"Harry, where's the-" I swung open the door to his room, only to see him sprawled on the floor, his eyes widened at the sight of me, or the door opening or I don't know what, but he immediately bent in half ashamedly, blushing furiously. Shit. What the fuck did I just walk in on. Please don't let it be what I think it is. I glanced behind him where his laptop was glowing dimly. Fuck.
A blush crept across my face. "Shit, sorry !" I shrieked hurriedly, pulling at the door, "I should have knocked, I'm sorry I swear I didn't plan on walking in on you-" uh whatever the fuck he was doing, that I never need to talk or think about. fuck. fuck.
"It's not what you think." He meekly whispered, getting up reluctantly. I sure hope it isn't. But, I was already flustered up. Privacy is an obnoxiously big deal for me, and I just- never mind.
"Huh ?" I walked into the room, each step heavy and agitated and I walked up to him. He was fully clothed. okay, weird. What was he actually even doing so secretly ? Drugs ? Doesn't look like it either. "What's up, Harry ?" I spoke, smiling slightly. It felt like I was approaching a stray puppy hesitantly, careful to not scare it away.
He looked ashamed as he held up a hand, crimson racing to his cheeks, and it's shaking ever so slightly. I glanced up at two of fingers, the pointer and the middle one, which are smudged with artlessly applied nail paint. It was a sparkly black shade, like black with golden glitter on it. His tiny, square nails looked so delicate. His entire face was red and flushed and his withdrew his hand guiltily. What.
At least he wasn't having a wank.
"I'm- uh, please don't think I'm weird." He whispered quietly, "I swear I'm not into cross dressing or anything like that. I just saw this shade in the store and it caught my eyes and oh well-" Oh hell, no. My heart felt stretched in my chest cavity. He seemed so ashamed and unabashedly guilty, like a stray cat caught with a fish in it's mouth. I felt a wallowing sense of sorrow. I sat down in front of him and looked at him as I spoke, showing him that I meant every word I'm about to speak.
"Harry, it looks beautiful on you." I said truthfully, "It's such a shame that they got smudged. You should use a hair dryer, It dries before you blink. Mind if I put on a new coat ? I've done it for my sisters, you know, and one or twice for Eleanor too."
Or Eleanor made me do it when I, apparently, caused her to miss her nail appointment in the salon because I took too long to reach home to drive her there. I tried to tell her that my boss isn't particularly interested in letting go off me early because my girlfriend wanted mint green nails to match her new jumpsuit, but for Eleanor's ears, my work commitments might as well be gibberish nonsense crawling out of a buffoon's asscrack.
"You don't think it's feminine of me to paint my nails ?" His voice faltered. Amusement splattered across his face like paint on a Bob Ross canvas.
"What, no, never." I took up his hand and grabbed the nail paint remover from the drawer beside him, "No products, make up or accessories or clothes are masculine or feminine. They're made for all of us, Harry. It all depends on what suits you, what looks good on you. And this nail paint, it's gorgeous on you. Look, it brings out how slender your fingers are." I smiled at him and a slow, hesitant one grew on his face as well, "I love your rings as well !"
He wore three of them, which I would say is quite a handful, pun intended. There's a huge blue gemstone on some sort of oxidized metal band, a simple ring with peace engraved on it and a raging lion motif.
"You think it's nice ?" he pondered softly. God, He's so fucking beautiful and so oblivious, unaware of it. Makes me want to kiss him whole lot more just so I could whisper them into his lips as I do so. Gorgeous, unearthly angel.
"'s beautiful, H, just like you." I carefully unscrewed the top lid and dipped the tiny brush in the nail paint before bringing it up to his nails as I painted them in uni directional, neat strokes, just like I'd seen Eleanor doing. She would paint her nails during stop lights and traffic. I don't know how because this requires so much fucking precision.
When I finished painting all the nails on both of his hands, I blew on them lightly so it would dry sooner. Then, I looked at Harry from beneath my eyelashes, his face was drawn into a soft and ethereal grin and I kissed each individual finger on the knuckles softly.
