: chapter 17; asgardSummary:
Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.
Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who's got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for .)
Chapter Text
"Asgard."
The name rolls smoothly off Louis' tongue, seeps through his teeth and falls out his mouth with a childlike kind of admiration. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought this would happen. He's dreamed, fantasized, imagined this moment so many times, and the fact that he's now here, in person, is unbelievable to him. He remembers playing around during his childhood in the forest, swinging around fallen branches like lethal swords and stealing hammers from the dwarves to imitate Thor's Mjolnir, pretending the apples they hoarded during early September mornings were golden and holding eternal youth. Louis has grown up wanting to be a God, wanting to be his Gods.
And now here he is, on Asgardian ground, and Louis thinks he just might faint from pure ecstasy.
"Boys," he nearly squeals, looking around the room once again to truly savor the moment. "I don't want to be overly dramatic but I'm pretty sure my entire life has led up to this moment."
He turns around to face his companions with the widest smile on his face to see if any of them are matching his own ecstasy. Liam does, in fact, look quite awestruck, Zayn is visibly still recovering from being violently sent through space, Niall's mostly looking at the aforementioned pair, and Harry is looking severely unimpressed.
"Great," he mutters. "More pompous gods who despise my whole being. Was starting to get too comfortable without that."
Louis is not going to let Harry shit all over his happiness. Not here.
"Not everything is about you," he reminds the spirit assertively. "Quit whining."
He starts looking around for the door, a big and evidently heavy one, made from thick and rough wood with big, iron handles.
"We can't waste any time," he urges. "Come on, let's see where we are!"
He's already on his way to the door and he can hear at least two pairs of feet following him, when he's roughly taken aback by a terrified scream from behind him.
He stops immediately in his tracks and swiftly turns around to see what danger they are in this time.
Zayn is standing up, an absolutely horrified look in his eyes and limbs trembling as he looks to the werewolf next to him. It takes a moment for Louis to even realize what's going on, but when he does, his blood freezes cold and his eyes blow so wide he's scared they're going to pop out.
Next to Zayn stands Liam, lapidified in a crunched stance with one hand reaching out towards the floor, and he's completely made of gold.
He's made of gold.
It takes a good couple of seconds before Louis is even physically capable of tearing his gaze away from his now lifeless friend to stare at Zayn.
Zayn has his hands tightly balled up into fists pressed to his chest, taking a few stumbling steps away from Liam's golden figure.
"I don't know what happened," he utters, "he just took my hand to help me up and then he—what the fuck is going on?"
That's a splendid fucking question. Louis doesn't have an answer, just lets his stare wander rapidly between Zayn and Liam, Zayn, Liam, Zayn, Liam, as if doing it a certain amount of times will make him understand.
"Did I do that?" Zayn asks frantically. "Did I do this to him or was it just a really cruel coincidence that he turned into a statue right when I touched him?"
It doesn't sound like a coincidence, it really doesn't. Hence everyone's complete and utter horror and confusion. Zayn is, as far as they all know, an Earth human. An Earth human doesn't possess powers like these.
"Did I—" Zayn's flat out whimpering at this point, "fuck, did I—kill—?"
He can't even bring himself to finish the sentence, and he shakes his head furiously. "No. No I did not. We need to make this right, fuck, we've got to—"
And just like that he's rushing right past the remaining three boys to the giant door and Louis can practically hear the whooshing sound from how fast he's going, frantically pressing both his palms against the cold wood to push the door open.
The door turns into a block of shiny, rich gold. Zayn flinches away so hard Louis is scared the boy is going to break something.
"Oh my god," Zayn whispers breathily. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—"
He turns around and slides down against the door, fists clenched and knees supporting his forehead.
"Zayn." Louis is the first one to speak, lowly and carefully. He crouches down to pat him on the shoulder, but just as he's doing so he remembers the gold turning factor and though he's pretty sure that it's just Zayn's hands that he should avoid—if Zayn's whole body would be affected his clothes would logically turn golden as well—he's rather safe than sorry.
