with a kind of fond reserved only for Louis.
To his right, Harry notices a large display filled with enormous geodes. He sidesteps to it, interested, and picks one up, the violet rock heavy in his calloused hand.
Before he can place his finger inside to feel its jagged edges, an employee evidently pops out of nowhere, clearing her throat to grab his attention.
“Excuse me,” she starts, monotone. “Those are display only. If you’re interested in purchasing one, we can get you one from the back.”
As she says this, she refers to the sign beside her with a hand, which reads in all red capital letters, “DO NOT TOUCH. DISPLAY ONLY.”
“Oh, okay,” Harry mumbles, setting the geode back in its place, beside a cardholder that reads, “amethyst”.
His eyes travel to the one beside it, a stunning light blue geode that’s labeled “celestite”. Disregarding the employee as well as the sign, he picks it up, zoning in on the darker bits within the geode’s core.
Louis blue swells his thoughts, a finger tracing down the side, mesmerized from whatever grasp the celestite has on him. He brings his other hand below the one holding the geode, somewhat cradling it as if it’s sacred (who knows, Harry thinks, it very well could be. Better to be safe than sorry, he supposes.)
Louis blue, Louis blue, Louis blue.
“Please put the geode down, sir,” the employee frowns, unimpressed. Harry’s not listening, eyes widening as he shifts his hands to hold the celestite securely.
A sudden need to own it itches in his chest, heart pounding with every flicker of his eyes from one protruding edge to the other. He wants to rearrange the theme of his and Louis’ living room into one that’s designed around the color alone, have celestite be the first color he sees when he wakes up in the morning—which… isn't actually that far off from his reality already.
He opens his mouth, ignoring the glare of the employee to call Louis over to find as much delight as Harry has with the crystal, but then.
Then, he drops it. He actually drops it, an embarrassing, awkward yell escaping his lips as he watches, in horror, the geode explode into hundreds of pieces. All over the floor. It even manages to get on the employee’s shoe.
The first thought that pops into his mind is how . How.
It’s the same question Louis asks him on their way home, crumbled bits of celestite dumped into a plastic shopping bag, £25 missing from their bank account. Apparently, any broken merchandise must be paid for, despite how much Harry says sorry. No exceptions.
“Literally how, Harry?” Louis asks once again when they get home. Harry sits on the couch, legs spread with the bag opened between them, staring down at the mess. Louis is standing near the entrance, back resting against the front door.
“I already told you,” Harry exasperates. “I was coming to show you it, how it matches your eyes and stuff, was real excited about it I was, and then…”
“You tripped,” Louis purses his lips, attempting to hide an amused smile. “Over air.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry looks up at Louis. “Or maybe there was something in the way—are you laughing at me?”
At that, Louis squeaks out a giggle, lips pouting out. He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling, face red as he laughs into his palm silently. Harry gives a lopsided grin, mouth widening. He loosens his grip on the bag, letting it settle down on the carpet.
Harry laughs out once, which only sends Louis into a muffled laughing fit, feet shuffling to Harry. His head is shaking as if he can’t believe his husband would make such an error.
He throws his leg over Harry’s, sitting down on Harry’s thighs. Harry grabs his waist, leaning back on a tiny couch cushion that’s pressing uncomfortably into his back, but he can’t seem to care, doesn’t mind, really, when he’s got a giggly, pink-faced Louis in his lap.
“How dare you laugh at me,” Harry squeezes his waist, breathing into his neck.
“‘M not laughin’,” Louis squeals when Harry blows a raspberry beside his pulse, struggling to rid himself of Harry’s grasp, but to no avail.
Harry tightens his hold, tossing him onto his back against the couch cushions. Louis gasps in surprise, giggling and squirming as Harry holds him down, laughter vibrating throughout his body. He hovers over him, brunette ringlets framing his face as he looks down at his boy.
“I really am sorry,” Harry pouts after Louis ceases his movements. “Didn’t mean to.”
“I know, baby,” Louis settles down his childish giggling, fond encompassing his features. His eyes glisten with unshed tears of laughter as he flickers from one eye to the other, “Celestite must do a real number on you.”