"There you go, pretty boy, you look as beautiful as ever."
"Thank you" and he said those two tiny words with so much gratitude, that I knew, I just knew he meant it for everything beyond me painting his nails and it made my stomach churn and run about doing all sorts of somersaults because it should be me, thanking him, for making me feel like this. So happy and warm.
And I feel everything for him. The insecurity of the nail paint, the floral shirt he hides at the corner of his wardrobe, the eyeliner on his table that I first assumed belonged to a girl he slept with or something, the glitter socks in his wash that I've never seen him wear. And I want to punch everyone who made him feel like he couldn't wear those things outside of the familiarity of his home because he would look so good in them and I knew, I fucking knew he wants to wear them but something holds him back.
And I want to beat the shit out of that something because Harry deserves to wear anything he wants and do anything he wants and kiss anyone he wants (as long as it's only me). He deserves the world and the universe and all the stars and universes beyond our reach and he gets so little. And I wish I could give him something, a fraction, a teensy bit of all that he deserves.
"Are you tearing up ?" Harry joked, holding my hand. But, I could feel actual tears welling up in my eyes. God, people really take it upon themselves to make other people feel like shit, don't they ?
"You're so, so precious, Harry. Why don't you wear nail paint everyday ?" I smiled through the burn in my eyes "Or the pretty, pink shirt with the flowers on it, It'll look so good on you. You'll look like a prince. Not that you don't look like one, already."
"I'll wear it if you like it." He answered shyly, looking into my eyes like they held something much beyond the pupil, the iris and the cornea.
"I'll love it." I squeezed his hand slightly, grinning.
"I think you look hot in suspenders." He blurted suddenly and a look of horror passed on my face. I felt like I ate a block of avocado ice cream. What. Where the hell did he find out about my hideous habit of wearing those horrible looking suspenders. I've left that ugly dressing part of me behind. No, it cannot come back and haunt me like this, now. No. I will not allow it.
"What ?" I spoke in horror, my chest visibly heaving. This might me a crisis. "How-?"
Harry nodded towards his laptop mischievously, "I might or might not have been stalking your Facebook."
Shit, fuck. All my embarrassing moments captured in a digital scrapbook. Great, thanks. Mark Zuckerberg, you lizard reincarnation little shit. I might as well be blackmailed by you for my nudes.
"Harry, no-" I groaned into my hands. What else had he seen then, the red chinos wearing era definitely or the stripes obsession. Most definitely. Fuck, all those multicolored pants too. Those burgundy piece of shit suspenders and shit, shit, shit the emo swooped down hair days. Fuck, those college tank top days too probably. Shit. I looked like a fuckboy in them. I should just delete my existence and move to Alabama and marry my cousin.
"You look hot, Louis, so god damn hot." Harry grins, "If I were to be at a college party and you walked in with those suspenders of yours, which really accentuates your ass by the way, I would say 'god damn it, who's that hot as heck guy I need to score right fucking now?' "
Which I don't really know what to say to, because no man, or for that matter anyone has ever complimented my butt ever. Or called me hot. Or said they'd need to score me. And I'd almost call Harry out, say he was lying or just feeding my ego but Harry's face was everything but insincere.
Additionally, he can't lie for shit. He starts fiddling with his thumb and looks uncomfortable in general and right now, he looked centered and calm and just, a little tired. I fought back a smile with great impertinence, because I didn't want to give away how his words pleased me.
"Back in senior year I had quite a fancy for them." I smiled, gratefully looking back at the memory of eighteen year old me who accidentally caught the sight of a pair of suspenders on a mannequin in a store window and stopped dead on my tracks. I spent every last buck from Christmas on them and I wanted to wear them to prom-
"Why did you even stop, then ?"
because they made me look feminine. And those colours weren't exactly grown men worthy, now, were they ?
"Because I looked like a three year old and an eighty year old oncrack simultaneously." I chucked. "And they were hideously out of fashion."
