Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4346207.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Anne_Cox/Robin_Twist, Zayn_Malik/Other(s)
  Character:
      Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlinson, Niall_Horan, Jonny_Harvey, Liam_Payne,
      Robin_Twist, Anne_Cox, Gemma_Styles, Zayn_Malik
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Victorian, Childhood_Friends, Internalized
      Homophobia, Fluff, First_Love, Victorian_England, POV_Harry, Blow_Jobs,
      Bi_Harry, Gay_Louis, Harry-centric, OT5, pan_zayn, First_Kiss, Angst,
      Friendship
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Course_of_Love_Never_Did_Run_Smooth
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-17 Completed: 2015-07-25 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 9036
****** Of Boys Loving Boys ******
by Yourfavouritechild
Summary
     The older boy, however, appeared effortlessly magical. The golden
     buttons of his russet tailcoat were undone, revealing the boldly
     patterned waistcoat. Matching the blue of his eyes, the older boy’s
     waistcoat glimmered with small golden birds. Delicate hands were
     folded in front of white breeches. Harry would have made it farther
     down the outfit if not for a subtle cough dragging him back to the
     present. Wide-eyed, Harry looked up to an eyebrow-cocked Louis
     Tomlinson watching him. An embarrassed heat began to develop on the
     curly haired boy as the conversation amongst the group died down.
     Those blue eyes continued to stare at him with an unreadable
     expression. Harry couldn’t pinpoint his exact emotions. He was only
     ten. Are ten year-old boys not allowed to admire the outfits of other
     boys? Maybe he shouldn’t stare at other boys.
      
     Or: In early 1800s England, a rich young boy falls in love with
     another rich young boy.
Notes
     Everyone but Larry and Zayn are side characters
     Zayn's relationships are just mentions
     This is meant to be a sort of prequel to a longer fic I want to write
     about the boys dealing with their parents wanting them to get
     married.
     I'm on tumblr at yourfavouritechild btw :)
     All comments and kudos appreciated.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Blue Eyes *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry meets Louis.
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy :)
The day is surprisingly sunny, with grassy hills rolling through the English
countryside unshadowed. Looming over a green kingdom, a marvelous brick mansion
sits nobly. The garden teems with colour and life; children run through the
grass as the adults socialize. Fountains and statues litter the yard, with
white stone walkways leading to magical places. A breeze rustles the hems of
elegant white dresses. A batch of giggles erupts from the women, who twirl
their lace parasols above their heads.
“Harold!” one calls, a hand reaching towards a running child. Her fingers
gently cup the young boy’s face. Twinkling with amusement, he two pairs of
green eyes stare at each other for a moment.
“Harold, would you please try not to dirty your new coat, darling,” she began
to brush the dust from the child’s black-clothed shoulders.
“Mummy!” He shimmied out of her petting. “Mother, I am ten years old, I don’t
need your coddling!” He drew his pink lips into a pout as his brow furrowed.
The other children didn’t get treated like this, why should he? He liked to
play with the older children, wanted to do what they did. Why must everyone
wear so many layers of tight clothing when the sun shines strong?
“Well, Harry,” the mother bent from her hips to be eye-level. A few strands of
black hair danced in front of her face. She was young and beautiful, resembling
an older, more feminine version of her son.
“If you are such a big boy, I am sure you wouldn’t mind explaining your dirty
lapels to Mr. Twist!” She dawned a victorious grin as the boy’s eyes widened in
fear. Harry’s mother, Anne, had remarried to Mr. Robin Twist two years ago. Her
first husband, Desmond Styles, had past the year before the remarriage. Anne
had taken Robin’s surname, while her two children, Harry and Gemma, kept their
father’s. Mr. Twist was a nice man, a wealthy land owner, but he was not
hesitant to dole out punishments.
“No, no, Mummy, I’ll keep my clothes clean, I promise!” Harry pleaded, trying
to get off the remaining dust.
“That’s a good son,” Mrs. Twist said, placing a hand to Harry’s cheek. She
stood up straight.
“Mr. Twist told me some families are here whom you have not met, and I suggest
you befriend them, Harry.”
He huffed a breath, which made his flop of dark curly hair flutter. Mother
always told the siblings to make nice with other families. “You might meet your
future spouse, my loves,” she would say. But Harry rarely played with the
girls, so how could that be? Now she just smiled at him fondly.
“Go run along and play with the other children, dear,” Anne said softly.
And with that, Harry melted into a smile. He dashed off towards the expansive
garden, where a group of small yet exquisitely dressed bodies stood. The
children younger than Harry played with a handful of staff, while those his age
and older talked in small circles. A heavy gust pushed him along. Pink and red
flowers danced beside him. He ran up to the group, a goofy grin showing off his
buck teeth. Most turned to see who the blur of navy and black had been, while
some did not spare a flinch. Harry spied a pair of blue eyes, which held his
gaze for a moment, but then returned to where they were before Harry disturbed
the peace. A mousey-haired boy bounded up to Harry, stopping just short of
knocking him over.
“Harry!” The boy beamed, his maroon jacket unbuttoned and a bit disheveled.
“Gemma’s here already, where have you been?” He continued, exasperated but
still happy.
Harry pulled at his navy waistcoat. The sun made him feel a bit warm under all
the stuffy layers. He pouted.
“My mother stopped me, Jonny,” his eyes flickered to the girl walking up behind
his friend. “Gemma,” Harry said, eying her pale yellow dress. “Don’t get your
dress dirty, or Mother will be angry.” Gemma rolled her eyes behind the loose
curls of brown that had escaped her bun.
“Harry, I don’t play rough like you boys,” she scoffed. Gemma turned and
skipped back to a circle of pastel dressed girls around her age. She is three
years his elder, but sometimes Harry thinks she acts like she’s even older.
“Has Zayn returned from the East, yet?” Harry questioned Jonny eagerly.
“No,” the other boy hung his head. “But Father says the Maliks should be
returning soon, and with gifts!” He lifted his head excitedly at the last part.
“I hope it’s those candies like last time!” Harry smiled at the memory. Zayn
had brought back a variety of treasures, but the sweets were the best. Harry,
Jonny, and Zayn had sat around tasting and judging each type. They had ended up
with stomach aches and stinging tongues, but still smiling. The Malik and the
Harvey families did business with Harry’s father. Since the remarriage, Mr.
Twist took over such business. The Maliks travel far and often, so seeing Zayn
is like a treat. But Jon and Harry had been friends since they could walk.
