Wilted Flowers [Edited]

23. Did You Mean It?

Words swirl around in their chaotic minds, but they choose not to speak just yet. Harry pulls into the room and greets no one. This conversation is not for interested ears. So instead, he sits Louis down on a lounge chair that looks like it came right out of a Paris catalog and holds his hands.

"Louis, I didn't mean to upset you...." Harry stammers. "My emotions wrote the poem. I had no control. I - -."

"Did you mean it?" Louis interrupts as Harry cocks an eyebrow back to him, not understanding what he's asking. "You want me to let you love me back to my old self because this Louis is too broken for you?"

"What? That's what you got out of my poem?! Louis, sweetheart, no, that's not what I meant at all!" Harry squeezes his hands, dropping on his knees in front of him. "There's nothing wrong with who you are now. I am strong enough for the both of us, is all. Let me help you!"

Louis's bottom lip quivers with frustration and depression. He wants to hate Harry for his poem. How dare someone write a promise they don't intend to keep. How dare someone say they want to help them. He doesn't deserve help. He wants to stay in his misery.

He knows he's not a purple pansy like the ones Harry keeps tucking behind his ears. He's never deserved that flower. No. He deserves the wilted sunflowers in his room because he used to be majestic like them, but now he's just a muted memory of himself.

But he looked down at his delicate hands, resting still in large, protective ones. He looked up and was greeted with hues of green eyes, smiling at him without saying a word. He analyzed the smile could feel the warmth radiating off of it. He could sense that Harry had meant it: he had the strength, the patience, the empathy. He truly wanted to be a part of his journey.

He looks down at his delicate hands that are resting in large, protective ones. He shifts his gaze to hues of green eyes that are smiling at him without saying a word. He analyzes the smile and feels warmth radiating. He can feel somewhat that Harry meant his poem. Does he really have the patience, empathy, and strength for both of them?

How did he feel, though? He questioned himself. He had Clay to consider. He must love him, obviously, right? He keeps spamming his phone with a

How is he having an epiphany now, he wonders? He has Clay to consider. Clay must love him, obviously, right? He keeps spamming his phone with apology texts, sweet ones even, sometimes regret. He's his first love and the only one with the power to destroy him and build him back up.

Harry squeezes his fingers lightly as if he's saying, "I'm not going to let go unless you ask me to."

"Harry...." Louis clutches Harry's hands this time, trying to pull him closer to him.

"Yeah?" Harry swallows, unsure of where this is going.

"Do you prefer sunflowers or pansies?" Louis positions his face symmetrical to Harry's, so close their noses are brushing against each other. Hot breath tickles his senses.

Harry doesn't answer right away. He can sense his response will change the course of the relationship for good or bad. He doesn't want to feed Louis false lines. He wants to be as genuine as possible.

"Neither. I prefer a wildflower. They can weather any storm. They can grow anywhere, even on rocks. They - -,"

Louis can hear nothing but fuzzy vibrations instead of a deep baritone voice, failing his audio senses. His mind is overwhelmed, overstimulated, and unable to formulae logical thoughts. He has nothing left to do but surrender.

"Harry...." Louis whispers, still clasping his hands for comfort and reassurance.

Harry swallows once again. "Yeah?"

Without explanation, Louis moves his face slightly over and parts his lips. He can feel his heart thumping heavily in his chest. Harry peeks as he watches Louis slowly close his eyes, his lips treacherously close to his own. Harry feels Louis' breath barely fanning his skin.

They both stay still, afraid to close the gap and make the first move. Harry opens his eyes once more to find that Louis has his shut tight with his lips parted. He inches a millimeter closer and can smell strawberry chapstick.

He wonders if he should pull away and give Louis a hug instead. However, all his choices fall to the wayside when he feels Louis's lips brush lightly against his own. He feels time standstill, and even though they shared their first kiss the night before, Harry knows this time is different. There's no alcohol involved or second guesses. Just pure adoration.

He melts into the kiss, allowing his tongue to rhythmically match Louis's pace, desperate and longing. He feels the hesitation, though he won't comment on it; at least not now.

Still on his knees, as Louis sat in the fancy French-style chair, he pushed himself forward, positioning his torso incredibly close to Louis' small body. He guided his hand that was previously resting on a sunken cheek to non-existent love handles, keeping the other hand still on the tiny thigh.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Harry could feel Louis slowly getting lost in the kiss, shutting his brain and giving himself permission to feel the goosebumps littering his body.

Louis moans quietly, feeling his libido turn into overdrive. He wants Harry. He has to have him in ways he hadn't before. Harry catches a glimpse of the burning desire behind his eyes when Louis deepens the kiss. Harry stands on his feet as he repositions Louis in a laying position.

Louis fumbles with Harry's zipper, trying to seductively remove his. He's feeling lightheaded and malnourished, but he doesn't care. He wants this more than anything. He sits up and removes his shirt, and covers his stomach with his arms.

"How lucky am I?" Harry says through gritted teeth as he gives Louis reassurance. He watches Louis slowly move his arms down to his sides and connects their chests together as they get lost in passionate kisses once more.

Damn. I should've ordered a pastry at the Coffee-shop. His breath is becoming labored, but Louis wants this. He wants this so bad. It doesn't matter that his brain feels shaky, and it's hard to keep his eyes open. His heart is bursting at the seams with love and yearning.

Harry walks over to his suitcase and smiles fondly as he pushes aside a gift with a large lilac bow. I'll have to give this to him later, he thinks as searches for his personal massage oil.

"I knew this would come in handy. Not to sound egotistical or anything," Harry smirks. "You just never know; better to be prepared."

Louis giggles in return, knowing Harry does indeed have an ego at times, but not around him. It's like he puts all his energy into making sure he's the one who feels loved.

"Were you wanting to get some on this Spring Break trip?" Louis teases. "I know an easy-slut a few rooms down."

"Oh please," Harry whines. "I don't want her. What I want is what I got," he latches onto Louis's earlobe tenderly.

Louis tilts his head back and tries to tune out the buzzing noise. He feels pleasure in his veins, his nerve endings, his soul. He's not going to let this stupid eating disorder take this away from him. His eyes lull shut when Harry kisses down his neck and finds spots that make him sink his fingers into Harry's back. He tugs Harry forward, and luckily for him, though it's weak, Harry feels it.

"You alright?" Harry releases his hold on the spot above Louis' collarbone, watching the skin turn an angry shade of pink before turning his attention to the blue crystal eyes. Louis licks his lips drowsily.

"I'm," Louis attaches their lips. "Fine!" He insists as he flips Harry over, gaining control of the situation.

That's kinda hot, Harry mumbles to himself.