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The first thing he notices about Harry Styles is a flash of blue. Louis glances down the row of lockers and realises he's wearing blue eyeliner. It's pretty startling. Not as startling as the green eyes they're framing though. They're huge and they give away so much and Louis knows it's why he walks with them hooded, gaze always on the floor. It's why he splashes contrasting colours on his lids; it's a distraction. Maybe it's there to show a rebel and not a scared, lost boy.
(He wasn't. He wasn't always. The first time he put makeup on, it wasn't to be rebellious. He just liked how it looked. Then his mum left and his dad, well. Maybe the little boy under those layers never really emerged. Maybe it can never be scrubbed clean, scrubbed new again.)
*
No one ever asks about the bruises. He changes quickly in the locker room, but everything he does is so nondescript that it doesn't matter. Maybe he's slowly disappearing. Disappearing into his stained, ripped jeans and his wrinkled t-shirts, the ratty, old leather jacket that's a couple sizes too big for him. There's just - well, there's a pop of colour, bright, bright blue. And maybe there's a tiny part of him that doesn't want to fade away altogether.
*
He lives alone now. He's an emancipated minor. His dad, well. He didn't take his mum leaving so well. He drinks a lot. The bruises weren't an accident. He works at a bakery. He goes to school. He can't wait to leave. He's in a band. He wants to make it big.
These are the things Louis knows, the things everyone knows, the things people mention in passing before moving on to more interesting topics. He's pretty much forgotten. No one pays too much attention. He's just 'that Styles kid.' Sometimes it's said with pity, sometimes distaste, mostly a combination of both.
*
Louis doesn't pay much attention either. But then he sees a flyer stuck up in the hallway, and it's Harry's band. They're looking for a new vocalist, a keyboardist.
Louis's been suppressing his dangerous (beautiful, fantastic, impossible) thoughts for a long, long time. Maybe seeing him that day, though, catching his deer-in-the-headlights look (like he's been figured out, like he's been seen for the first time), maybe it's all a sign.
*
The second thing he notices is his voice. It's rough and deep and sounds like he's been chain-smoking for decades, or in a coma for a hundred years, or has spent a thousand lifetimes full of unspeakable pain. He's seventeen years old. Louis doesn't see that in anything he does, anything he is.
The sound comes out of him like this effortless, lazy drawl, escapes out of the corner of his chapped lips, like he's not even trying, like the music goes straight from his core to the outside world. He was born to do this. It's the most certain thing Louis has ever known.
"I don't know why you're looking for a vocalist," he says, before he can stop himself.
Harry just jerks his head up, like he hadn't realised he was there.
"I play drums," he says simply. And that, that makes some kind of twisted sense too. He's so serene most of the time; there has to be an outlet for that rage. There's no doubt that he writes the lyrics to the songs too.
The guitarist (Niall, with sun-kissed blond hair and freckles who doesn't seem to stop smiling - Louis has no idea where Harry found him) rolls his eyes at Harry.
"He's disgustingly modest, obviously." He has a lovely, lilting Irish accent that is totally fitting.
"Are you going to sing or what?" Harry says, and Louis knows it's mock-threatening, but it still kind of rattles him. Because Harry is dangerous, he knows this, he's unpredictable and a little bit crazy and Louis has never been around someone so magnetic before.
Louis' voice is basically the exact opposite of Harry's. It's bright and clean and stripped bare. Harry's has all this texture that obscures everything. Louis' cannot hide anything. Maybe it's just as pained though, in a different way.
He regards him curiously after. It's been a long while. And Louis is about to just turn around and leave.
Niall just says, "Stop being a cunt, Haz. Tell him he's in."
Harry still doesn't say anything. He just tilts his head a little and nods, a slight movement.
*
Louis still hasn't figured out the Zayn thing and he's been in the band for about two months. Zayn's popular, but, like, not the way that Liam's popular. It's the notorious kind of popular. Because he cuts class and smokes behind the bleachers and makes girls (and guys) swoon with his bad boy attitude. It's probably all just an act, he guesses. Like Harry. Not like Harry. Maybe he hasn't figured Harry out yet either.
