Work Text:
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My mouth hasnt shut up about you since you Kissed it. The idea that you may Kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn't stopped thinking about you since, well, before any Kiss. and now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me like when you slip on the stairs and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back. The notion of them continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites me to an unfamiliar degree.
louis tomlinson’s love letter to harry styles
Harry blinked.
He read it over again.
And again.
The third time, he noticed the randomly capitalised letters.
Every ‘K’ save for one was capitalised. The beginning of a sentence- occasionally, but not always.
The ‘K’s were capitalised.
Not even their names, that were grammatically obligated to capitalisation, were capitalised.
But the ‘K’s.
Harry read over every ‘K’.
Kissed. Kiss. Kiss. kisses.
And to think, he had had half a mind to throw it all away last night.
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Harry Styles had kissed Louis Tomlinson three weeks ago.
It seemed as though Louis Tomlinson had not forgotten.
Harry Styles knew that Louis Tomlinson was a bad idea.
Louis was the antithesis of everything Harry was. Harry liked yoga and carrot smoothies. He had painted his kitchen sage green (by himself) and wore soft jumpers on his weekly grocery shop. Louis Tomlinson liked cigarettes and getting his shirt torn while he performed. He took shots from strangers (his fans) and probably hadn’t touched a vegetable since he was eight.
So Harry had known, that no matter how gorgeous Louis had looked that night, he was still a bad idea.
Terrible, really.
But what was Harry to do, really?
What was he to do, when Louis’ eyes had whispered to him, from all the way across the room, even through the strobe lights that always gave Harry a headache?
What was he to do, when Louis’ silhouette had crossed the room in a bee line for Harry, forgoing pleasantry and introduction for ‘Have we met?’
What was he to do, when countering all of Louis’ quick remarks had felt like passing notes to a forbidden high-school love, sworn to secrecy but still light as air?
There was nothing for him to do, not really. Not when Louis had dragged him into a bathroom with ridiculously beautiful wallpaper and closed the door behind Harry’s back. Not when he said ‘Hey’ so close to Harry’s face that he could feel Louis’ breath fall onto his lower lip like a drop of rain.
Harry’s brain was full of fuzz and his body was full of helium. He was floating outside it, he must have been, with how softly Louis’ mouth had pressed to his own.
Louis’ lips felt like clouds and his mouth felt like honey. His fingers tightening on Harry’s waistline felt like a tattoo gun pressing in deeper, reaching in, seeping ink down below one, two, three layers of skin.
Louis Tomlinson kissed Harry Styles, and Harry Styles let himself be kissed.
When he kissed back, surprising even himself, Louis felt it. In return, he made sure Harry knew he felt it. His throat vibrated lowly, and his hips pushed against Harry’s until his back was flush with the door.
Harry didn’t think he had been kissed like this, passionate and slow and lustful and sweet and desperate and collected all at once. He didn’t think he had been kissed at all, before that kiss.
Louis Tomlinson was a bad idea. Kissing him was an even worse one.
So, to preserve his peace- his yoga, his carrot smoothies, his sage green kitchen, his lavender jumper, his coconut conditioner, his book nook, his knitting needles, and his well worn Chelsea boots- Harry avoided Louis like the plague.
He detoxed. He went on a juice cleanse for three days. He ate a lot of fruits. He drank a gallon of water. He told his trainer he wanted to step it up. He drove up to see his mum. He called his first grade class teacher. He walked the McQueen show. He went golfing with Niall.
He did a lot of things, but for three whole weeks, he did not think of Louis Tomlinson.
Exactly twenty-one days since Harry’s own personal version of doomsday, he got an invite to a party he knew he couldn’t skip.
He had interned at a radio station in his early days, when he was still doing gigs for smaller brands and sending out portfolio after portfolio to the big leagues, praying his might be the one that gets picked up that day.
Of course, it was a complete coincidence that Harry got signed by McQueen only days after Nick Grimshaw mentioned having easier mornings, props to a model bringing him coffee every morning.
But Nick liked to gloat. And Harry kind of considers Nick one of his best friends. So. Whatever.
Nick had left him an overexcited voicemail, claiming that he had planned the perfect proposal, that Meshach was going to ‘literally die’ when he saw the metaphorical bed of roses Nick had laid out.
Harry thought Nick was spending too much time in the States.
Nick said this would be his very last party as a bachelor, so ‘you just have to come, Haz! There’s no option’.
