Is Now Good Darling?

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/2282730.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: One Direction (Band)
Relationship: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson
Additional Tags: Parent Abandonment, Alcohol, prose, Travel, Friends to Lovers, Angst,
smut free, Alternate Universe
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2014-09-10 Words: 7,405 Chapters: 1/1
 Is Now Good Darling?
by bastylle

Summary

Looking back, it all feels very beautiful. Like watching your life bleed into the colors
swirling outside the car window.

Notes

Such a giant thank you to my betas

Sarah : radiantmint on ao3
Ayanna: larrylurve on tumblr
:))
And another thanks to Sarah for making sure i stick with this and supporting me all the way
through.

See the end of the work for more notes

“When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you love it.”
Caitlyn Shiel
-------

A boy was standing at the end of the beach the night Harry’s dad drowned the bottle too
quickly. His hands hung at his sides like he was holding on to something Harry couldn’t see
and Harry wanted to slot his fingers in the spaces where the moonlight sent washed blue. But
he had to remind himself that some things had too many fingerprints on them already.

But tonight the edges smudged in the sand and in the wind and Harry was walking without
reminding himself. He stood in the damp sand where the lake ghosted over his feet. The wind
curled around them, brushing the edges of their jackets together. It was quiet in a breakable
way. the kind that cracked when someone laughed, but fit itself closer when you asked
someone their name.
So Harry voiced the question and, wow, it’s all too much for the quiet of the night. The boy
cuts through the silence anyway to look across at Harry; at him but not at him.
“Louis.”
Harry’s veins become hyper aware of the moon and the water around his toes and his shirt
and jacket that separate Louis’ shirt and jacket from skin. He said his name like he didn’t like
how it tasted in his mouth, like there was something wrong with it. But Harry’s throat was
still swimming a little with the saltwater he stored in his lungs and he thinks maybe, he just
hoped someone felt a little like he did.
They stand there as the rocks lining the lake clank against each other while the moon sways
behind the clouds. Harry curls the ends of his fingers up into the skin of his palms and hopes
that maybe Louis cares enough to ask his name, but it might not be the time to meet new
people. Not at 2am, and not when two boys are standing in the wind sending thoughts up into
the night.
“Whats your name?”
And Louis’ looking at him now and, when did that happen? He’s got beautiful eyes but Harry
knows he’s already left too much space between.
“Harry”
Louis breathes through his nose and
“Do you live in the blue house?”
And Harry does. Has his whole life. It’s blue, but so are Louis’ eyes, and he’d much rather
talk about that and not that house. It’s not his really, it’s just wood but
“Yeah, I do,” a rush of water, then, “Why?”
And every word that leaves Harry’s mouth feels like too much, like he’s saying too much and
wanting too much for Louis not to walk up into the woods and disappear.
Louis stays there, next to Harry, with his feet sinking into the sand. It’s all very much like the
honey dripping down the side of the tea cup when you pour too much. Slow but gold, gold,
gold.
Louis tells him about how he heard the crash of the glass through his window, because, see,
he lives right next door. But he says it like it’s not permanent. And maybe Harry should have
known then.
"Is your dad always like that?" And Louis is so raw. He just asks questions that should hurt
but Harry already thinks he's wonderful so.

"Has been ever since my sister left with my mum." That's not anything Harry's ever said out
loud. And it breaks but it's okay.

It's so, so quiet and so blue but Louis reaches out silently and touches the side of Harry
cheek. The pads of his fingers are soft across paper thin skin.

"Is that from him?" And Harry knows he's looking at the jagged silver line that runs past his
ear. It probably glows in the moonlight.

"I fell when I was 11. Off the pier and into the lake." And he's talking so quietly but he feels
like his breathing stretches the sky.

He's not as delicate with things like that.

Louis pulls his hand back and settles onto the sand like it meant nothing. Maybe that's true
but Harry can feel the place where he touched him burn.

Louis is so warm and so sharp; like a fire burning thin.

It's a colder night, with winters shadows sleeping at the edge of the lake, waiting to blow
over. Harry never really liked the silence of the night, but Louis lights up the air, so it's nice.
Sitting there on the lakeshore with his lips turning blue and his heart on the sand. Louis pulls
a lighter out of his back pocket and cups his hand over the slight flame. Harry can see the
small dark smudge that lives on the edge of Louis' thumb and he wonders how many times
Louis has flicked a lighter in his life.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Harry asks. He hopes he's doesn't sound like a no would break
him. But it would.

