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Harry Styles wasn’t born deaf. He didn’t plan on being deaf either, until life reared it’s ugly head nine years ago and the cards fell where they did. Some would say he’s coping as best as he can, his sister calls him bitter, and his mum wishes he would smile more, but being a morose poet seemed to click for a moping Harry, so a morose poet he became. He looked up from his moleskin to glance around the coffee shop once more. This shop has been a staple in his writing process, baristas who weren’t too nosy and talked clearly enough he could read their lips, a distinct lack of busy people, catering more to those who were looking for a slow-paced environment like himself. He took in all the colors and smells, and catalogued the people milling around, noting the man who had just come in, always wearing that red scarf. Harry pictured him having a high clear voice, it seemed to fit his balding hairline, but he’d never know. Looking back to his notebook, he huffed a piece of his long hair out of his face before frowning at the words in front of him- nothing was fitting right, the words not coming as clearly as he’d like. He drummed his fingers on the table lightly, pondering his next phrase, when he felt the chair across from him being pulled out. He looked up sharply, glaring at the stranger who was invading his table.
“Hello.” Harry read the strangers lip. He shot Harry a toothy smile, one Harry presumed always gave him what he wanted. His eye had a sort of sparkle in it that Harry took to mean trouble. Harry gave the man a confused glare before shutting his notebook quickly. He hadn’t been getting anywhere anyway, so it was as good of a time as any to head home. Harry could feel the man watching him as he packed up his things, he was probably saying something to him as well, but Harry didn’t bother looking up to read his lips.
I’m deaf asshole. Harry signed to the stranger, before picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Harry could talk, quite well actually, because he didn’t lose his hearing until later in his life. He was also quite adept at reading lips, a skill he’d acquired over the past nine years. He shot the stranger a smirk before walking out of the shop and hopefully out of that stranger’s life.
For the first time in his life, Louis Tomlinson was left speechless. His mum always joked he hadn’t stopped speaking since he came out of the womb. His love of talking landed him in his very first theater production at age six, which in turn led to where he was now, a decently well known actor for The Royal Shakespeare Company. He’d prided himself on being able to handle anything life threw at him but this was certainly something he never imagined. He’d saw the man sitting alone, staring intently at his notebook from outside the shop and was immediately captivated by his long hair. It was only when the man looked up after Louis had already entered the shop that Louis saw his bright green eyes and made the decision to head over.
It had taken at least a moment for Louis to realize that the man was using sign language at him, his brain trying to process what was happening. He had no idea what the man was saying, well signing, to him, and of course now that his brain had finally caught up the attractive stranger was gone. Louis kicked himself for being so daft, but he kept thinking about the man who had been sitting at this table minutes before and knew that he had to find out more about him. Louis sighed, checking his watch, now he’d be even later to rehearsal than he was previously. Niall was going to absolutely murder him. Picking up his pride, he pushed his chair in and walked out of the shop, still thinking about the stranger with brown curls for days and the most gorgeous set of eyes he’d ever seen.
How was the coffee shop today? Gemma asked him as he walked in the door of their shared flat.
It was fine, a little weird, but ok. Harry signed back after hanging his coat on the hook and went to join Gemma where she was perched at the island stool.
Weird how? What happened?
Some bloke sat down by me and tried to chat me up. Harry smirked.
Did you chat back?
No. He signed back quickly. Seemed too arrogant for my taste anyhow.
Gemma shot him an exasperated look before opening the oven to check on the roast she’d put in earlier. Satisfied with its progress she turned back to her brother who had made his way over to the couch with a banana in hand.
If you don’t give a bloke a chance you’ll never find a boyfriend. She signed, giving Harry a knowing look.
Fine by me. Harry signed back quickly, an annoyed look on his face.
Gemma opened her mouth in a sigh, something Harry learned to recognize quickly. H, you know I just want the best for you. She signed, concern written on her face.
I know you do. He signed, a small smile flicking across his face before disappearing. Before she could push the subject more, Harry pushed himself off the couch and went to his room in their shared flat to put away his bag.
Thankfully, by the time Harry came back out for dinner, Gemma had dropped the subject, just offering a simple I’ll be heading to the coffee shop with you tomorrow. And a devious smile. Harry might be slightly scared of going to the coffee shop tomorrow now.
Harry can feel the vibrations of Gemma tapping on the table as he quietly works on a new poem he started last night. After a few minutes, it’s more of a distraction than anything and he snapped his head up and shot her a glare.
