so casually cruel in the name of being honest by lumineres
Harry kisses him instead, bruises Louis’ and his own lips, trying to push the words into Louis’ mouth with his tongue. Maybe they’ll take hold there, and the words Harry knows he shouldn’t hope for will grow roses on Louis’ tongue, and the thorns will prick him just the way they’re shredding Harry’s insides, and maybe he’ll choke on the stems and the vines will lace in to his ribcage just the same way Harry has become a host to this, and then maybe he’ll say it. Maybe he’ll feel it too.
Part 1 of loving him was red