“And, nope, Louis never ever thought he’d be the type to drunkenly screech his love to the sleeping world but here he is and here they are and when Harry’s face bursts into life and color like a newborn star, Louis knows that he never wants to stop being this person.
“I LOVE YOU!” he screams again, just to watch the jade of Harry’s eyes dance, and he’s breathless and elated and everything feels endless.
“What are you doing?” Harry giggles, glancing brightly between Louis and the sky as he tumbles over, grabbing for Louis’ hands, his shirt, his face.
“I’m filling up the sky with my love for you,” Louis says simply, catching his breath with a shrug. “So whenever you look up, it echoes back.”
“And up close, in person, those eyes are even more terrifying. Where there should be emotion, soul, and intimacy, there instead lies a wall, cold and dark, barricading the boy from the rest of the world. And Louis can’t look away.”
“Harry’s smile twitches at the corner. “I like that one,” he drawls in protest. “I chose him specifically.”
Louis looks up. “Him?”
“Aloysius.”
“Aloysius,” Louis repeats in a deadpan. “You named a shriveled strawberry Aloysius.”
Harry shines proudly, looking up to meet Louis’ gaze. “Yeah,” he nods with bright eyes and a half-smile.
“Right then. Just checking,” Louis says, and offers his palm.”
“He watches Harry making intricate patterns, using the last of the glitter. “Are you making it so we can never be found?” Louis laughs, and the bucket dangles from his slack fingers.
Harry’s smile falters immediately as he sprinkles the last of his handful.
“Something like that.” He brushes his hands off on his trousers, and just like that, he’s back to his stoic poetry. “You can be found, if you like. But I don’t want to be.”
“He’s leaving, and he picks up his shoulder bag on the way out and he’s staring at the ceiling, then the sky, and he closes the door silently behind him, and he stares upward because the minute he looks down, the tears will fall.
And he won’t cry over Harry Styles.
So Louis doesn’t look down.”
“Harry swallows, still staring, still caught. Almost dazed.
"That doesn't make sense, either."
Louis dares to smile wider. "Good. I should hate to make sense."
"To be great is to be misunderstood." Harry quotes mindlessly, unblinkingly, lost.
Louis' ribs are cracking. He grins.”
“Louis can't catch his breath.
Neither can Harry.
Why isn't there more air?
Harry must have taken it with him.
"Not with you," Harry says one last time before he practically flings himself out the door, slamming it behind him, and leaving Louis alone, framed in the window, suffocating.”
“Louis hates everybody. So he texts Niall.
‘I hate this school and everybody in it. Death to rich people.’
A second later, his screen lights up.
‘Can’t die. Am immortal. Want to bunk off and get high under a tree?’
And Louis really wants to say no.
'Which tree?'
But he says that instead.”
“I will always give you everything," Louis says, lightheaded, soaring, full.
Is he high? Is this normal? Does emotion do this to people? He must be high.
He's so fucking happy.
"I'll always give you everything," Harry mimics, sincerely, and they just stare, lost in each other, before Harry breaks out in a wide grin, glancing down at Louis' lips shyly. "If you want," he adds quietly.”
“They kiss like they've kissed for-fucking-ever and they align like a key in a lock and Louis is so fucking happy.
He thinks he hears the world sigh.”
“And so this has become Louis' life.
Feeling just as much pain as he does pleasure. Excelling academically and maintaining an excellent group of friends and being in love with the one person in the world who is incapable of falling in love.”
“Books are food for the brain. I can't think of anything healthier”
“Harry’s asleep within a few short minutes, body now warm and pliable, and as Louis holds him, he doesn’t dare fall asleep because he doesn’t trust himself to dream.”
“And, pray tell Curly, just how is my ass supposed to fit on this seat?"
"The same way it manages to fit into this room-suspend your disbelief, Louis Tomlinson.”
“I love being serious. Serious is important. I abhor humour and fun. Especially happiness.”
“They kiss like they've kissed for-fucking-ever and they align like a key in a lick and Louis is so fucking happy.
He thinks he hears the world sigh.”
“You know the expression that love makes the world go ‘round? That might be true, but love comes from the way differences interact. How personalities interact. How we bounce off of each other, challenge each other, and how we push and pull. It’s through those tensions that we connect with others and with ourselves. And it’s how we fall in love. Because there is magic in diversity.”
“We rationalize, we dissimilate, we pretend: we pretend that modern medicine is a rational science, all facts, no nonsense, and just what it seems. But we have only to tap its glossy veneer for it to split wide open, and reveal to us its roots and foundations, its old dark heart of metaphysics, mysticism, magic, and myth. Medicine is the oldest of the arts, and the oldest of the sciences: would one not expect it to spring from the deepest knowledge and feelings we have?”
“So she listened hard. And she began to evolve, because stories work their magic that way. They build conviction and erode conviction in equal measure.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that business as you think of it may have outlived its usefulness? Business has made its contribution and the world moves on. Business is just another dodo. . . .”
“I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about, and I’ve never loved somebody like this. I can’t lose it, and I won’t lose you … This has nothing to do with equal rights or trust. This is life, and you’re mine.”
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