She looked at him unabashed before signing Have you seen him yet?
Harry looked around the coffee shop briefly before looking at his sister again. Nope. He’s not here. And I don’t want him to show up anyway. I need to work on this new piece…
Gemma smirked at him, Then who’s coming up to our table right now?
Clearly the fates were not on Harry’s side this week and he registered the vibrations as the same chair as yesterday was pulled out and once again occupied by the same stranger.
Harry rolled his eyes at the stranger before turning back to his notebook.
“Sorry about my brother. He’s a pain in the ass sometimes.” Gemma said looking to the newcomer at the table.
“Oh. You can talk.” Louis said blinking hard in confusion when the girl sitting at the table spoke suddenly. “Oh God, sorry that was so rude, you probably think I’m a massive prick, my brain and mouth are not cooperating lately, I’m so sorry.” He rushed out, his words finally catching up with him.
Gemma laughed at the stranger before nudging Harry’s foot under the table to get him to pay attention to the conversation. He didn’t look up but scowled at the paper in front of him instead. “It’s alright, honestly. Judging by Harry’s reaction you’re the bloke he met yesterday?” She questioned.
“Yeah, made a right tit of myself too. So sorry about that, by the way.” He added with a glance towards Harry. “I didn’t know.” He added quietly. “Oh. Um, I’m Louis by the way, Louis Tomlinson.” He added hastily, sticking out his hand for Gemma to take, which she thankfully did.
“‘M Gemma. And this arsehole over here, is my brother Harry. I wish I could say he isn’t normally like this, but I’d be lying.” She said with a frown at Harry, kicking him under the table again.
Liar! He’s totally your type. She signed across the table before looking back to Louis again.
Shut up Gemma. Harry shot back with a scowl.
Harry please. She signed with a quick glance at Louis. He’s Louis Tomlinson, a RSC actor who is probably rolling in all the money you could want and he hit on you. Take your golden opportunities.
Sorry if I’m not a frequenter of the theater. You know the whole being deaf thing makes it kind of hard. Harry replied.
Gemma shot him a scandalized look before an awkward cough from Louis made her look back towards him again. Right.
“Sorry, about that. I was just explaining to Harry here who you were.” Louis seemed to believe this and nodded.
“Well, I just came over here again to apologize for yesterday and if I came off as rude or insensitive towards your brother it was not intended.” Louis said softly, eyes flicking down to where Harry had returned to writing. “So, if you could like, tell him that, I’d appreciate it…”
“You can tell him yourself if you’d like. H is actually ace at reading lips, he’s just giving you a hard time.” Gemma replied kindly. She tapped Harry’s pen gently, causing him to look back up. She gestured back to Louis as his cue.
“Harry, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday if I came off as rude or insensitive. It wasn’t supposed to be, so ‘m sorry if I offended you or anything.” Louis said looking directly at Harry, and trying to talk in a clear voice, his lips slipping into a small smile at the end as their eyes met.
It’s ok. Harry signed quickly. You’re fine.
“Harry has forgiven you.” Gemma translated quickly for Louis.
“Ah. Great. Thanks mate.” Louis said beaming at Harry.
Harry who was still watching Louis with a calculated interest, felt his insides squirming when he made eye contact with Louis for the second time. Like looking at the sun, it’s too bright, but it still feels kind of nice. Harry thought before he schooled his face to remain neutral. Honestly who was he turning into? He didn’t get mushy at the sight of a cute boy. He was a morose poet, whose face was etched into a permanent frown, not a blushing school girl. He picked his pen back up, hoping his cheeks weren’t flushed, scribbling a few notes in the margins of his beloved moleskin. And if he maybe smiles a little bit (ok a lot a bit) thinking about that look later that night in the safety of his bed, well, no one has to know.
“Hi” With a smiley face with x’s for eyes is all the paper slid in front of him says. It’s a piece of notebook paper, the scrawl covering it, looking hasty and rushed. Harry looked up and to see Louis shifting from foot to foot, biting his lip nervously. He broke into that sunshine smile again when their eyes met and Harry feels himself returning it a little, which in turn makes Louis smile brighter. Harry really needs to step up his game, he didn’t even feel the vibrations of Louis approaching like he usually would, too engrossed in a poem he’d been working on, his writer’s block suddenly gone.
