and idk i was freaking out this morning and i felt like this basically

anonymous asked:

you have witch powers? i've always been fascinated with "paranormal" stuff, including magic, so i was wondering if u could tell me stuff about it. is magic real? what kind of stuff did ur grandma do? are ghosts and spirits real too? what kinds of spells can witches cast? is it like supernatural? sorry if i'm asking a lot of questions i'm just so fascinated and curious. i didn't even know witches were like, legit until i read ur tags, i just thought that people back then said that so they had 1/2

2/2 a reason to burn a woman they didn’t like. ok now i’m rambling but in short, what can u tell me about witch stuff? i’m just asking cause i’m really curious :)

(about my tags on this)

#whenever phil gets out the tarot cards and pulls something scarily accurate i’m just like…. yes…. good…show us your witch powers…… #(my own experience with tarot? so reassuring. and calming. it’s like asking for a friend’s advice but that friend is your own brain.) #also my great grandmother was a witch by profession and i definitely got some of her magic #i have not yet learned to recognise a feeling when i feel it.. but when stuff happens later i’m like OH THAT WAS MY MYSTERIOUS FEELING #one of our sheep died a week or so ago.. and for two days straight i was outside in the middle of the night staring at the moon #and wondering why i felt death in the air #and the rain made me cry and it felt like release but i didn’t know why #and i immediately started worrying about our sheep but didn’t follow up to see if they were okay #then two days later my mother comes in and tells me one of our sheep died and two days ago had given my mother “the death look” #if you’ve never seen someone or something die… there’s this look they have that’s like a disgraced peacefulness and self-awareness #but basically i knew the sheep was gonna die without any reason for me to think that #and i need to learn to follow up on my instincts because they’re ever-present and i never know when it’s a psychic thing or random anxiety #disclaimer: IS IT ALL BULLSHIT who knows? but science doesn’t know a whole lot about a lot of things and this stuff is natural to me #so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

okay!! i was expecting someone to ask, so here goes. (in case anyone’s wondering, this is a personal post, and no, i’m not making this stuff up.) (feel free to reblog if you want. but it’s so goddamn long aaah)

first off, an opinion: whether or not you believe magic is real in this world is entirely related to whether or not it is real. at least in my books. magic/paramormal stuff can always be observed, but if you don’t believe it’s anything beyond coincidence or skilled trickery, it’s not gonna impact you.

i do believe in ghosts (or djinns, or something else human-like), but in my experience they don’t really do anything except exist in some other realm and occasionally become visible when i’m at my most lucid, at that point between waking and sleeping. most people (myself included) would say it’s just a hallucination. but like…. who’s to say it isn’t real, just in a way we as humans don’t yet understand? y’know?

the most interesting ghost sighting i’ve experienced was when i was fully awake, not hallucinating. i was in a car with my sister, my sister’s friend, and her mother - and we drove over a bridge, and i saw a fritzing semi-translucent black figure walking along the peak. i looked back and it was gone. it wasn’t scary, it was just really cool. i saw that with my own two eyes, i have zero doubt i saw it, and for that moment, it was there.

other times i’ve seen things pass through walls, or felt presences in the room that vanish when i look. i get deja vu maybe once a week. the ability comes and goes in phases, switched on and off whenever i tell someone about it. it’s like that part of my brain gets really shy and goes into hiding when it’s mentioned.

sometimes it can be pretty powerful. there’ve been moments when a deja vu begins, i remember it from a dream, fast-forward through the memory to remember what happens, and i get ahead of present time, so i predict what’s in front of me by about one to three seconds. usually it’s snippets of conversation, or my hands moving to complete an action, or words i’m typing. (let me tell you, it’s so freaking bizarre when you’re consciously typing, thinking about what you’re typing, and simultaneously remembering typing it before, and knowing what you’re about to type despite not yet knowing. and then seeing it happen. i think a lot of people reading this would be like “what?” but i know there’s someone out there who knows exactly what i mean)

for a long time in my teenage years i told people i’d see coloured figures, like auras without physical people, just hanging around out there in the world, but due to health issues a lot of my teenage memories are gone, and the only memory i have of that stuff is the recollection of me telling people about it, and remembering it while telling people. it’s really weird. i sometimes think maybe i made that up?? but i don’t understand why i’d do that when i do actually see other things sometimes.

once, my family visited this old historic building, and i remember seeing a woman in a maid’s outfit duck through a doorway. but she wasn’t actually there. so. idk.

my great-grandmother (or great-great grandmother?) on my mother’s side used to sell love spells to the people in her Indian village. my mother told me about it when i was little. my [great] great grandmother would write a spell on parchment, and the client had to go home and burn it in their fire. and she would curse people, in exchange for payment. that’s all i know about that. but my grandmother (also on my mother’s side) used to have some kind of power, i never got to ask about it while she was still alive. (she was an awesome woman. one of the first women in her country and generation to go to university.)

personally, having been raised as a muslim, i always felt really disconnected from the culture and practices of the religion, even though i believe in the supernatural aspects of it right down to my core. that’s despite my ultimate acknowledgement of facts being deeply rooted in hard science. recently (like, in the past few months) i’ve started to rediscover my faith - directly following on from a quiet interest in the pinterest & instagram aesthetics of paganism and new age magic, which as a concept i was never really sure about. i just really liked how it looked. basically, it clicked in my brain that islamic prayers could, in essence, just be spells. you gotta take everything with a grain of salt. they might not work. but that’s the beauty of it.