So instead he just sinks down next to Zayn, trying his best to make his whole being radiate comfort.
"Zayn," he tries again. "So I understand that this is—hard, for you, god, I do. But we're going to fix this, alright? Sif, Thor's wife—not that you wouldn't already know—has golden hands as well. And if she doesn't know anything, which I doubt, we'll go look for Idun because she has it too. It'll be okay. I don't know why or how you have these powers but you're not alone. Zayn, look at me."
Zayn obliges, staring into Louis determined eyes with his own exasperated ones.
"We will fix this," Louis states slowly. "We will fix this."
It does take a couple of seconds for Zayn to process it seems, but when he does he nods slowly, increasing in fervor as he—fists still clenched—stands up again.
"Yeah," he says, confidently. "We'll fix this. Let's go."
"Maybe—" Louis interjects when Zayn starts going for the gleaming, polished door handle. "Maybe not through that exact door, though."
"What?" Zayn gives him an incredulous look. "What's wrong with the door?"
"Nothing, nothing, it's just. Since it's now a huge block of gold it's most likely going to be too heavy to push open."
"...Right. Fuck. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Louis assures, turning swiftly to Harry with an innocent expression.
"Harry. Darling," he tries with the prettiest smile he can muster. "Light of my life. Yin to my yang. Pen to my paper, honey to my comb. The stars to my sky."
"You disgust me," Harry deadpans, but as he does so he walks right up to Louis and grabs his hand, fully aware of what Louis is asking of him.
"Um. No. Start with Zayn," Louis protests with furrowed eyebrows, prying his hand away from Harry's grip.
It doesn't really matter, though, because Harry just takes his hand again determinedly.
"No. I'll start with you. I need you on the other side of that door so you can't distract me when I need to concentrate."
As if on cue the fairy starts sputtering and protesting to loudly emphasize his offense, but Harry doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. He asks Louis politely and kindly to concentrate on the issue at hand so that his mind won't wander off during their air transport, which Louis doesn't exactly oppose, and as soon as he's dropped Louis off on the other side he vanishes again to get the remaining two of their friends. It goes smoothly and quickly, and Louis allows himself to feel just a ting of pride of how greatly Harry handles it, not an ounce of insecurity this time.
"Right," Niall is the one to take the first initiative. "Let's figure out what fancy god lives in this place, yeah?"
Louis' limbs are tingling with excitement as the four boys walk down a set of stairs, made of heavy and uneven stone, and Louis is kind of happy that they bought shoes on Earth—surely his bare feet would've been both cold and sore from the ground of this castle. Not to mention Vans are extremely comfortable.
The stairs lead them all down to a gloomy hallway, shadow dancing across the walls from the flames that keeps it lit up. It's giving the place quite a spooky vibe. Not that Louis is scared or anything.
"Who's there?"
A frantic and rough voice coming from the end of the corridor makes all the boys jump, Louis instinctively flying a couple of feet above the ground (fuck how he'd missed that).
No one says anything, they just stand completely still waiting for the stranger to make the next move, narrowing their eyes to try to see who's approaching them. The person's steps are hazy and kind of hesitant and his figure is hunched, but even then, it's apparent that he's both tall and hefty. Or well, he probably could be hefty, if he didn't seem so tentative and drained just now.
The closer the man gets, the easier it becomes to make out a face, and Louis reacts when he sees how old it is. Cheeks are hanging, eyelids are droopy, his lips are chapped and creasy.
That's the only reason Louis doesn't recognize him right away, because god if he hasn't seen this face before, except younger and more headstrong, the main character of so many stories and history books he's read.
"Thor," he breathes.
The lightning god doesn't stop moving until they're only a few steps apart, eyeing them with hostility and suspicion.
"Give me your names and three reasons why I shouldn't throw all of you out immediately," he grits out between his teeth.
Louis is too shaken up to answer, too taken aback by the presence of one of the most powerful and influential gods of his universe to make another sound.
Harry is the one to step in, stiff and clearly feeling uneasy by Louis' side, but Louis is grateful he still takes the initiative.
