Work Text:
Louis had always kind of known, in the back of his mind, that he wasn’t straight. He knew from the time he was a little boy, when he kissed another boy on the cheek and held his hand on the playground. He was in year 3, and it didn’t even cross his mind that pecking a boy’s cheek could be considered wrong.
He had told his mum all about it when he had gotten home, all pink-cheeked and giddy. Jay had kissed his hair and said, “That’s so lovely, darling,” subtly giggling at her boy’s heart eyes.
He knew when he was fourteen, when a gang of boys from school chased him home, throwing rocks at him and holding him down and punching him in the face, calling him. . . Well, calling him a few choice words he would rather not think of again. He had burst through the front door, crying, bloody, sore, afraid, and, for the first time, ashamed. Disgusted with his existence. God, he hated feeling like that.
His mum had come home from work that day to find Louis curled in on himself in his bed, hurting with no tears left to cry. She was furious. She phoned the school, then each of the boys’ mums, and Louis never saw any of them again. She held him in her arms that night as if he were a little kid again, thumbing at his eyebrow soothingly and being cautious of his bruises. Louis didn’t complain. He needed the comfort.
“‘M I not supposed to be like this?” He mumbled as she tucked him into bed.
“Lou. If you weren’t supposed to, then you wouldn’t be. You’re perfect, love.” She kissed his forehead.
If only his mum could make Simon Cowell disappear like she did those boys. He guessed that was part of growing up, beginning to fight his own battles. But it feels as if there is no way to win this one.
Louis sat on one end of Simon’s comfortable leather sofa, pinching at the material of the arm with his eyes downcast. He could feel the air conditioning on the back of his neck, and he shivered.
“Louis? Are you with me?” Simon said from the chair opposite to him.
“Mhm. Yeah. So, you want me to. . .?” Louis asked hoarsely.
“It’s standard, Louis. I’m sure you understand. This is for yours and the boys’ protection.” Simon explained, waiting for the younger to reply. When he didn’t, Simon continued to speak.
“Louis. Boy bands thrive when their members are. . . shall we say, desirable to their audience. The way you acted last night, the way you’ve behaved for the entirety of your career—”
“What do I act like?” Louis interrupted quietly. He was looking at Simon now, eyes somewhat sad, somewhat defensive. Simon met his gaze and paused, choosing his words carefully.
“Like a child.” He said, still thoughtful. “And like. . . do you know about the fans’ theories between you and Harry?” Louis pursed his lips and began to examine his fingers. He did know, but he shook his head in dissent anyway. Simon eyed Louis suspiciously before explaining.
“The fans are under the impression that you and Harry are—uhm, romantically involved with each other.” Simon let the statement hang in the air, continuing when it was clear that Louis wasn’t going to respond. “Now Louis, I need to ask you seriously, man to man. Is that true in any way?” Simon questioned, resting his elbows on his knees. The sun had already set.
Louis let out a breath, exhausted. Hours before sunrise that morning he had woken up in London with his face pressed into Harry’s soft, clean hair, his phone lit and ringing with Simon’s call. Now he was halfway across the world trying not to cry in front of Simon fucking Cowell. He couldn’t lie. He didn’t have the energy. “Yeah.” He said. His eyes felt hot and his throat was burning, and he couldn’t swallow around the lump. He let his head hang and his eyes squint shut, the action freeing some of the tears that were pooled there. He held his breath as long as he could before he drew in a ragged breath, and the sobs wouldn’t stop after that.
Simon hesitated before pushing himself out of the chair, sitting on the couch next to Louis. He put a hand on the boy’s shaking shoulder and sighed.
“Okay, I figured as much. When you’ve calmed down enough, you can sign that paper, all right?” Simon said. His tone was soothing, but his words pumped anxiety and anger into Louis.
“W-what are we gonna have to do? Break up or something?” Louis whimpered shakily. He wiped his eyes roughly on his sleeves and blinked wearily at the older man. Simon’s lips were pursed, he was calculating again. Louis was beginning to hate when he did that.