"No, you didn't. You looked like you would walk into a room and everyone would stare at you and wish they'd have the body, the confidence, the essence to pull it off." Harry defended and let his hand rest over my thigh. I sighed. There's nothing we can do about it.
"Will you wear them again sometime if I promise to keep my nails painted ?" He raised his eyebrows slightly, lips pressed tight "Please."
"Do I really look acceptably fashionable in them ?"
"Let's just say, hypothetically, really hypothetically we're together, you know, I'd hypothetically rip them off of your body, because you'd look so non hypothetically hot in them, I wouldn't be able to have a hold over my own two hands" He almost groaned the sentence out, with the low grunt of his voice and a shiver ran down my spine.
"Get ready." I whined slowly "We're heading to the mall to get some new suspenders."
-----
I sat on the kitchen counter swirling a glass of red wine as herbs sizzled on the pan beside me. Harry was busy grating cheese. Harry's antique radio was blaring some old Queen song. Speaking of Harry, He looked adorable in his cute red apron that said "l cook as good as I look". He's such a dork, I swear to god, with his untamed curls, little tongue poking out of his mouth and concentrated precise workings.
"I'm not really sure peach is my color." Harry spoke suddenly.
"Harry, we also bought silver, maroon, turquoise, creme and brick red." I groaned because Harry's like, really indecisive and also, he looks good in basically anything and everything and it's kind of annoying "You can paint on any color you want, pretty one."
"I'll probably stick with the black for now." He waved around his hand in front of his eyes and I wanted to kiss every nimble finger on his hand "Would you allow me to paint yours ?"
Would I ?
"Anything, Harry." I took a swig of the wine "Anything you like."
Domestic life is bliss. I mean I swear to God, it feels like a lazy rainy mid morning where my husband is making brunch for us as I let our daughter sleep in for the morning-stop it Louis, you're like moving at a rate that's faster than Harry on his deathly motorcycle.
But wouldn't it be nice to have a future like that ? Am I thinking of a future with Harry right now ? What now, am I in love with him ? C'mon, this is clearly a mid life crisis and gay crisis kicking my brain into exhaustion.
Stop it. Forty two hours back you were straight and writing vows for your wedding. And forty two hours later, you're dreaming of having kids with a guy that is so beautiful, he could own the world on his finger tips. Man, a lot can happen in forty two hours. But seriously, Harry should enter in a Mr. Universe pageant or something. He wouldn't even need to go through all those stupid rounds, everyone would love him the minute he walks in.
But he likes me. He said it. When everyone stares at him like he's some an art piece in a museum that they're not allowed to touch, I'll sit back and smile because I'm the only one's who's allowed to do something they all are deprived of. I can touch his biceps that bulge out when he flexes his hands to touch his hair or I can kiss the delicate cut of his jaw or, or run my arms down the curve of his back-
What is up now, dear queer brain of mine ?
"You know I once almost got punched by Lana Del Rey once" I blurted out because I couldn't tear my eyes away from the way his eyebrows were stitched in concentration and it was getting a little creepy.
"punched by a who-" He sputtered suddenly, snapping his neck to stare at me "Did you mean the goddess of the music industry ? Our Lord, our savior, Lana Young and Beautiful Del Rey ?"
I couldn't help but laugh a little because I've never seen Harry so fascinated about someone, or something. His eyes are mind and his face is pulled back in a priceless expression of surprise. He looked at me like I told him I was keeping a unicorn in his attic. Or a gremlin in his storage cupboard.
"Yeah, her." I smiled "I was getting out of Starbucks once,in a terrible rush; I had this meeting to run to and she knocked into me and made me drop my latte and she didn't apologize. So I turned to her and told her squarely to buy me a new one and that's when he took off her bloody windshield sized sunglasses and I saw it's Lana Del Rey. But I didn't budge, because a mistake is a mistake." I waved off.
"And then, the bitch had the audacity to tell me no. A straight up no. No explanation, no apology. a simple no. So I told her that Video games is a sucky, overrated song and she almost punched me. But it's true though, National Anthem is her best song, hands down."
