a/n: a short Larry one shot. the quotes are from the song Stars by The xx and the title is from Crash by You Me At Six
“I don't have to exist outside this place.”
Harry pulls his fingers under the sleeves of his sweater and rests his chin in his hand. The atmosphere in his head is a stark contrast from the atmosphere of the room around him. He watches as Louis animatedly tells the rest of the boys about a crazy-ass dream he had the night previous.
“And you were there, Harry!” Louis says, pointing. Harry's smile is small, he's too absorbed in his thoughts to engage in the conversation. Though he does love the way his name sounds coming from between Louis' lips. It reminds him of his solidity, the fact that he is skin and bone and muscle, not just frivolous daydreams or 11:11 wishes or blurry thoughts. Harry's name on Louis' tongue reminds him that he is a part of Louis' life, not just floating around in it. Drifting.
Harry has been doing a lot of drifting lately. His thoughts drift to gossamer eyelashes and sunny skin and then he drifts off to sleep with those images dancing around the inside of his eyelids. And his dreams drift on the ocean, the color of eyes. Because if anything, the eyes he dreams about surely were the model for when the oceans were painted.
“And dear know that I can't change.”
“Harry, sorry to wake you, we're ordering Chinese. Do you want anything?” There is a warmth on Harry's shoulder that he recognizes to be Louis' hand. He pretends to continue to be asleep. He knows that Louis will remove his hand if he speaks, but if he stays quiet, Louis may rub his back. He has to stop the whimper of contentment escaping his lips when the weight of Louis' hand rubs over his shoulder and upper back.
“Wakey wakey.” Louis coos. Harry feels fingertips running over his cheekbone and down the soft skin of his jaw and god he hopes he doesn't get goosebumps. He doesn't think sleeping people get goosebumps. And then Louis stops, almost too quickly, and now Harry is afraid to see exactly what is in Louis' ocean eyes. But he does open one eye, the one not pressed into the couch.
“Good morning.” Louis smiles and Harry thinks that the sight is absolutely breathtaking and if he could stare at one thing in the entire world for the rest of his life, it would be Louis' lips. Harry makes some inarticulate noise in the back of his throat. It only occurs to him then that he doesn't remember when he fell asleep. Details.
“Now, do you want any dinner?” Louis asks. He is knelt next to the couch, resting back on his calves as he waits for Harry's brain to find his mouth. It doesn't so instead Harry nods.
“Okay, you're going to have to get up then.” Louis says. Harry makes another groan and shakes his head. It's too hard to go back to the pretense that there were things Harry would rather look at than Louis' fingers or the lines of black ink etched into his skin or the way the hairspray he'd put in this morning was just losing it's crispiness.
“If you want me, let me know.”
“Louis the nocturnal and Harry the guy who took a three hour nap.” Louis smiles, plopping down on the couch next to Harry with his iPod.
Harry hadn't moved since Louis finally got him to sit up. He'd eaten his fried rice in that exact position. The carton was now on the floor next to his feet, as if stretching his arm across to the coffee table was just too much. And it was, it really was. Harry was splitting himself apart. Louis was trying his hardest not to notice, but of course if you're trying not to notice something you will infallibly notice it.
And Harry was having a hard time describing the ocean in his head, because he hadn't seen Louis' eyes since Louis had woken him up two hours prior. And he was having a hard time remembering how the sun felt at 4:30 in the afternoon because he hadn't let Louis touch him since he rubbed his back and ghosted his finger tips down Harry's face. And Harry was having quite the difficult time remembering the rhythm his heart was supposed to beat to, and that it was supposed to remain in his chest, not pounding in his throat.
And Harry was having the hardest of times, the most difficult of difficulties, of keeping his thoughts from his head. Harry thinks that he likes the way Louis' eyelashes hit his cheekbones every time he blinks. Harry thinks about how Louis presses his hand to his tummy when singing and how it looks like he's trying to keep himself together. Because Harry feels it too, the emotion Louis puts into his singing, and he thinks maybe Louis thinks it could rip him apart. It's an awful thing to be hopeful of, but Harry hoped it anyway, that Louis felt like he was being torn when he sung of love. Harry thought about how at least twice a week, Louis Tomlinson was a star in his dreams; whether it be as the ocean or a character. Harry thinks about how his stomach flips whenever Louis says his name, because it means Louis has recognized him as a part of his life. Harry thought that maybe he was the littlest bit in love with Louis. And he does believe that if the opportunity were to arise he'd quite like to press his lips against Louis' thinner ones. Just to see. Because, well, to be perfectly honest, Harry thinks that Louis is quite beautiful. Exquisitely so. Harry thinks that yes, it is rather possible that he is a little bit madly in love with his best friend and that yes, Louis probably won't reciprocate this love as wholesomely and ardently that Harry does. But judging by the way Louis is looking at him with those ocean eyes as these thoughts travel from Harry's mind to his lips to the air to Louis' ears, Harry thinks that, if presented with the opportunity, Louis might kiss him back.
“I'll let you cross it, let you take every line I've got.”