“Can I sit?” Louis asked, pointing at the empty chair, the one Gemma had occupied the other day. Harry nodded and took his pen in his mouth before scribbling something back on the paper. He let his pen sit a little two long and some ink fell onto the paper. “Oops!” Harry penned, drawing an arrow to the blots next to his message for Louis. He felt his cheeks get a little warm and shoved the feeling down, pushing the paper back to Louis before looking down at his hands under the table.
Harry watched Louis receive the paper from under his lashes, not letting himself get too attached quite yet. Louis positively beamed at his response. Harry felt a smile creeping up but pushed that away as well. He was a sad poet damnit.
The paper was pushed back to him and he bit back a grin as he deciphered Louis’ messy scrawl. “Finally talking to me now, are we young Harold.” It read. “How are you this fine evening and may I buy you a fresh cup of tea?”
“I’m feeling generous.” He wrote back. “But I’ll take a rain check on the tea, I’ve actually got to leave soon. I promised Gems I’d be home for dinner tonight.” Harry bit his lip nervously before sending the paper back over to Louis and watching his reaction carefully, waiting until the paper was back in front of him before releasing it.
“Just as well, I’ve got rehearsals soon anyway.” Harry read. Ah, right, Louis was a fancy actor or something. Louis tugged the paper back and wrote something else quickly. He stood up next and waved to Harry before offering him a smile as he left. “Thanks for talking to me today. See you tomorrow! xx” And if Harry didn’t bite back his smile this time, well no one would have to know.
Harry entered the flat and was overwhelmed with the smell of a roast. Sunday roast? On a Thursday? He signed to Gemma, walking to the sideboard to put his keys away.
I felt like living large tonight. She signed with a shrug. I picked up some Yorkshire puddings too. Tesco had a sale.
Harry nodded in affirmation before perching on the stool to watch her cook. Need help with anything?
No. Just grab some plates, it’s almost done.
Harry nodded again before grabbing the dishes and setting them next to the stove. After a beat Gemma nudged him with her elbow to get his attention. Before he could question her, she cut him off. You seem happier. I saw you smile this morning. What’s up baby brother? She dug her elbow into his ribs, bloody sisters.
Nothing. He signed back with a frown.
Could nothing maybe mean Louis? Honestly, who gave sisters this sixth sense? It wasn’t fair.
No. He denied, shaking his head vehemently.
Gemma gave him a knowing smile before turning back to cutting the roast.
Sure baby brother, sure. She signed before handing Harry his plate, letting the subject go until at least after dinner. Harry was safe for another hour at least and that was good enough for him.
Harry’s not really sure where the words are coming from, but they are coming steady now. Before his poetry felt flat, not quite right, even for the depressing topics he’d been writing about. But now, the words flowed right off his pen. He opened his moleskin and they just poured out of him, waiting to be read with passion and soft pink lips that Harry maybe, just maybe, thought about just a little too much.
Harry noticed how his subject matter had changed as well. Before, he wrote of death and the darkness he felt inside him, clawing at his insides at every breath. The sadness that he felt overwhelmingly strong when his nightmares came back, making him relive the horror that was his accident, mutilating him in new ways every time, just for him to wake up and realize it was a nightmare but he couldn’t actually escape the nightmare that was his life. He had found inspiration in the darkness, writing what he could to help with his grief.
It’d been almost three weeks since Louis had wormed his way into Harry’s life. With his new presence came new inspiration for Harry. He didn’t have nightmares anymore, didn’t feel constantly weighed down by his sadness. It wasn’t completely gone, but it was suffocating like it usually was. Deep down, Harry knew it was because of the blue eyed boy who bought him teas and scribbled notes asking how he was feeling today, and if he saw anything that made him happy. But he wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with that so every time he saw Gemma in her bubblegum pink dressing gown and the bubble in his stomach came back, reminding him that Louis’ lips were almost the same color after he had been biting on them, a nasty habit he’s had for ages- something Harry only knows because Louis told him, he swallowed hard to push it right back down.
When it’s been one month since they met, Louis asks Harry to teach him some sign language. It’s not an unusual request with Harry being deaf and all but it threw him all the same. He was forced to learn by circumstance, as were his parents and sister. He didn’t really know if he could actually teach someone sign language.
Louis’ stared at him expectantly so Harry decided that yes, he can do this, and gave Louis a small smile before scribbling back a messy “Yes”.