The flame is blown out by a sudden breeze and Harry watches as Louis' face goes from
golden to blue."If you want to."

And Louis is so beautiful.

✿
An hour later Harry fumbled with the lock on his back door. He could feel the cold air
coloring his cheeks that hurt from smiling.

Settled on his bed, Harry wrote about Louis like the back streets of London. Places strung up
with lights but falling at the same time.

(Harry forgot to mention how many people walk over those roads every day).
✿

"No, no, no, no." The world was falling apart outside his kitchen window. There was glass
everywhere and Harry hadn't noticed before, how could he not have noticed?
His fingers shook around the pieces of broken wine bottle in his palm. This was all so
familiar he was going to be sick. That morning Harry pushed opened his dad's bedroom door
expecting to see him snoring loudly into the stale morning air, but he was gone. And it didn't
shock him like it used to.
-
The first time he walked in on empty sheets he stumbled over his legs checking every corner
of their small house weekly whispering, "Dad?"

He'd just left. Harry slept alone for two nights with only the note his dad had left on the
kitchen counter as a promise to breathe on. And then the next morning he was back, sitting in
the living room as if nothing had happened. They never talked about it, not then or any time
after.
-
But there had never been broken glass and there was always, always, a note. And now the air
was empty. The counters were empty. And Harry was hunched against the wall breathing to
the beat of a racing pulse.

The night before was so normal Harry hadn't thought anything of it. It was the only way his
dad slept anymore; with an empty bottle and a lie. The lie he whispered to himself too loudly
sometimes that Harry heard it in the wind.
("She never left.")

But something was different looking on it now. Something in the cold creeping in at the
edges and his grip on the counter.

But Harry knows as good as anyone that home is a hollow word found against the wall when
your dad leaves and you were never good at breathing under empty roofs.
✿
"Uhm." Louis is standing on Harry's worn out doormat with the rain behind him and feet that
won't keep still.
"Hey Lou-" and he didn't mean for that to happen, "what's up?"
Louis' so loud but so small in the way he exists that Harry's head hurts.
"I, uhm, I guess I wanted to see you."
Oh
"Oh." Harry's going to split his face in two one day, "Well you should come in out of the
rain."

He stands there for a moment looking back at his own house across the lawn before, "Yeah,
okay, yeah, I will. Thanks."

He walks in before Harry with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and Harry really wishes
Louis didn't close up in the day.

(But the fire gets tired of burning too).

So Harry makes them both tea with lemon because it's raining and Louis is less bright right
now. And they sit on the couch with the pink flowers on it that his mum loved and watch the
rain fall. Louis asks him where his dad is and it's painful but Harry has to say he doesn't
know. And Harry asks Louis where his family is and Louis sighs and says they're together up
North.

It's nice in the warmth of Harry living room with the static of the rain lining the wooden
walls. Louis holds his cup with two hands and Harry still wants to warm them up with his
own. But not now; everything is still made out of glass now.

"Does it ever scare you? Living alone?" Harry asks. But more for the future than for the
answer.

"Only at first, but you get use to it you know?" And Harry does know, not the living alone
part but the used to it part.
-
When Harry was 13 he used to sit on the roof and listen to his dad cursing to himself in the
kitchen. He didn't know how to handle the situation then, doesn't really know if he ever
learned to but it got easier so.

And one night he climbed down before his dad went to bed and he stopped Harry in the
hallway with a strong hand on his shoulder. He was swimming in himself and Harry could
see the rain in his eyes, but his dad was looking at him like he needed to say something
important so he waited.

"You'll get used to it Harry." And that was that. And Harry did. Whatever it was.

This is just another thing to get used to; the saltwater in his lungs and this boy that needs
more than the sun in his skin to keep him warm.
-
Louis doesn't leave until the sun has left and the sky is purple. He tells Harry he's just next
door if he needs it, but he doesn't mean it, not yet.

✿
The first time Harry tries to knock on Louis' door the next morning he notices the thin dead
plants in his window boxes and turns around. The second time he knocks while holding seed
packets and a bag of fertilizer in the other hand.

Louis is so beautiful on his doorstep in the morning with his hair in all directions and leftover
rain in his eyes. Harry would kiss him but he can't tell what Louis wants yet. (That's the first
time he stops himself from asking).