"I'm Harry," he introduces himself. "This is Louis, Niall, and Zayn. We all fell through a portal, we wish no harm, and we're also... Kind of in need of a favor."
Thor is quiet for the longest time, narrowed eyes traveling slowly between the four strangers, seemingly deciding if they're worth his time or not.
"We also want to, um," Harry continues in another attempt at convincing him. "Fix the portals. And we might have an idea on how to do that."
Okay, so them having an idea on how to fix the portals might be a little farfetched, but it does seem to make a difference. Thor's tired eyes widen a little, and he then starts moving towards a door on his right. He opens it and gestures for the group to enter, which they oblige to immediately.
A huge leather sofa stands in one corner, and Thor approaches it to sit down, the others in a nice line behind him. Louis takes a seat in-between Niall and Harry, breathing deeply as he finally meets the god's stare.
"Very well," Thor finally speaks, voice strained and old. "The first thing I would like you all to be very clear on when it comes to favors, is that we never do them if you have nothing to provide us with back."
"That's—that's not how favors work," Zayn mutters, most likely not for Thor to hear, but the God instantly snaps his head up to look the raven haired boy straight in the eye, a daring darkness in them.
"Is something about our methods bothering you, human?" he asks, and Louis thinks he can feel an underlying threat.
So can Zayn. He gulps.
"No. Not at all." He looks down on his hands, shoulders tense up by his ears.
Harry, on the other hand, doesn't seem frightened by this at all, and Louis looks on with terror how the spirit opens his mouth, a cocky eyebrow lifted, and no, he's not letting Harry Styles get into a twist with a lightning god. That's not happening.
"We don't have a lot to offer," Louis therefore cuts in before Harry has the chance, trying to lead the conversation back on the right track.
Thor lets the Zayn situation go quickly, going back to being strict and factual.
"That's okay," he says. "I already have it picked out for you, so this is what's going to happen: I tell you what we need from you, and then you are free to decide whether you think it's an arguable exchange."
The boys just nod, and Louis already knows they're going to agree to whatever it is that Thor wants. If it means getting Liam back, then they'll do it.
"We need our apples," Thor states simply. "Idun was on a trip to Olympus when the portals malfunctioned and she didn't make it back in time, and now we don't know what to do. A couple of us did try, of course, to take the apples by ourselves while we still had the strength and stamina, but to no avail, and we age too quickly. There was this rhyme, this clue we couldn't solve by the tree that prevented us from picking them..."
He looks up into the air, grasping inside his head for information.
"My memory fails me. My condolences. If I'd only had those apples now, it would be healthy as ever, but just like my joints... They also fall prey for time."
"How long will it take?" Louis asks, hoping to any and every god within a ten-mile radius that it won't take too long.
"Surely not more than a couple of days, back and forth," Thor promises eagerly (well. As eagerly as he can without having heart palpitations, Louis assumes). "And you will of course be well equipped for your journey! I have everything you may need—food, shelter, weapons, whatever you want."
Harry can't seem to stop a faint groan from escaping to express his exhaustion.
"This is stupid," he exclaims. "This isn't why we came! We came here because we have news about the portals, not to do some pompous God's work—"
"If getting these literally fatally important gods their apples so that they don't die and creates chaos in all of our universes is what we need to do to get Liam back, I don't see why we can't tell them about the portals and help them," Louis snaps and the stare he gives Harry should have the spirit in death cramps on the floor. "Right, Harry?"
Harry rolls his eyes. "Right."
Louis decides that will do, and he turns back to Thor.
"We think we have a clue on what's wrong with the portals, and well. Funny that, that you're the god of lightning, because that's what the problem is. We think someone has messed with the lighting energy in the Powerhouses. Do you know anything about that? Could it be true?"
Thor raises his eyebrows.
"Yes," he says, "that's what we've been suspecting, too. But I had nothing to do with it, if that's what you're implying. I couldn't just take back all my electricity from all the portals at once. That is only something a Leader could do. Zeus. Or Jupiter."