As much as he loved Nick, Harry knew him to be a little… well, vain. He would likely invite every single A-lister in his contact book so he could have beautiful, shiny people to rave to about his perfect plans to propose to his perfect boyfriend. Which was all fine and dandy- by Harry, it was almost even cute.
But then again, Nick’s contact book of A-listers also consisted of the one person Harry was trying to keep out of his mind and direct line of vision.
In the end, however, in the name of friendship and priorities, Harry wound up at Nick’s fancy mansion with his fancy guests and their fancy cocktails. He hung around by the bar, mostly by himself. He made small talk with starlets and nursed his gin and tonic. He wasn’t sure why he had asked for it, he didn’t even like gin. He had spoken to Zayn on the phone ten minutes ago. He was more skittish now than he had been all night.
‘I’m here already, H. The line for parking is ages- fuck, I can’t stand these rockstars. Do they really have to bring their groupies out with them everywhere they go? Cocky arseholes.’
He had a good guess as to who the rockstar holding up the cars outside was.
He downed his drink in one go and scrunched his nose from the burn. A loud cheer startled him. He set his glass down. He turned around to watch the front entrance of the house open, people and sequins pouring in like a tsunami.
It was choreographed disorder, and Louis Tomlinson was fated to be in the midst of it.
Typical, Harry thought, but he was in awe.
Louis was a puppeteer. A mastermind. He was a flame and he had an army of moths playing at his every whim and fancy.
He was powerful.
And he would chew Harry up and spit him out like fifty pence gum.
He just had to keep his distance. Like he had been doing, marvellously, if he does say so himself, until today.
Distance. Meters and miles and every other quantification of distance.
He would turn away, in a second, he swore he would- but he was a second too late.
Because for the second time, Louis Tomlinson caught his eye across a room full of bodies and music and lights that weren’t bright enough with no effort.
And for the second time, Harry didn’t look away.
“Hey!”
Harry looked away from Louis, Zayn’s hands on his shoulders.
“I’m finally in. That was a pain, it was. Made me so late, too, I’m sorry. Were you alone long?”
“No, it’s fine. I saw a couple of people- you alright?”
“I’m good, yeah. I’ll just pop over to the bathrooms for a mo’? I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
Smiling, Harry nodded at his friend, holding on to his jacket for him.
Twenty minutes later, Zayn still hadn’t returned. Harry figured there was probably a line for the bathrooms as well. Someone tapped him on the back.
“Um, Harry?”
“Yeah?”
A young boy with bottle blond hair handed him a napkin.
“A note. From Louis.”
Harry took it from him, slowly, feeling out the material in his hands.
It felt soft. Expensive, most likely.
He nodded and looked up to the boy, who looked back at him, expectant.
“Well? Aren’t you going to read it?”
Harry bristled at the boy’s entitled tone. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but, judging by the crowds he hung around, it’s not surprising. Harry felt bad for him. He was just a kid, after all.
He would have to learn that hanging off of the rich and elite wouldn’t cut it in the long run.
“Not right now, thanks.”
The boy sighed, dejected that he hadn’t got to hear what was written inside. Maybe he already knew? Harry wasn’t sure. At least he left.
Harry stared at the napkin, debating on whether to open it or just throw it away.
“Alright, I’m back.” Zayn jostled him. “Who was that?”
Harry stuffed it in into his back pocket. He’ll deal with Lo- him later. He shook his head, “No one.”
“Okay, then, let’s go find Grimmy and get him on the dance floor! That fucker still owes me three hundred dollars from when he ran out of cash in L.A.”
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Harry had fallen asleep still in his clothes- well, his trousers, at least. He’s in his own bed, though, so there’s still that.
He rolled onto his back, feeling something crinkle and crumple in his back pocket. He pulled it out, and- right.
He had forgotten about it, the napkin.
I should have gotten rid of this last night, he thought, biting his lip because now he knew he’d read it.
And read it he did.
After the eighth- or maybe it was nine? After his ninth attempt at looking for a number, an email- anything, he still came up short. He huffed, falling back onto his bed. Who writes a… love letter, and doesn’t leave a number?
It was driving Harry crazy.
Louis Tomlinson was a terrible fucking idea.
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“Do you have Louis Tomlinson’s number?”
Niall didn’t stop dribbling his ball.
“Why? You want it?”
“I-No. I was just wondering how close you guys are. Never mind.”
“I used to have his number, but I’m pretty sure I don’t anymore. I can get it for you, though. I’m still friends with him on Facebook.”