“What’s its purpose, anyway?” Harry asks quietly, eyes darting from Louis’ lips back to the celestite branching from his dilated pupils.
“Activates your third eye and crown chakra,” the energy between them has shifted significantly, Louis’ voice lowering to a soft whisper, “Opens up a way to see higher-level messages. More déjà vu, stuff like that.”
Harry doesn’t have a clue about any of what his husband just said, save for maybe the déjà vu, but he failed French in secondary school, so even then that’s a bit tricky to understand. But none of it matters right now, doesn’t hold as much importance as his Louis beneath him, whose hands are rubbing up and down his toned arms.
Louis blue, Louis blue, lovely, lovely Louis .
“Does it do anything else?” Harry glances down at Louis’ morganite-colored mouth, his lips parted. Louis’ chest rises and falls in short breaths, the celestite in his eyes nearly gone.
“Not that I know of,” Louis pulls on Harry’s biceps, who leans down with ease, brushing his lips along Louis’. His breath moves along Louis’ velvet skin before he sinks down, bruising their lips with a fluttering of his eyes.
Harry hums low in his throat, moving down to his forearms. Their bodies are flush, Louis’ hips pushing up into Harry’s as his gasps are swallowed down. Harry slides his arms beneath Louis’ shoulders, their noses bumping when Louis tilts his head the other way.
Loving Louis has never turned into a meticulous, scheduled thing. Since the beginning, since Harry took the jump in Louis’ dorm room all those years ago, their shared touches, their sneaky glances, they’ve always given Harry a jolt of electricity down his spine, as cliche as that sounds. But kissing Louis is an entirely different realm, brings Harry more comfort than anything else the universe has to give.
Simply put, Harry would rather cease to exist than to not have Louis look at him the way he does, kiss him the way he does.
As Harry kisses down Louis’ bared neck, tongue sliding over tendons and beating pulses, Louis’ breaths turn heavy, his head thrown back. His fingers press into the sides of Harry’s spine, dragging down to the hem of his shirt.
“You know,” Louis starts, panting. “I don’t remember reading anything about celestite bringing out the clumsiness in someone.”
Harry smiles into Louis’ neck, chuckling low in his throat. He shakes his head as he lifts himself back up, eyes darting all over Louis’ flushed face.
“Never gonna live that down, am I?”
“Nope,” Louis bites his lip, smiling brightly. Oh, so brightly. Golden, he is.
.♡.
Light from his cellphone illuminates Louis’ face, cheek pressed against Harry’s solid chest, the sparse chestnut hairs brushing against his cheekbones. He’s scrolling through various different social media, insomnia keeping him wide awake. Harry’s torso rises and falls gently, rhythmic breaths hitting the crown of Louis’ hair. An uncontrollable smile grows on his lips from the comfort of Harry’s warmth, his touch, his presence in general.
He makes his way to Etsy, his home page filled with custom kits of various crystals and the occasional but appreciated Winnie the Pooh memorabilia (he’s always had a soft spot for the honey-loving bear.) There are some that are catered to various albums, and others based on necessary need. He feels his chest fill with a sense of comfort, an itch to be able to add them to his collection. With quick impulsive movements, he adds several to his cart, purchasing them without a second thought.
.♡.
Harry cracks open a Budweiser as he throws open the front door, early morning air gliding along his bare chest. Carbonated beer fills his belly, a satisfied sigh leaving his mouth. There’s nothing better than a cold can of beer in the morning.
Louis’ still asleep, finally having a couple of days off from work for the first time in two weeks. He considered waking him up for the sunrise, knowing it’s one of his favorite things to witness, but ultimately decided against it when Louis’ tiny “ nooo’s ” mumbled against Harry’s soft lips when he had initially tried. His baby needs rest, and rest he shall have.
He sticks a hand down his pants, scratching mindlessly at his groin (… a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do) when his foot collides with a small sage package. He drags his hand up to his toned belly, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks down.
And there’s not just one; there’s three, all different colors, all addressed to Louis. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing before bending over to grab all of the offending bags.