"Harry." And he just breathes his name out like a good morning. He just does and Harry can't
stop smiling as he walks into the house with Louis trailing behind him.

"Yeah, uhm," Louis clears his throat from behind where Harry is taking in the empty living
room, “There’s not much here.”

Harry sets the materials down on the bare coffee table and laughs a little breathlessly. It’s sad
to think too much about, so Harry just shakes his head slightly and smiles at Louis. And
Louis can’t keep all of it quiet; how wonderful he already thinks Harry is.
"You brought flowers?" Louis asks.
And "Yeah, well they're not flowers yet, but I was just outside and saw your window boxes
and thought we could fix them." Harry looks so hopeful he just knows it.

Louis smiles so big, and he's still got sleep in his bones but the fires there too. "Yeah we
definitely could."

So they spend the morning emptying the old boxes and filling them in with soil that lines the
lake. Harry shows Louis the flowers that will grow best together and they laugh so much it
feels like there's stones in their stomachs.
"Where'd you learn so much about flowers Harry?" Louis' fingers are so delicate as he pushes
the seeds down and hides them in the soil.
"My mum would spend every Sunday in her garden, it didn't matter if there was a
thunderstorm, she was there. And I would sit by her side and watch her work." As Harry
talked Louis' fingers stopped working so he could really listen. Because Harry is so beautiful
when he talks about his mum.
"Did you ever help?" And maybe Louis is selfish too; taking when he doesn't know what to
do with what he gets.
"No, I uh wasn't allowed to really. She liked the company but she said it was the only thing
that was hers so-" Harry loves talking about his mum, but he can't help the ache either.
And Louis knows he should say something that will bring his smile back, but he's pulling at
Harry. Maybe he wants him to break.
"You were hers too."
"Not really." And Louis can feel the unspoken, if I was she wouldn't have left me, but he
doesn't say anything.

It's quiet when they push the seeds down and water them when they're done. Louis tells Harry
he needs to rest because he doesn't sleep very well at night and Harry's going to leave but
Louis tells him to stay and that's that. So Louis sleeps and Harry lays against him in the
slanting light.

By the time Louis is opening his eyes Harry has every plane of his face and the shadow of his
eyelashes in the afternoon light memorized. It should be weird, but he could love him, so it's
not.
"What time is it?" Louis hasn't really opened his eyes yet and his voice is grumbly.
"Almost four." Harry tells him quietly.
"I'm sorry for wasting your afternoon."
"It was wonderful." And maybe Harry says it a little too quickly but he can't have Louis
thinking he's ever wasting his time.

Louis rolls over eventually and stares into Harry's eyes as moments pass.
And finally, "We're going away tomorrow."
"We're-" And what?
Louis sighs like it's not a huge deal to say something so concrete without warning.
"Tomorrow, you and I are going to go somewhere."
"Where?"
And there's so many questions Harry should be asking. Like, what if my dad comes back? Or,
do we even have money? Or, but I just met you two days ago? But he doesn't, he just asks
where.
"To somewhere new. We'll keep going until we find where we need to be."

Louis is so so breakable.

But Harry thinks he may have found that this is where he needs to be. Though, really, he's not
in the business of denying beautiful boys with eyes like the lake. So he smiles. He just
brushes Louis hair aside and smiles.

(This is where Louis burns too bright and Harry’ so close.)

✿
"Louis, should I be worried at the amount of money in this bag?" Harry's standing in his
dusty kitchen with nothing on but boxer shorts as Louis flits around him like a storm blown
in. There's two bags stood by the door, and a suspicious one laid by Harry's feet. Filled, well,
with money.

Harry kind of panics that Louis might be an outlaw on the run before he hears his tinkling
laugh come from the living room.
"I emptied my bank account when I left Donny." And oh that's information, "I originally
thought I'd be on the road longer but then I met you."

And what the hell does Harry do with that? He can't know, so he leaves his feelings on the
kitchen tile and goes upstairs to change.

When he comes back down the bags are gone and there's this black car on the dusty track in
front of his house.
"Did you steal the car too?" Harry asks with his side resting against the door frame. He
knows he didn't, but like, Louis laughs so it's worth it.
"No the cars mine too," Louis pats the hood of the car like it's been good, "Now c'mon you
sentimental oof, in you get."