“You. . . no.” Said Simon eventually, “I can’t force you to break up. However, I would highly, highly recommend that you did, for a couple of reasons. One is that sometimes relationships end messily, especially at your age. I need you and the boys to work professionally together, at the very least, and that won’t happen if everyone is taking sides.”
“That won’t happen.” Louis croaked. “We’re serious, not messing around. And mature enough to handle whatever consequences come out of this.” He explained as steadily as he could. “What’s another reason?”
Simon hesitated again.
“Ehm. . . Listen Louis, when you have something deemed controversial by society, it’s best to keep it out of the media, especially in an industry like this. Y’know. Religious and political views. Homosexuality.” Louis was gazing at the man with mixed emotions. There was hurt, defensiveness, and betrayal. There was probably shame there, too. Simon saw and began to back-track quickly.
“I personally don’t have anything against you or Harry. This is not me being homophobic. I promise that your best interest is in mind.” Louis wiped another tear off his raw face. He knew it was a losing battle.
“‘Kay, all right, I’ll sign it.” Louis leaned forward, sliding the stack of papers closer to him on the coffee table. He didn’t even try to read it with his irritated eyes, only skimming the phrases that stuck out to him.
“. . .in order to appeal to a broader audience. . .”
“. . .avoid the topic of sexuality. . .”
“. . .do not confirm any homosexual relationships. . .”
“. . .avoid public displays of affection with. . .”
Louis bit the inside of his cheek, furrowing his brows. He turned to Simon, who handed him a pen from the pocket of his shirt. The boy took it, gathering courage before opening his mouth.
“Harry will not sign one of these.” His voice shook a bit, but he met the older man’s eyes.
“What?” Simon asked, caught off guard.
“Harry will not sign to any conditions on this contract. I want that in writing. I’ll sign it, but Harry will not. Keep him out of it.” Louis was trembling. Simon watched him for a couple of seconds, his expression unreadable.
“I can agree on that.” Said Simon finally, nodding his head slowly. “Harry won’t be involved.”
. . .
Simon offered Louis a hotel in LA for the night, since it was so late, but Louis was desperate to get back to London. Back to his boy. So, Simon booked him an overnight flight and helped him off the couch, then led him into the kitchen. Louis leaned against the white granite counters. The lights were a lot brighter in the kitchen. He could feel a headache coming on. His throat was dry. Louis was too overwhelmed and exhausted to speak. He heard Simon make a phone call of some kind before he began to himself by making tea, letting the boy rest.
The only noise in the room was liquid splashing into a mug and that clanking of ceramic on the counter. “Milk?” Simon asked softly, as if Louis hadn’t just signed his freedom away.
“Please.” Said Louis.
“Sugar?”
Louis shook his head in dissent. He didn't like his tea sweet. Simon put on a smile that was more like a grimace and placed the mug into Louis’ waiting hands.
Louis blinked down at the drink. The heat of it on his hands, the steam on his face made him feel a bit more like a real person. He took a sip, allowing the liquid to warm him from the inside. Simon was watching him, so he looked up to give the older man a half-hearted smile.
“Thank you.” Said Louis.
“Anytime.” Simon replied. “Your cab will be here in about twenty minutes. Drink up. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
Louis nodded, waiting for Simon to leave the room before he pulled out his phone. He had a couple of messages from Harry, ages ago, because it was the early hours of the morning back in London.
Harry<3: i’m glad you made it safe! 9:32
Harry<3: i’m gonna go to sleep now baby, update me when you can 17:42
Harry<3: i love you 17:43
Louis: hey love, i’m catching a flight home tonight 20:51
Louis: see you tomorrow afternoon<3 20:51
. . .
Simon bid him goodbye with a slightly awkward hug at the front door, and Louis spent the majority of the ride to the airport with his head resting on the seatbelt, scrolling mindlessly through Twitter and ignoring the bright city lights. The heater lulled him into a doze, which made the trip feel a lot shorter. The boy squinted his eyes open when the car stopped.
He rubbed at his sore neck and reached for his phone, which his lax hand had dropped in between the seats. He then dug in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, tidying the bundle before offering it to the driver, an older man with rosy cheeks and glasses.
“Thank you.” Said Louis, voice raspy with sleep.
