You Take Me Over, You're the Magic in My Veins

chapter 9

Louis goes still at that, hand hovering just over the side of Harry's neck, and his voice is barely more than a whisper when he breathes, "Oh. Did she..."

"She's happy for us," Harry whispers, tucking himself up under Louis' chin. "She knew even before we did."

Harry's eyes flutter closed when Louis begins to card his fingers through his hair, has nearly drifted off again when Louis presses a kiss to the top of his head and whispers, "Sweetheart. I knew all along."

~

The room is overflowing with bodies dressed in immaculate finery, a veritable rainbow of lords and ladies whirling around the room in dance or milling about, sipping champagne and gossiping loudly. Harry plucks at the front of his tunic nervously. It's beautiful, a rosy purple with black floral accents that sets off the subtle tan he has acquired over his weeks here in France, but he has it done up nearly to his chin and he itches to undo one or two of the rope-and-anchor-accented buttons just so that he can breathe a bit easier.

Harry is watching for one of the waiters carrying trays of champagne, wondering where Louis has run off to, who he is dancing with now, when a hand brushes against his side, startling him, and a voice says in his ear, "Relax, Styles, he's coming back."

Smothering a giggle, Harry twitches away from Zayn's prodding fingers and turns to face him. Zayn is stunning, resplendent in a heavy, glossy black jacket over a rich blue blouse. Harry sighs and touches a hand to Zayn's jaw, dusted with several days' worth of beard. "You look lovely, Zayn. That color is beautiful on you."

"Thanks," he grins. "I borrowed this shirt off your sister, actually. Come here, you look too proper."

Harry rolls his eyes, but stands still while Zayn fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. He knows he should protest when Zayn undoes the top three, but it feels so much better, feels like he can take his first deep breath of the evening, despite the fact that he hasn't seen Louis in going on a half-hour. It's just, this is it - this is where Louis is meant to announce his engagement to Gemma. Queen Johannah had arranged the ball for this exact purpose, despite the fact that Louis has been telling her for weeks that he does not intend to marry Gemma. Harry has no idea how tonight will go, feels as if he won't be able to settle unless he has Louis beside him, has his reassuring hand in the small of his back, guiding him and letting him know that everything will be alright, that he will take care of him.

A waiter pauses beside them and Harry snags two glasses off the tray in his hands. He downs them each in one gulp, one right after the other before Zayn can even lift a hand to take one from him. Zayn's eyes are wide when Harry looks up, but just as he opens his mouth to say something, a hand grips Harry's elbow and tugs him around. He stumbles a bit, the sweet wine sloshing around pleasantly in his head, but breaks into a smile so wide his cheeks ache when he sees Louis standing before him.

His hair is a bit ruffled and there is still a hint of a crease between his brows, but his eyes are bright and his smile genuine, voice soft when he says, "Hello, love. Are you having fun?"

"He's having something," Zayn comments mildly, nipping the wine glasses out of Harry's hands and shoving him toward Louis. "Dance with him before he starts accidentally making vines grow out of the walls with all of his nervous energy."

Harry aims a scowl at Zayn over his shoulder, but then Louis is dragging him off toward the dance floor and everything is forgotten in a blur of excitement and Louis' hand on his waist, his other hand clasping Harry's as he twirls him into a loose imitation of a waltz. They move seamlessly together, undeterred by Harry's clumsy feet, unaware of the fact that they are drifting closer and closer together as the dance continues.