🎧- When I'm Older, Ashe

"Maybe when I'm six feet

Underneath the concrete

I'll know what it's like not to want you."

June 2014

Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night

Harry gazes at a sleeping Louis lying in his arms as the warm sunlight slowly breaks in through the translucent curtains at the brink of dawn. His green orbs take in how Louis's face is resting against the crook of his neck, his strong hands clasped lazily around the short man's bare waist as clothes had proven to be nothing but a liability last night. A slight blush colours his cheeks as he reminisces last night events; how an adorably clingy Louis had pushed Harry against the bedroom door- taking the taller man by surprise, how his name fell from his lips against Harry's skin as he edged towards his release, how they had ended up as a tangled mess of bodies and bedsheets in one.

Give me my Romeo; and, when I shall die,

Louis furrows his eyebrows slightly, a tensed expression on his face which makes Harry think he might wake up but before he can get worried about getting caught about his little staring thing, Louis only hides his face more against his chest as he mumbles something incoherent.

Harry smiles.

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

His eyes fall upon his collarbones, tracing along the chest, his only tattoo (unlike Harry who has turned his arms into his only form of expression). It is what it is. "I got it when I turned eighteen," Louis had let out a small smile when Harry asked him about it, "Nothing in my life was making sense at that point, it made me feel somewhat better knowing that it didn't always have to."

Louis is everything that Harry had spent his life avoiding.

He is loud, so loud. He never fails to back up his beliefs and his principles, no matter against whom, insisting that human beings must stand up for what they believe in. Unlike Harry who can't even admit his sexuality to himself, he is so openly gay, refusing to suppress his sexual orientation to please the hetero-normative world. What Harry loved the most was his willingness to see the good in people even though he had been hurt on multiple occasions, to wear his heart on his sleeve. There had been incidents when Louis had given lifts to shady strangers in the middle of the night to remote parts of the city or the time he even let a young man he had met only that day to spend the night at his flat even though Harry had scolded him on the phone about how careless he was being towards his own safety.

And he will make the face of heaven so fine,

And Louis is everything Harry isn't.

Harry isn't brave. Harry isn't someone who lets people gets close. Harry isn't someone who has the freedom to be in a relationship due to his own fault. And yet, here he is. Wrapped around a boy for whom his feelings overwhelm him from time to time. He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't dream about what he can't have, he shouldn't promise Louis things that they both know he can't provide.

What did he do to deserve someone like him? Nothing. He has done nothing.

His heart clenches as he watches the soft features of the small boy. Harry knows if Louis came to know his thoughts he would let out a disapproving sigh, pulling the green-eyed boy close and telling him how wrong he is being, how harsh he is being to himself. Harry knows this cause Louis has done it before.

"I think I am falling in love with you," Harry goes to whisper against Louis's feathery hair before he stops short, scared. He doesn't know what love feels like, cause he has never been in love. He isn't sure if this is that feeling. 

But what if it is love? What if he has wasted his chances to be happy, spending too much time staring into the abyss of societal idealism? What if he had confused the stars for mere diamonds that are nothing but rocks?

Harry has never been sure of himself, after all.

So, instead of giving his thoughts a form, he settles down for less like he always does, he merely presses a chaste kiss to Louis' cheek, fearing the worst that these four walls would be the only witnesses for the amount of endearment he holds for the little boy, afraid that their story would end before it saw the light of the day. 

That all the world will be in love with the night.

                                                                                                     ******

"I am curious, when did you learn to play the guitar?"

A sleepy Louis asks the singer after he is woken up by the melody of the strings and opens his blue eyes to a very domestic looking Harry wearing a loose light blue t-shirt with black shorts, his hair up in a messy bun, sitting on the tiled floor cross-legged. Slowly but surely, Louis had started to find Harry's belongings in his flat- a shirt that laid forgotten, a diary of songs he wrote, a freaking guitar he had forgotten to pick back up- until Louis had convinced Harry to just put some stuff over in the space Louis cleared out in his closet for him.

The short boy lets out a small noise as he stretches his upper body, trying to get rid of the post-sleep laziness as Harry passes a sheepish smile. "When I turned twelve. We had a new music teacher and I was obsessed."

"With the teacher?"

"Learning guitar, you idiot," Harry rolls his eyes as Louis shrugs playfully. "He made us try all these new instruments for a musical. I didn't get any part but I stuck with learning how to play." He looks down at the mahogany coloured instrument, the strings against his finger calluses as he remembers how his parents surprised him with the gift when he turned thirteen. "It was also around when I started to write songs."