Facebook? “Facebook? Niall, do you- who still uses Facebook?”
“I dunno.” Niall smirked. “Louis Tomlinson, apparently.”
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wanna come to a golf con with me tomo
?
Harry loved Niall immensely, and as much as he loved actually watching golf with Niall, he had found golf conventions to be, for lack of better words, soul suckingly boring. He thought of the politest way to say no. It was weird, because Niall was a little social butterfly. He had a different set of friends for each one of his interests. Why would he ask Harry of all people to-
louis will b there
Oh.
???
why would louis tomlinson be at a golf convention
wit his sis obvs shes hosting it for a charity thong
thing^^
im not following
?? haz his sister plays for the big leagues m8
lottie tomlinson, thot u knew her
dint u guys take a selfie tgthr?
Wait, what? Lottie Tomlinson was Louis Tomlinson’s sister? Harry did know her. Apart from her golfing reign- she had founded a luxury sports fashion brand- Charlotte T. He’d met her at a Calvin Klein show, where two of her collaborative pieces had been displayed. They had exchanged emails. She was nice. Harry wouldn’t mind seeing her again.
Or her brother, his traitorous mind supplied. He sighed.
ill go
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Harry cleared his throat. Lottie turned around, her dress flowing like water behind her. She was wearing a long coral gown adorned with crystals. Her iconic blonde ponytail looked far neater than when she’s playing.
“Harry! It’s so lovely to see you again.”
“You as well, love. You look gorgeous.”
Louis turned sharply towards them. Harry gulped. He thinks Louis might have done, too.
“Ah, thank you. As do you, but I’m sure you don’t need to hear that, Mr. Big Shot model.”
Louis was watching him. Harry watched back
“Well, it never hurts to hear.” Harry did a silly little hair flip, looking back at Lottie.
“So.” Lottie smirked. “D’you think McQueen wants to do a sports collection yet?”
“Please, all the designers and most of the stylists would have a heart attack if it was even suggested.”
“So I guess I can’t count on you to do some campaigning for Charlotte?”
“Nah, old Alex likes to stick to what he knows. Don’t think he’s quite ready for leotards and ribbed leggings just yet.”
“Old Alex, hm? Looks like you might be able to convince him otherwise, what with you being best buds and all.” Harry really did like her. She was funny. Quick just like-
He glanced at Louis again.
Harry rested a hand on his heart. “Oh, if only. He doesn’t listen to anyone. Not even me. Even though I’m obviously his favourite child- I mean, he handpicked my portfolio, did you know?”
Lottie rolled her eyes. “I’ll try you again next season, then.”
“Absolutely, you can count on me. I will singlehandedly fight to bring Charlotte T. x Alexander McQueen to life.” Lottie laughed at his antics.
Louis squinted at Harry, then turned his back and started to walk away. Harry’s hand itched to reach out and stop him, because if he disappeared now, god knows when Harry would find him again. And he really needed to-
Lottie looked over her shoulder. “Well, I’ll give you some privacy.”
Harry started to protest, but Louis was slipping further every second.
“I-This all looks incredible, by the way. It’s amazing, what you’re doing, it really is. I’m glad I came.”
“Thank you, love. Have fun!” She winked at Harry before walking away.
Harry almost broke into a sprint, even though Louis was barely three steps from him. His back was to Harry, and Harry didn’t know what to do. Should he tap him? Say hello? He contemplated his options.
He was positive that he would burn up like a fire cracker if he touched Louis right now, and he didn’t fancy Lottie’s charity event going up in a flame. He should probably steer clear of anything that would cause a fiery inferno.
Well,That was a bit hypocritical, considering he was about to speak with Louis Tomlinson, lightening personified.
Who knew how to start a fire better than him?
He settled on breathing in the shape of Louis’ name.
“Louis.”
“Harry.”
“Hello.”
Louis smiled. “Hello.” There was silence for a second too long. It felt like unshed tears and unsaid words.
“You didn’t leave a number.” Harry blurted out.
“I take it you got my note, then.” Harry nodded.
Louis looked pleased. “And… you were seeking me out?”
“No, I- I don’t know.”
“You looked for my number.”
“Yes, because people usually leave numbers on lo- notes. Of that sort.”
“Right, I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I’m writing you a love note.” Harry blushed.
“What is it that you were going to say to me, when you called me?” Louis asked.
Harry froze.