Looking over Harry’s shoulder, Jonny dawned a confused expression. By the time
Harry could turn around, an arm was thrown over his shoulder and laughter
filled his ear. Blonde hair and wonky teeth made up his peripheral vision. Only
one such a lad this could be.
“Ni-all!” Harry shouted frustratedly, taking the boy’s arm off his shoulders.
“I’m right heartily glad to see you! How are you back from Ireland already?”
“Good day t’ya, Harry! Business went smoother than Father expected,” Niall
replied in a loose Irish accent. The Horans dealt with lumber, working with Mr.
Twist’s own business. Thus, Harry had only known Niall a short amount of time,
compared to Jonny. But they already felt like brothers.
Pointing towards a pair of boys, Niall asked, “Who’re they?”
One looked older than Harry’s current friends, maybe around 12 years of age. It
had been him who stole Harry’s gaze. Those blue eyes, which now looked at him
through long eyelashes. There was another boy? Harry couldn’t look away to
check. But suddenly those blue eyes were across from him, close and curious.
Apparently, his legs had taken him towards the boys.
“Good day to you,” he heard himself say, nodding his head. “My name is Harry,
Harry Styles.”
Blue Eyes breathed in, quickly eyed Harry once over, and breathed out. They
held eye contact.
“How do you do,” he also nodded. “My name is Louis, Louis Tomlinson.”
The exchange felt stiff and polite compared to the conversation he had just had
with his close friends. Harry almost forgot about the second boy until he
spoke.
“Good day, I’m Liam Payne.” Harry’s head took effort to move from Louis. A
puppy of a boy looked back at him. “We’ve just returned from France,” Liam
continued. “I believe our father’s all wish to do business with each other.”
Harry simply nodded, acting interested. His eyes flicked back to Louis. A
couple seconds ticked by in silence.
“How d’ya do, I’m Niall Horan,” the blonde boy spoke, coming up to rest at
Harry’s right side. At his left, Jonny joined.
“Good day, I’m Jonathan Harvey.” Introductions were always so polite and
awkward to Harry. He doesn’t even know what these boys’ parents do. Could he
hold a conversation with them that’s interesting? Harry took to eyeing the
strangers’ attire while the younger of the two went on about factories. They
looked like miniature adults. The one talking dressed simply, in all black and
dark blue besides the ivory of his ruffled collar and knee socks.
The older boy, however, appeared effortlessly magical. His the golden buttons
of his russet tailcoat were undone, revealing the boldly patterned waistcoat.
Matching the blue of his eyes, the older boy’s waistcoat glimmered with small
golden birds. Delicate hands were folded in front of white breeches. Harry
would have made it farther down the outfit if not for a subtle cough dragging
him back to the present. Wide-eyed, Harry looked up to an eyebrow-cocked Louis
Tomlinson watching him. An embarrassed heat began to develop on the curly
haired boy as the conversation amongst the group died down. Those blue eyes
continued to stare at him with an unreadable expression. Harry couldn’t
pinpoint his exact emotions. He was only ten. Are ten year-old boys not allowed
to admire the outfits of other boys? Maybe he shouldn’t stare at other boys.
Luckily, Harry’s blonde friend decided to break the lingering silence.
“Does anyone fancy a game?” Niall asked eagerly.
***** Spice *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry likes boys, too.
     First kiss.
4 years later…
Harry and Louis had finished their morning schooling session. They bolted into
the kitchen. People bustling about the room trying to do their assigned jobs.
Smells of cooking meats and breads filled the air. On one wall, giant opened
windows let in sunlight and carried out the heat of the ovens. Dodging servants
and cooks, the boys laughed and pranced around the worn tables. The atmosphere
was warm and bright, some of the staff chuckling at the pair. Baskets of
various foods lay scattered around the room. On any given surface, loaves of
bread or bundles of vegetables could be found. The boys stood between work
benches overflowing with goods. Harry grabbed a pair of onions from the nearby
basket and held them to the side of his face.
“Mine eyes smell onions!” Harry quoted with an exaggerated pout, turning to a
giggly Louis. He sniffled dramatically, making Louis laugh harder.
“Good Tom Drum,” Harry threw the onions onto a table and extended a hand to
Louis. “Lend me a handkercher so!” Louis bowed theatrically while holding a rag
out to his friend. Harry snatched the rag, to which Louis rose up. Continuing
with the fake sniffles, Harry dabbed at his eyes with the rag.
“I thank thee,” Harry waved he rag like a lady waving goodbye. Louis was in a
proper fit of laughter with his head thrown back and hands holding his stomach.
“Wait for me home,” Harry bellowed to the ceiling. He stood with his arms out
wide. At this point, his collar had come a bit loose and flour dusted his black
shoes, but these didn’t matter. His head fell back down to look at the giggling
boy opposite of him, and just the sight of a happy Louis made Harry’s own smile
grow.
Lunging towards Louis, attempting to whip him with the rag, Harry continued,
“I’ll make sport of thee! Let thy…” What was the rest of the line? Harry tried
to whip Louis again, who kept avoiding his shots. “Er, let thy…”
“Let thy curly head come of good use one day!” Louis sneered with a laugh,
snatching the rag when it came at him again. Harry stood, mouth agape.
“I don’t think that’s how the line goes, Louis,” Harry taunted back at his
friend, to which the boy snapped the rag at him, eliciting a yelp.
“Well, I don’t think that’s how the scene would have been acted,” and Louis
whipped Harry again, sending the boy jumping backwards. He knocked into a cook,
who then dropped the basket he was carrying, sending carrots to scatter the
floor.
“Lou!” Harry squawked angrily.
“Boys!” An angry voice echoed through the kitchen. The boys stood frozen facing
the entryway. Mr. Twist held himself stiffly. “For what purpose have you two
interrupted the kitchen staff so tumultuously after your lessons had just
finished?” Still standing in the doorway, Mr. Twist peered down at the pair.
“We’re genuinely sorry, Sir, we didn’t mean to cause such a commotion,” Harry
bowed his head in guilt.
“Tea was given to you within the hour, was it not?” Mr. Twist flickered his
eyes between the boys. The Tomlinsons visiting Harry’s home was most fun when
Mr. Twist was away on business.
“Yes, Sir,” Louis started, clearly a bit intimidated. “But, Sir, Harry and I
had wanted to spend our afternoon amongst the gardens. We wished to bring
provisions, in the chance either of us grew hungry.”