And when Harry locks the last door and walks down the steps he wonders if this is how his
mum felt; like holding on but being dragged away by the sun. But he doesn't want to know
really so he gets in and Louis yells something out the window and he feels so alive.

And this is Harry's life. He's just a boy without anything to really call his own, and Louis is
lighting him on fire. So he sits and looks out the window and feels it; the dirt settling in his
lungs, and the energy of them packed into a car, and the shadows of the first stop pulling at
the door handles.
✿

"Harry, Harrrryyy, Haz, come on, Harry," and that wasn't the worst way to wake up. No,
because Louis had the moon in his eyes and a hand ruffling Harry's hair and everything was
lit up.

“Where are we?” Harry asks with the sleep in his lungs as he shifts in the passenger seat. The
window outside is dark and there are no lights ahead or behind them.
Louis’ still practically sitting in Harry’s lap when he smiles and says, “Not too sure but the
stars looked incredible so I thought we’d stop here for the night,” before he climbs out off the
passenger side and towards the trunk.
Harry waits as the edges clear and the cool air flows through the car, and listens to the
busying noises of Louis’ behind him. And when he comes to stand next to Harry with a
blanket and a look of wonder in his eyes Harry knows this is where he gives to Louis
whatever the moon has always meant.

They crawl in through the back where Louis had set up blankets and pillows across the turned
down seats. And when Harry lays back towards the bumper he can see the stars through the
opened car hatch and he hopes Louis can hear his voice catch.

“Incredible right?” Louis asks. blue and frozen, but melting.

“Yeah.” (A word barely there.)

And Harry thinks that music would fit, or the noise of crickets in the bushes, but the air is
empty around them. As Harry falls asleep his heartbeat pounds in his veins and Louis’
breathing fans across his shoulder like a steady metronome. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it
was Louis so close that made Harry’s heart work harder; maybe it was the stars.

(but everything becomes Louis then)

✿
The sun rose up behind Harry's eyes and the car worked beneath him and all their was was
morning and Louis singing along softly with the radio. Day two of going somewhere, and so
far, this was Harry's life. Composed of a lot of holding on and watching the fire that was
Louis catch in the dry air.

"Morning sunshine." Louis sing-songed as Harry struggled to haul his limbs over the seat.

(It didn't light Harry up. It didn't...It did)

"How long have you been driving?" Harry kind of wanted to lean over and kiss Louis'
temple; set everything on it's side.

"A little less than an hour," Louis said, turning the radio down slightly, "You snore by the
way mate."

Harry really didn't want to turn pink but he could feel it happening anyway, "Sorry." (Harry
was too small for all of this)

"It's alright. It's a cute snore." And Louis was smiling, that one that lived in the crinkles
around his eyes, so it was probably ok.

Harry watched as the landscape molded with sprinklings of small towns. Louis sung quietly
until a song they both loved played and they belted it out the window as the sun set itself in
the sky. It was incredible, and Harry breathed in the feeling and held it so long in his chest he
couldn't think.
They stopped off twice, got lost at least four times: but Louis looked so young when he
scrunched his nose up in annoyance, and all Harry could do was smile until his teeth ached
with the feeling. At some point he dozed off against the car window and woke up to a
darkening sky and a parked car. He half expected, or entirely hoped, that they'd spend another
night in a field, just the two of them, but.

"Here we are." Louis sighed as Harry was blinking awake. He looked so soft under the street
lamps. His edges blurred in the shadows and the ridge of his nose looked so so sharp. (He
was burning out and licking the walls at the same time).

Everything felt very close in the little car; Harry's breathing, Louis expectation, the
beginning. It was a bit dizzying.

And Harry just, "What's your middle name?" And why didn't the air still when he talked.

"William." Because the world stopped for Louis.

And this was where Harry gave Louis what the sun would always sing. And this is where he
stepped into the fire pit and watched his clothes burn. This was the beginning.
✿
The town was mostly empty except for a smattering of people talking in front of shop
windows. Bars buzzed down the street and the lamps flickered on around them as they pulled
their bags across the sidewalk.

With the blue of the night setting in Louis decided that they'd wait to go out until tomorrow
night and catch up on sleep in 'proper beds.' Harry wanted to tell him that last night was one
of the best nights sleep he'd ever had, but it wasn't that easy yet. And he wanted to tell Louis
that he looked completely beautiful in his purple jumper, but it wasn't what he wanted yet.