"You think Zeus or Jupiter has done this?" Louis knits his eyebrows. "But why?"
"I have no idea what their motives could be. It's just the only thing we can think of that makes sense."
It is, Louis figures—but he also couldn't for his life imagine why a Leader would do something like this. That would have to mean one of them has treacherous characteristics of the worst sort, bad intentions like no other. How would that just suddenly happen out of nowhere? Did they not all drink from Mimir's Well all those centuries ago? It shouldn't be possible for them to be traitors like this.
And it still doesn't make sense because there isn't a motive. With Eris, there doesn't have to be one. She creates chaos for the hell of it, because it's simply what she does. But if only a Leader could fuck with the portals like this, then... How does anything make sense anymore?
Louis' head hurts by now, so he decides to not look further into it yet. It can wait.
So instead, he looks to Zayn, who's been standing quietly next to him, fists still convulsively clenched, and then back to Thor.
"So," he says. "Our favor has to do with your wife. Sif. We have a friend who's—well, dead if she can't find a way to undo it. It has to do with her golden hands."
Thor blinks. "Of course. I'm sure she'll be happy to help."
Louis lets out a breath of relief and turns to Zayn again to give him a reassuring smile. Zayn gives him a slight upturn of his mouth back, still looking insecure, but Louis sees it as an improvement.
~
Sif is tired, and old, and beautiful. Her skin is dry and littered with soft creases by her eyes and forehead and her hands are veiny and pale. The only thing that doesn't quite fit is the long, golden hair falling graciously down her shoulders and onto her pillow where she's lying in her bed, surrounded by pastel silk covers and soft pillows. When the boys step into her room, fidgety and quietly, she meets their gazes with kind eyes.
"Visitors," she muses. "What a pleasant surprise. Haven't had that for a while now."
Niall steps forward from behind Harry, taking the lead.
"Sif!" he greets cheerily. "Looking beautiful as always."
Sif lights up immediately at the sight of the cupid.
"Niall," she greets back. "It's so lovely to see you!"
"Wait..." Louis interrupts, brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of their light chatter. "You know each other?"
"Yeah! Sif is the goddess of marriage—among other things. Naturally, we've met a couple of times." Niall gives his apparent coworker a bright smile, which Sif reciprocates.
"It's been too long since last time," she says warmly.
Her gaze then leaves him for a moment, flying over the other three boys rapidly. She seems to notice that there is one missing, as she frowns in confusion and looks back to Niall, question obvious in her eyes. It hits Louis that she must also know about Liam and Zayn.
"He's here, too," Niall promises instantly. "But, uh. That's where kind of need your help. Zayn?"
Zayn looks up from the floor for the first time when his name is called, and he looks between the goddess and the cupid carefully.
"Right. Uh. Hi. I'm. It's lovely to meet you. Your—your highness? Is—is that—"
Sif gives him a gentle smile. "Just Sif is alright, my love."
Zayn nods and flashes her a nervous grin back, a little forced, a little endearing.
"Sif. I, uh—" he takes a deep breath, and then rushes through the following sentence like he's ripping off a band aid. "I can apparently turn things into gold with my bare hands and I turned my friend—Liam—into a statue by accident when he just wanted to help me and I was wondering if you please know a way to fix that?"
Uncertain silence. Sif narrows her eyes, puzzled, and nods slowly.
"But you're a—human, aren't you? You're from Earth?"
"Yes. Can you turn him back?"
Silence again. They're becoming slightly more unbearable every time they occur, Louis thinks and clenches his jaw.
"Yes, I can."
Every single boy in the room lets out a collective sigh of endless relief. It's going to be okay.
"However," Sif continues warily. "Not in this state. I'm too weak, too old."
"We're getting the apples," Zayn assures her quickly. "It's going to be okay."
Well, seems like that is all that Louis needed for Zayn to go from reluctant to ecstatic about running that errand. At least one of the boys now wholeheartedly has his back, Louis thinks.
Sif gives him a soft smile.