Louis was always better at handling such situations than Harry. Even at
sixteen, Louis already resembled the becomings of a strong young man. Harry had
improved his conversation skills over the years, but still felt nervous around
his step-father.
Mr. Twist turned his eyes towards the windows behind the boys. His shoulders
relaxed slightly.
“The day is young and bright, just as you both are. Simply give a servant a
list of what you require and they will arrange for such to arrive at one of
your rooms.”
The boys bowed their heads, harmonizing a “Yes, Sir.”
Mr. Twist nodded and went to make his exit, but stopped half way.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mr. Twist began; he didn’t fully turn back towards the
boys. “Harold, your mother wills you to speak with her. I believe she is
reading in the study by her bedroom. Good day, boys.” And with that, Mr. Twist
swiftly left the kitchen
“Should I see her now?” Harry questioned his friend. Louis’ black trousers had
lines of white from where Harry snapped the rag. The mop of light-brown hair
atop his head had gone awry; he looked a right mess. But Harry always thought
Louis looked best after a good laugh because the boy would keep a fond smile
lingering on his lips.
“You can come to my room when you’ve finished with your mum,” Louis said.
“Let’s get a basket ready first, Harry.” The named sounded like honey on Louis’
lips.
 
*****
 
Harry entered a room whose colour scheme resembled lily flowers before a
thunderstorm. The sun illuminated the white marble floors, muting the pink
wallpaper. Besides the cherry bookcases, everything else was devoid of bright
colour. Not that there was much else in the room. Facing the doorway, a figure
sat upon a beige couch with a book in hand. The couch was basked in sunlight
from the nearby window. Her dress, from a distance, appeared as a blur of white
and yellow, with a hint of red. This was her room, her study, reflecting her
love of open spaces and simplicity.
“Mother?” Harry asked shyly from the doorway. The woman looked up from her
book, smiling.
“Harry, dear,” Anne spoke softly. “Come sit beside me,” she said as she closed
her book and placed it on the table beside her. Harry crossed the length of the
room. His still dirty shoes echoed with each footstep. As he approached his
mother, Harry noticed the detailing of her dress. A red strip of fabric just
under her breast emphasized her figure. At the hem danced red and yellow
flowers. The curls of his head matched the curls framing his mother’s face. She
looked gentle and lovely. Harry wishes he could wear more colours like the
womenfolk do.
Harry sat on the plush couch. Remembering his mussed collar, Harry quickly went
to work fixing it. Anne placed her hand upon his, halting his progress.
“Harry, my love, fix it later,” she brought his hands down with hers. Her green
eyes bore into his.
“You’re coming to an age-“
“Mum I’m only fourteen”
“Harry, don’t interrupt your mother.”
“Sorry, mummy”
“All’s forgiven,” Anne said with a soft smile. “As I was saying, you’re coming
to an age when young ladies start to look rather lovely in their dresses, and
blush will creep onto your cheeks when they complement you.” She giggled with
an expectant smile. Their hands still laid loosely together.
Harry had started to see this whenever he attended parties. Pretty girls would
bat their eyelashes at him and his heart might flutter a bit. And he would map
the contours of the body in their dresses, pale shoulders peeking out from
under pretty colours. Maybe heat would pool in the bottom of his stomach when
he imagined tracing fingers along their skin. But he felt that way about boys,
too. Was he supposed to? Were the blue eyes of a boy so different from the blue
eyes of a girl? He had dreamed, several times, of kissing the lips of which
belonged to a specific pair of blue eyes. Was this wrong? No one had ever told
him of boys kissing boys, of boys loving boys. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe his
urges were unnatural.
Harry breathed through these thoughts. One half of his brain told him his
desires felt natural, while the other half already started to try to repress
any feeling towards boys. A light flush coloured his cheeks.
Since Harry had not said anything, Anne continued. “You’re going to marry one
day,” squeezing his hand. “And your bride might be one of those pretty young
ladies we always see at the parties.” She cupped her son’s cheek. “I know you
tend to shy away at times because you’re self-conscious. But you mustn’t be
shy, love. Maybe Louis can help you; he is quite a sociable young man, isn’t
he?”
Louis. Harry would rather talk to Louis than strangers at a party. To make his
mother happy, though, Harry would make nice with the other young people. As
long as Louis is there to ease any awkwardness.
Giving a weak smile, Harry leaned into his mother’s side. He laid his head upon
her shoulder.
“You know I love you, my dear, no matter what.” Would she though? “I just want
you to be happy,” Anne wrapped her arms around her son. “Someday, when you have
children, you’ll understand how I feel, love.”
 
*****
 
“What did your mother talk to you about?”
“I’ll tell you later, Lou, let’s just be on our way”
“Oh, was a touchy subject, then?”
“I’ll. Tell you. Later.”
 
*****
 
The boys had walked through the gardens, continuing until they reached a
lonesome pond. Harry and Louis had found the place a year ago while they were
adventuring around the grounds. Here no one can tell them how to be. It was
theirs, whispering with the ghosts of the secrets they’ve told under the trees.
Besides the rustle of leaves in the wind, the area is still. A small, flat
clearing rests along the side of the water. They lay the blanket and place the
basket down. Shoes, then socks, are off in a flash. Sitting on the edge of a
rock, the boys slide their feet into the pond. The cool water ripples around
their ankles.
Louis’ eyes crinkle when he smiles. In the streaky sunlight, he’s golden.
Harry’s smile widens when their eyes meet. His insides feel like the smell of
fresh baked pie; a warm, sweet feeling that drifts lazily around him.
Conversation between the boys flows easily. The afternoon filled with Louis’
giggles and Harry’s obnoxious laughter.
They talked about their sisters, lessons, and past adventures. They talked
about places they want to go and things they want to do. They talked about
nothing, and its fine. The sun had fallen halfway down the sky by the time the
conversation hit a block. By then, both had pulled their feet out of the water;
Louis sat cross-legged while Harry’s knees were pulled up to his chin. The
younger boy fiddled with the ends of his breeches. Louis turned his head toward
Harry.
Breaking the silence, he said, “I’m a tad peckish, are you, as well, Harry?”
“Could go for one of those cherry biscuits we packed,” the boy replied with a
small smile. Louis began to stand, so Harry rose as well. They made their way
towards their basket.