He's pretty sure they didn't meet the usual way though. (Not like how Louis met Liam, back in the sandbox when they were six, and he'd fallen in love with his huge brown eyes and his shy smile that he'd quickly changed into one of pure and utter mischief. He can't think about Liam like that anymore, it's too weird. Now he's a track star and too busy fending off cheerleaders and being the best guy everyone knows. And Louis, well. Louis's the funny friend, who's pretty mediocre at everything, and isn't that ambitious anyway, who takes care of his mum and sisters and doesn't think about the future much.)
They act like just friends in public, but Louis saw them that night at that one random house party. He'd gone out the back door to get some air, and Harry had him pressed up against the side of the house, and Zayn's hand was on his hip, the heel of his palm moving Harry's shirt up, lit cigarette still between his fingers. He's pretty sure his old leather jacket gets singed at some point. He stops watching then.
Sometimes he sees dark streaks on Zayn's face. No one asks questions. No one ever does with Harry.
*
So Harry writes songs and Zayn draws, and maybe it'd be a thing if Zayn didn't usually have a hot girl draped all over him, if Harry wasn't so desperate to forget and be forgotten. (It's hard though, when he stains everything he touches, when everything that happens to him adds so much time and weight to his voice, his eyes. Louis wonders if he can pick apart the story of his life, in the cracks of his lips, the holes in his jacket, the wounds in his body and words.)
It's not ever going to though. They're too alike to fall in love. They know each other too well.
*
He's brave enough to ask one day after rehearsal in late January.
"How'd you meet Zayn?"
He can't remember ever asking him a direct personal question. Harry doesn't talk about himself. If he does, he talks about his future, not the past.
"We were fifteen. He was...confused." It's his usual clipped sentences.
"Confused?"
"His mum found his paintings. Of a lot of naked men." He smirks at that, then gets serious again. (And Harry's face is kind of the most expressive he's ever seen. It's kind of like Niall's voice, only he hardly ever uses it. It's a shame, really.)
"Did you...?"
"We just talked about it for a long time. He knew I was into guys too. It just kind of happened after that. He wanted me to be his first." He kind of screws up his face at that, like it's embarrassing, like it happened to someone else. And it did, really. They were all someone else three years ago.
"He didn't know..." he continues.
"Didn't know what?"
"That he was my first too. He still doesn't."
They probably don't talk about it now. Probably don't talk at all. It's all just skin on skin and cigarette ash on the sheets after and maybe Zayn still draws him when he's asleep, all curled in on himself, like he's always freezing, mass of knotted curls and dark marks on his back. He doesn't show him though. This isn't anything like they thought they'd have when they were fifteen. This isn't young love. This isn't romance. This isn't sentimental.
So Harry writes songs about people who leave in the night, about pressing your finger to a bruise until it doesn't hurt anymore, and Zayn puts his scraps of paper in the trash and they don't ever break each other's hearts.
*
Louis doesn't talk about them much to Liam. They've hung out with Niall a couple times but Harry and Zayn were conspicuously absent. Liam isn't really all that curious though, just jokes about him becoming a rockstar and forgetting all about him.
(Louis, Louis doesn't even let himself think. Doesn't let himself imagine the tiniest possibility.)
"Hey, I won't ever," he says one day, and Liam looks kind of surprised at his serious tone, but nods, says, "Yeah, I know."
Sometimes, he wishes he never let go of his feelings for Liam. It would be simple and pure and easy and they'd really love each other, he knew they would. They'd treat each other so good and stay together forever and they'd be 'that' couple. But then Louis would've never met Harry Styles. He would've never had all his greatest dreams and fears come true.