"You have kindness in your hearts. Therefore I'm also more than happy to help you control your golden hands. When I'm stronger. But for now... I want you to touch something in this room," Sif tells him. "The nightstand, perhaps."
"...Okay."
Zayn swallow, unclenching his right hand for the first time since he'd turned Liam, slowly and carefully reaching it out to graze the polished marble nightstand with his fingertips. When nothing happens, he presses his whole hand down.
Nothing happens this time either. Zayn's eyes widen frantically in confusion.
"I—I swear I did it before! I don't know why I can't all of a sudden I swear—"
"No, it's okay. I believe you," Sif assures him. "This is good. This means it's not a curse. You can control it."
"Sounds good," Zayn says reluctantly. "Just how do I do that?"
Sif tilts her head in contemplation.
"Have you turned anything else into gold while you've been here?"
"Yeah," Zayn nods. "I was going to get Liam help, and when I pushed the door open it... Kind of backfired."
"Right. So the first two times you turned something into gold was when you touched Liam, and when you attempted to get Liam help, correct?"
"Yeah," Zayn wrinkles his forehead, "I guess."
"Most powers like yours and mine are ruled by something, may it be moods or weather or something else. It always has a center. It sounds to me like your center would be strong emotion. Love, most probably."
Louis can't help but to gasp quietly, being as dramatic as he is. That's almost... Kind of romantic.
Zayn doesn't agree.
"Love?" he immediately sputters, eyes wide and incredulous. "I've only known Liam for a few days!"
"And that makes it impossible to care for him?"
"No, not—not care for him, of course I care for him, it's just. Isn't it a little early to throw that word around just yet?" Zayn lets out a nervous laugh and bites his lip. His eyes are constantly skipping from one point to another.
"If you're confident enough that it'll happen in the future to say 'yet' right now, I don't see why we cannot just take a shortcut."
Zayn opens his mouth but no words leave it, at loss for words at that statement.
"As I was saying," Sif continues with a small smile, "that is most probably what controls your powers. Which means that in the beginning, it's going to be hard to control, it always is. So to bring it out you'd have to think about something, or someone that you love deeply. A happy memory, maybe. Or a sad one, but distress is usually harder to control so I don't recommend it. It will feel more and more natural as you go along and practice, and after a while you won't have to give it any thought at all."
"Sounds like a weird version of a patronus," Zayn mutters.
He's met by four pairs of blank stares. Zayn frowns.
"In Harry Potter? You know? It's like a defensive spell. Where you need to think of your happiest memory and stuff. To. To cast it—no? None of you? Harry? Niall?"
"Sorry, man," Niall says with a shrug.
"Fucking unbelievable." Zayn shakes his head. "If I'd known that I'm dealing with a group this culturally uneducated I would've brought the series with me."
"Anyway," Sif says pointedly. "I also hope you understand what your golden hands entail, about yourself and your background. The fact that you possess a magical power like this one, and that it works here, means that you most likely originate from Grimm. Not Earth."
Zayn's eyes are blown so wide they could probably pop out if he overdid it a little more, and he starts looking around, breathing out that he needs to sit down. He at last sinks down in a chair at the foot of Sif's bed, staring blankly in front of him. A small smile is starting to overtake his features as the shock slowly but surely seeps away, and Louis is suddenly warm inside. He thinks back to the conversation they'd had in Zayn's kitchen, thinks back on how this is probably all Zayn's ever dreamed of, and he can't help but smile along with his friend.
"Wait so this is... Oh shit!" Niall wheezes out of nowhere, tugging on the hem of Louis' sleeve. "This is why Liam and Zayn were paired up," he continues, lowly so Zayn won't hear, but the intensity in his voice is clear. "Despite living in two different universes. Oh my god. Because Zayn is supposed to live in Grim, too."
Niall evidently needs to sit down, too. Louis pats him on the shoulder for some emotional support.