“You always go for sweet,” Louis rolled his eyes fondly. He knelt by the
basket. “Why not the little meat pies, they’re quite delicious,” Louis said,
pulling out one of the pies from its wrapping. Sitting down beside his friend,
Harry peered into the basket. He scrunched his face faintly in disgust.
“Whenever you’re over, you have them cooked differently. With those Indian
things,” Harry brushed over Louis’ hand and went digging into the basket
looking for a sweet pastry.
“Do you mean Indian spices?” Louis scoffed playfully.
“Yes, those. I’ve come to dislike spices over the years,” Harry pouted. “They
make my lips tingle all funny.”
They eat. The sun hangs low but not low enough that they need to start walking
back. They lay down after they finish eating, eyes closed and basking in the
sun. Behind Harry’s eyelids, the usual darkness now resembled a burnt orange.
Their shoulders faintly touching. He could feel a warmth growing where the
light hit his body. He heard Louis’ voice beside him, soft and cautious.
“What did your mother talk to you about?” The older boy asked.
“Oh,” Harry recalled memory and feelings and thoughts. After a moment, he
answered. “Girls and marriage.”
“Oh, well I guess it’s never too early to start planning…” Louis joked
awkwardly.
“She told me to be more sociable at parties. To talk to the girls more.” No one
saw the disappearance of Harry’s smile. Louis might have seen, or he sensed,
how Harry fiddled with his fingers.
“You’re such a charmer, Curly, I’m sure it’ll be easy for you,” Louis
reassured. “The girls will all fawn over you; they already do from a distance.”
The last sentence hung in the cool air above the boys.
The words felt tinged with hint of bitterness. Did Louis want the attention of
the girls? Was he jealous of Harry? Of the girls? The young boy let his mind
glaze over the thought, and then repress it, as he always had. Seconds had
passed since Louis spoke. Harry knew his friend was right. The girls at parties
would congregate around him, shy compliments and bad jokes sending them into
flurries of giggles. Eventually, Harry would excuse himself to be amongst the
boys his age. He still needed a reply.
“That’s not true,” the younger boy murmured. He didn’t want to talk about
pretty girls in pretty dresses anymore.
Louis let out a huffed laugh. “Yes it is! Even the older women do.”
“Well she basically said to look for a spouse.” He didn’t want to think about
the pressure to find a wife before he was even finished with his schooling.
Harry heard the other boy breathe in deep.
“At least your mum isn’t trying to arrange a spouse for you,” he exhaled.
“What?” Harry quickly shot back in disbelief. The burnt orange behind his
eyelids turned a deep red when he scrunched his face.
“She’s invited over a couple families with daughters whom she thinks would be
good matches for me. They’re all nice, but, I don’t think,” Louis let the
sentence end, as if he decided against his own thoughts.
“I just don’t think I,” the older boy said frustratedly. He let out a hard
breath. Harry lay quiet. Better for a secret to come out naturally, rather than
forced.
“They’re pretty and nice, but I can’t see myself being with any of them,” Louis
said, exasperated. The words were vague. What hid underneath such ambiguous
vocabulary?
“Why not?” Harry questioned. He imagined what Louis’ face might look like as
they talked. A slight scowl from the uncomfortable topic, or did he wear a
defeated expression? Maybe a mix of the two, if possible.
“I don’t know. I guess I expected some instance connection, like in stories,
but there was none. I had no urge to continue talking, or to, to kiss them,
after I met them” L
“Have you ever had to urge to kiss someone?” Harry opened his eyes. Light
overwhelmed him, but he stared up at the rainbow sky.
“In a romantic way?” Something sounding like surprise tinged the older boy’s
response.
“Yea,” Harry let his head fall towards Louis. The slowly sinking sun casted
shadows around the older boy. Warmth radiated between the pair. Harry wished he
hadn’t eaten so many pastries earlier. His stomach felt knotted and tight, like
when Louis had helped him try on his sister’s stolen corset one night. The
moment felt intimate. Only the breeze and their voices existed.
“Yea, sometimes I dream about kissing. I dream about how I would go about it,”
Louis’ head now faced the younger boy. Shaded hair gracefully laid across his
bright complexion. Harry mentally traced over the miniature constellation of
freckles on the boy’s left cheek. “But that’s all they are, really: dreams.” He
could count ever fleck of colour speckling those blue eyes.
Harry’s heartbeat was so loud in his ears, he could hardly hear his own
whisper. “How do you go about it? In your dreams?”
Being so soft, Louis’ voice might not have actually carried to the younger boy.
But Harry read his lips like he had read The Arabian Nights by candlelight,
with urgency and curiosity. “Well,” the older boy started. “I don’t know,” with
each syllable Louis’ face closed the small gap between the boys’ faces.
“It just,” Harry stopped breathing.
“Kind of,” Hot breath clouded Harry’s mind. His eyes fluttered shut.
“Happens.”
There was no gap anymore. Warm air mingled between the two faces. For a moment,
Harry thought he might die from the overwhelming butterflies expanding inside
him.
Their lips barely pressed together for about four seconds. Harry had counted.
Even from such chastity, Harry’s lips tingled. His tongue ran over the ghost of
Louis’ mouth; the taste of summer and spice. Harry could grow to like the taste
of spice. Should he, though?
The silence between them lasted longer than the kiss, itself. Nothing but wide
eyes existed outside of his body. There was no air to fill his lungs, no escape
for the flutters of his stomach. His head drowned in thoughts. He, a boy, had
kissed Louis, another boy. As fleeting of a moment it was, this went against
every romantic story ever told. Why did he feel this way? Was the kiss as
mutual as it had felt? Oh God, what would their mothers think?
Harry must have said the last question out loud, because Louis’ blank face went
crinkly with a small smile.
“They don’t have to know,” the older boy whispered back.
Another secret for their pond to hold.
Harry felt a misting of rain tickle his cheek. Everything around the pair
burned red from the setting sun. He felt words settling on his tongue, but not
vocalizing. He was lost, stuck, caught up in Louis’ gaze, pools of water in a
field of fire.
“We should go back,” the words rolled out of his mouth like molasses. Neither
moved, though. Louis pulled his eyes from Harry’s and faced the sky.
“Quite right, Harry,” Louis breathed out. His profile like the art which lined
the pretentious mansion hallways; his voice like the distance sound of dreams.
“It is starting to mist and all.”
