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Louis had always been beautiful. Even before Harry had known him properly, had known himself well enough to know he liked guys, he’d appreciated Louis’ beauty.
Louis was beautiful.
But Louis was beautiful in the tragic hero way. Louis was beautiful because throughout all of the shit that was thrown at him, he kept on smiling and kept on being kind to every undeserving soul he met.
Louis hadn’t asked for shitty parents. Louis hadn’t asked for a sister who was arrested for shoplifting beer for her and her alcoholic boyfriend. Louis hadn’t asked for twenty other sisters who ate up every penny he earnt. Louis hadn’t asked for the shittiest hand life could have dealt him.
Harry had often considered telling Louis that he was beautiful but could never find the right words. How does one tell someone that they’re beautiful without making it sound cliché? They can’t.
Or at least that was what Harry had thought.
Harry had his own problems.
Harry had a house with one too many repairs needed that they could afford. Harry had his own sister who had a kid and no Dad around. Harry had a Mum who was never around because she worked all of the fucking time.
Harry tried to be beautiful. He tried to be kind, he tried to be happy but it was so fucking hard.
Louis could do it, just smile when he politely told someone he was too busy to go to the cinema with them instead of telling them he couldn’t afford it, he laughed along when someone joked about buying something expensive and not even liking it because they had enough money to just throw away, Louis found the bright side or life and it was beautiful.
Harry was bluntly honest.
Harry told them he didn’t have enough money for nice things when someone invited him out, Harry told people they were stupid for wasting money, Harry struggled to maintain friendships.
But Louis stuck through.
They kept each other at arms-length, never overly friendly but there was something. They recognised each other’s situations and when Gemma had had her kid Louis had given Harry some of his little sister’s old clothes to save buying new ones. Harry had returned the favour with a donation of some bakery off-cuts so Louis could treat his sisters and still buy himself a new pair of gloves.
And maybe that was friendship. Maybe that was all it took to make a friend in Harry and Louis’ shitty worlds. A favour for a favour, a smile for a smile, a friend for a friend.
Harry didn’t have a lot to his name. He had mediocre grades, an angsty teenage attitude that wasn’t unique and a bakery job that was enough to get by. But Harry could write music and Harry could sing.
It wasn’t much but it was enough.
It was enough to stop Harry from giving up all together and it was what he spent his spare time doing. Finding quiet rooms in the music department at school and playing the pianos with missing keys, playing the guitars that were out of tune and making notes of chord patterns, lyrics and general feelings in the diary he’d treated himself with on his birthday.
It turned out that a couple of people listened to Harry’s music.
The music teachers told Harry as he ducked past them that he should come to choir. A few of the music students asked Harry if he could help them with their performances and compositions. Louis mentioned in passing one day that he loved Harry’s voice.
Harry had blushed and smiled and said it wasn’t much.
Louis had gently pulled Harry’s face around so he could look him in the eye and told him that it really was.
And that was when Harry began jotting down little pieces of lyrics and leaving them in Louis’ locker, in his bag, sometimes even in his coat pocket.
We were meant to be but a twist of fate made it so we had to walk away
Is it too much to ask for something great?
I can feel your heart inside of mine
Louis never asked Harry about the lyrics. Louis would open them, read them, smile and then pocket them again, a quick glance shot in Harry’s direction and a shy smile. It felt like something from a past century. It felt special.
Harry and Louis were in the same English class. One day a teacher bought up poetry.
“Does anyone have any lines of poetry that really get to them?”
Louis raised his hand nervously. The teacher pointed to him.
“There’s this one line- I don’t know exactly who it’s from sorry- but it’s,” he hesitated and looked to Harry for the briefest moment. “I promised one day that I’d bring you back a star, I caught one and it burnt a hole in my hand.”
There was a hush among the class. Harry’s whole world froze. That was his.
“I just thought that was really beautiful, I found it one day and it stayed in my mind. I think whoever wrote that gets far more credit than they have and should be really proud.”
And then Louis looked at Harry again with a hesitant smile and Harry felt like he was basking in the sun’s light.
Sometimes Louis would leave Harry lyrics.
When I’m not with you I’m weaker, is it so wrong that you make me strong?
Lights go down and I hear you calling to me
I don’t care it’s obvious, I’m all yours
And then sometimes Louis would track Harry down in the music rooms and hand him another baby rattle, a screwdriver Harry could use to fix the banister with, a squeeze of the shoulder and a reminder of why Harry kept on going.
And Louis would of course return a favour. He could give Louis cup-cakes when Louis was feeling glum, he would give Louis a new pen or pencil when Louis couldn’t gather up enough pennies to replace a broken one and he would give Louis a hug when his own mother wouldn’t.
Harry had once felt like a storm. A not so silent storm that was brewing, lashing out at anything that gave him half a reason and wanting destruction. Harry had once felt like that.
Now Harry felt calmer. It was still grey most of the time but occasionally the sun would come out because Louis had given him a cute lyric or a smile or a reason to laugh.
The storm was quelling.