These are the facts:
This is a love story.
Harry can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what isn’t.
Louis doesn’t eat.
Harry wields his sharpie with conviction, settling between Louis’ legs and smiling down at him, the afternoon light making him glow on the white sheets. He barely looks real, his carmel hair swept up like a halo on the pillow, some broken angel fallen into Harry’s arms.
“Take off your shirt.” Harry says, thumbing underneath the hem. He wants to take it off himself, to mouth across Louis’ sharp hipbones and the dip in his stomach that makes him worry, but he loves Louis more than that.
Louis rolls his eyes, turning over and curling against the pillow. “You know I don’t like to do this unless it’s dark.”
“We don’t have the house to ourselves when it’s dark.” Harry replies, laying Louis back out with gentle hands, resting his palm on Louis’ stomach and liking the way his breath catches.
“No, I know, I do want to.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut, pulling his shirt over his head and laying back against the pillows. “Gently.”
Harry leans down, kissing the hollow of Louis’ collarbone, breathing in his familiar warmth. Reality has become an incomplete concept lately, but Louis is so real, the only thing that keeps him sane.
Louis keeps all his pieces where they belong.
He undoes the zip on Louis’ pants, sliding them down his long tanned legs, a thigh gap most girls would kill for. Something Louis almost killed for. “You need to eat more.”
“Not now, Haz.” Louis replies tiredly, but Harry knows he needs to hear it. Louis’ pieces aren’t coming apart, they’re just disintegrating.
“Always.” Harry replies, picking up Louis’ leg and resting his ankle on his shoulder, uncapping the marker and writing the word beautiful on the smooth skin of his inner thigh.
Louis shivers when he does it, tipping his head back and balling his hands in the sheets to keep himself from shaking. “Not where people can see, please.” Louis says primly, a slight rasp coloring his voice.
“You know I never do.” Harry replies, moving up to write on the pocket of Louis’ stomach, the softness that’s never going to leave no matter how little he eats. He writes small there, a bit above Louis’ boxers.
beautiful
His scrawl is messy against Louis’ perfect skin but it looks like it belongs there. “They don’t come off for weeks, you know.” Louis says. “And even when they fade I know they’re there. It’s nice.”
“That’s the point.” Harry reaches for Louis’ hand, frowning when he pulls it away. “Can I have your hand please?”
Louis nods slowly, unsure but trusting under Harry’s soft gaze.
“Thankyou.” He takes the left one, pressing each fingertip to his lips. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks, drawing a quick little H in the middle of his palm.
“You should get an L.” Louis says, curling up, taking the sharpie from Harry’s fingers and spreading his enormous palm out on his knee.
“If you’d like.”
“I would like.” Louis replies with a tiny smile, making a tiny L in the center.
“So I’m yours now?” He asks, wondering just how much he’s grinning. He doesn’t understand how Louis can make him feel so happy, how he can be so hopeless and lost in the world with everyone but him.
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Larry fics
FanfictionIn no way whatsoever, to I hold copyright, or own and credit into which the stories that are contained in this book. I give full credit to all the writers of these stories.