He had no idea what he was going to say to Louis. He knew he wasn’t going to- like, give in to Louis, but he also knew that he needed to speak with him.
He just wasn’t sure what he wanted to actually say to him.
“Why were all the ’K’s capitalised? And why was one not capitalised?”
It was something. Something Harry had pondered over for long minutes, no less.
Louis smirked. “You need to know that now? Like, is it an immediate response kind of inquiry?” Harry nodded.
“Alright, then, if you must know. The ‘K’s are capitalised because I’m meaning to say that that kiss was the only one of its kind. Like- y’know how some people capitalise the word ‘god’, even though it isn’t a proper noun and doesn’t need to be capitalised? In fact, I would even argue that capitalising that word is grammatically incorrect, because there’s more than one kind of god- but people who capitalise it believe that there is only one god, and hence they need to exclude it from other improper nouns by capitalising it. Do you get it?"
Harry was pretty sure he had stopped breathing.
"Kissing you is the only thing that feels like kissing you. Nothing can compare and nothing can proxy.”
Louis Tomlinson said words that made you feel like his voice was touching the underside of your skin. Whispering sweet nothings to your veins and disarming lies to your organs.
Louis Tomlinson was a bad idea.
Even if Harry Styles was wonderstruck.
“And the last one?”
“Dunno, just didn’t feel right, I suppose. It was a plural, yeah? Kind of paradoxical to capitalise a plural because it’s one of a kind. Doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“You should have been an English teacher instead of a rockstar. You’d be incredible at it.”
Louis looked delighted. “That was the plan, actually. I was going to go to uni for it and everything- and, hold on. Does that mean I’m not incredible at being a rockstar?”
“No, no, you are. Just, there’s no shortage of rockstars, you know?”
“Wow, I wasn’t aware we were in the great deficit of English Teachers.”
Harry rolled his eyes, smiling. “You’re impossible.”
Louis smiled back. “Go on a date with me.”
Harry laughed, exasperated. “No.”
Louis’ smile faltered. “Why?”
“Louis, I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I- it’s a bad idea. We have nothing in common.”
“I beg to differ.”
“If you’re alluding to the other night, talking for a couple hours does not count as having things in common.”
“I’m not alluding to anything. I’m saying that I believe we do have things in common. And we can explore that further. On our date.”
“I’m not going on a date with you.”
“Okay, but why?”
“”Because! It would never work.”
“Why, Harry.”
“Louis, you-" Harry groaned, frustrated. "You might think we lead similar lives- and in a way, you would be right. Sure, I show up in the same magazines as you do, and sure, I have enough money to keep up with you. You think we’re the same, but in actuality, we couldn’t be more different. You spend the better part of a year on the road, in a new city every other night. I get cranky if I’m outside my house for more than four hours at once.” He took a breath.
“You’re practically the antithesis of my existence.”
“And you are the bane of mine!” Louis laughed, exasperated. “Do you think I haven’t noticed you rejecting any and all advances I’ve made? You-"
“What?" Harry interrupted. "I haven’t been rejecting you. I mean, I guess I did now-” Harry had been avoiding Louis, yes, but there was no way for Louis to know that.
“I reached out to you on basically every social platform that exists. You never got back to me, so I assumed you didn’t want anything to do with me. That’s why I didn’t leave a number.”
Wait, Louis had actually attempted to reach out to him?
“When?”
Louis shrugged. “The entire week after.”
After.
“I didn’t know that. I… I haven’t been on my phone, much. Especially then. I hadn’t been on at all.”
Louis looked at him in disbelief. “What? I was detoxing.”
“From what?” Harry felt like a deer caught in headlights.
“Nothing. Just, a general cleanse. Detoxing from mundanity and all that.”
Louis raised an eyebrow, making it clear that he wasn’t buying any of Harry’s bullshit.
“I’m a model! We do this stuff. Keeps us young.”
“Fine. I believe you.”
“Clearly not.”
“What does it matter to you, anyways? You don’t care about what I think.”
“It’s not like that.”
Louis took a sip- more like a big gulp- of his drink. “Then pray tell, Harry, what is it like? I don’t believe you were hunting me down-”
“I wasn’t hunting-”
“-just to tell me no. You don’t strike me as the kind of person who gets off on blowing their ego like that. So, tell me.”
How was one to say that the thought of not responding to such a devastating string of words felt cruel?
“I guess I just wanted to… apologise. I feel bad because I lead you on…?”
Louis looked confused. “You didn’t lead me on.”
“I kissed you.”