Two blocks from where they'd left the car they found a motel tucked between a bookstore and
a pub. Harry thought it was adorable: Louis coughed out the dust (so was life). But the room
was nice; two beds, a bathroom and a small wooden table, and Harry was so tired. So it
worked.

Harry flipped through a small book on the bedside table, looking for some place to order in
from, as Louis showered. After a phone call to an Italian restaurant, the water shut off and
Louis brought steam and a low slung towel into the room. Harry thought the breath in his
throat would solidify and lodge itself there.

Because oh. Louis was there, and there was so much skin, and the water in his hair made his
cheeks shine and he didn't even know how extraordinary he was.

"I ordered us a pizza." And Harry wanted to maybe pat himself on the back, or wrap the
blankets around his head forever. But that would have to wait.

"Cheese?" Louis asks with his face lit up so bright.

"Of course." Harry was being so fond. He knew it. He knew it was dangerous.
So Louis dressed, and there was a pizza, and Harry bit his tongue when Louis swiped his
tongue out to lick off his fingers. And then Harry followed Louis onto the porch and watched
him flick his lighter and inhale from a cigarette.

It was all too much.

Everything beyond their metal porch was smudging around the edges and whipping in the
cold. Harry looked at Louis' face framed in smoke and thought he'd quite like to take the
smoke from his chest.

"There's smashed glass glittering everywhere like stars." Louis says so quietly as the smoke
crawls out of his lungs and into the night.

But Harry thinks he's hearing things now and, "What was that Lou?"

"It's from my favorite poem," Louis says, "I have the whole thing memorized." He looks a
little sad when he says that.

Harry wants to ask him to recite it for him, but maybe that's not why Louis told him that.
Maybe sometimes people say things just to say them. Like they have to let some thoughts out
or they get clogged up.

And when Louis stubs out his cigarette Harry thinks about Louis like broken glass and falls
asleep with a headache.
✿
On their second night, in the town with a name Harry has yet to learn, they go down to the
pub beside their motel. It's all warm air and crowded booths and the low lights turning Louis
gold. So they sit close at the bar and order a pitcher. Louis smokes around his words and
Harry inhales too much he ends up coughing.

Louis laughs but looks at him like he meant to. Maybe he wants to see Harry fall apart; so he
can owe him something. (Planting reasons to stay in his fingernails.)

"How old were you when you left home?" Harry asks, hoping the alcohol in Louis will
answer him.

"Fifteen," And he smiles like he's proud, but it's humorless, "broke my family's heart."

Harry can't tell if Louis wants comfort. Maybe he should start asking, "Broke my mums heart
at 13 when I didn't follow her." but instead he adds to the fire.

Harry reaches for the cigarette in Louis' hand as a man in a leather jacket sits a stool down
from them. Louis' hands are soft when he passes it to Harry and smiles, "Sad bunch we are."

Harry can feel his eyes scrunch with a smile as he inhales the smoke. This should be sad,
their two lives not really making a whole one, but it works. They smile in the bad parts and
drink too much but it works.

Around Harry's 5th pint the man on the stool beside Louis buys him a drink. He's beautiful
and quiet and smiles at Louis with no stars in his eyes. But Louis goes along and drinks it
down, slides his hand onto the man's knee, and laughs.

Harry doesn't know that laugh. It's poison, not liquid gold, and it settles wrong on his skin.
Louis' looking in the mans eyes and telling him about his favorite film but it all sounds so
plastic. Maybe Harry just regrets that he didn't ask first.

It's nearing midnight, Louis' hand has slid further up and Harry has resorted to shots, when
Louis turns towards Harry again. "Are you alright to being alone tonight." And it's not
exactly like he looks hopeful but he's talking slower so that must count for something.

And Harry wants so much but it's obviously not the right thing now. So he smiles and says
yes and Louis leaves with his hand in the mans. Harry pays their bills before leaving the bar
and walking the stairs to their room. It's been four days and Harry already doesn't know how
to fall asleep without Louis.

✿
The door opens, and then closes, and Harry squints awake to the sunlight pouring in. The
clock on the bedside table reads 6:02am as Louis crawls into bed with Harry and says
nothing.

It's not the time for this so Harry falls back asleep.

When he wakes at a much more appropriate hour, they talk. Or Harry dances around the
subject and Louis looks at the duvet. It's not like Harry has a problem with Louis pulling (he
does), he'd just like some forewarning (or for Louis to fall asleep with him). And they don't
really come close to closer but Harry makes them both tea, and that's that.