This isn’t the first time Louis’ bought things, mindlessly and impulsively without a second thought. And Harry knows exactly when he does it too; right when Harry falls asleep, and Louis’ insomnia takes over, conveniently when Harry isn’t awake to remind Louis they can’t actually afford to spend their money as leisurely as they’d like. Earlier in the week, at the witchy shop, was an exception.
Louis knows that, Harry knows he knows that, which makes the entire thing more irritating.
Regrettably, he sets the half-empty can of beer down on a coaster. Taking a deep breath, he releases another sigh of annoyance, but it comes out more sad than anything else.
His feet drag him to their bedroom, where he finds Louis on his stomach, one leg bent across the side of the mattress previously occupied by Harry. As his eyes linger down to the swell of Louis’ ass, his mind wanders for only a moment, before focusing back on the issue at hand.
He kneels onto the bed, one hand pressing down between Louis’ shoulder blades while the other holds the packages he’s quite honestly ready to return to the seller or simply throw them away without saying a word to Louis about it at all.
“Lou,” Harry shakes Louis, sighing. Louis’ lips curl into a smile, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow shyly. Fuck .
“Louis, wake up,” Harry repeats, movements a tad harsher. This time, Louis’ eyebrows furrow, lips frowning into a pout. He rolls onto his back, stretching his arms up above him, his shirt rising just enough to show the dusting of hair that lines his happy trail.
“Hmm?” Louis hums, clearly upset about being awake before noon.
“Wanna tell me what these are?” Harry tosses the mail on top of Louis, already well aware of what’s inside. It’s a bit aggressive, how he throws them down on Louis’ body, but the more he looks at them, the more irritated he grows, anger rising in his chest.
Louis squints his eyes open, peering down. In a hazy state of mind, he pulls himself up, leaning against the headboard. For merely a millisecond does Louis’ chest flutter with excitement, butterflies rising from his belly to the base of his throat. Butterflies turn into bile, however, when he realizes.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh ,” Harry grits, a hand combing through his disheveled hair, “What’d you buy, Louis?”
Frowning, Louis rubs his hands together, mouth opening and closing similar to a blubbering fish. Shame clouds his eyes. He knows Harry’s mad, hates that he isn’t waking him up with kisses, with pretty names and lovely words being whispered against his lips. He also knows he’s messed up, potentially big time.
So he tries to prevent an argument, either naïve to or unaware that it’s already started.
“It’s just a couple of crystals,” Louis says quickly, “Not a big deal, promise—”
“Not a big deal?” Harry scoffs, and crap Harry’s pissed , but it’s also kinda hot (hey—Louis is a normal man with normal urges), “Our rent is due in three days, the tags on the car are out, we’ve got a month-late bill on the table for the credit card payment collecting dust on the dining table…” Harry presses on his temples, screwing his eyes shut, “Did you care to think about any of that before buying stupid fucking rocks? ”
And. Well. That simply wasn’t the move to make, Harold.
“Stupid?” Louis mutters, eye contact blazing.
Harry stays silent, clenching his jaw.
“They may be just ‘stupid fucking rocks’ to you, Harry, but they’re… they…” Louis struggles to find the words, hands shaking in vexation, so he goes for another approach, with a simple, “Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Fuck us , really!” Harry raises his voice, stepping away from the bed, “We don’t have the money for this, Lou! This shit doesn’t matter,” he grabs one of the packages, throwing it to the ground. Louis winces as Harry stalks toward the door, pointing at Louis’ lap, “Are those gonna avoid one of us getting a ticket for no insurance when we inevitably get pulled over? Are they gonna, I don’t know, miraculously rid us of our student loans?”
He stares at Louis, waiting for a response. Louis stays silent, breathing heavily. He feels a lump in his throat begin to form, biting his lip to try and stop a tear from falling.
“No,” Louis whispers, voice cracking as a stubborn tear breaks through, gliding down his face, “I just—”
“You just what? Didn’t think? ” Harry spits, and it’s harsh, they both know it, but he’s not wrong, and perhaps that hurts Louis more than anything.
Louis doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to defend himself when Harry storms out, slamming the door.
.♡.