“Thank you, m’boy. You have a great flight, now.” Louis gave a tight smile and exited the cab, slamming the door behind him.
The private waiting area in the airport was so eerily quiet that he could hear the fluorescent lights buzzing. His head was still aching and his face was sticky from tears. Louis was curled up in a generic gray armchair, sleeves covering his closed eyes, dozing.
It wasn’t exactly peaceful, but he still startled when his phone began to ring. He grabbed it from where it was laying from under his thighs and hastily glanced at the caller ID. Harry, it read, following with a heart. Louis’ brows furrowed before picking up the call.
“Harry, what the fuck are you doing up? It’s like—” He checks the time, “—five-thirty in the morning in London.” Louis mumbled, half asleep himself. There was shuffling on the other end of the line, as if Harry was turning over in bed.
“Haven’t talked to you for ages, Lou, be sweet. Your texts woke me up.” He said it indignantly, but Louis knew he wasn’t really upset. A small smile played on the boy’s face. “Sorry.”
Harry chuckled at him for a moment. “How was your meeting? What was that all about?”
Louis felt his stomach swoop unpleasantly. He didn’t answer for a bit, and he could feel the tension building over the phone with each passing second.
“. . .Louis?” Harry said quite a few beats later.
“What?” Louis said thickly. “Can we. . . Can we talk about it tomorrow?” There were—once again—tears threatening to fall from Louis’ lashes, so he tipped his head up to keep them in his eyes. His vision blurred. Harry’s voice immediately softened.
“Yeah, sure, baby. Is there something wrong, though?”
“Haz, please. Tomorrow.”
Harry reluctantly let the subject go, telling the other boy to have a safe flight. Louis told him to get a few more hours of sleep. The call ended.
Louis’ plane ride to London was spent between wake and fitful doze. He tossed and turned in his seat, and occasionally glanced out the window. He wondered numbly what was going to happen next.
Louis wasn’t naive, not after an entire year in the industry: his signature on that paper could affect him for the rest of his career. He would have to push and fight for his relationship—his identity , even—for the rest of his life.
Later, when he was fully rested and in Harry’s arms, Louis might be ready for that war. Right now, with exhaustion and fear for the future weighing him down, he felt like he could raise that white flag and give up.
. . .
Louis: i’ve landed xx 16:28
Harry<3: yayyyy see you soon baby 16:31
Louis: caught a cab, be there in a few:) 17:18
Harry<3: :D 17:19
Louis ran his fingers along the leather interior of the car. He couldn’t even bring himself to smile at his boyfriend’s texts. He hadn’t had any proper sleep since the morning of Simon’s call, he was in desperate need of a bath, and his life felt like it was falling the fuck apart. But he was about to see Harry, and that made him feel a tiny bit lighter.
Clouds were scattered across the bright sky when Louis hopped out of the backseat, swinging his duffel over his shoulder. He quickly paid the driver before trudging over to the entrance of their apartment complex, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. The nice girl at the front desk gave him a welcoming smile as he entered, and he returned it, not stopping to speak.
The second-floor hallway was dimly lit, most of the light coming from the window at the end of the hall. It soothed Louis’ tired eyes. He stopped at the bright welcome mat that sat outside Harry’s and Louis’ apartment. He unlocked the door and swung it open, and was immediately hit with the smell of fresh paint from their recent move-in and vanilla from Harry’s favorite candle. Home.
His eyes were downcast, but it happened so quickly that Louis was sure he wouldn’t have had time to register it either way. Harry had wrapped his arms around Louis’ thighs, hoisting him upwards, and Louis screamed and Harry laughed, looking up at the boy, whose eyes still flared with the initial panic of being ambushed.
Louis eventually glared down at him. “What was that for?” He groaned, trying to sound annoyed. His efforts were lost when his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck. Harry kissed his chest and let the other Louis slide down his body until his feet met the hardwood. Louis looked up at his boy, finding the mischief in his face irritatingly endearing. Harry giggled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, I missed you, so. . .” Louis shook his head incredulously, but then threw himself in Harry’s arms again, face burying into his neck. “Missed you too.” He murmured. One of Harry’s strong arms wrapped around Louis’ back, holding him there, and the other reached up to his hair, stroking through the tangles. Louis sighed in relief.