They check out of the motel and get back in the car. The suns out in full today so they roll
down the windows and let it in. Harry ends up with a sunburn on his arm where he'd hung it
out of the window, but it's a beautiful day and Louis laughs along.

The late afternoon air is warming Harry's hair when they pull up to a town framed by the
seaside. The breeze here is thick with salt and the middle of summer. There's people along the
boardwalk and talking on steps and Harry likes this a lot more. So they find a cottage with
two bedrooms for the week before going down to the sea.

They find a place behind an outcropping of rocks to lay their things down before Louis pulls
off his top and runs to where the water just surrounds his feet. And it's all Harry can do not to
scream into the wind. Louis' skin is liquid gold and the sea can't get enough. Harry's starting
to learn he's not the only one that wants a piece of this sunshine boy.

So he strips his shirt as well and wades out to where Louis is now waist deep. Here, the water
around them steals the sun and fans it across the sand. Everything is warm and slowly sliding
together against the lap of the waves. And Louis is looking out at the horizon thinking that'd
he'd like nothing more than to kiss Harry. But he's all saltwater and skin and he's going to
break Louis.

"I like it here." Louis says it like he means it. He isn't sure how long he will, but for now it's
nice.
"It suits you."

"How?"

And Harry wants to say so many things. He wants to say the things he writes down or the
things he keeps hidden behind his teeth. But he also wants this moment to remain soft. So,

"Because you're so warm" Harry jokes while flinging a handful of salt water at Louis chest.

"Oh Curly you're asking for it now," Louis smiling so bright as he chases Harry through the
water, splashing it up at him as they run.

And it's like a fire settling it's way into Harry's chest the way Louis smiles at him. Not like
he's any better. And they run through the sea until their eyes sting with saltwater and their
fingers prune. So Harry grabs Louis by the hand and pulls him onto the warm sand.

They lay on the stomachs as the sun dries the salt on their backs and watch the waves. And
when evening settles in they abandon their sliding sandcastle and leave their laughs in the
wind. Harry walks with his hand in Louis' up the steps and along the sidewalk.

"What do you say to some food?" Harry asks with their hands slinging slightly between them.
"You trying to wine and dine me Styles?" Louis asks laughing. And well. But no.
"Not tonight." Harry says with a smile. Hopes he doesn't slip up in his eyes.
"How unfortunate," then,"well I'd say I could go for some."
"Or I could make you some." Harry's says as he pulls them to a stop in front of an M&S.

And Louis' all teeth and gold skin falling in on itself like no ones ever done something like
that for him. So they buy what they need and Harry cooks him dinner in their little cottage as
Louis spins on the bar stool. And it all fits so well they should be terrified; but no one says
anything. They just laugh, and scrape forks against plates as Harry thinks fleetingly if this
feels like stars, or like glass to Louis.

When they've finished most of the food and a whole bottle of wine Louis asks Harry if he
feels like going out tonight. And Harry feels a little shellfish in the way he says no. Like this
way he gets Louis to himself (maybe he's just as bad as the sea). But he should of known that
Louis didn't need him like that.

"You sure?" Louis asks, as he rinses his plate and sets it on the drying rack, "I saw this place
down the way I think I'm gonna go check out. Just a couple blocks down."

"Oh, cool. I'll leave some lights on for you." And Harry smiles and hopes Louis doesn't see
through it.

It’s less than fifteen minutes later when Louis walks over to where Harry is scraping the
leftovers into a container, gives him a firm kiss on the cheek, and leaves out the back door.
Harry could follow him- he should. Take him by the hand in that club and dance up against
him until this all made a little more sense. He could kiss him in the corner where the smoke
lives in those rooms, like it was good for them. There’s a lot of things they could be.
But Harry goes to sleep.
✿

In the late morning light slipping through the blinds the next morning Harry ignores the
marks along Louis’ collarbones and pours them both tea.

“There’s this castle at the other end of the beach we were at yesterday that I think we should
hike up to.” Louis says as he takes his cup from Harry.

“Sounds good.” And it’s all time in Harry’s head. Time thats being added on or paused
because Louis has this tendency to let him in, lock the door, but leave the window wide open.
-
The hike up to the castle is not so much of a hike, but a walk. Or at least Harry walks and
Louis compares each step to a new athletic tournament. But it’s beautiful out, with a hint of a
breeze and the temperature peaking in summer. Harry tries not to think Louis looks
absolutely incredible a little flushed, but.