“But that’s how it started. Don’t think that counts as leading on, love.”
Harry had a lump in his throat. Louis threw around terms of endearment in tones as soft as cotton candy melting on his tongue.
How did anyone ever resist him?
“Anyhow, it didn’t feel right to leave you hanging. Like- you’ve got the whole world on your fingertips. It seemed silly to think of you stuck to mine.”
Louis smiled at him. “The whole world? I wouldn’t go that far. I’m not Taylor Swift.”
"Almost.”
Louis shook his head. “What is it that you think I want from you?”
Harry shrugged. “A date or two? A shag? No offence. It’s more a diss to me than it is to you.”
Louis nodded. “None taken. And you think that now that you’ve given me an answer, I can forget about it and move on to something else, yeah?”
“Exactly.”
“And me telling you that I haven’t had one thought that isn’t you in the past month hasn’t clued you in to the fact that that is not how it’s going to go?”
Harry gulped. My mouth hasnt shut up about you since you Kissed it.
“Louis, you could have anyone-seriously, any man, any woman. Anyone in this room, even-“
“But not you.” Louis noted.
Harry paused. “I guess not, no.”
“What’s the point then?”
Louis Tomlinson was a bad idea.
He was charming and pretty and he made you feel like the centre for the universe, he did.
But he was such a bad idea.
“Harry, I have never wanted someone so ardently. You’re hurting me just by standing close enough to touch. You have no idea the damage you could do to me.”
Harry wanted to cry. Why must Louis speak like this when…
When there was no way things between them could ever work?
“We don’t even know each other.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s impossible. We spoke for an hour. Two, at most.”
“When you know, you know. I know, Harry.”
He came up speechless, yet again.
“Harry.” He looked at Louis.
“I think of you. I have been thinking of you. And I am going to think of you. It might be until the end of forever or next week, I make no promises. All I wanted is for you to know that. I dont believe in leaving affections untold.”
God, he was so.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you sound like… Elvis, or someone.”
Louis smirked. “Fools rush in?” Harry wondered if Louis was thinking the same thing as him. You know, for two strangers, we’ve had an abundance of conversation about love songs. Harry laughed again, nodding.
“Well, then, Harry Styles. Colour me a fool.”
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The weekend after Lottie’s convention, Harry anti-detoxed.
He did the opposite of everything he had in the weeks before. He went out. He got drunk. He danced with strangers. He ate a ton of McDonalds. He was too hungover to go on a run or to the gym in the mornings. He tried seven new cocktails (courtesy of Zayn and Niall running rampant because a young bartender let them in the back without asking his manager). He kissed a man- took him home, even.
Most of all, Harry thought of Louis Tomlinson.
Every single thought he had was plagued with blue eyes and red lips and freckles that could be mistaken for constellations.
This time, he didn’t even try to stop it.
After the weekend, he had decided.
He would give himself the weekend, and then he would push Louis Tomlinson out of his mind.
Attempt to, anyhow.
He was quite liberal with himself. He tried to reel it in, at first. But then he was in a cab, headed home with the man he had kissed in the club, and all he could do was talk about how ridiculously stubborn and difficult Louis was.
That’s when he gave up on all control.
That had been last night. He woke up to a (thankfully) empty bed and an (unfortunately) throbbing head. He smelled bacon, though.
Maybe Niall had accompanied him home?
He stepped out of his room, rubbing his eyes at the sun. The sizzles of the bacon were louder now, closer. He paused.
There was a man in his kitchen.
A shirtless, smooth skinned man, in a pair of boxers Harry had (fortunately) never seen before. He was swaying his hips to whatever was on the radio and cooking Harry’s bacon on Harry’s stove and he was using the wrong pan and Harry’s big spatula that was definitely unnecessary for bacon and-
“Who are you?” Harry whispered.
The man looked up from the bacon and smiled. “Harry! You’re up.”
Harry blinked.
“You hungry? I’ve got some bacon going, you didn’t have much in the fridge-“
“Who are you?” Harry asked again, louder this time. The man looked unfazed.
“Philip. We met at the club last night? We left together to- well.” Harry cringed. ”you don’t remember?”
“I remember.” Harry said curtly. He wasn’t sure Philip still remembered. Why the hell was he still here? They hadn’t even had sex. Not that Harry would have wanted him to stay if they had. “Why are you still here?” Harry wasn’t usually so rude, but seriously.