It's true. Second to Young and Beautiful, though. That's another world class masterpiece meekly wasting away within measly humanity.
"Can't disagree, but Video Games is a great one too. Lolita sucks." He laughed, "Tell me, how did it end ? How was she up close ?"
"Well, she tried to go for my face and I ducked. And I heard some teenager shriek from the other side of the road and then, Lana's bodyguard stepped in-he's a real polite lad, huge- and apologized and told me she's still drunk from the previous' night's party at Hozier's-something about Irish whiskey, he said- and he offered me a matcha, which I refused. But that was it, she was pretty, ethereal, really. Not a sunspot on that crease less face."
"I bet she sacrifices virgin blood to have that amount of talent and beauty and Hozier-he's a forest spirit, alright, I don't trust them together" Harry cowered, arranging his hair, "I tell you what when I was twenty one, I went to see drake in a concert and he decided to stage dive in a crowd of stick thin teenage girls. That did not end well at all."
"Did he fall face down on the ground ?"
"He fell on me. and broke two of my front ribs and payed for my hospital charges too but I mean that's only fair. Pretty sure I made it into the Local Daily. I have pictures of it, wanna look ?" He scrambled for his phone before stupidly grinning and producing an even stupider picture.
Harry, in a wheel chair with neck support and bruised eye. His hair was almost straight for some reason and he was smiling idiotically at the camera, flashing two thumbs up and an aloof grin. He's so precious.
"Poor Harold Styles, squished by Drake. Dum. Dum. Dum." I accentuated, waving large air quotes over his face.
"You should have seen my sister's face, she didn't stop laughing for twenty complete minutes. Mum had to warn her thrice-she was rolling on the floor like a slug with salt on it- almost puked, even."
and we again settled down in a quiet, homey silence that felt comfortable. I was wearing one of Harry's jumpers that came down way beyond my wrists and it made me feel like I was enveloped in a love blanket where I was safe. I've never had this in my life. I've always been the older sibling, the oldest one in my friend circle so I've never felt cared for. It feels nice to lay back for once and let someone look after you.
"You know, Harry" I hummed, running my hands through his hair, thoroughly enjoying the pattern of raindrops on the window and the rhythm of the rain in our dimly lit kitchen, "This is so nice."
The rain feels so safe sometimes. Like it's washing all the evil off of the planet. Like it's offering us a clean place, a clean mindset to begin a new.
Harry turned to face me, ignoring the sizzling pan, a dumb smile plastered on his dumb face. "Us, you mean?"
I want to kiss him. soft and steady.
"No, the vibe of this room" I felt drowsy, the wine making everything slow and happy. Harry pouted briefly before fumbling with the buttons of the radio till he reached a radio station that was playing a psychedelic rock song. "We're okay too, I guess." I added, so it doesn't seem like I hate us, or what we are. What are we, actually ?
Harry was dancing slightly, waving his hands in cute motions. "And we will be, unless of course, you decide to interrupt me while I'm dancing. Then, we'll have to separate right away. You take the kids, I get the house and the shoes and the jewelry and the swimming pool. Deal ?"
The kids. The kids.
Who even is Harry ? He loves to wear ripped jeans and listen to soft ballads which clutching a cup of tea in his hands one moment, and he wears glitter boots and grinds against the kitchen counter while listening to a rock anthem the next.
"Deal" I almost half giggled, "Although honey, I technically own all the real estate, the stables and ah, our holiday castle in France !"
"Not the holiday castle in France !" Harry fake awed and wiped at his eyes "You're breaking my heart, honey."
I might have been smiling foolishly at him because he glanced at me and scrunched his nose. But I mean, how could anyone not because pigeon toed Harry Styles was dancing like a lunatic in a kitchen and he was way off with his dancing but it was adorable nonetheless.
I wanted to kiss him, again. But that would mean interrupting him.
