Harry wakes up two hours later to Louis sucking love bites onto his neck.
He laughs, but let's himself enjoy the feeling of Louis' mouth on his skin. Surely there'll be marks there, meaning he'll have to wear another high-collared shirt for his concert tonight. He presses his face into the pillow and allows Louis to leave marks all over his throat, not caring at all that Harry will probably get in trouble for it. It doesn't matter because he loves the bruises all over his skin, the bruises that mean he is Louis' and that's all that matters.
They shower together but it's innocent, no sex, just Louis washing Harry's hair with soap that smells like roses. There's no better feeling than Louis' hands in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp so that Harry closes his eyes and happily responds to Louis' pleasurable touch.
By the time he steps on stage, later that night, he's blissful and happy, completely relaxed. Louis had unwound him. Pulled him to pieces, and then put the pieces back together in more perfect alignment.
The entire time, he feels at peace knowing Louis is watching from the side of the stage.
This is life for the two of them and this is how they live it together. This is how they get through the pain and the fear and the longing. This is how they survive.
There's pleasure in penance and Harry knows this deeply so he lets Louis punish him when they're both in the mood for it. He finds peace in that same pain, in the ache and the beating, and he enjoys it. There's release in retribution and whenever he feels wound so tightly he can hardly breathe, he seeks out that same reprieve.
Louis. Louis is the reprieve.
And then the valor. The bravery. The courage in being soft and vulnerable and at the will of another. So trusting and faithful. Proving absolute devotion.
Call their love strange. Call their love wicked.
Say what you will, but Harry believes their love is beautiful.