“Well-“ Philip looked sheepish. “you kept talking about your ex, I think? Which is fine, I think about mine too, sometimes...” Harry tuned him out. There was something distracting him, in the background. Yours, until the mountain crumbles to the sea. “…Anna, her name is. She’s…“ Other words, until eternity. “…a real pain, too. She still calls me sometimes. I always tell her-“
“Why- What are you listening to?”
Philip paused. “Oh. Hot Top 40, why?”
Harry shook his head. “No you’re not. That song is ages old, why would it be on a today’s hits channel?” He walked over to the radio to check the channel himself.
“I’d think anything The Rogue cover would be on today’s hot hits, mate. They’re like, the coolest thing in the rock scene right now.”
Harry’s brain went blank. Until the sun no longer shines. A chill ran up his spine.
“What did you say?”
Philip looked confused. “The Rogue? You don’t know them?”
Harry’s vision blurred. Until the poets run out of rhyme. Louis’ voice crawled up his skin and slithered into his ears.
Holy shit.
He couldn’t breathe.
Flashes of a conversation rushed through his mind like bullet trains.
"What's your favourite love song, then?"
"Hmm, that's a toughie." Harry pondered. "I think I'll have to go with 'Baby I'm Yours'."
"Ugh. That's so basic, Harold. I can't be seen with you."
"Heyyy, it's a classic!"
"I suppose it is. All right, I'll judge you based on which version is your favourite."
"Ah, there's a bunch."
Louis grinned. "I'm listening"
"I'm quite partial to the original, to be honest. Cass Eliot's, and- Oh! There's a French one, did you know? I love that one. Pierre Lalonde."
Harry looked over at Louis, who was staring at him with a soft smile. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Louis shook his head.
"Nothing, you're just kind of beautiful." Harry scoffed, flushing all the way up to his ears.
"Harry?" He broke out of his haze.
Right. Philip.
“Why are you still here?” He asked again.
“I thought, since we couldn’t get around to it last night, maybe you’d want some cheering up? I thought in the morning, you’d be in a better mood-”
Oh my god.
“Please stop talking.” Harry blanched inwardly. He couldn’t even think of- "Leave, now.”
Philip looked put off. “Harry-”
“Go. Just- please.”
Philip walked closer to Harry. “Mate, seriously. If you don’t get out immediately I’m going to ring the police.”
“Jeez, mate. Alright!” Philip held his hands up in surrender. He walked around Harry and got his clothes off the sofa.
“You’re not all that, you know. Don’t have to be like that.”
Philip left, disgruntled. Finally. Harry could hear the radio jockey speaking. The song was over.
You’re not all that, you know.
My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you Kissed it.
Fuck.
Harry knelt down by the kitchen counter, turning the volume of his radio up. They seemed to still be talking about it.
“...came out just this morning. It’s an interesting song choice, definitely. Louis Tomlinson is known for electric and base.”
“If you think about it lyrically, though, he’s not too off. I mean- he might be a rock god, but he’s writing love songs like any other pop artist. His lyrics are as soft as his music is hard.”
Harry closed his eyes. His head hurt.
He pressed a button on the radio, turning it into a bluetooth speaker. It automatically connected to his phone. He pulled up Spotify and went to the search bar.
Baby I’m Yours
The Rogue
He pressed play and looped the song.
'Baby, I'm yours' My mouth hasn’t shut up about you
'And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky' since you Kissed it.
'Yours, until the rivers all run dry.' The idea that you may Kiss it again
'In other words, until I die' is stuck in my brain,
'Until the sun no longer shines' which hasn't stopped thinking about you since,
'Until the poets run out of rhyme' well, before any Kiss.
'In other words, until the end of time' and now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me
'Nothing in the world could drive me away' like when you slip on the stairs
'Every day, you'll hear me say' and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back.
'I'll be yours, until two and two is three' The notion of them continuing
'Yours, until the mountain crumbles to the sea' for what is traditionally terrifying forever
'In other words, until eternity' excites me to an unfamiliar degree.
louis tomlinson’s love letter to harry styles
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Louis opens the door with a furrowed brow and sleepy eyes that widen a tad at the sight of Harry, panting and frazzled.
“You should fire your doorman.”
“What?”
“He just let me in, no questions asked. He didn’t even ask for my name. He just looked at me and smiled- what if I was a burglar, Louis? It’s not safe. You’re far too famous for some random passerby to enter your home without-”
“Harry.” Louis interrupts. “He knows who you are, love. That’s why he didn’t ask.”