*
Liam only meets him at Harry's eighteenth birthday party (that Niall's throwing for him). Zayn's around too, but they've been weird recently, like they're having a fight or something (but it's not really a relationship, so). Louis wonders if he wants to break it off, which is likely, and Harry's trying hard to pretend he doesn't care (of course, he does, he always does - caring too much has always been his problem), or if he wants more, which is less likely, and Harry has to disappoint him. Again. Always.
Liam shakes Harry's hand, tells him it's nice to meet him, and Harry doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow at Louis. Louis shrugs at him, because yeah, Liam is basically everything Louis's said about him, too earnest and frustratingly good and basically the best person he's ever met.
Zayn spots them then, and he comes over, presumably to talk to Harry but he stops in his tracks when he sees Liam. Liam's sentence just trails off when he realises Zayn's there - and oh, that's kind of unexpected.
"Hey, I know you," Zayn says.
"Yeah, yeah..." And oh, fuck, Liam is actually blushing.
Harry looks just as puzzled as Louis feels.
"Liam comes into the store all the time," Zayn explains quickly.
And oh, oh. Zayn - Zayn is that guy. The guy from the comic book store Liam has had a crush on for months and months (although he's never admitted it, Louis knows how to weasel this kind of information out of people, and he knows Liam).
Zayn is smiling so sweetly and shyly at him, like no one else is in the room, and it strikes Louis that he doesn't really know much about him, besides from his thing with Harry. Liam apparently does though. Apparently Liam knows a lot about him, and his secret dorky, sensitve side. And he feels a pang of jealousy, despite himself, because these are the only two guys he's ever really felt anything for, on totally opposite sides of the spectrum, so attractive to him for entirely different reasons, and it's so easy for Zayn, with all his fucking complexity. He wishes he could hate him, really, but he can't. Can't because Zayn's probably just as frustrated with Harry as Louis is and he needs an end to it, to this destructive cycle they've got themselves caught up in, and Liam - well, Liam deserves to be happy. He deserves to be more than just the romanticised version of him Louis's had in his head since forever. Deserves someone who really, truly understands him.
Maybe he does have a habit of becoming too infatuated with the idea of a person rather than the person himself.
Louis doesn't register Harry leaving until he already has. (Liam and Zayn are, of course, too caught up in each other to notice anything.) He's maybe gone off to get high, or to find some guy to get off with in the bathroom. Both, probably.
Louis finds him passed out in Niall's bed at the end of the night. He just pulls the duvet over most of his body, turns the lights out, before he leaves him there.
*
For some reason, the call comes to his phone. (Maybe because Harry doesn't have a landline, and Niall moves between his parents' houses a lot.) He almost drops it. He almost grips it so tightly that he crushes it to pieces. He almost goes brain-dead right there and then. The guy is talking and some dormant part of his brain is listening but the conscious part of him is somewhere else, somewhere far away.
He falls back to earth.
When the guy hangs up, he borrows the car without permission and almost kills himself driving to Harry's flat.
*
Harry cracks the door open. A beanie is covering half his hair, the other half in its usual disarray. He's just wearing an old, faded t-shirt over his underwear. He kind of shivers before he speaks, that perpetual cold.
"Lou? It's eight o'clock. On a Saturday."
"Someone found our MySpace." It's quiet, calm. Louis's still in some kind of trance almost.
"Okay...?"
"It was these guys, these guys from this band. And they listened to our songs. And - and - they got their record label to offer us a deal."
Harry stares for a second, kind of suspicious, like he's wondering if it's a joke or something (and Louis' heart just breaks down the centre). Then he's opening the door wider, and whispering back, kind of shrilly, "A deal?"
"A record deal. Yes, yes." A kind of hysterical giggle escapes his throat. And Harry hasn't moved in ages and he wonders if he's gone into shock and then his face breaks open into the truest smile he's ever seen on it, and Louis - he can't - he can't not - he just - he has to -
He leans right into his space, no hesitation at all, and kisses him, one hand on his face, and he doesn't pull away. He reaches around to gather Louis even closer and pull him into the flat, and Louis's never actually been here before, and it's pretty dark inside, so he can't register much before they're just falling right onto the mattress in the centre of the floor.