"What's your favorite color ?" I asked because of course, I had the sudden urge to know everything about him and of course, I went with the most cliche question ever. Don't mind me, really. I totally didn't memorize this question off of a website that says Twenty Questions to Ask on A Date.
"I don't have one because if I choose one, it'll upset the other ones" He smiles, the dork. But I know it's black and glitter. Or both together. But he'd also take pink over anything else, any day.
Of course, what did I even expect it to be.
c'mon Louis, work up some better questions.
"What was the most memorable family trip you took as a kid ?" I pondered after a hot minute, picking at the hair on my arm.
"uhh-" He hummed around, knackering his brain for memories "Probably when we went to Ireland for summer in eight grade." He grinned and I smiled in surprise. Not Germany or America or India or Paris ? Ireland ? That's like saying my favorite actor is Hugh Grant. I get why, but not exciting enough. Not shiny, enough ?
"Now, most people overlook Ireland because it's so nearby but what's the point of travelling across the globe if you have not taken a peek of the places that are close to you ?" He smiled and I hummed in response because I love this side of Harry, the one where he says intellectualize things without realizing it at all.
"Anyways, we visited one of Niall's cousins Heath and there's a strand of water in , on the west coast of Ireland in Galway called Salthill and they only speak Irish, they don't really speak english and maybe that's why I loved that trip so much because for I got to learn something new everyday and I got to wear a kilt."
"A kilt ?" I sputtered "How amazingly super dope"
"That did not make any sense."
Of course it didn't. I almost slurred the words out because my tongue was hyper excited after picturing my precious Harry in a kilt. And high knee socks. Cute.
"My turn" He quips out of the blue and leans on the counter, cradling his face with support from his elbow "What's the most romantic thing you'd do for someone ?"
"I'd take them to meet my mum, because well, if someone makes a difference in my life, they've got to meet my mum." I answered honestly.
"Wow, a boy who unabashedly loves his mum, nice." He grins.
"Well, I didn't have a dad growing up and me mum's me everything. Other than my nan of course, bless her soul, I spent a lot of time with her because my mum had to work her arse off to afford the house and electricity and water bills." I shrugged.
"Wow, What was she like, then, your nan ?" Harry blinks, attentive. He's propped up on his elbows on the kitchen counter. He's soft and tad bit tipsy, jut the sweetest version of Harry for the sweetest night of my life.
"She was a sweet, ol' lady. I'd rather like to think she was always sixty to begin with. She drunk too much tea and it was always too strong for anyone to drink. She never used canned stuff-it was problem really, she'd go overboard, always trying to make everything from scratch. Chicken broth, beans, sausage. She'd go all in." I feel myself absentmindedly smiling "She smelled like cakes and cleaning liquid, the nice kind. I remember, after she passed away, my mum had to throw away all of the cleaning supplies because I'd always cling to them."
"That's, I don't know, making me grieve for her, a person I've never met. I wish she were here." Harry hums "She must've been a real gem, of course, looking at how she raised you."
"She passed away when I was fourteen, I think and I was devastated. Sometimes, I'm like, oh my god, she was my nan and she loved me and she was real. And it's so stupid because people expect that time could make you unlove someone, to make the pain, less overwhelming. And that's not the case, you can never unlove someone you truly loved." I feel that weird hole of self pit engulfing my insides again. I feel myself at fifteen, crying into my pillow and showing up to footie next day, pretending like everything's okay because I didn't want to seen like a cry baby.
"You ? What would you do, Harry-berry ?"
"I'd write them a song, probably." Harry spoke "Because, I don't know, dedicating a song to someone is like giving away a part of you to someone. I'll write a very cheesy love ballad and make them suffer through it."
Wow. Wow.
"That's beautiful, Harry." Noted, write songs to make Harry happy.
"Have you ever been in love ?" Why did I ask this question, knowing very well that the answer will make me writhe in frustration or make me feel empty, somehow. Both very different from what I wanted to feel; indifference.
There's a buzzing silence. And for a second I feel like I've asked the wrong question. I wish I could walk back in time and fish it out of my mouth before it rolls it off my tongue. And every empty passing second makes me wish it more.