“Y’okay, babe?” Harry’s voice rumbled gently from his chest. Harry felt the boy stiffen in his arms, and a rock seemed to sink in his stomach. He let out a breath before pulling Louis back by his shoulders to look at him. Those gorgeous blue eyes anxiously tracked around the room, and his bottom lip was between his teeth.
“Louis. You’re scaring me.” Harry took hold of Louis’ chin, and the boy reluctantly met his gaze.
“I’m sorry.” Louis said. He paused for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as if he didn’t know what to say. Suddenly his eyes filled with tears and he shook his head, making them fall from his lashes. His shoulders were shaking.
“Oh, Lou.” Harry’s heart sank even further, but he dropped his hand from Louis’ shoulder and instead cradled his waist, leading his boy slowly to the deep sectional in the center of the room. As soon as Harry sat him down on the squashy, corduroy cushions, Louis curled in on himself, pressing his knees into his eyes. Harry gently tugged him closer until he was tucked into the younger boy’s side.
“Baby, baby, sweetheart, my love. What happened?” Harry cooed. Louis breathed shakily for some moments, trying to regain the ability to form words. Harry shushed him gently.
“F-fucking Simon.” Said Louis, finally, “Had me sign a stupid fucking contract. Basically saying we can’t tell people we’re together and I have to stop ‘acting gay’. And I’m not allowed to—like, come out or anything.” Louis’ voice was muffled against his jeans, thick with tears, but he was Harry and this was Louis, so of course he understood him. An uncomfortable feeling ran down the younger boy’s spine—dread and anger.
“Louis, what ?” The boy sniffled, gripping one of his wrists with his opposite hand and digging his nails into it. Harry tracked the action, but didn’t make a move to stop him. “Look at me, baby.” Harry said, softening his voice. Louis dragged his head up blinking blankly at Harry, all bloodshot eyes and splotchy cheeks. “What are you thinking, Lou?”
Louis closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. “I don’t even know why I’m fucking here anymore.”
There was a beat in which Harry processed what Louis had said before his own eyes began to heat and his throat tightened. He threw himself into Louis’ chest when the tears started falling.
Louis’ eyes widened and he let go of his wrist in favor of threading his hands through the crying boy’s hair. “Shit, baby. Shit. I didn’t mean that.” Louis said, much less detached than he had been only a few seconds ago.
Harry’s voice was muffled and shaky when he spoke into Louis’ jumper. “I know, Lou, I know. Just. You can’t say things like that.”
Louis could think of a million reasons to be here. Waking up next to Harry and sleep-soft morning cuddles. Taking the girls shopping when he visited Donny. Hour long phone calls with his mum. Making Niall laugh. Water fights with Liam. Being idiots with Zayn. It was just hard.
Harry wiped his eyes on Louis’ jumper and sat up, leaning his head on the top of the cushions. Louis copied him so that their faces were inches from each other, breathing each other's air. Harry’s eyes raked over his face, searching, and Louis let him.
“Can’t lose you, Lou.” He murmured finally, voice breaking.
“You won’t.” Louis whispered back, vehemently. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s how it happens. When you’re not thinking. You know that.”
Louis’ eyes screwed up and he took a shaking breath. “You won’t lose me, Haz.” He repeated, his tone final, urging Harry to please drop the subject . Harry let his eyelids slide closed and he nodded hesitantly, reaching out his hands and pulling Louis into his lap. The older boy let his exhausted eyes rest as well as they laid back on the couch.
. . .
When Louis woke again, it was to the slight tickle of fingertips on his cheek, the pink-ish light of the tail end of the day, and Harry’s voice humming in his ears. The couch cushions and Harry’s legs cradled him. His body was lax, and he felt safe.
“Louis, love. You awake?” Harry murmured. Louis nodded and stretched, repositioning so that he could face Harry. “H’long was I out?”
Harry smirked, brushing Louis’ messy fringe from his eyes. “Mmm, ‘bout an hour. Was wondering if you were hungry. I can make something for you?”