Louis absolutely beamed at him and Harry feels his insides wiggling, kind of like looking at the sun too long.
“Teach me how to sign your name.” Louis said to him, making sure Harry was looking at him and could read his lips. Harry shot him a confused look and grabbed the pen and paper and wrote down “My name? Shouldn’t you learn your own name first?”
Louis read the note and shook his head. “No, I want to learn yours first.” He wrote back. Harry does absolutely not blush when he read what Louis had written, it was just very hot in there, thank you very much.
Harry patted the seat next to him, so Louis would be next to him and not across the table. The first thing he noticed was how Louis practically radiated warmth and Harry pushed that thought from his head immediately, focusing instead on the task at hand.
“This is my sign name. It’s how other people in the deaf community refer to me instead of them finger spelling my name out each time.” He let Louis read the paper before showing him the sign with his own hand. After Louis looked at it for a few moments, he took Louis’ hand in his own and helped him form the sign.
Harry removed his hands and let Louis figure it out a bit on his own. While he waited he most definitely didn’t think about how soft Louis’ hands are, or how small they are, or how well they fit with his own hands. Not at all, because they are friends now, God, Harry hasn’t had a friend besides Gemma and his mum, hasn’t wanted a friend besides Gemma and his mum, in so long and he’s not about to cock it up now.
Harry gave Louis a thumbs up as he successfully got Harry’s sign name correct.
“You’re doing very well.” He wrote quickly on the paper. “Now I’ll show you how to finger spell my name.” Louis nodded eagerly after reading it and Harry ignored the way his stomach flipped at Louis’ enthusiasm.
It wasn’t supposed to be a pattern, but yet it was. Harry hadn’t meant to let Louis sit with him the first, fourth, or twentieth time but something inside him just couldn’t shoo him away. It was a routine at this point, and the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months where Harry would spend every single day with Louis, teaching him small things, learning about his family. About how his real dad fucked off when he was younger and his step-dad Mark was amazing until he couldn’t handle having a gay son. He told Harry about how it was okay now though because his mum had Dan and now he has two new baby siblings, finally a brother to his ever growing household that was dominated by girls. He learned that Louis’ favorite color is purple because it reminds him of the flowers that grow outside his mum’s house back in Donny and that even though he’s been an actor for ages there’s nothing quite like the rush he gets when he goes on stage for the first time. He described his theater in such vivid detail, Harry felt like he’d been there a hundred times before. They go through dozens of sheets of paper each day, writing back and forth for hours, both hungry for as much information as they could get on the other.
Harry tells Louis things too. It takes a while for him to open up, but he tells Louis about his mum who lives back in Cheshire and about Gemma, who Louis had briefly met, telling him of how she’s always been overprotective but more than ever after his accident, always making sure his opinion is heard in any situation. He tells Louis about his accident too. He decides on a Wednesday night that it’s time for him to know and painstakingly writes the whole thing out to give to him the next day. He writes about how scared he was when the car accident happened. About how his mate hadn’t seen or heard the car coming and how it seemingly came out of nowhere. He writes about how it hadn’t really occurred to him that he couldn’t hear until later on in the hospital. At the crash site it sounded like everything was underwater, but he assumed it was just a temporary thing. It was only until a nurse had walked in and startled him, that he realized he could see her lips moving but he couldn’t hear her. He tells Louis about how he panicked and turned the hospital television up to full volume, desperately not ready to accept what he knew in his bones. Several doctor visits later, it’s confirmed and Harry has permanent hearing loss due to the concussion he sustained in the crash. It hurts more than his broken ribs and arm combined.
He hands it over to Louis unceremoniously the next day. Not sure how to broach the subject, but needing to get it out there. Louis read it over carefully. Harry watched him as he read, watched his facial expression change as he gets deeper and deeper into the story. Louis finishes and before Harry can even think about getting a pen to write out their first note of the day, Louis’ arms are around him in a hug. The feeling that passes between them in unspoken but mutual. Harry feels the warmth that Louis always radiates seep into his skin and feels it sinking into his bones.
Later, Harry tells Louis about how writing had been his coping mechanism. He wasn’t sure how to handle what had happened, so he pushed away all his friends and retreated into himself. He tells Louis about the nightmares that he had, about how they wake him in the middle of the night, feeling like he’d been sucked dry.
