#louisdarling

Okay. Louis is going to stop. Louis is going to stop this the fuck right now.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he crosses the last block to get to Harry’s house, looking both ways to avoid getting hit by a car. It would be just his luck, actually to get hit by a car right now, bleed out on the pavement a corner away from where Harry is sitting, probably waiting for him. Waiting for him with his dumb curly hair and unnecessarily gorgeous green eyes and that fucking huge crater in his cheek and–

Okay. No. Focus. Louis said he was going to stop, and. He is. He’s going to cut it out right the fuck now.

He tucks his hands into his hoodie pocket, takes a minute to breathe. It’s getting colder out, the warm summer days fading out into something with a bit more chill, and he can’t help but wish, for a moment, that he were being cuddled by someone right now. By Harry, actually, because despite all his protests about not liking being the big spoon, he gives the greatest cuddles. He hugs Louis like he’s trying to protect Louis, like he’s keeping him safe–squeezes him close and holds him pressed against his chest, like he’s trying to make sure nothing can separate them. Nothing can pull them apart.

He’s safe, Harry is, and he’s always warm where Louis is cold, like he’s just got so much warmth to give. He always smiles gorgeously–none of those fake, plastic smiles most famous people paste on their faces when they’re meeting someone new. When Harry smiles it’s genuine, like he’s genuinely pleased to see you, and it’s dizzying to be on the receiving end of that attention.

It’s ridiculous, because when Louis accepted the job, he thought it’d be funny. He thought he’d be walking into a flat and finding a random guy who’d given a pseudonym. He didn’t think he’d be walking into this house, and finding a pop star with a gorgeous smile, and who’s a lot sadder than he thinks he is.

He didn’t think he’d develop a crush on him, either, but. Here he is. Crushing on Harry like a five-year old. Wanting to pull at his pigtails at every turn, just so Harry’s attention on him never wavers. 

But, no. He said he was going to stop, and he’s going to, he swears. 

The spare key is still under the mat, and with a sigh, he bends down to pick it up, fits it into the keyhole. The lock turns easily beneath his hands, and he wastes no time pasting his happiest smile in his face, swinging the door open as wide as he can. “Harry! I–”

He stops abruptly when he catches sight of Harry, because here he is, standing in the middle of the foyer with his jacket on, his boots zipped. He’s got his car keys in one hand, and he’s crying, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Are you going somewhere?” Louis asks, trying to keep his voice light. He doesn’t want to send Harry crying even more.

Harry shakes his head, and Louis’ heart sinks when he sees Harry’s bottom lip quivering. “Not right now, Louis,” he says, shouldering past Louis roughly. 

Louis manages to snag his arm. Keeps him in place. “Are you alright? You’re crying.”

He sees Harry reach up to touch his cheek, feeling the tears there. He probably hadn’t even noticed he was crying. “I’m fine,” he answers, pulling away from Louis’ grip. “Look, Lou–”

Louis grabs his hand. “Harry,” he says, as gently as he can. “I’m, I don’t know what’s happening, but–”

“She’s in the hospital,” Harry interrupts, taking a deep breath, and Louis feels his heart freeze, then beat painfully in his chest. Is taken back to years ago when his mum had been confined to the hospital, sickly and battling cancer. There’d been a lot of tears, he remembers. Tears and hugs and consoling his younger brothers and sisters. 

Thankfully, she’d fought it, and was declared cancer-free after a few months. She’s still in peak medical condition right now, back home in Donny, watching over his little siblings. Superwoman.

“My mum, she’s in the hospital,” Harry continues, bringing Louis back into the present. “And I have to go see her, I have to go–”

He cuts himself off, unable to say anymore. Louis lets him have a few moments to breathe, before he’s stepping forward, wrapping his arms around Harry in an attempt to console him. “Okay,” he says softly, leaning his head on Harry’s back comfortingly, because he remembers what’s it’s like. Remembers being in this position as well, a few years back. “Okay. Let’s sit down first.”

Harry stays in place for all of three seconds before he’s pulling away, spinning around to meet Louis’ eye. “Lou, I have to go see her,” he says, desperation laced in his tone. “I don’t know what’s happening, what if she’s seriously hurt or, or–”

“Hey,” Louis soothes. “It’s okay, love.”

“I have to go see her.”

“And you will,” Louis says, before Harry can get himself worked up even more. “After you’ve calmed down.” He tangles their fingers together, pulls Harry towards the living room. Thankfully, Harry follows.

“But I have to go see her now.”

“Harry, I can’t let you in this state,” Louis says, shoving Harry onto the couch gently. He’s a mess, covered in snot and tears that he probably can’t see past properly, and his hand in Louis is trembling so hard. Louis climbs into the space beside him, squeezes his hand, tries to get it to stop shaking “Just a few minutes, alright? Take a few deep breaths for me, come on.”