Louis rose first, silhouetted against the illusion of flames. Harry followed
after the realization that he was, in fact, awake and not lying asleep under
fluffy covers. Socks and shoes are put on in silence. Quick glances flickered
between the pair while they packed up things. Harry felt almost dirty. He felt
almost guilty, as if such an innocent kiss directly impacted his mother. They
had skipped dinner, though this would not be a first. Would she see the offense
on their faces upon their return? Did she suspect? Tinged with sadness and
panic, his thoughts spun inside his head.
They began their walk back still in silence. The mist has turned to a heavier
rain, and the surroundings shift to no longer burn red but shine with white
moonlight. The moon was almost full. Harry’s curls hang damp against his face.
His foot catches on something and he bumps into the older boy. Their first
contact since the kiss. Harry steadies himself quickly, stiffening a bit from
underlying fear. He risks a look at Louis. Like morning dew, raindrops rest
delicately on Louis’ eyelashes. Moonbeams dance in those blue eyes. Harry
remembers all the girls he had ever seen at parties. Done up in fancy dresses
and jewelry, they had all looked dashing. But this boy next to him, this boy,
for goodness sake, with his collar ruffled and hair wet, might be the most
lovely thing Harry has ever seen. This realization washed over the young boy
like salty tides on a cut foot.
“You look pretty in the moonlight,” Harry said softly, unsure if he’s allowed
to.
Louis looked down at him, blue eyes glowing. “Pretty is for ladies,” he
scoffed, pushing into Harry’s side playfully.
“Fine,” Harry grinned up. “The way the moonlight shines upon your face is quite
becoming,” the younger boy said eloquently with a giggle.
“Oh shut it,” Louis tried to hide his smile by turning his head.
***** Sexual Promiscuity *****
Chapter Summary
     Zayn and Harry talk about stuff they shouldn't.
Chapter Notes
     Dialogue focused.
     Definitions:
     chuckaboo - nickname for a friend
     toffer - prostitute
     brush - casual sex
     ludicrum cum amicis - fun with friends aka orgy
     dollymop - amateur prostitute
See the end of the chapter for more notes
2 year later…
Outside rained, as England often does. Droplets splattered against the windows.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, with soft flashes of lightening illuminating
the darkness. Inside, the extravagance of the Malik’s home glittered under warm
chandeliers. The smell of something cooking drifted through the rooms. Harry
took a deep breath. He picked up hints of cayenne and bacon, scents he would
encounter at that evening’s meal. The Malik’s recent return from an extended
trip to the East prompted Harry to visit.
The Harvey family had left for America, while the Horan family spent a majority
of their time in Ireland. But Zayn had remained in England up until the last
trip. Over the past couple of years, Zayn and Harry had grown increasingly
close. Even during his latest travels, Harry and Zayn had exchanged letters.
The pair chose to extract themselves from the others, deciding on a corner room
used for seclusion and secrets. The decorations and furnishings matched
haphazardly, like an emptied storage closet. The detailed ivory ceiling met
gaudy golden and rose wallpaper, which in turn met dark wooden floors. An
exotic patterned rug took up half of the room, sneaking under green chaise
lounges and plush floral armchairs. Beneath the portrait of an unknown man, a
fireplace roared brightly.
While Harry laid upon a lounge, examining the ceiling, Zayn leaned against a
bookshelf, staring out the window. Zayn was the product of a wealthy foreign
merchant marrying an aristocrat’s daughter. Some treated the Malik children
with disdain for being, as they termed, of impure background. But Zayn and his
three sisters were beautiful and well-traveled, far more than most other
families Harry had met. Against the harsh flashes of lightening, Zayn’s elegant
profile hung on the balance between man and boy. The beginnings of facial hair
shaded his cheeks.
As he turned his head towards his friend, Harry’s dark curls tumbled over the
muted yellow pattern on his lounge. One off-white leg dangled off the couch,
the other covered in his disregarded tailcoat. His black boots lay under the
lounge. Harry let his eyes trace over the outline of his unnoticing friend. The
dark fabric clung to the boy. Unlike Louis, Zayn had a slim figure. His black
hair might have been disheveled, but he held himself with a tender grace. After
a brief silence, Zayn began to talk again. When he finally looked at Harry, his
enthusiastic eyes contrasted his stoic face.
“Everyone is so beautiful there,” Zayn said in disbelief.
“Everyone? Even the….” Harry hesitated. “Even the boys?” He questioned
cautiously.
“Yes,” raising his eyebrows, Zayn let out a small laugh. “Even the boys,” the
fragment spoken with amusement. He started to walk towards Harry with quiet
footsteps. He stopped at the foot of the lounge. Brown eyes scrutinized the
younger boy before closing briefly. Zayn nodded slightly to himself.
He had decided on something. Harry’s mind raced to come up with an excuse as to
why he had asked about beautiful boys. But Zayn walked behind the lounge,
resting his arms and head on the wooden frame. He peered down at Harry’s wide
green eyes.
“I’ll be honest,” Zayn spoke in a hushed tone, as if the portraits on the walls
might hear. “I had a few in my bed while I was there.” He hid his mouth behind
his arms, waiting for a reaction.
Harry’s eyebrows went up and he forgot to breathe while he processed the words.
Such a forbidden topic. After a moment, he tried to suppress a smirk which
crept onto his face.
“What are you smiling for, chuckaboo?” Zayn’s face scrunched in confusion. Then
it clicked. He lifted his body to lean on his hands, his mouth hung open
slightly with corners turned up. “Have you had a few in your bed, too?” The
older boy let out small laughs. “I always thought you might, given the way you
look at other boys sometimes.” His smile was full blown by now, brown eyes
twinkling with candlelight.
Harry felt himself squirm under his friend’s knowing stare. Was he that
obvious? A flush spread across Harry’s cheeks while his mouth went dry. Zayn
had admitted being with other boys, so he could be trusted. But was loving too
extreme? Biting his lower lip, Harry fiddled with his waistcoat.
“Not a few,” he confessed. The younger boy averted his eyes from his friend,
still feeling the teasing smile on him. “Just one,” he said to his hands. Harry
felt his pulse quicken riskiness of his words.
Zayn made a sound of understanding. He leaned back down towards Harry, catching
green eyes in his brown. “And which lucky bastard got to nuzzle up to both your
curly sets of hair?” Zayn taunted unabashedly, pulling at his friend’s curls.
Scoffing at the crude comment, Harry swatted the hand away.
His fevered cheeks grew hotter as he felt the name bubbled up his throat.