Harry tells him nice things too. He tells him about how before he lost his hearing he’d loved music and that it was the thing he missed most now. He tells Louis about how he figured out how to feel the vibrations from the music but it’s just not the same. He tells Louis about the holidays he went on with his mum and Robin and how he really wants to travel the world.
He and Louis fill pages and pages, going through so many notebooks it’s almost hard for Harry to keep up. It’s unspoken, but at the end of their time that day, Harry tucks the notebook back in his bag and when he gets home sometimes he’ll reread their conversations, adding bits and pieces where he wants to tell Louis more. He keeps them tucked on his bookshelf, letting them take over the space he had once reserved for his collection of sorrowful poems, books that were getting dusty because he hadn’t opened them in ages, something that he was surprisingly okay with as the notebook pile grew more and more. Harry finds himself falling asleep with a smile on his face, and more than once, clutching a notebook filled with his and Louis’ messy scrawl. It’s different and Harry feels different, but a good different, a different he’d been looking for but couldn’t quite place since his accident nine years ago.
Harry’s expecting Louis by now. It’s not that Harry knows that Louis gets to the cafe by 4:05 right on the dot to buy a tea and sit with Harry every single day, but it’s almost seven and Louis still hasn’t shown. The disappointment burns low in the pit of Harry’s stomach. It’s fine really. He’s not mad, he just doesn’t feel like being out anymore. Louis’ probably out having fun with his other friends. His friends who can hear. His friends who don’t have to use their hands to speak with him. It’s fine really. The voice in the back of his head tells him he knew it would happen eventually anyway. It’s a good thing it happened before he got too attached. Because Harry’s not attached at all. Not at all. He slams his moleskin shut, it must be loud as a few nearby people jolt at his sudden move. He should feel apologetic, but he just deepens his frown before shoving the notebook in his bag and hastily leaving the shop, tea cold and forgotten on the table.
When he gets home he doesn’t smile or say hello to Gemma, ignoring her questioning stare and a cautious You’re home early. He marches straight into his room and flops onto this mattress, burying himself in his black duvet. “How fitting” He thinks to himself before flipping on his stomach and letting himself fall into a fitful sleep.
He’s not avoiding Louis really. He just got tired of going to the same cafe and wanted a change of scenery. That’s all. It doesn’t help that this new cafe is too busy for his taste, and that they don’t make the tea quite right, but it’s fine, honestly. At least that’s what harry tells himself as he takes a sip of the offending beverage in front of him. He makes a face, but stares at the blank page in front of him. His writer’s block had come back in full force. Any time he so much as looked at a piece of paper with his pen in hand, his mind went blank, forgetting any semblance of thought for a poem that had been there earlier.
Harry sighed in frustration, tugging on his curls before laying his head on the table. It’d been a week and a half since he got stood up by Louis and he doesn’t know why it’s affecting him so much. He should be fine. He’d been alone most of his adult life, he should be fine being alone now. “But that was before Louis.” The small voice in his head reminded him, unhelpfully. He realized how completely and utterly fucked he was. He was in love with Louis.
The lingering touches, as Harry taught him sign language- something that Louis had picked up easily, and was actually becoming quite good at, even being able to hold small conversations with Harry. Harry was convinced Louis was practising outside out their tea chats, but Louis always swore it was simply the fact that Harry was an excellent teacher. The stares that Harry would find Louis giving him as he wrote some of his poetry. Harry was never a man for happy words, but around Louis, Harry noticed colors and textures he hadn’t bothered with in years. Louis made him okay again. Louis made Harry realize what love was. But Louis also didn’t show up. The rational part of Harry’s brain offers “What if he ran late in a meeting?” or “Maybe something important came up?”, they didn’t even exchange phone numbers for Christ’s sake, but worry pushed past those to the raw fear that Harry hadn’t realized was even there. He was terrified of losing Louis, even though he’d known him barely four months, he was completely terrified of losing what he had just recently rediscovered- happiness.
He needed to make things right with Louis. He needed to tell Louis what he was feeling, there was no going around that now. He needed to tell Louis and then face the reality of the truth, either Louis would feel the same (God, he hoped he felt the same) or he needed to hear from Louis himself that he didn’t want to be friends with Harry anymore. That would help Harry get over himself. He’d maybe have a cry over losing his only friend, but he’d get over it, he always did, with everything his life threw at him.