“Huh?”
“What? We’re friends, we talk.” Louis flushed, embarrassed.
Had… had Louis just implied he talks about Harry to other people? That he talked about Harry to his doorman?
“I don’t… how did he know what I look like?”
“You’re famous too, Harry.”
“Oh.” Right. He was.
“Well, still. What if I was an imposter? What if I was pretending to be Harry Styles? And I was going to come in and rob you- or hurt you- there’s so much that could hap-”
Louis put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Harry.” Had his eyes always been that blue? Harry could have sworn they looked bluer like this, against the robin’s egg blue wall he could see behind Louis.
“Sweetheart, slow down.”
Harry huffed, laughing in disbelief. “Oh I should slow down? You’ve been- you told your fucking doorman about me. You-you said forever! Not once, not twice, but- I don’t even know how many fucking times. Once in your letter, once to my face and twelve times in the song- and you can’t say forever. Not if you dont mean it- and certainly not to people you’ve just met.” Harry takes a breath. “No one says forever to people they’ve just met, Louis.”
“I do. I say forever to people I've just met. Not that I have, mind you. Not before you. But... I would have, if it felt like this.”
Harry started at him.
Louis’ hands slid down from Harry’s shoulders to his hands. “I told you, Harry. I know.” He held onto both of Harry’s hands and lead him inside the house.
“Well I don’t."
“That’s alright, you dont have to”
Harry looked at Louis’ hands in his own. “Can you…” He intertwined their fingers. ”Do you think you can know enough for the both of us?”
Louis looked taken aback. Like he wasn’t expecting Harry to want. “I-If thats what you want, then yes, I can know enough for both of us.”
Harry nodded, resting his forehead against Louis’. “Yeah, yes. I think it is.” God, he felt so overwhelmed.
He could feel Louis’ breath on his bottom lip again. He felt one of Louis’ hands untangle with his, and before he could mourn the loss of his touch, the hand crept up his side and caressed his neck. Harry leaned into the touch. Louis’ hands were ridiculously light. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“Nothing. It’s good, you are good. I promise. I just…” His brain was a whirring mess of LouisLouisLouis. “I’m scared.”
Louis’ hand stilled. “Did I- I’m sorry if I pushed too much. I didn’t mean to make you feel-”
“No, no! Please.” Harry pulled Louis into a hug. “It’s not like I’m upset, or anything.” He pulled back to look at Louis. “I do like you. You know that, right?”
“I believe you." Louis smiled. "Even still, there doesn’t have to be anything at all until you’re sure. The ball’s entirely in your court.”
“That’s the thing. I am sure.”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Three days ago you were chastising me because I claimed to be sure about you.”
“No.” Harry smiled, sheepish. “I was calling you crazy for actually telling me it.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You know how you were telling me you know?” Louis nodded. “Well, you weren’t the only one to feel like that. Like… like we’re perfect for each other- or something. Like we’re supposed to be together.” Like we’re meant to be.
“I wasn’t?” Harry shook his head no. “Then why on earth did you make such a big deal of it? God, I thought I was coming on too strong.”
“Well, you were.” Louis flicked his ear. Harry bit down on a smile. “I’ve felt sure before… about people.” Harry looked down. “It’s usually higher risk than anyone else.”
“Yeah, of course, because it means more.”
“That’s the problem though, innit? It means more, it hurts more when everything crashes and burns.”
“We’re not gonna crash and burn, Harry.”
“I’ve been burned before.”
“Well, then, I guess there’s only one question.”
“What?”
“Is it… is this worth it?” Am I worth it?
Louis Tomlinson was a bad idea, because he stood there in front of Harry- all beautiful and blue eyed- and asked if he was worth it.
“It’s okay, you know. You can tell me why you feel… apprehensive. About me.” Harry grimaced. “I promise I won’t- like, mind. Be brutally honest.”
“It’s not about you, Lou.” Louis smiled, Harry surmised it was a result of the nickname. Good. “You’re… perfect, actually.”
“I…am?” Louis asked, his eyes wide with wonder.
Harry smiled, shrugging. “You should hear yourself speak. You’re so bloody romantic all the time.”
“But… I thought you were- I thought it wasn’t affecting you.”
“God, no. I was losing it, on the inside. I mean- the first few weeks… I was alright. I was doing everything I could to not think of you-” Louis laughed, shocked. “-but at least it was working. I had managed to convince myself that we had nothing in common and so there’s no way we would ever work- no matter how right it felt. After Nick’s party, though… when I read your letter? Since then I've been...” Thinking of nothing but you. “You’re kind of impossible to resist, you know? I mean I tried. Hard.”