It is quite a concept, though, Louis must admit. A greater love story than he's ever known. It's beautiful, he thinks, that love is that strong, that even though they are from different parts of the universe—and still somehow not—there is no one more perfect for Liam than Zayn, and no one more perfect for Zayn than Liam. Even though they've been so separated they might as well never meet, they're still meant for each other.
Louis wants that someday.
~
Thor didn't lie when he said they'd offer both food and shelter.
After the biggest and best meal Louis has had in, well, probably his life, they all decide that it's most definitely time for bed. In the morning they're throwing themselves into yet another potential adventure and while a part of Louis still stubbornly yells that they must all have a death wish, he's still come to terms with the fact that he's out there doing things he's only dreamed of before in his life. He's out there seeing the worlds and fighting evil. You may even call him a hero.
"So, Zayn and I will take this room," Niall says determinedly when they stand in the hallways in front of two doors that supposedly lead them to the two rooms they've been promised. "And you two take the other."
Surprise.
Louis doesn't really have anything against it at this point, Niall always finding ways to pair Harry and Louis up for some reason, but he does find the pattern quite peculiar.
"Why is it that every time we're splitting up, Harry and I always end up together?" he asks Niall. "It's not like we can't stand each other anymore. You don't have to force us."
"Aw, doesn't he?" Harry says gleefully behind him. "Louis, I'm all teared up."
"Never mind," Louis backtracks.
Niall gives them a light shrug.
"It's just kind of happened that way so far. And now I figured you might want some, ah. One-on-one time. Also, Zayn is my favorite. He can make gold with his bare hands."
Ah. Louis, like struck by lightning, remembers that one awful incident in that one bathroom stall where Niall flung the door open on him and Harry post orgasm. He guesses it makes sense for a cupid to urge that sort of activity on.
Doesn't stop him from going red to his ears, and it doesn't stop Harry from having a sudden coughing fit.
Niall just grins. "Sleep tight, boys."
~
The thing is, there's only one bed. A rather big one, at that.
Quite huge, really. Could probably fit at least seven people. And the bed sheets are remarkably soft. The pillows are plush. So it's not like Louis can complain. That'd just be rude, if he's quite honest. Ungrateful. Besides, with this kind of size, Harry could easily share bed space without their skins having to graze even once.
This is going to be fine.
Louis kicks off his shoes and throws himself onto it, sinking into the mattress and the feathery duvet with a euphoric sigh. He stretches out his arms and legs, taking up as much space as he possibly can.
Which isn't a lot because not only is the bed enormous, but Louis is also tiny. So.
"So this is quite a nice bed," Harry states as he follows Louis' example and lays down beside him, inching closer and closer until their sides are almost lined up. His body radiates warmth and Louis gulps, suddenly finding the air in there a little stuffed.
"Should we take advantage of it?"
Harry's breath is tickling the skin on Louis' neck, and the fairy's first instinct is yes, they should, absolutely, undoubtedly.
But as he feels Harry's soft fingertips burn traces onto his arms, he's also overwhelmed by something completely different, and that's fear.
Because there it is again, that fluttering feeling that bubbles up from the very pit of his stomach to the back of his throat as soon as Harry is within touching distance of him, and only Harry. It's not just that he wants someone close to him, he wants Harry close to him, Louis wants Harry's firm but gentle hands and Harry's plush lips and Harry's eyes on him, so green and deep they could be their own forest. (Maybe that's why his eyes are starting to feel more and more like home to Louis.)
And that terrifies him.
"...No," he just breathes instead. Shakes his head for emphasis. Sits up to distance himself.
Harry instantly removes his hand from Louis' skin, and leans away.
"Oh. Okay. Of course. That's fine too. Sorry."
He's sincere, and Louis just nods as an answer, taking a few deep breaths. He doesn't quite know what to do now, how to start up a conversation. Maybe he should just go to sleep. Try to not overanalyze things until he ruins them for once.
"Don't apologize," he just mumbles, looking down on his crossed legs and folding his hands in his lap, unsure of what to do.
It feels a bit like a waste, this—having Harry this close and not taking advantage of it. But Louis can't do that now, not when he's this confused, not when he's just now realizing how much he actually cares about this creature, this self-involved, morally ambiguous, spoiled boy.
