Chapter Text
one
♬⋆.˚ i see the signs of a lifetime - you ‘til i die and i’m swiftly out, irish goodbye ˚.⋆♬
The first time that Louis realised he was in love with Harry it was with a fag hanging half out of his mouth and staring in through a grubby kitchen window, caked in years of debris.
He was on the patio, about to light up a smoke, shrouded in the dark cape of the night sky. His only company was a bloke fucking his bird up against the garden shed down the end of the lawn, and another guy sitting on the steps with his head cradled in his hands, swaying from side to side.
Louis figured he should probably check on him. He would, eventually, after he’s lit up and once his heart stops racing.
The problem was Harry was just everything and more. Louis could look through the thesaurus and search all four corners of the earth and he’d never find the right way to explain how Harry was just it. Ever since he appeared in his life, Louis felt like he was finally seeing in colour.
Harry was in the kitchen of the house party, surrounded by their friends. Well, some friends, some acquaintances. Niall knew everyone and also their mothers.
He was gesticulating in that molasses way he did as he told a story, arms swimming through syrup, and everyone in the vicinity was enraptured with the tale. They reacted as if he held the secrets to life itself.
He probably did. Louis wouldn’t put it past him.
Louis tore his eyes away to light his cigarette, looking down as he sparked the flame under his t-shirt so the wind didn’t blow it out before it could do its job.
Harry was looking dead at him when he glanced up again, though no one else in the yellow glow of the room seemed to notice they’d lost his attention.
Louis felt like he might melt through the decking and seep into the muddy earth beneath it. He’d go down and down, through the bugs and the dirt and the rocks and the mantle and whatever else until he disintegrated in that liquid fiery core. That’s how it worked, right?
It was a crush, that was all it was. There was no need to throw the L word around when he’d barely hung out with him one-on-one. It was infatuation. Building Harry up to be more than he was in his own head. No man could realistically rise to that.
Louis didn’t deserve someone as bright as Harry anyway. He’d dull his shine.
Harry’s attention was stolen away from him, a quick tap on the shoulder cutting the thin thread that tied their pupils together. Louis observed him for seconds after, watching that kind smile stretch across his face and one of his dimples pop in as an offering to the girl who’d cornered him. Her talons were digging in frightfully against his trap muscles and Louis would bet money that she smelt far too sweet.
Maybe Harry liked that.
Louis had had enough for one evening. He turned on his heel, going to check on the man with his head in his hands before heading past the couple fucking and out the back gate. A fox stared at him, holding his gaze for mere moments before darting quickly down the alley and disappearing into the night.
Irish goodbyes were always far easier.
what if it’s not meant for me? love