“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry murmured, glancing up at the other boy. Zayn pulled
back to lean on his locked arms again. Wide-eyed, Zayn let his mouth hang in a
loose smile. He retracted from the couch altogether and began walking towards
the window.
He shrugged, “I can believe it.” Harry heard the grin in his voice. As Zayn
reached the window, Harry sat up abruptly.
“You can believe it?” Harry reiterated. His face a mix between a pout and a
scowl, the younger boy asked in confusion, “What is that supposed to mean?”
Turning towards his friend, Zayn shrugged again. One half of the boy was
illuminated by warm candlelight, while the other shadowed by the storm. Rain
tapped the window; the fire crackled. The gaudiness of the room was
overshadowed by the absence of sound. Harry was hyper-focused on his friend.
His feet felt slightly cold on the floor.
“Sometimes,” Zayn was choosing his words. “I catch you looking at him,” he
tilted his head fondly. “Like an angel had descended in front of you.” The
words fell from Zayn’s mouth like sand through fingers. Harry was taken aback,
sucking in a sharp breath. He already hid smiles and dropped needy hands.
Controlling himself more would take effort he did not want to put out.
“Plus,” Zayn continued. “I can’t recall him ever showing true interest in a
lady before.” He looked at Harry expectantly, but the younger boy didn’t reply.
“Is he the only one then? No one else?” Zayn questioned, leaning against the
window frame. “Not even a maid or toffer?” The glass fogged around his pressed
shoulder. He seemed genuinely concerned at Harry’s lack of sexual promiscuity.
“I’m only halfway to seventeen,” Harry said dejectedly. He still sat upon the
lounge, but rested at the edge. “Am I supposed to have a long list of lovers by
the time I hit your age?”
“By this time last year I had a brush with,” Zayn paused to count on his
fingers. “At least seven, so if you find five others to have some ludicrum cum
amicis, you’ll be right on track,” the young man said with a sprig of
enthusiasm.
“Don’t you mean six others?” Harry clearly remembers telling his friend he had
only lain with one person. He was off the lounge now, shuffling towards his
friend. He stepped along the swirling leaves and blooming flowers of the rug
like a trail.
“Now, don’t you go counting me out,” Zayn laughed lightly with a wink.
Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Not happening.”
“Not happening yet you mean,” Zayn smirked, pointing a finger upwards. Harry
arrived near the window next to Zayn. He brushed his wild curls from his face.
“I’ll put you in the queue, you dollymop” Harry said sarcastically, leaning his
back against a bookshelf.
“Along with all those lovely ladies swooning over your misguiding compliments,”
Zayn responded almost under his breath. Thunder rumbled outside, followed by a
flash of lightening. Across from Harry, Zayn looked beautiful in the contrast.
“I enjoy making people happy,” the younger boy rebutted, inhaling deeply.
“They won’t be happy when they find out such a charming bachelor plans to stay
a bachelor.”
“I can’t just tell them I’m not interested, Zayn,” Harry said, annoyed more at
the situation than the conversation.
The older boy studied his friend for a moment before asking, “Are you like me?”
The words were cautious, somewhat vague, but easily interpreted in the current
context. “Or are you completely not interested?”
Harry hesitated. Was not being at all interested in women possible? Had Zayn
met such people during his travels? “I’m like you, I guess.”
A moment of silence. “At least you’ll have a chance,” Zayn took a deep breath.
“Unlike your boy,” he said, bittersweet. Harry dropped his eyes to the floor,
toeing at the golden edge of the rug.
A chance. A chance to be happy? Find a wife he’ll like, be attracted to, and
possibly love in some sort of way similar to whatever he feels now. Not be
utterly uncomfortable with having her bare his children. But Louis doesn’t have
that chance, according to Zayn. Or did he? Harry had never thought to ask. The
topic of the impending future never snuck into Harry and Louis’ conversations,
as the reality seemed a damper on their happy moods.
“Things will work out,” Harry reassured himself, finding his friend’s somber
face.
Zayn looked at him with a trace of pity in his eyes. “Just…” he sighed, turned
to watch the storm. He didn’t finish the sentence.
Harry’s life was becoming a big secret. Hidden in plain sight, disguised as
friendship. Why must he be the one to want another boy? But he still had that
chance. Or was he too far gone? Seventeen year olds in books fell in love,
could he?
Outside, the storm whipped the trees. The room still smelled of spices and
meat. Harry fiddled with the maroon trim of his waistcoat. Though the pair
stood still, faint footsteps clacked somewhere in the hallway. They were to be
fetched for their meal. Harry didn’t quite feel up to eating.
Chapter End Notes
     Hope you enjoyed! :)
***** Skirt Around the Subject With Sex *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry gets sad and deep with Louis, but ends up getting his trousers
     green.
     Zayn is a nice friend.
Chapter Notes
     SO MUCH CHEESE
     I love friend Zayn, ok
     I could use all Victorian sex terms but it wouldn’t be understandable
     and would sound funny.
     Louis quotes Much Ado About Nothing
     Definitions:
     Mandrake – gay man
     Bawbles – testicles
     Mettle – semen
     Green dress – to have a green dress means to have sex outside
     Chuckaboo – nickname for a friend
     Tip the velvet – cunnilingus
See the end of the chapter for more notes
1 year later…
 
France. Sunny and warm. The dull stones of an old castle watched over a vast
expanse of flourishing grape vines. In the distance, the city of Paris rested
under clear skies. Black boots plodded along the grass between the rows of
vines.
Harry and Louis were, for the moment, unaccompanied and unwatched. Barely the
tips of their heads reached the top of the vines. Walking arm in arm, the pair
let their constantly hidden affection spill out as they pressed their shoulders
together and shared intimate smiles. Amongst the vines, Harry barely gave a
second thought to stealing a kiss or caressing Louis’ face. Both had their
tailcoats unbuttoned, exposing Louis’ subtle tartan patterned waistcoat. Though
a bit outdated, Harry’s waistcoat sported bright swirling flowers with gold
trim.
The vineyard belonged to the Tomlinson’s. Several close families had been
invited to celebrate a successful business deal, or something of the sorts.
Harry hadn’t listened intently past hearing of how the family was to visit the
Tomlinson’s. Louis had been in France for a fortnight, already, and Harry
missed him. Harry had read over old letters and found hidden notes tucked in
his favourite books. The pair had thought they would be separated for at least
a full month, so the invitation was a happy surprise.