“But what if she’s going to die? Lou, I can’t–she’s my mum, she can’t die, I haven’t–”

“Hey, hey, don’t panic.” He leans forward, wraps his arms around Harry. Rests his head against Harry’s chest. “Deep breaths, okay? Just calm down, and then you can go, I promise.”

Immediately, Harry hugs him back, and he presses his face into the top of Louis’ head. Louis can feel his chest expand under his head, can hear Harry’s heart beating, the thud of it loud in his ear. He does his best to stay strong, for Harry–he can empathize, after all. He knows what it feels like, having a mum in the hospital.

Eventually, Harry pulls away, evidently more composed. He opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly his phone chimes, and he’s scrambling to pull it out of his pocket, almost falling over himself doing so. Louis waits quietly as Harry reads the text on the phone, waits as Harry types out a reply.

His face is all puffy, Louis thinks. His eyes are red-rimmed from crying, and he’s probably covered in tears and snot and all other bodily fluids from crying. He shouldn’t be attractive like this at all.

And yet, he is, his heart seems to say, beating quicker in his chest. And Louis really has to stop this.

There’s no chance someone like Harry would like someone like Louis back. Harry has the literal world at his feet. Louis’ just an ordinary person.

“She’s fine,” Harry’s raspy voice interrupts his thoughts, and when Louis comes back to himself, he finds Harry looking more relieved, more relaxed. “She just. It was her appendix. They had to take her in for surgery. But she’s fine.”

“That’s good,” Louis says. “You still driving up there?”

“Not tonight,” Harry says, reaching out to tangle his fingers with Louis’. Louis lets him, even though this isn’t exactly conducive for getting his unrequited crush on Harry to go away. “Gemma said tomorrow.”

“Oh. Alright.”

“Bed?” Harry asks, standing up from the couch. He keeps their hands linked, tugs gently at Louis’ hand, trying to get him to stand. “`m exhausted.”

“Okay,” Louis says quietly, pushing himself onto his feet. Harry keeps their fingers tangled as they make their way to the bedroom, only lets go when he has to climb the bed.

Louis doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes a few hours later, when the sky’s already a much lighter colour, preparing itself for the sun. He sits up so quickly he gets dizzy, his heart racing in his chest. He’s disoriented–he has no idea where he is.

It’s only when Harry makes a soft, snuffling noise behind him, sounding sleepy and confused, that Louis’ heart seems to pause, then slow down. It’s only then that Louis recognizes the thousand thread count sheets he’s come to learn as familiar, identifies the familiar layout of the room. It’s only then his muscles uncoil and relax, his body deeming the place safe and home.

And holy fuck. Louis actually fell asleep. He fell asleep in a house that isn’t his, in a room that isn’t his, in a bed that isn’t his. He’s never done that before.

He’s never fallen asleep in a place that isn’t well, home.

He lies back down again, turns on his side so that he’s facing Harry. Harry is still asleep, it seems, his eyes shut, his breathing deep, slow. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, like he’s thinking about something particularly hard, and Louis reaches out to brush a curl off his face, stroke his thumb against the creases on his forehead until he relaxes. He looks young and vulnerable like this, so different from what Louis knows him to be, what Louis knows he can be, and really, this isn’t even the first time he’s seen Harry asleep–isn’t even the second or the third time, if he’s being honest–but it always makes Louis’ breath hitch, makes his heart do a funny little turn in his chest.

Imagine what it would be like, he thinks, to wake up to this forever.

The thought makes him freeze momentarily, makes him stare at Harry’s sleeping figure guiltily. He hasn’t–he’s never thought this of someone; doesn’t make the habit of using the word forever flippantly like that. And he’s never, ever connected the word forever to someone who isn’t family, no matter how young and romantic he was. 

Because forever is…it’s a big deal, something that he’d learned to recognize early on. His mum hadn’t found her forever until Dan, and it took her two marriages and countless of dates.

But with Harry, he thinks forever and means it. Finds that this isn’t his house, this isn’t his room, this isn’t his bed, but Harry had managed to make it feel like home, so much that Louis was able to fall asleep for two hours, at least.

Finds that there’s no way he’s going to stop crushing on Harry now, not when he’s already in love with him.

It terrifies him–it makes his head hurt and his vision spin when he thinks about it too much. Love is such an abstraction, after all, and maybe he’s wrong, maybe he’s just projecting, maybe he’s just tired and sleepy and–

And then Harry snores, loudly and unattractively, and everything inside Louis’ head goes quiet, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of…love.

Well. Fuck.

He sighs quietly, closes his eyes, and focuses on the sound of Harry snoring beside him. It’s creepy watching someone else sleep, anyway, and who knows. Maybe he’ll fall asleep again.

thats a lot of love ! @louisdarling @dunkirks @tomlinsins @begoodbenice @craicthatniall @fireprooof @thetommmo @inkedbum @oceanoflouis @tomlinsoz

#pinkfest | day 1: louis, a (pink) summary

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WAIT TWO -