Things were easier when he hated him, Louis thinks.
He keeps running through his thoughts, clawing at the corners of his mind trying to make sense of things, sinks so deeply into his thoughts he almost forgets Harry is actually in there with him for a minute.
Then he feels a hand trace the outline of his left wing, and Louis is snapped out of it, and he recoils with a glare.
One, because it took him very much by surprise, especially with him being so lost in thought, and two, his wings are his business.
"Don't you dare." He narrows his eyes at Harry, voice stern. "First off, invasion of privacy, and second, if you would ever even think about doing and intentional or unintentional damage to my wings—"
"What? I wasn't going to," Harry snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away as he mutters, barely audibly, "Would it hurt to have some trust for once?"
Louis inhales sharply, fixing Harry with a disbelieving stare. His reaction might be a little harsh, he admits, but honestly? He's allowed to be paranoid when he just got his wings back, he also can't help to be snappy when his head is this much of a jumbled mess.
Also the way Harry put that makes him quite, well, angry.
"Have some trust for once? Find me one person in your surroundings who's trusted you more than I've done during this trip, Harry."
"Fuck off," Harry spits, but Louis knows it's because the fairy is right. "I'm sorry, I just—I like them, alright? I was just admiring them. They're... They're really pretty."
The hostility on Louis' features washes away to be replaced with confused surprise. His shoulder fall as his body relaxes, air slowly seeping out of his nose from releasing his breath.
That's not to say he's not a little bit suspicious of his statement. It's such an out of the blue thing, pretty un-Harry to do, and most of all? That's a compliment. And Louis didn't force it out.
"Really?"
Harry slides his arms closer around himself, his hands gripping his firm shoulders and he looks down on his knees. Louis has about ten different scenarios playing out in his head, ten different ways he would expect Harry to try and explain, support or push away his first statement.
What the spirit says is not a single one of them.
"I had wings once, too, you know."
...Well. Shit.
Louis is quiet for a moment, processing this. He searches deeply for an answer to Harry's confession, but he can't seem to come up with one that justifies his feelings. Had, he just thinks. Harry had wings once. Louis is desperately trying to hold back the sudden urge to hold him for days or maybe kiss him on the mouth a little, and he can't pity Harry, because, well. It's Harry.
God, he really has had a very hard time keeping that in mind recently. The thought doesn't stick with him this time either, because Harry's looking like dejection and rain and Louis just doesn't want him to.
"Had?" Louis settles for at last, slowly and watching Harry's every reaction.
Harry bites his full lower lip. His hands are moving up and down his arms, as if trying to soothe himself. He's done that before, as if he's attempting to hug his own body, keep himself warm, give himself comfort. Louis thinks he mustn't really have had anyone else to do that for him in his life, and his stomach sinks even more.
"We were all born with them." Harry scratches his neck. "When the souls of algos and algea reach a certain age, there's a ceremony in Tartaros where our wings are ripped from our bodies."
Louis swallows. "What, just..." he makes a snatching motion with his hand, "ripped? Just like that?"
"Just like that," Harry nods.
Louis' back is stinging from the mere thought.
"Why?" he wonders quietly.
Harry smiles, sadness pooling in his left dimple. "Because you can't truly understand pain until you've felt it."
Silence falls after his statement. Louis just watches the sulking individual next to him, tries to imagine him with a set of wings on his back. He wonders what they looked like, if they'd been like a sweeping crow's, or a swift dragonfly's. If they'd been thick like smoke or threaded like spider web.
"Were they beautiful?" he can't help but ask.
"Huh?"
"The wings," Louis clarifies and swallows. "Were they beautiful?"
A light and wistful sigh leaves Harry's lips, but it's not a painful one. He kind of looks... At peace.