And when they make it to the top, where the graying stone is crumbling in bits, something
changes in Louis. And Harry watches it unfold. The way he runs his hands across the stones,
fingers catching on the ridges. And he sees the way his eyes go wider before they shut all
together. It’s so much of him all at once.

Harry leans against the wall to the side of him, takes in the view, counts Louis’ breaths, feels
it. And, it’s extraordinary; the ocean teasing the rocks to the far left of the island they've
found themselves on, the hills in the distance rollling into the horizon, too many people
falling in love in too many different ways on the beach below them.

Harry waits for Louis to say the thing he knows is going to come, and then, hopes it will wait.

“If I wanted you to kiss me, would you?” there.

So, when Harry was twelve years old, he had his first kiss in the field that ran behind his
neighborhood. The girl was short and smiled a lot and her lips tasted like lemonade. Harry
didn’t know if he kissed her because he wanted to, but it’s not as if it was unpleasant. He
waited two weeks for her to say hi to him in the classroom or smile at him, but she probably
forget his name that afternoon.

Now, Harry’s kissed many people since them that have remembered his name. People that
made him feel a little bit like he did standing on that castle, and people that made him feel
like he was standing below it.

This isn’t something he can do and take back; this is a moment where someone else is
driving, telling him from behind his ear that he means more. So Harry lays his head against
Louis’ shoulder, his eyes still closed.

“No.”

Louis breathes in through his nose, takes more than he needs, and then,
“Good.”
✿
That night Louis goes straight to bed. The next, he drives three miles to a club after Harry
had fallen asleep. He finds a boy, he has green eyes, so he lets him take him home. He doesn't
think about it yet.
✿
So this is Harry’s life; a new town every couple of nights, sometimes they’re framed by the
sea, and sometimes all that surrounds them are tall buildings. But it’s nice. Or rather, some
things are. Like the times where Louis falls asleep with his head in Harry’s lap. Or the days
where they find a beach to fall in love with.

And Louis, he’s so beautiful, and so caught up in the way the world moves. Those are the
times when Harry catches on to the tail end of something horrible. Louis gets lost in people
who wouldn't fall behind him on a whim, and he drinks too much, and it’s all maybe just
begun to fall apart in Harry’s head. Because they’ve been going for two months now, and
Louis never sleeps.

Tonight’s no different.

“I swear H, it’s going to be incredible.” Louis says as he pulls Harry along towards a
crowded line. It’s always something, it is. Louis never lies.

Tonight is a club up the block from their cottage, the insides glow purple and the people don’t
seem to stop moving. And Harry doesn't ever let go in places like these. A few drinks maybe,
but he mostly sits on the stool until Louis finds someone new to look after him. Here, though,
the smoke in Harry’s lungs is too dry, and its been far too long since he forgot how to walk.

“Whiskey, please,” Harry says with a finger raised towards the man behind the bar. And then
a, “Thank you,” when he slides a small glass towards him. It slides down easy, and maybe
that should say something about him, but he doesn’t think about it and orders three more.
-
Sometime later into the night Harry makes quite the show of maneuvering from the bar to the
back door. (He can’t feel his fingertips, so.) And when he slumps against the brick on the
back of the building it all feels a little like he’s living a movie. One where he falls in love and
everything burns and breaks and nothing turns out the way he hoped for.

He’s in the middle of thinking that he’d much rather have been the one that got to run away
than feel stuck in love when the door opens next to his face. Warm air and the scent of strong
liquor pours out into the night, bringing Louis with it. Harry’s eyes have fixated on the sliver
of skin between the hem of Louis’ too-short jeans and his shoes, he wants to run his thumb
against his ankle. He want to kiss up his calf and tell Louis this will all be worth it someday;
He really shouldn’t drink this much.

But then he’s sitting on the hard ground to the right of Harry and piling his hands in his lap,
laying his head against Harry’s shoulder. And now when it’s quieter in Harry’s head he can
hear all of the city surrounding them. There’s a constant stream of cars on the street running
perpendicular to them and the noise of restaurants and a distant bark of the dog. But Louis’
breath hitting the side of his neck is doing a good job of drowning all of that out. If Harry
turned his head just so it would be awfully easy to fit his lips against Louis’ and
and then he is. And he’s kissing him with months of running and watching Louis get really
good at closing doors behind him. Kissing him with his thumb rubbing against his cheek and
his breath running thin and his lips saying words against Louis’ mouth he’ll never vocalize.
And Louis takes and takes until he can’t breathe and he’s pulling back. Resting his head
against the side of Harry’s, breathing so hard before,

“You told me you wouldn’t kiss me.”