Louis’ brow furrowed and he let his eyes wander from Harry’s. Now that he had said it, Louis realized that he was hungry. Starving, actually. He hadn’t eaten since the meeting. It was as if his body suddenly wanted to be cared for again, after the emotional high had settled. He looked back at his boy.
“I’m so hungry.”
Harry grinned, disentangling from Louis and standing up before helping his boyfriend to his feet. “Pasta it is, then.” Said Harry.
Louis giggled, feeling warm and a bit less distraught after his nap. Harry knew that pasta was his favorite.
Louis followed Harry to the kitchen, basking in the soft, warm lighting. He admired the alphabet magnets on the refrigerator while Harry filled a pot with water in the sink. There were two short messages sprawled out in the mess of letters: one from the morning Louis left for LA, and the other was created sometime during his absence.
“C U SOON ILY H”
“IMY LOU”
Louis couldn’t help but beam at them before turning to Harry, who was facing the stove, fiddling with the burner dials. Louis went to him, hugging him from behind as Harry startled.
“Oi, I’m cooking here!” Harry said through a smirk, turning his head to face his boy. Louis scrunched up his face in amusement, pecking Harry’s cheek.
“You’re cooking buttered noodles, love.”
“Yes, it’s very intense.” Harry hummed, turning fully around to pull Louis into his arms. Louis tucked his head into the other boy’s neck, breathing him in. He smelled clean, like laundry detergent and the coconut shampoo he probably washed his hair with that morning. It made Louis feel a bit self-conscious about his own hair, which was kind of oily and probably smelled like he’d taken two, long flights in the span of forty-eight hours.
They pulled back from the hug a bit, still holding each other by the waist. The sky was going dark now, and Harry looked so beautiful in the lamplight.
“I want to bathe before bed.” Louis murmured. Harry glanced at the water in the pot, which was coming to a rolling boil.
“You could probably take a shower really quick, love. Dinner’ll be done when you get out.”
Louis pursed his lips, fixing Harry with a disappointed glare. “Wanted you to come.” He muttered, and Harry laughed so loudly it was hard to keep a grin off his own face.
“Okay, Lou. After dinner, then.”
Dinner consisted of comfortable silences and the clinking of forks on plates. It warmed Louis from the inside and sanded the sharp edges of his emotions until they were no longer knives that threatened to cut through him.
It was just pasta and butter, the lack of actual nutrition in the meal was laughable. But it had been his favorite meal since he was little, and there was so much comfort in the familiarity. Harry knew that, so he sat with Louis and ate the flavorless noodles, even if he preferred something more sophisticated, rubbing his thumb over Louis’ knuckles every time he exhaled in relief.
Harry hummed a quiet tune while he cleaned the dishes. That was normally Louis’ job, seeing as Harry was the chef, but Harry told him that it was okay for one person to compensate for the other sometimes. An “if you break, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces” type thing. Harry always picked up Louis’ pieces.
Louis’ eyes were very heavy by the time Harry made his way back to the table to collect the boy for his bath. He allowed his boyfriend to give him a piggyback the very short distance to the bathroom, and leaned on the counter as Harry started fiddling with the tub faucets. The running water sounded far away. He felt dazed.
“Y’want lavender?” Harry asked softly, his eyes on Louis.
“Of course.” Louis said, inhaling as the heavenly smell curled in the humid air. Harry groaned as he stood from his crouched position, peeling off the soft tee shirt and running shorts he’d been wearing. Louis couldn’t help but stare. Beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautif— “Arms up, baby.” Harry murmured, smirking. His fingertips gripped the hem of Louis’ jumper.
“I can take off me own clothes, Harry.” Said Louis as he raised his arms above his head. He watched as his boyfriend’s nose scrunched in amusement before the garment was pulled over his head, messing up his hair more than it already was. He let the sleeves cling to his arms for a second longer than necessary before dropping them to the tiled floor.
Louis’ hands went to undo his jeans, watching Harry watch him. He kicked his jeans and pants all the way off and raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend mock-suggestively.
“Like what you see?” Louis asked softly. The younger boy squinted his eyes and giggled, and Louis could feel his face flush from his own comment. God, they were such teenagers.
“God, Lou, yes. Just get your arse in the bath.”