"You should've seen them," he says. "They were black—soft like rainclouds. Big and majestic and reliable. The lost souls used to whisper stories about the open sky. I couldn't wait to fly along the horizon one day, see and feel all the things the humans could never see and feel but always wanted to do. Of course, I didn't exactly get the chance. My wings were never supposed to stay—they were purposely put on me to be ripped off. I'm a spirit, I can already transfer through air. What would I need wings for, really?"
He lies down with his head sinking into the soft pillows, crossing his legs and supporting the back of his head with his hands. "Wings are always wings, though, aren't they? Necessary or not," he philosophizes, more to himself now than to Louis. Louis listens. "They always mean a lot to you, regardless. They hold so many things. It's like losing a part of your mind, you know? It's not like... a leg or a hand. It's rather your—spirit, I guess. Your drive. Your innocence. Your dreams." He closes his eyes. "I haven't had a single dream since I lost my wings."
Gravity is itching in Louis' fingertips, pulling and clawing under his skin to reach out to Harry like he's the center of mass, like in that very moment, he balances Louis' entire world. It doesn't make sense, least of all to Louis, but if he doesn't at least try to make Harry smile a little more genuinely, his heart is never going to stop screaming.
Cautiously but determinedly, it's Louis' turn to inch closer to Harry until they're shoulder to shoulder on the bed, and he turns to his side so he can drape an arm around Harry's middle and rest his head delicately on Harry's chest.
Harry is definitely not breathing, and Louis wonders briefly if maybe this was a bad idea.
He doesn't think it is, though. It feels like the right thing to do.
"What are you doing?" Harry asks, breathless voice further confirming the fact that his unmoving ribcage already suggested.
"I'm cuddling you," Louis answers simply. "What does it look like?"
"Why are you cuddling me?"
"Because I think you need it."
"I don't."
"I can move if you want."
Silence. Then,
"No."
Louis smiles against Harry's shirt. He feels the exact moment Harry relaxes, and he considers his work done. For someone who's not actually made of flesh and bone, Harry's always surprisingly warm and solid, even soft in places and the way he feels so real makes Louis' throat dry and his insides a little wobbly.
(He doesn't question it. Doesn't want to question it. Doesn't dare to.)
"Well," he says at last. "I'm going to sleep. If you make me have nightmares or something I will punch you in the face."
"I can't make you have anything, my powers are invalid here," Harry snorts. "Besides, that would be Phobetor's job anyway."
The corners of Louis' mouth almost twitches. Almost. "Well, then. Nevertheless, I'll find a reason to punch you."
"Can you even reach my face, pixie?" Harry sounds way too amused for Louis' liking.
"We're lying down, genius. I could kick you in the face if I wanted to."
"Your language is so violent for someone who enjoys cuddling this much."
"Go to sleep."
"You go to sleep."
(Louis doesn't go to sleep. He pretends to, nuzzling his face into the nape of Harry's neck with heavy and soft breaths, eyes closed against the smoothness of his skin. He feels Harry slowly intertwine their hands when the spirit is sure Louis is asleep, and the kind of stardust hurricane swirling in Louis' stomach from the small gesture, when Harry's palm is pressed up against his own small one, is concerning. His lips are tingling from being so close to Harry's skin, close enough to taste it, if he'd want to. His toes going numb and his head light, and the way his nerves quiver every time Harry breathes, rising and sinking both their ribcages in sync. It's all so very concerning.
It's concerning and new and deep down Louis knows what it means but he doesn't want to, and it's a problem now.
He knows he can't suppress it for a lot longer. He doesn't sleep.)
Notes:
guess who DID !! THAT !!
aaa i'm not too fond of this chapter at all it feels messy n rushed and it's literally nothing but dialogue i'm ridiculous i need help but HEY !! it's an update !! can u belieb !!
i hope yall had a nice winter break/holiday/new years :') i was gna update then as a gift but then i got sick n it got delayed even further i'm a Mess
BUT as always thank u sososososo much to all of u who give kudos and comment and read u make my day i'm grateful every second i read all comments and they make my heart warm and cozy ilu :'))))))))
if u feel like talking i'm always ready to love u unconditionally at my tumblr @tequiladimples xxxxx