Some time passes before Louis leaves their bedroom, bundled in an oversized red jumper with a tiny Winnie the Pooh embroidered near the collar, packages in hand. He finds Harry on the couch, ankles crossed, heels resting on the coffee table. He’s got his computer out, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at whatever’s on the screen. Louis can only assume it’s their joint bank account, and Harry’s most likely trying to figure out how they’re going to survive the next month, as dramatic as that sounds.
It only makes Louis’ gut fill with more guilt, feet shuffling away from the hallway into the living space. Harry doesn’t bother looking up.
Louis’ hands clutch at two of the packages, pressed hard against his chest. He bites his lip, blinking rapidly. He feels like a child who’s gotten in trouble, and it’s humiliating. Truly humiliating.
“I contacted the sellers,” Louis whispers, afraid if he speaks any louder his voice will crack, “Two of them allow returns. The other doesn’t.”
Silence follows his words, a heavy one, before Harry looks up. To Louis’ surprise, he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he looks calm. Perhaps he’s feeling as guilty as Louis does.
“Come here,” he moves the computer from his lap to the coffee table. Louis places the packages on the cushion of the recliner to his left, hands clenched at his sides as he sits down beside Harry.
To be truthful, it’s a bit awkward. Their thighs are barely touching, hands resting in their laps. Louis stares at the computer screen, and as he suspected, their transaction history is on display, along with the amount left in their checking account.
It’s not a pretty sight.
“I’m sorry—”
“No,” Harry stops him, turning his head to look at Louis’ profile. There’s a tear dripping down his cheek. He folds his legs in, knee hitting Louis’ thigh, and leans forward, thumbing at the pink skin.
Louis meets Harry’s eyes, confusion more clear on his features than anything else. He parts his lips, about to speak, but Harry beats him to it.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Harry sighs, “I know what your crystals mean to you, and I fully support your… um… hobby.”
Louis gives him an unimpressed frown but allows him to continue.
“But… you can’t just… I… I crossed a line,” Harry stumbles over his apology. “And I’m sorry for that… but Louis, you’ve done this before , and we really,” he kisses Louis’ cheek, “ really can’t afford to do this whenever. We have to take care of the important things first, yeah?”
He’s so gentle , so soft, words fluttering across Louis’ cheek as he presses more kisses against his warm skin. Louis closes his eyes, sighing.
“I know. You had— have every right to be upset,” Louis shifts his body to face Harry completely, legs crossed, “I just got… it was impulsive. And I’m sorry.”
Harry palms at Louis’ thighs, rubbing his hands up and down the bare skin, “I mean it when I say I’m sorry for saying that about your crystals. Those are more special to you than I’ll probably ever understand, and I do try to, I promise I do. And I support it, I support all of it, you know I do.”
“I know,” Louis brushes the back of his hand against his tear-stained cheeks, a short laugh escaping his lips, “I know.”
Harry scoots closer, “Just, you know, make sure we’ve got the funds for it first, yeah? That’s all I ask, I promise. You know I don’t mind, like, you buying stuff for yourself. Obviously. Um…”
They sit in awkward silence for a moment. Arguments don’t usually occur between the two, so when they do, especially for things such as this, things that can become sensitive quickly, it’s always a bit… uncomfortable.
“Don’t really wanna fight anymore, to be honest,” Louis breaks the silence, taking Harry’s hand within his own. Harry can’t help but smile at that, leaning forward to peck the tip of Louis’ nose.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Harry hums. Abruptly, Louis throws his arms over Harry’s shoulders, burying his face in Harry’s neck. Arms wrap around Louis’ waist, pulling him in.
“Love you,” Louis breathes against Harry’s pulse, pressing a kiss there.
“Love you,” Harry repeats, a grin spreading along his lips because truth be told, he can’t stay mad at his baby for long. He feels Louis smile, too.
“I’m gonna walk to the post office later, send—”
“No, you’re not,” Harry rises to his knees, one foot hitting the ground with Louis following his movements, “Damage is already done.”
Louis visibly winces at that. Harry sighs once more, taking Louis’ hands in his. He rubs his thumbs over Louis’ protruding knuckles, squeezing.
“Let’s take a look at them, yeah? See what you’ve got,” Harry smiles, soft. Louis perks up at that, eyes beaming with a hint of excitement. He releases himself from Harry’s grasp, picking up the first package in his line of sight.