The water stung at first, turning his body a light shade of pink, but he could feel his muscles going soft in the heat. It was a bit like a metaphor. His life was a hot bathtub that his body was forced to become accustomed to, but, if he had the opportunity, would he really trade it out for a cold tub? It might be uncomfortable, but the heat soaked the tension from his bones, and Harry could always pour cool water over him if his skin began to blister.
He felt Harry’s kiss to the top of his head when he was sat fully in the bath, saw him wet a soapy washcloth, and sighed when it made contact with his chest. Louis was completely pliant then, leaning against the wall as Harry massaged the warm fabric into his skin. He let his boyfriend maneuver him so that he could reach his back, and then Harry was rubbing down his arms, gently flipping them over when he reached the other boy’s wrists.
Only then did Louis tense a bit, dunking his forearms in the water. His eyes snapped up to Harry when he heard him sigh, and found that Harry was already looking at him, somewhat sadly.
Harry gave him a half-smile and swiped at his cheek with a gentle thumb.
“‘S’okay, baby. No judgment from me, I’m just cleaning.” Louis leaned into the touch for a moment, pulling his hands out of the water and giving them to Harry. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Harry kissed his head again, then began to work gently at the crescent-moon scratches on Louis’ arm where he had gripped onto it. There were other marks—light scars on his wrists. Some were pink and fairly recent, but most were ancient white lines that he created when he was fourteen.
He wasn’t ashamed of them, especially not with Harry. Never with Harry, who had shyly asked him about them at the end of X Factor, his fingertips dancing up Louis’ forearms as Louis fumbled for words. Never with Harry, who had been there for him(against Louis’ will, at the time) after his relapse. Never with Harry, who knew everything about him and accepted him.
It was just a sensitive subject that night, he guessed.
Harry had long since moved on from his arms, moving on to his stomach and thighs, but his head still turned to Louis worryingly when he heard the boy sniffle. There were tears in his eyes, and Harry’s heart clenched in his chest for the umpteenth time that night.
It was unusual to see Louis like that. Not emotional, no. Louis wore his heart on his sleeve for the entire world, he never shied away from showing the way he felt. His emotions had always been big, that was one of Harry’s favorite things about the boy. He cried and laughed and grinned so openly.
No, Harry just wasn’t used to seeing Louis so broken. Like he’d been hit. Like a trained dog that was shocked every time it barked, like a declawed cat. He’d never seen Louis so hopeless, and it was making him feel hopeless as well. He tried not to show it, for Louis’ sake.
“Louis, I swear, if you cry I will hop in this tiny bathtub with you and give you a big cuddle.” Harry said, seriously. His attempt to make Louis giggle kind of worked. Louis’ responding noise was somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and hot tears were flowing freely from his squinted eyes.
“Oh, love.”
Harry heaved himself over the edge of the tub and crawled inside, upsetting the water. He shifted Louis against the other wall so that they could both lay vertically, backs against the porcelain and chests pressed into each other. Louis’ nose was nestled in Harry’s neck. His stomach kept jumping against Harry’s body from silent sobs.
“Can you tell me why you’re cryin’, Lou?” Harry’s hand reached awkwardly to stroke through Louis’ damp hair, waiting for him to say something.
“Just-Just everything, I guess.”
. . .
3rd January, 2011
Harry couldn’t even remember what the film was about. He’d been too busy sharing popcorn-flavored kisses with Louis in the back of the cinema.
Now he was wrapped up in Louis’ coat, holding the boy’s hand as Louis half skipped, half walked around the park in just a jumper. Harry was shivering, he knew that Louis had to be freezing his arse off, but he insisted that Harry wore his coat.
(“Louis, it’s too cold. ”)
(“You didn’t bring a coat, Curly? Have mine, y’muppet.”)
Harry was quickly learning, in the few months that he’d known Louis, that he was not the quiet boy Harry thought he was. He might actually have been the biggest chatterbox on the planet, and Harry loved it. Everything he learned about Louis was becoming embedded in his heart.
He couldn’t help but break out into a lovesick grin as Louis rambled on and broke into fits of giggles on their walk.