"You remember the first song you wrote?"

"I do. It was about a turtle who loved the river so much that he chose to drown."

Louis blinks.

At the confused reaction, Harry lets out a light laugh. "It wasn't that deep at that time. I had just watched a cartoon and thought, 'wow that's funny,'."

"It's not funny," Louis lets out a sigh of disapproval as he slides down beside Harry, his back against the wood of the bed, "It's fucking weird."

"Whatever you take it as," He smiles as Louis rests his head on Harry's back, the sleep still evident. A comfortable silence falls upon them which is seldom pierced through by the sound of strings and Harry's fingers moving against the instrument. Louis is this close to falling asleep again (it's a Sunday for fuck's sake, if it was up to him he wouldn't even get out of the bed), when Harry says, his voice inherently calm, "It helped, you know. The music. I learned many instruments later on. Piano, violin, trumpet. Helped me to figure stuff out a bit or made me stop thinking when things got too much in the following years."

Louis lifts his head up slightly to look into the green eyes which hold an emotion that tells him that this is something which shall never be discussed again, not with anyone. Louis has learned there are many things like that when it comes to Harry. When Louis met Harry in the club, he thought that Harry was an open book, someone so willing to talk about his loss, someone so willing to provide help to a stranger. But it took months to realise that Harry was someone who slid matters under a transparent rug. They were there, you could see them. But never approach them, never touch them, never understand them. Until Harry decided it was safe to let it out.

He smirks teasingly, a small attempt at making Harry realise that there was no storm anymore, just the soft pitter-patter of drops, nothing to be scared of. "Arrival of the gay panic?"

"Something like that, yeah," He says as he feels Louis' hand hold his wrist lightly, his thumb rubbing the edge of his palm, "Holmes Chapel used to be this small town. Everyone kind of knew everyone. There weren't many things to do. You could hang out at Walmart, go for a movie, stuff like that."

"I think I kind of always knew I liked boys, but I didn't know that I was gay. Cause like, I didn't even know what being gay meant, you know?" Louis nods, he knew. "Yeah, like there wasn't a concept of sexual orientation or sexuality spectrum that we, as kids, were made aware of. I knew that my family wasn't homophobic, at least I hoped so, but I never had anyone who told me or like, anyone to look up to who could say that 'Hey, this is normal'."

"Even when I got bullied," His voice grows slightly shaky, the underneath tension seeping through the cracks of the strong facade which makes Louis tighten his hold, "I would just tell myself that they weren't bullying me cause I was gay, they were bullying me cause I was just weird. You know, socially awkward and stuff. Now, I look back I see that I would have done anything to not accept to myself that I was gay."

"I never actually came out to anyone, you know. Like mum and Gemma just knew, Simon found out. So, no one," He says softly, passing Louis a small smile, "except you."

Louis gulps slightly, the weight of the responsibility falling on his shoulders, as the realization of what he means to Harry hits him. "Coming out shouldn't be something that one thinks that they have to do, you know," He says, choosing his words carefully, "Straight people don't have to come out now, do they? Most of us do but I like to think that fifty years down the line, there would come a time when there would be no need to do that unless you want to, not because society expects you to. You don't have to pressurize yourself, you know."

"I realize that yeah, it's just-, I don't have a choice, Louis," Harry sighs, "I don't expect you to get it, can we talk about something else?"

His tone sounds full of spite, accusing almost. It makes Louis think about how different their journeys regarding their sexuality have been. Louis is a deeply insecure person, with a slight splash of self-destructive tendencies, but his sexuality has been one of the rare things that have made him feel comfortable in his own skin. He feels like he belongs, he feels accepted.

Harry doesn't.

And Louis has tried to bring it up. Several times. About how Harry should find some loopholes, how he can just leave the goddamned homophobic cloud of management and go to the media.

Harry says he isn't ready.

Louis doesn't have it in him to say otherwise.

"You know who was the first person I came out to?" Louis says, sliding himself against the floor to face Harry, the younger boy letting out a small smile at the soft change in the conversation, urging him to continue.

"Nialler," Coming to London kinda opened the doors for him that he had been holding shut tight. And there was this cute little Irish brunette boy with misplaced teeth who was so obnoxious in front of Louis, but so quiet in front of everybody else. "I actually had a crush on him when we first became friends."

"Wait, what?"

"For three weeks, tops," He says, an embarrassed look on his face that resembles the one when he had let out this confession years ago to a twenty-year-old Niall who was way too pleased with this information for Louis' liking. 