.♡.
Morning sunlight glistens onto the soft comforter, hitting Harry in the eyes. He scrunches his nose, scratching at his bare belly to the best of his abilities since Louis is sprawled on top of him. Louis rubs his face into Harry’s torso, arms gripping around Harry’s frame with a bit more effort than before.
“Morning,” Harry tilts his head down, pressing several kisses to Louis’ hair, down to his temple.
“Still sleeping,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s skin, fully wrapping his arms around Harry.
“But I want some pancakes,” Harry jokingly whines, slapping Louis’ ass and giving it a squeeze. He feels Louis chuckle, his laughter vibrating against him.
“And I want ten more minutes,” Louis retorts, rolling off his husband and onto his back. He stretches his arms up, letting out a soft groan, eyes still closed.
Harry supposes his grumbling stomach can wait. Anything for his baby.
“Fine. I’ll wait right here,” Harry abruptly sits up, laying on top of Louis without care. Louis wheezes, eyes popping open.
“Get off, you giant ogre,” Louis laughs prettily, a morning grog present in his voice. His attempts to push Harry off are futile. Harry hums, amused.
“Ogre?” Harry raises his torso to look at Louis fully, “How’s this for an ogre?”
With lightning speed, Harry grips Louis’ wrists, holding them up above his head as he bites down at Louis’ stomach, blowing raspberries as he moves up the length of Louis’ body. Louis quirks, gasping and laughing and kicking as Harry holds his arms down.
“You’re such a weirdo, get off of me!” Louis giggles, bending his knees around Harry’s waist, squeezing. Harry makes his way to Louis’ neck, sucking a kiss at the pulse. With a content hum, Louis smiles lazily, eyes closed.
Harry hovers over Louis, hands moving to hold Louis’, still above them against the pillows. He scans Louis’ face, noting his stunning features; the way the gentle sunlight glitters along his cheekbones, how his feather-like fringe falls ever so prettily against his forehead. When he opens his eyes to look back at Harry, the blue of his irises, faint yet so clearly celestite, stare at him as if he alone dots the stars in the night sky, as if he’s Louis’ entire world.
And. Well. Louis is his.
“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispers, almost as if he meant to keep it to himself. Louis blushes oh-so prettily, pink dusting his cheeks.
“As are you,” Louis whispers back, flickering down to Harry’s lips. He gets the message, leaning down to press a kiss against Louis’ rouge lips.
Soft, so very soft are Louis’ lips against his. They move together in a familiar rhythm, one that’s yet to change. Harry thumbs at the ring on Louis’ ring finger, the same one that Harry gave him on that day at the altar. He finds comfort in the coolness of the metal beneath his fingertip, at the memory it holds.
One of his hands slides down Louis’ waist, stopping at the pocket of his sweatpants. There’s a small bump protruding through the pocket. His palm cups the outside of the pocket, curiosity overcoming him.
With nimble fingers, he reaches into Louis’ pocket, who ceases all movement. Harry pulls out the smooth crystal, eyeing it carefully. He’s seen it before.
Rose quartz.
He looks back at Louis, who has a lip between his teeth, eyes not meeting Harry. Harry frowns, not completely sure why Louis is reacting as he is.
Although he doesn’t totally remember what rose quartz does, he has an inkling that it has to do with their argument from yesterday. For Harry, he’d gotten over that quite quickly after they talked, but perhaps it left Louis a bit more upset than Harry realized.
With that in mind, Harry smiles, so gentle and oh-so kind, with a hint of a solemn look in his serpentine green eyes.
He brings the crystal up to his lips. Louis meets Harry’s eyes after having not said anything, watching as Harry gives the crystal the tiniest of kisses.
Harry’s not completely sure if that’ll affect the rocks’ healing capabilities or powers or anything, but it appears that it doesn’t, because the moment Harry moves the crystal away from his lips, Louis takes the crystal back, makes a fist, and plants a searing kiss to Harry’s plush lips.
“Thank you,” Louis lays against Harry’s warmth, and although Harry’s not completely sure what he’s being thanked for, at least Louis is happy.
And that’s all Harry could ask for.