“How are you so smiley right now? M’mouth is frozen, Lou.” Harry said, poking at his wind-bitten cheeks. Louis laughed again, then looked thoughtful.
“I dunno. Just everything, I guess.” Louis answered eventually. Butterflies everywhere in their bodies, electricity where their hands were connected. Harry noticed Louis’ teeth were chattering.
“Want to go be smiley indoors, Lou?”
“Only if you come with.”
. . .
If they had known it would be this hard, would they have even begun to fight for each other? Louis hoped they would. Their love was born of shared hot chocolate and gentle giggles, not of blood and boiling bath water. It was Louis’ and Harry’s responsibility to protect the gentleness.
The gentleness of their love was worth the war. It felt so delicate right then, like a colourful blown glass piece in a room full of hammers. Louis knew it shouldn’t be like that, grieved a reality in which the room was filled with soft barriers instead of things that could shatter the glass.
Not for the first time that day, Louis felt guilty. Harry, at seventeen, was still just a kid. Louis should have been coming up with solutions and reassurances for his boyfriend, not crying in his arms and draining him of his hope. He felt that guilt leave his tongue in a choked whisper.
An emotional, huffed breath left Harry’s mouth, and Louis felt him shaking his head.
“You know we’re equals, Lou. You’re always here when I need you. It’s okay to need something from me.”
Louis contemplated for a moment, his fingers nervously tracing Harry’s side. “I told him, um.” Louis started, cutting himself off mid-sentence.
Harry rearranged them into a sitting position so that he could see Louis’ face. The boy wasn’t crying anymore, but his cheeks were all flushed and his eyes were swollen. “Told Simon?” Harry guessed.
Louis nodded vigorously, but didn’t explain, so Harry gave a gentle prod. “What’d you tell Simon, babe?”
Louis took a shaky breath, as if unsure whether he could speak without his throat closing up on him. “Um, I told him to keep you out of it. You won’t have to sign anything. You can keep being your beautiful self, love.” Said Louis, voice breaking on the last word. Both boys’ faces crumpled at the same time, and they went into each other's arms again.
“Wish I could protect you, too.” Harry sobbed out against Louis’ shoulder.
“You are, Haz, you are.” Louis sniffled into Harry’s hair.
. . .
When his hair and face were washed and their bedroom was dark and inviting, all Louis could bring himself to do was flop onto the bed, still fully naked. His mind was numb. It felt somewhat like a limb that had fallen asleep. He heard Harry’s quiet chuckle of amusement behind him, before Harry shuffled to his side and climbed into the neat sheets. Louis was still spread out above the comforter.
“Come get under the covers, love.” Harry said, unmaking Louis’ side of the bed and patting at the mattress.
“Mmmm.” Grunted Louis, but he heaved himself up and slid under the sheets with Harry, enveloping him in sleepy, heavy arms and breathing warm breath into his chest. A few minutes passed like that, and questions began to build on Louis’ tongue.
“D’you—D’you think if we went back in time, and we told ourselves about what’ll happen, d’you think we’d still be together?” Louis slurred, only somewhat conscious. Harry didn’t answer immediately, so Louis peeled his eyes open, looking up at him.
“I don’t think I’d be able to worry our pretty little minds with that, Lou. But I don’t think it’d have changed a thing.” He leaned down to kiss Louis’ forehead.
“What if we never escape?” There it was. The dread Louis had felt since he walked out of Simon’s doors. The hopelessness. Louis could tell it was in the back of Harry’s mind, too, from the way he stiffened. What would a lifetime of hiding look like? Louis wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“One day at a time, Lou. Just breathe.” Harry said, finally.
God, neither of them knew what obstacles there were to face in the future. But they could breathe, Louis guessed. In and out. In sync. Deeply. It calmed Louis’ heart rate, and his brain was starting to go fuzzy again. Louis welcomed it that time.
Harry pressed a gentle kiss into Louis’ hair, murmuring, “I love you.” Louis couldn’t help but sigh and snuggle further into his boy’s chest.
He was pretty sure that sleep and Harry’s steady heartbeat had swallowed his response.
Oh, this wonderful, beautiful, tragic life. He wouldn't trade it for anything.