( "So, you are saying you fell for my ocean deep blue eyes?"

"Shut up, Niall."

"Or the cute Irish accent?"

"I was thirteen."

"Did these hands look good to you?"

"Fuck off."

An egotistical smirk was plastered across his face and Louis knew he had walked right into that one. "With you?")

"Oh, please," Louis exclaims, hitting Harry on the shoulder who couldn't stop laughing, "Every girl- and some boys like me probably- had a crush on Niall in sixth grade. He was a shy funny guy on whom puberty was shockingly kind. Everyone fell for that cute shit." 

"Did it hurt when you realised he didn't reciprocate those feelings?"

The older boy rolls his eyes, almost offended at the prospect. "It's Niall. I wasn't in love with him or something."

A hearty chuckle leaves Harry which makes Louis wanna record it and keep with him forever. "What about you, Styles? Any crushes or cheesy heartbreaking toxic relationships? I have had enough of those. And no, your fake ones don't count," Louis says, as he can see Harry open his mouth which is closed after his statement.

"Not really," He says, thinking. Almost wishing he would remember some stupid crush he had in his teenage years. He doesn't. Except for that cringy one night stands he had.  "No crushes. No relationships. I mean, I don't mind it, I guess? I am not a big fan of labelling things. Look at us, for example," Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise, uncertain of where the conversation might lead to, "I think we have something simple, you know? Like I don't have to go through the emotional work of putting a name to it."

Louis feels weird. He doesn't know what or why but he doesn't like it. At all.

Maybe because Harry is there saying things about how simple it is when it has been nothing but confusing and emotionally tiring for Louis. A bridge in communication. A fault in their talks has taken place and Louis didn't even feel it. Is that really it? Has Louis really been suffering all alone?

He shouldn't ask Harry this. He knows that. He will be breaking one of their unsaid rules. He will probably get his heartbroken.

But Louis is so so tired.

He is so tired of feeling content in Harry's arms while knowing it won't last for long, he is so tired of being the closest one who can reach Harry then being someone whom Harry wouldn't talk for days. He is so tired of being taken for granted. He is emotionally exhausted after investing in something that might as well doesn't exist in first place.

So, he asks him.

"What if I want something more?"

Harry stills.

No.

No, no, no, no.

They aren't supposed to be having this conversation. Not right now.

Harry's heart skips a beat at the abrupt question, his left-hand lets go of the small's boys wrist. An action that makes Louis' mind fill with dread, the loss of physical contact only paving the way to what lies ahead. He looks scared, Harry observes. He is cradling his arm to his chest, fidgeting with the collar of the striped shirt. Harry's striped shirt Louis had acclaimed after the previous night's events. His eyes oscillate between his bare thighs and the tiled floor, not looking at Harry. An obvious sign of nervousness. As if he is approaching an unknown territory with uncertainty, as if he thinks the comfort between him and Harry is long gone and he has to fend for himself.

Harry hates it.

"Louis..." He starts, quickly losing the fleeting trail of thought he had. He isn't ready for this conversation. Things are good. Things shouldn't be messed up.

"It's just, I-" Louis cuts himself short, glaring at the floor, along the line of tiles as he proceeds to take a deep breath and tightens his palms around themselves. He looks up at Harry, his pupils dilated, the flight or fight response battling in his heart. He finally speaks, his blue eyes locking in Harry's, his voice inherently calm. "You know how I feel about you, right?"

Harry finds himself devoid of any words. It feels like he has lost the ability to form his thoughts into a coherent language.

So much for being a world-renowned lyricist.

"You are not that oblivious, Harry and I am not that subtle. We both know that. And I- I can't keep pretending that whatever the fuck this is," He says shakily, signalling his frenized hands between them, "that it's just casual. Not for me atleast. So, just. Just tell me."

His eyes hold a plea.

A plea for Harry to say something. Anything.

"Baby, we-," Harry finds himself saying, the term of endearment making Louis cringe. A painful sight to witness. He gulps. "I can't."

I can't.

Just that. Is that all? Is that all Louis gets? After months of hiding away his feelings, galloping in self-pity, always having something but not ever enough, that's all he gets?

He bits his lower lip, suddenly feeling a wave of anger crashing against him. "You can't what?" He finds himself asking Harry.

Harry shakes his head furiously. "We can't be in a relationship, Louis."