They take their time then. Louis gets a hand firmly into his hair because he needs to know what it feels like. It's softer than it looks. (Like he is, like he is all over and all through. He's delicate and he bruises easily and Louis will take so much care with him, like he never has with anything else in his life.)
Harry kisses with wild abandon. He flashes back to that night with Zayn and wonders if this makes him feel safe, in control. He stops for a second, buries his head in his neck instead, presses a kiss at the junction between his neck and shoulder. Harry makes a soft, frustrated noise before he's rolling them over and attacking his lips again. He has a crazy thought to push him off, but fuck, he knows it'll all be over then. He won't be able to trust him anymore and the fact that he does now is more amazing than anything.
It's slow and thorough and almost unbearable at times but it lasts long and seeps into their memories for even longer.
*
The fine print is less worthy of celebration. Harry almost wrecks Niall's guitar when he finds out.
"It's just a couple months till graduation," Louis tells him soothingly.
"I can't - I just can't do this anymore. I'll go fucking crazy."
Louis doesn't dare deny it.
Instead, he comes over every day after school, sometimes brings food from home, makes sure he's eating. Sometimes they just cuddle up under the mounds of blankets Harry has, and Louis will wrap his hands around Harry's wrists and the tattoos there and will rub them gently to warm him up. He's getting a lot now. Sometimes he goes with Zayn. (They're basically okay now, and Zayn and Liam have been spending lots of time together, but they're trying to take it slow.) Sometimes he lets Louis pick them out. (The one time he let himself in and Harry was still asleep, he wrote 'Hi!' in sharpie on his upper arm. The next day, it was there permanently.)
Sometimes, he falls asleep with the arm that says 'Things I can' around Louis' waist. Sometimes he holds on to him a little too tight, like he'll slip away while he's sleeping, turn into just another dream.
Louis traces his fingers over 'Things I can't', wonders when he'll remember.
*
He does a couple weeks before graduation. He's writing lyrics next to him, Louis' hand wandering down his calf to his ankle and back. He's even showing him bits, which he never does until it's done.
Louis gets up and stretches.
"Have to pick up the twins from dance class."
Harry puts down his pen, looks up at him the confused way he does when Louis talks about his family. (All he knows is how to be let down and how to let down. He doesn't understand anything else.)
"Are you going to be able to?" he says, and his words are tight, tense.
"To what?"
"To leave them."
"I'm doing this for them."
"Are you sure about that?" He looks at him mournfully.
"I'm sorry, Harry," and he's never said that, never acknowledged it, the fact that he has no one. And he can feel Harry physically recoil. And oh, God, oh, fuck, it's all crashing down now. Just like that. Like a house of cards. Maybe he'd started to believe the illusion too. That they were all fucking okay, that this deal would be their salvation, that Harry would be happy, finally. That it could make him love him.
"Just get out." He's colder than he ever has been.
He takes one last look back, realises he's still wearing Louis' sweater. He wonders if he did more harm than good in the long run.
*
Liam's voice is soft and gentle, almost like a caress.
"You knew..." he starts. "You knew it would happen."
"Yeah, I just - I just wanted..."
"You just wanted what?"
"I just wanted him to feel like he was worth it. Even if only for a short time."
*
They don't really talk much for the next few weeks. Louis still goes to rehearsal, and it's quiet and a little strained but it's like they've accepted it - they accepted it a long time ago, really. Harry's working even harder than he usually does, throwing himself completely into the music. He knows they've only got one shot at this and for Harry, it means so much more than to the rest of them, it means everything. Louis will do anything to make sure he gets it. That's his motivation now, not his family and not his own dreams, just Harry. It's kind of the strongest one he's ever had.
*
When the last day of school comes, they're back on relatively good terms. Harry just looks at him and smiles before pulling him into a hug. It takes a lot of willpower to let go.
*
He calls him later, from whatever party he's at, and he's laughing and mumbling nonsense and Louis gets out of bed and pulls on clothes haphazardly before walking down the street to get him.