Harry breathed deep, taking in the smell of green and earth. A hint of citrus
lingered from an earlier meal. Everything was bright. Nevertheless, the younger
boy felt a bit troubled. Pushing aside all negativity was proving to be quite
difficult, even when with Louis. Parents of the boys had begun to persistently
stress the act of courting future wives, especially the older boy. At home,
Harry felt like an actor in costume, except even now his mask stayed with him.
He couldn’t get rid of it, not fully.
Looking up toward the sky, Harry felt the pleasant rays on his face. He turned
towards his boy, memorizing the hues of blue in those eyes. Their steps were
slow and led them through the never-ending vineyard.
“I wish I could capture the blue sky and keep it forever, so I always have a
reason to be happy,” Harry smiled without losing eye contact. Noses almost
touched.
“How poetic,” Louis teased. “We don’t get enough sunny days in England.” Harry
thought his voice sounded like light, like the edges of an angel’s halo.
“The blue skies remind me of you,” Harry further explained his wish. “And under
them I feel,” he hesitated, watching the leaves dance. “Absolved?” He said with
an unsure tone. “I’m uncertain of what I mean because the feeling is
inexpiable.” Face scrunched in frustration, Harry stared down the green path
before them. He connected every positive of a lovely day with his Louis. Every
beautiful butterfly wing, every drop of warmth, every sun ray. No one word
fully described how he felt, though he wanted one.
Harry’s curly mess of hair fluttered around his face in the breeze. Louis’,
however, swooped and flopped elegantly sideways from his part.
The older boy untangled their arms. Running his hand gently along the side of
Harry’s head, Louis smiled. His fingers stretched out curls which sprung back
into shape.
“Speak low, if you speak love,” he quoted.
Harry huffed a laugh. “As you wish, Don Pedro.” Louis smile widened at Harry
understanding his reference.
“No sound is as sweet as your laugh,” Louis started.
“And no sight is as sweet as your smile,” Harry completed, his cheek dimpling.
It was a saying the pair had come up with one carefree afternoon. A saying that
was scribbled on the insides of books and at the ends of letters. When others
were around, the phrase would be shortened to ‘no sound, no sight.’ Like a
small victory, a coded declaration of love. Harry loved the poetic softness of
it. They brought their arms together again, pressing their sides close.
The younger boy had something on his mind, though. The small event shouldn’t
bother him as much as he let it. He should be used to the feeling. Harry
watched their dusty boots, contemplating his next words.
“This morning,” Harry began. “Alone in my bed, I woke up cold and wanting to
kiss you,” his somber tone clouded the sunny day. “I knew you had to leave
before we got caught, but I couldn’t stop wondering…” He dropped the sentence.
Truth be told, Harry wasn’t quite sure what he would have said. He wondered
many things, all written on tear-soaked paper which always ended up in the
fireplace.
Louis slowed the pace until the pair stopped. With wide, searching eyes, he
studied Harry’s face. The younger boy cocked an eyebrow up. Louis just
breathed.
It’s a subject they skirt around. Faces close. Harry wanted to talk about it,
but also didn’t. It needed to be discussed, but maybe if they ignored it things
would be fine. Which they wouldn’t be.
“I wish we could honestly be together,” Louis whispered. “No hiding, forever.”
“I don’t want anyone else to have you, to take you away from me,” Harry stated.
Louis brought his hands to the younger boy’s cheeks.
“They never will, not really, not truly” Louis replied. Leaning into the touch,
Harry closed his eyes. He focused on the soft fingertips and the steady
breathing of the older boy. His eyes opened as he began to speak.
“I want to believe it more than I know it is a lie,” Harry scrunched face in
displeasure.
“My lamb, my love, I lie not. Trust in me, we will find a way,” Louis pressed a
gentle, tender kiss to Harry’s lips. Thumbs brushed over cheekbones. Harry’s
face fell into an easy smile. As Louis’ hands slid to Harry’s shoulders, they
laid their foreheads together.
“You are warm, like the sun,” Harry said softly, wanting to drop the sad
subject. Louis pulled their heads apart to rest his soothing blue eyes upon the
younger boy. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis, tugging him closer until
their chests touched. They grinned at each other.
“That is because I am filled with love,” Louis sprinkled little kisses on
Harry’s face, who in turn giggled.
“Why are you so sweet, my prince?” Harry dipped his head down to Louis’
jawline, leaving a trail of pecks and nibbles.
Tipping his head back, Louis tittered while saying “Because I know you prefer
sweets.” Harry licked a line up the older boy’s neck to under his chin. Eyes
closing, Louis hummed under the sensual touch.
“But I do yearn for the taste of salt on such occasions as these,” Harry
growled low in Louis’ ear, pulling their hips together. He pushed them off the
path a bit to be more concealed by the vines.
Louis breathed out shakily. “H-Harry,” his eyes darted around looking for any
hidden observers. “My pet, this is risky. Also, musn’t we- Oh,” Louis moaned
low mid-sentence as Harry grabbed his buttocks and rocked their bodies
together, eyes filled with lust. The older boy giggled into his lover’s mouth
as they kissed. “Musn’t we return before the others suspect?”
Harry kissed down Louis’ neck, hands coming to undo the front buttons of his
trousers. “I thought Zayn was our lookout?” One of three buttons undone. Harry
ran his hands down Louis’ body as he knelt.
“He can only stall so much before my father comes and finds you- ah,” Louis
faltered. Wrapping his hands around his lover’s thighs, Harry used his teeth to
undo a second button.
“Feasting on my bawbles like the mandrakes we are,” the older boy finished,
sweat forming on his upper lip.
Laughter bubbled inside Harry. He sat back on his heels, hands in his lap.
“Would you like me to stop, then?” He said with a smirk.
Louis looked down at him incredulously. “No, of course not, but we must be
quick, my love.” If he must.
Smiling devilishly, Harry leaned in. He breathed hot against the tented fabric.
After he undid the last button, he moved the fabric out of the way. Harry took
Louis in his hand and licked a strip along the underside, taking the head in
and giving a good suck. He felt fingers graze his scalp. Gripping Harry’s hair,
Louis let out a soft, breathy moan. “Ah, yes that’s a good boy,” the older boy
said in a raspy voice.
Harry pushed himself to take his lover in deeper. Wiry hair brushed against his
nose. Wanting to remember every detail, he inhaled deeply. To Harry, Louis
smelt of sweat and spice and bath salts. The pureness of Louis in this state
sent the younger boy’s mind wading through oceans and walking through gardens.