He packed up his things carefully, taking deep breaths for the task ahead. Halfway out the door of this new coffee shop Harry realized one fatal flaw with his plan. He had no clue where Louis lived. He didn’t have Louis’ phone number (God, he was such an idiot. Honestly they should’ve exchanged numbers ages ago.) and he had no other way of contacting Louis.
He checked his watch. It read 4:10, a little past when Louis would’ve normally come to join him. A small piece of hope, burning bright in his stomach though that maybe, just maybe, Louis would be at their table waiting for Harry to come back. He worried his lip between his teeth before making his decision. If he caught the next train he’d get there in a little under ten minutes. Walking towards the underground entrance, Harry made his decision.
It’s 4:25 and Harry’s outside the coffee shop, his coffee shop, his and Louis’ coffee shop. He’s scared to look through the window and see his fate before him. Either Louis would be inside or he wouldn’t. Harry was so caught up in his own thoughts of worry he didn’t even notice the door open right next to him.
He did however, notice the person when he was brought back to his senses when his nose caught a whiff of something that smelled like citrus and something just a little bit spicy- Louis.
Hi. Louis signed, a look Harry couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes.
Hi. Harry replied, swallowing hard. He was right. Louis was waiting for him.
Where have you been? Louis signed quickly. He’d been practising. Learning Harry’s language, for Harry? I’ve been so worried about you. He tacked on, a flicker of worry crossing his pixie features.
Harry wants to reach out and rearrange them until Louis is smiling. Smiling so big, Harry feels like his insides are melting and makes the lump in his throat grow ten times.
Harry opened his mouth a little, partially in awe of the man in front of him. Somehow Louis looks better than how he remembered him. During his train ride, thinking about Louis, Harry had concluded that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be in love.
You didn’t show. It’s not how Harry wanted to start this conversation, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind and his hands are moving on their own accord.
I know. Louis signs back. My mum and oldest sister dropped in for a surprise visit. I was so thrown off by them dropping in that I didn’t have a chance to stop by the cafe. I went as soon as I was able, but you weren’t there. Louis’ hands move a little slower than Harry’s but his signs are almost flawless. He’d really been practising. Louis frowns at the end of his sentence and Harry almost immediately feels guilty for leaving so soon.
I thought you were tired of me. Harry admitted, keeping his movements slower for Louis’ benefit. I thought you were tired of not being able to talk to me really. And I thought you were just done hanging out with the deaf guy. I thought you’d finally ditched me for all your hearing friends. I’m so different from them, I’ll never be the same as you Louis. Harry tried to not tear up as he admitted his fears, but it doesn’t work much.
“Harry.” Louis says his name, he can’t hear it, but he can feel the agony as he says his name. Harry, I will never get tired of talking to you. My hearing friends are great, but they’re not you. I don’t want them to be you. I just want you. I don’t care that you’re not the same as me. I don’t love you because we’re the same. I love you because you’re you.
Harry’s brain is trying to catch up to the words Louis is signing him. He can’t get over one word though. Love. Louis loves him. Louis loves him! And he loves Louis.
Harry nodded at Louis’ words, savoring them, searing them in his mind forever, because this beautiful boy in front of him learned another language for him, probably spent hours he could’ve been memorizing scripts, memorizing words and their corresponding hand motions so that he could simply talk to Harry.
I love you too. It’s the first thing Harry can think to say. It’s the right thing he thinks as Louis hits him with one of his inside melting, tummy turning, radiant smiles.
God I love you. Louis signs before cupping Harry’s face with his hands. He presses a kiss to his forehead, in between his eyebrows, soft and gentle, before pressing another to the tip of Harry’s nose. And finally, FINALLY, Louis pressed his lips to Harry’s. It started off sweet, making Harry think back to when he spent a July in America back when he was 15, how the fireworks had lit up the sky and left Harry feeling in awe. Louis left him the same way- speechless and awestruck by beauty.
Harry smiled into the kiss, breaking it off softly, bumping noses with Louis as they just be with each other. Moving his hands to the base of Louis’ spine, he trailed them up and over his back until they reached the nape of Louis’ neck. “It’s because we fit together.” Harry doesn’t even realize he’s said it outloud until he noticed that Louis had stopped breathing for a moment. It’s the first time Louis’ heard him talk, but what a fitting thing to say he supposes as he kisses Louis once more. He’s got his boy by his side and his fingers itch to write into his moleskin as the overwhelming sensation of Louis takes over his thoughts and for the first time in a very long time, Harry was completely, wildly, insanely, intensely happy.