He finds him outside on the pavement. There's glitter on his face for some reason. The moonlight reflects off of them. His eyes are brighter than all of them put together though. He just smiles contentedly before sidling up to Louis, fists a hand in his jacket and brings their mouths together. Louis just shuts off for a second, so overpowered by Harry and his intensity and the hot, wet pressure of him. Then it hits his nostrils, the smell that's clinging to his hair, and it almost makes his stomach lurch. He pulls away, breathing hard.
Harry stares at him, eyes big and worried, not downcast like they usually are.
He looks down, spots the cigarette burn on his jacket. He rubs a finger over it, smooths out the material and then turns around.
He coughs, the smoke not present anymore but still so choking.
He almost swears he hears Harry start to say his name and then stop.
*
He doesn't go out all weekend. He avoids everyone for the entire next week. Liam leaves a few messages, but he doesn't call back. He's not going to tell him - it's not, it's not Zayn's fault. It's not Harry's either, really. Maybe it's Louis' - Louis' own damn fault for thinking he could make it better, make him better. Harry hasn't even tried to make contact. He'd be worried, well, if. They're supposed to start recording soon, and no matter what's happened between them, he knows they have to do this. And they have to do it together. There's no other way.
He knocks on his door Friday night. There's no answer, so he lets himself in.
When Harry comes in, he doesn't turn on the light. So Louis doesn't see, can't tell. He doesn't know if it's smeared eyeshadow or a black eye or both. He can tell he's been crying, eyes all red and bloodshot, but he doesn't know at first that under the makeup is a deep purple bruise. It's a mask, like it's always been, but the bruise is too, this time. Louis doesn't know how many layers you'd have to take off the surface to get to the real Harry Styles, doesn't know who'd have the time or patience. Harry doesn't believe anyone ever will, so he doesn't let them try.
Louis pulls him down onto the mattress, cradles him to his own body.
"What happened?" He kind of already knows.
"There was this guy at the club. His boyfriend walked in on me sucking him off." He laughs kind of wildly after he says it and then he can't tell whether he's laughing or crying. It's all muffled into Louis' chest and Louis wishes he could just absorb all of it, take it all away. He wants to take Harry far away from everything, where he can't be hurt or hurt anyone. He wants to just wrap him up in his arms, in a cocoon of blankets in this tiny flat and keep him, keep him warm and close and safe and here, and keep him.
*
He looks terrible in the light of day, face washed bare, there for the world to see, all his shame and pain and fear. It's the most exposed he's ever been. He lets Louis sit him down near the window and cover it up for him. It doesn't feel like obfuscation. It feels like clarity.
Harry holds his hand all the way to Niall's house.
*
Liam calls him and tells him, soberly, that Zayn told him everything. That he's mostly just worried about Harry, that he shouldn't have - that he's trying, he really is. And he forgave him.
"I'm sorry too," Louis says.
"For what?"
"Everything."
"Are you going to be okay?" Liam asks, sounding kind of frightened of the answer.
"We'll try."
It's all any of them can do.
*
Louis presses kisses to all the marks marring his skin, the old and the new, tells him he didn't deserve it, not any of them, not the ones you can't see or the ones you can. He knows he can't change any of it, he can't bring his mum back, or make his dad love him or give him back all the pieces of himself he's had stolen by so many nameless, faceless people.
"I can only try to give you the love you deserve," he whispers into his skin.
Harry kisses him, traces his cheekbones with his fingertips.
*
They go into the studio a week after, and it's the best experience of their lives so far. They go on tour and Harry draws intricate designs on his face (and sometimes Louis' too) before going on stage, and he's happy, happy, finally so happy. The album comes out and it's kind of a surprise hit. And then Harry's words are on the radio for everyone to hear and Louis is singing them, telling them that this is what they're missing out on.
Harry tells him he loves him the day their album goes platinum. Louis tells him that he's always known, that he's always been in the 'things you can' column.