He was the lapping of waves and the first buds of spring. Something felt
indescribably right about being with this boy in every way possible.
He began to bob his head to stop himself from choking. Harry watched the older
boy through his eyelashes. Louis’ eyelids fluttered as the sun sparkled on his
glossy lips. He was beautiful and delicious and heavenly. The way his breath
hitched when Harry dragged his tongue was the most brilliant thing in the
entirety of France at that moment. Harry brought his lips to the head and
pressed open-mouthed kisses, letting his tongue dip into the slit. He squeezed
one hand on Louis’ thigh, while the other worked the bit of cock not in his
mouth.
Louis bit his lip. “Yes, yes Harry,” he whimpered out little phrases, hips
twitching. Harry dug his fingers into the older boy’s hips to hold him still as
he took the entire cock in his mouth again. The grip in his hair tightened.
Harry inched off the cock enough to give a strong suck. Watching for warning
signs, Harry kept his eyes on his lover while he began to bob his head at a
quickening pace.
Dipping his head backwards, Louis exhaled what might have been the beginning of
the younger boy’s name, but was left unfinished. That was the only signal Harry
received before he felt a hot stream coat his tongue and the back of his
throat. He coughed lightly with his mouth still around Louis. When he pulled
off, Harry let salty mettle slick his throat while he licked the last dribbles
off the cock head. Looking up, Harry might have mistaken Louis for a descending
angel. Flushed cheeks, glistening with a halo of sun around him. His hand
loosens from the younger boy’s hair to thumbs over his lips, catching a drop of
escaped cum. Harry sucked the mettle off Louis’ finger. The older boy dawned a
lazy smile, which Harry reciprocated.
With his breathing returning to normal, Louis praised his lover. “Harry, dear,
you are truly full of wonders.” Harry felt his grin widen with pride. But he
still bared a flush and knew his voice would be rough when he spoke.
Standing up, Harry attempted to fix his mussy hair.
“Oh dash it all,” Louis said, eyeing his boy up and down. Harry’s knees were
tinged green and his boots quite dusty. Cleaning himself up, the older boy
tucked himself away.
“I’ll say I took a tumble,” Harry grinned sheepishly. He almost wanted everyone
to know what he had just done, but dozens upon dozens of potential consequences
ended those thoughts. He stepped forward and began fixing Louis’ collar, who
started fixing Harry’s as well.
“I’ll reward you for this,” Louis said, looking at the younger boy with glossy
blue eyes.
“Right now?” Harry teased. He gave a firm tug on Louis’ collar, bringing their
bodies close again. Truly, he twitched in his pants as they spoke. Friction
from his tight trousers did not help.
Louis brought his mouth to Harry’s ear. Lips brushed over skin. “Later,” he
whispered.
Harry almost soiled his pants at the lust in Louis’ voice. He giggled nervously
at the thought.
When Louis pulled away, his eyes rolled, but he still smiled. “You are…” he
started, but Harry silenced his with a kiss to the nose.
“Do I look as sinful as you do?” Harry tangled their arms together. The sun
only made sweat trickle down his back more quickly.
“Probably,” Louis sighed. He tugged the younger boy’s arm. “We’ll fix ourselves
as we walk, come now, love.”
 
*****
 
Zayn was brushing a horse when the boys returned. Although their arms were
untangled, Harry and Louis walked shoulder to shoulder. Their red cheeks had
subsided a bit, but they still carried with them an air of sin.
A speckled horse stood tied up outside the back entrance to the large house
with Zayn mindlessly stroking its coat. More of a side entrance used by staff,
this area of the house was notably less extravagant than the rest. Instead of
polished wood, a worn stable door hung with the top open. Large bushes of pink
flowers contrasted the gray stone, the ground covered in a meager layer of
rock. Outlining the path to the entrance, a crooked fence sagged under the
weight of plump birds. Simple, yet beautiful.
Harry remembered sneaking out through this way with Louis when they were
younger. Starry nights and moon-lit kisses. But here stood Zayn, now. His black
hair swept gracefully around his face. Unlike Harry and Louis, Zayn looked
well-kept. The maroon of his tailcoat boasted brightly against pristine
trousers tucked into black boots.
Zayn turned his head upon hearing footsteps crackling the gravel. Though his
face looked annoyed, his eyes danced with amusement.
“I can only brush a horse so long before the staff questions my sanity,” Zayn
said, turning to fully greet his friends as they approached. “I took a ride
around the place, as well.” He leaned against the horse’s post with palm of his
hand.
“Apologies, Zayn,” Harry smiled awkwardly. “We got a bit, eh,” the pair stopped
near their friend. “Carried away,” Harry said with a hint of mischievousness.
“What did–,” Zayn stopped himself. Eyes scanned over the pair before coming to
a conclusion. “Never mind, I don’t want to know,” he said, playfully making
disgusted face. Louis rolled his eyes.
“No one asked about either of you, though,” Zayn continued. His brown eyes fell
to Harry’s dirty knees. “Instead of a green dress, you gave him green
trousers,” he said with a taunting laugh. Harry looked down at himself. If
possible, the stains appeared more prominent than before. Secrets seemed fun,
but when a majority of the good memories Harry had were secrets, they weren’t
fun. Only the linens of his bed knew what he wanted most desperately. Wiping
away any bad thoughts, he played along with Zayn.
“We’ll change before meal, don’t fret, chuckaboo,” Harry teased.
“I understand the compulsion,” Zayn smirked, raising an eyebrow. “I once tipped
the velvet on a beach.”
Louis extended his hand in the air as if to praise. “My sincerest
congratulations,” he said sarcastically, drawing laughs from the boys. Harry
always found Louis funny.
“You two might want to hurry inside before someone important finds you all
obvious looking,” Zayn said, ushering them towards the doorway. Harry whispered
a ‘thank you’ into his friend’s ear before being tugged hurriedly into the
house by Louis.
Harry had quickly figured out who he could trust amongst friends, family, and
acquaintances. Zayn was to him as the sunrise to the early bird: a constant and
a reason.
Chapter End Notes
     I know this doesn't really /end/ end, so sorry about that. I want to
     write a continuation that is hella complicated and will take a while
     to write. So I will begin drawing up an intense plan for it soon.
     Anyways, hope you enjoyed this! Comments and kudos always
     appreciated! Talk to me on Tumblr!
End Notes
     Tumblr: yourfavouritechild
     All comments and kudos appreciated.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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