Louis smirked. “So I did a good job of wooing you, then?”
“Wooing, god." Harry let out a burst of laughter. "Don’t think I’ve ever been wooed, before.”
Louis gaped at him. “No way. I don’t believe that for a second.” Harry rolled his eyes. Wasn’t this a cliche.
“Stop it.”
“I’m not even being- Harry, you’re literally a model. Look at yourself.” Harry was about to interrupt him, but Louis put a finger to his lips. “Nope, you don’t get to argue. This isn’t a personal opinion. It’s a general consensus.”
Harry giggled. “Oh my god, you’re so stupid.”
“Hey.”
Louis ran his fingers through Harry’s hair.
“Harry, this doesn’t have to be so heavy. We can let it float, for a while.”
What? “What?”
“You know how I feel. That’s all I wanted. If you’re overwhelmed-“
“But… that’s not what I want. I want to-” Harry groans. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve been willing myself to not want you since the night I met you. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“Why did you, in the first place?”
“Because it’s scary?” Harry shrugged. “To feel like this. It’s a lot… and I haven’t, in a while.”
“I know what you mean, I think. This is… intense- but we can do it, yeah?” Louis touched his cheek. “And, like you said the other day, we’ve still got to get to know each other proper.”
Harry nodded. Two hours and a kiss isn’t enough to know someone. But it was enough to want to.
“So, where do we go from here?”
“On the adventure of a lifetime, of course.” Louis said, all saccharine and sparkly.
“Ugh, you’re such a songwriter.”
“Is that an insult?”
“It means you’re sappy. You know what the guy on the radio was saying? He was saying that although the song choice seemed strange for your band, the lyrics were in line with your other stuff.”
“Does that mean you liked it, then? Since you were paying so much attention.”
“Of course I did. You’re crazy, I still can’t believe you actually… I listened to it at least twenty times- sat on my kitchen floor, with my head in my hands.”
“Alright, Styles. I’ve had enough. You’ve got to stop calling me crazy. I’m offended.”
“Oh, are you?”
“Yes. Outraged. Heartbroken. One more word relating to anger and/or sadness.”
“Hmm, why don’t you go write a song about it, then?”
Louis gasped. “You are mean, Harry Styles.”
“And you’re…" Harry paused, "Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Thank you.”
“For what, love?”
“Sticking around, waiting for me.”
“Hm, you did make me wait for quite a while.”
Harry bit down on a smile. “I did.”
“Are you gunna do anything about it, then?”
“Yeah, I think I will.”
At the end of the day, one has to think: did Elvis really know anything about love?
(He did marry a fourteen year old, after all.)
Because Louis Tomlinson... was a bad idea. He wrote ten songs about Harry in their first month of dating and then jetted off to sing them in every city on the planet. Louis Tomlinson was a terrible idea, because he somehow convinced Harry to get their first (of many) pair of matching tattoos in a dingy tattoo bar in SoHo at ten p.m. on a Thursday.
But ten months in, Harry Styles found that Louis Tomlinson was not the antithesis to his existence.
Louis Tomlinson liked cigarettes and getting his shirt torn while he performed- but he also liked Coco Pops (he insists they should be capitalised, because they’re one of a kind) and wearing Harry’s lavender jumper with nothing but pants underneath. Louis Tomlinson treated his fans like his best friends and called his mum every single day. Louis Tomlinson had a favourite vegetable (carrots) and wore the wonky green scarf Harry knitted him because ‘it’s the exact shade of your eyes, Hazza’.
Louis Tomlinson cried when he missed his sisters and flew half-way across the country in the middle of his world tour because ‘I missed you far too much to bear.’ Louis Tomlinson sat front row at every McQueen show Harry walked, cheering and hollering ‘That’s my boy!’. Louis Tomlinson stayed up until two a.m. texting with Harry’s mum about whether or not she was going to make him carrot cake for his birthday. Louis Tomlinson whined like a little kid when Harry left their bed for a run in the mornings.
Louis Tomlinson touched Harry Styles like he was made of porcelain and looked at him like he was the moon. Louis Tomlinson cared for Harry Styles like it was his only purpose.
Ten months in, Louis Tomlinson was a good idea.
Ten years in, he might just be the best damn idea Harry Styles has ever had.