And Harry’s so mad so suddenly that he wants to shake Louis, shake him and tell him that he
couldn’t do it then because he’s a coward and he’s so in love. “That was the biggest lie I’ve
ever told.”

“Lie to me more.” Louis whispered.

And what? “What”
“Tell me you don’t love me Harry. Because I can't, I just can't do that and, and we just need to
keep moving.”

And then Harry’s running, he’s running and leaving Louis against a stained wall, breathing
too much.

✿
This is Harry’s life now; he see’s the blur of looking out a bus window in his dreams, the
same bus that brought him back home, and in the morning he drinks tea and tries not to think
about a boy out there who has the best parts of Harry buried in his skin. And when the sun
starts to slant he walks down the street to the corner flower shop and starts his six hour shift.
And as the sun begins to set he walks back along the lack and listens to it lap against the
shore. Never stopping to ask if the shore has anything left to give.
Sometimes he tries to write about Louis; the life he lived for a couple months that can't help
feeling like years. And Harry, he’s working at putting all the right words in the right places,
sorting it all out, and pinning it up on a corkboard in the livingroom.

It’s a Sunday in the beginning of spring when Harry’s phone buzzes next to his thigh on the
dock. He answeres it on the third ring and listens as Iver from the flower shop asks him about
a customer's request. He’s talking about something delicate and blue and Harry knows what it
is he needs before he gets to the bit about how small they are.

“They’re looking for a bunch of Forget-Me-Nots Iver. You’ll find them in the back of the
nursery next to the white Lily’s.” Harrys says - kicking his heels against the dock, knocking
dirt into the still water.

“Oh, I see them now, thanks mate.” Harry can hear the rustling of a floral bag on the other
end.

“No problem, see you tomorrow.” When the line goes dead Harry’s left with summers in his
mind, his mum by his side, telling him about the gods and Forget-Me-Nots. How she’d push
the seedlings into the ground and tell him that when God was naming the flowers he
overlooked them because they were so small, they had to speak up for themselves and so they
cried out, “Forget me not!” and God granted them that name. She’d tell him if someone ever
gave them to you they would never forget your love. It all sounded a bit rubbish at the time,
flowers talking to God and all, but Harry remembers his mum setting a vase of them on his
bedside table a week before she left.

(He waited for them to turn to dust before he broke the vase against the roof.)

-
After the sun sets and Harry’s dishes are drying beside the sink, he slips his shoes off and
walks down to the sand lining the lake. It’s much cooler at night now than on the night when
he first met Louis. His feet sink into the cold ground still and the lake still calms him, it’s all
just a little stiff. He’s got a paper with the poem Louis quoted to him so long ago stuck under
a planted pot that he pulls out when it all feels like this. He hasn't gotten to the meaning yet,
but he didn't get there with Louis either, so.

You saved my life he says I owe you everything.

You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just get gone, but he’s
relentless,
keeps saying I owe you, says Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood,
you must want something, just tell me, and it’s yours.

He stops to pull a pen out of his back pocket to underline the last line before he keeps
reading. There’s a line in the poem he always gets to where he has to read it aloud. Maybe
it’ll make more sense then, maybe,

“There’s a bottle of whiskey in the trunk of the Chevy and a dead man at our feet
staring up at us like we’re something interesting...”

And there’s someone sitting down next to him on the lake, blue falling over his fingers,
settling in like he belongs there, saying,

“This is where the evening splits in half, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard,
and make a wish.”

And it all makes so much sense when Louis says it. When he says it with flowers in his hands
and his lips against Harry’s, breathing out again and again,

“Don’t lie to me now.”

(They make it through the years with blue flowers lining the window boxes, pictures strung
up around the kitchen and Louis’s hands in Harry’s hair keeping him close in the mornings.)
End Notes

Thank you all so so much for your love on my previous work and i'm terribly sorry I've taken
so long to write something new, thank you for bearing with me. I hope this was ok and you
enjoyed it :)
you can find me on tumblr : tho1975

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