"no" came the answer from a pair of pursed lips. "Have you ?"
and for the first time in days, months, years, I allowed myself to speak out something that was prodding me from within, like an irritating pimple under my skin.
"no, i haven't"
---
At night, when I lay beside him in bed, something tells me to turn over, so I did. The moonlight flowing through his window danced over his good side, which was honestly whichever side of him that was visible. Sometimes it felt like it was all we needed.
Probably not.
But it would surely be great to only this and nothing more.
ever.
I saw him wide awake, looking straight into my eyes with a kind of mellow adoration settled over his cheeks, something I'd probably never get used to even though that's how his face looks like half of the time. He flicks his eyes over nervously, like I've caught him in red handed. He's bare chested and I'm hastily clad in loose pajamas that has images of teddy bears scattered all over it. I act on instinct.
Does he like to look at me while I sleep just like I like to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing ?
I let my fingers trace the swallow tattoos on his chest, ink almost like an illusion underneath my fingertips, and looked at his eyes. "I got it when I was sixteen. Hid it from my mom for the first three weeks. Thought it was pretty tight and I was very cool. I wasn't. Wore a see through white shirt once and mom caught me. I was grounded for three months" He whispered with a smile.
I can't imagine Harry being a rebel. He seems like a pretty obedient, momma's boy. He looked so sleepy, so peaceful, so pure. I couldn't help but scream internally at the pain caused by his beauty. Not overreacting, I swear. When you get to see his face from mere inches apart, you can see how flawless it really is. You'd probably want to feel your lips over it all the time, just like I do.
I brought it lower down to the butterfly on his stomach which was one of my favourite because it could double up as a pun, butterflies in the stomach, and that seemed to sum up Harry's being perfectly.
"Got inspired by a movie where two guys try to escaped from a jail. It was called papillion, I think, french for butterfly. Hurt more than being kicked in the nuts for a full hour. Got infected too because I went to the beach that week. Had to get antibiotics and was on bed rest for a week." Harry grins from ear to ear, chasing my fingertips with his.
"I hate tattoos, I would get so flustered up if I had to decide something that would remain on my body forever. I don't any any movie, book , song or even person would mean enough for me to get them tattooed on me."
"I beg to differ" He smiles "And I think you will too, just when the right thing drops by."
"We'll see to that" I smiled back too and before I could drift back to sleep, I decided to ruin a perfect moment by asking "Do you think it was horrible and selfish of me to leave the wedding?"
Harry sighed and his grin softened into a sloppy, curved smile. He touched my arm so gently, I could hardly even feel his skin on mine.
"Am I doomed ?" I pressed on.
"Hmm" Harry kissed my fingers "We're not doomed. In the great, grand scheme of things, we're just tiny specks that will one day be forgotten. So it doesn't matter what we did in the past or how we'll be remembered. The only thing that matters right now, this moment, this one spectacular moment we are sharing together."
I would probably hitch my breath up or cry if it wasn't-
"Curly, are you seriously quoting Bojack Horseman on me ?" I cried, exasperated "in such serious matters too, that is."
"My words still stand" He whispered "Doesn't matter if they don't exclusively belong to me, if my brain doesn't own the copyright to them, I still mean it . That matters."
I was dumbfounded for a brief instant.
"Do you think the moment we're sharing right now is spectacular ?"
"I think every single moment, every single half moment or even moments that are hardly moment worthy, they're all spectacular, if we're sharing it together." Harry smiled, "They're nothing short of spectacular."
Spectacular, I like that word.
Spectacular, that he quite is.
as is this moment we're sharing as I breathe and he blinks, as he stares and the world and I halt to stare back because he's a sight I'd not miss in an eternity. His is a face that sticks to you and sticks to your heart and sticks to every stick-able inch of you.
Spectacular.
----
I CHANGED THIS CHAPTER ENTIRELY YEEK
ME TO MY BRAIN : yEET, THIS BITCH EMPTY