"Why not?" Maybe cause he doesn't have feelings for you.  Maybe cause you guys are just an experiment. That's all. The condescending voice in the back of his mind echoes in his ears, making him bite the inside of his cheek. A pathetic attempt at keeping his thoughts at bay. "What difference would it make, Harry?"

Because if he draws the line, if he labels them as an actual relationship, then when they have to part ways- which will happen, Harry knows it- he wouldn't be able to live knowing he caused him so much hurt.

But if he pretends, if he acts like there is nothing to take care of, atleast then when things end, Harry could excuse that no hearts were broken, cause no strings were attached in the first place.

Harry squeezes his tight shut momentarily, not liking the tone of the conversation, sensing the inevitable doom. "Why do we have to label ourselves, Lou? It doesn't matter."

A slight pinch to the heart is followed by a sharp intake of the breath as the small boy continues, his voice high and quivering, "Because somedays, Harry, you act like we are friends, somedays we are way more than just friends and somedays you don't even bother to reply to my texts for days. So, just fucking tell me. It is what it is, right?"

"Don't do this," Harry's voice comes out as desperate as he moves ahead, putting his one hand on Louis' bicep and other on the boy's face which he moves away from the touch.

His actions hold a plea.

A plea for ignorance towards the underlying feelings.

"I don't where we are but Louis you mean so much to me, I swear," Louis winces in his touch. Harry might be telling the truth but all Louis hears are excuses. "You know my situation, Lou. We can't be what you want us to be. I can't, I don't want to hurt you."

I am hurting, Louis wants to say, for you. Instead, as Harry's hold on the back of his neck tightens, he allows himself to melt in his touch. A watery trembling smile comes across his face and Harry can feel a part of him die at the sight. Louis whispers, "It's a 'no', right?"

No. No. No. Please no. That's all Harry can think as he dips his head down to place his forehead against Louis'. He replies in a hushed voice, a vain attempt at picking up the broken pieces. "You are so amazing, Lou. And I don't- I can't ruin what we have. It is one of the best things. Love, please..."
Please don't leave, the words that are never said out loud.

"You don't have to baby me, Haz," Louis says, lifting his head up to look at him. A desperate look in his eyes, his hands tightly clasped around Louis, his figure folded onto himself as if to shield him from any pain. "I am an adult, I can handle it. Just, be honest with me. We can-we can still be friends." The word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, something he had never wanted to happen. "It's okay, I promise. So, tell me," He whispers, afraid of breaking the painful silence that has fallen upon them, "Is it a 'no'?"

Yes. No. Please, don't leave. You are being selfish. I don't want to be just friends. Harry, stop. I want to kiss you, hold you, make love to you. You will end up hurting him. Like you always do. I don't want you to leave, I lov- If you loved him, you would let him go.

I love you.

Let him go.

Harry can feel Louis' shaky breath against his lips and he feels his own eyes sting with tears threatening to slip as he whispers, "I am sorry."

Louis presses a whimper in the back of his throat, and tightly bites the inside of his cheek. It's done. They're done.

He takes in a shuddering breath, taking a step back, detaching from all the touch. From Harry. "Thanks for being honest, Harry," He presses his lips in a thin line, pressing his trembling hand to the back of his neck. "I appreciate it, it's okay. I, um-" He clears his throat to get rid of the stinging feeling clawing at his insides, his voice comes out a bit high, "I am gonna take a shower. Gotta get to work, you know."

His movements are frantic as he moves around the room, picking out his clothes. "Niall's been a stressed asshole lately, don't wanna be at the end of it. Yep. So, uh," He passes a fleeting glance to Harry who is looking away from him, staring at a wall, "I will drive, it's okay. I will message you later. You can leave."

He quickly skips his steps, closing the bathroom door shut, falling against the wooden piece as the tears fall down his cheeks. He doesn't forget to turn the shower on in hopes that the sound of falling droplets fall against the white floor would fade out the sound of his sobs.

It hurt. It hurt so bad.

Harry glares at the white wall, the edges of his nails digging in the skin of his palm. He can feel the metallic taste of blood, probably a result of biting down on his lip so hard. A blanket of self-loathing falls upon him as he lets out a strangled sob, suddenly aware of everything he has lost. Two hearts bleed. Two lovers die. One story writes.

These violent delights have violent ends.
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I hope you guys are doing good. The bold italic lines were part of Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet.
I have exams and loads of home stuff so updates might be a bit irregular. I hope you liked this :)
Please take care of yourself. Be kind to others and most importantly, to yourself.

All the love,
Grace xx