a few weeks ago i stumbled across a prayer on tumblr, and read its intended purpose: “Allah will grant whoever recites this seven times in the morning or evening whatever he desires from this world or the next”.

and… i started to think, maybe the purpose is not to actually do that. nothing ought to be a get-out-of-jail-free/do-this-and-your-life-is-made type thing. maybe the purpose is to make you believe nothing can go wrong. and that every bad thing that happens–? it happens so that you can learn from it. and eventually, after many things change, you realise what you desire was not the thing you thought you desired. (idk how to explain that. an example from my life: i really wanted to be a veterinarian growing up. then i got sick, dropped out of school. and now i’m a writer. i want to be a writer more than i ever wanted to be a vet. i had to get sick and my life had to fall apart before i could discover that. writing was never something i’d have considered before.)

my point is, if you believe everything that happens to you will ultimately be a good thing, bad things don’t hurt so much.

and if you take something as a sign, it’s a sign. it’s just your own brain taking hints from the world around you and using them to conjure up a decision. if you wanna believe it’s magic, it is.

personally i like protection prayers/spells and just…generally positive ones. i say prayers for sick friends, people who i see on my tumblr dash who are having a bad time, and if i see or hear about disasters or worldwide events. i’m not expecting it to have a visible impact, but like.. what’s the harm? at the very least it makes me feel like i did something if i don’t have money to give, or i can’t be there with a friend, or the world is falling apart and i’m helpless. praying or saying a spell is just hoping, really, really hard. if some greater being is out there, listening? cool. (but what if god doesn’t wanna do anything? maybe it’s like my cupcake theory. god puts the ingredients in a baking tray, shoves it in the oven, forgets about it. the universe rises as a cupcake. god made it. but the universe is doing its own damn thing.)

regarding tarot cards: again, it’s self-reflection. you can believe answers come from outside influences, but it’s easily just as much about interpreting generic advice and making it mean something to you. but personally i’ve drawn random cards, and known that no other card in the deck would’ve been as relevant at that moment. i’ve used tarot cards to determine the endings for my stories, and coincidentally pulled cards that directly represent my title characters.

one time i was thinking about my fic “The Moonlighter and the Magician” and the card i pulled first was The Magician. and i was like gee thanks tarot cards that’s helpful. (but actually? it meant those cards were on the same wavelength as me. think about it. 78 cards, there’s a one in 78 chance i pull that one on my first try.)

apart from my wonky first-ever tarot readings with the Rider-Waite travel-size tarot deck (which belonged to my mother), i’ve never pulled anything that didn’t eventually make sense. i use The Wild Unknown cards now, i relate to them so much more. plus they’re mine, not borrowed or abandoned for years, which probably helps. (buying those cards was the most money i ever spent on anything. i don’t regret it.)

is any of this like the show ‘supernatural’? not really. the closest i can say my experiences have come to the show would be the episode “faith”. just, the whole episode. it doesn’t matter if it’s the real deal, so long as it works. and boy, does it work for me. and a lot of other people.

like i said, all the spirit-like entities i’ve encountered have been perfectly benign. no monsters, except things i’m pretty sure are nightmares.

but on that note, i take a lot of things to help me sleep. if i didn’t, i’d be waking up screaming night and day (i hit whistle register while screaming, once). i see faces in the dark and creatures in my bedroom, even when my eyes are closed and i’m awake. i sleep with a light on, and i prefer to sleep in the day. i cannot even deal with the presences in my room.

for that matter, my room is definitely the most presence-heavy room in the house. now, although it’s obviously just in a drafty area, i feel the cold spots. all. the. time. i’m feeling one right now as i type this. the door and window are both closed. the heater is always on. the draft comes from the same corner of the ceiling my cat stares at when she’s “staring into space”. there’s definitely something there, but it legit doesn’t bother me. it watches me get dressed sometimes, but it’s not weird about it. like i said, benign.

i feel energy everywhere i go. i can’t stay in my family’s open plan living room comfortably for more than a few minutes, because that room is filled with people and pets coming and going all freaking day, and even when it’s empty, it’s so LOUD. there’s vibrations and voices coming out of the walls, because the house absorbs it all. as a generally tired person, that room exhausts me. i can only stay there if i have social energy. (yes, even an empty room.)

i am so, so sensitive to people’s moods and the energy they let out (to the point where i burst out screaming if i see a negative microexpression during a personal conversation). i find phone calls very difficult, not just because of social anxiety, but because i can’t sense energy as easily as i want to, and is natural for me. skype calls aren’t the same as being there in person. a lot of this could also be autism-related, but nearly everything about me is autism-related, because i’m autistic. go figure.

one time, the day i had my first period, i passed out in a maths exam. all the other times in my life, i’ve seen black or maybe red when i passed out, but this time it was a striking cobalt blue. and i heard SO MANY VOICES, i thought the whole classroom was full of people shouting. my P.E. teacher was observing that exam, she carried me out of the room and lay me on the floor outside. i told her about the voices, she looked at me in confusion and said “there were no voices?? the whole room was silent for the exam.” obviously that was a weird day, but given the amount of times i’ve lost conciousness in my life, before and after that day, i know the warm muggy feeling of slipping away, and i guarantee that one was just a little bit not-normal.

my cat Wilson follows me everywhere. if you’ve ever seen a picture of a witch and her familiar, that’s me and Wilson. she leaves the house if i leave, and she’ll walk down the road beside me to make sure i stay safe. she only lets me leave completely if i go in a car, but even then, she tries to come too. i know what she says when she talks. she speaks in words for me. it translates naturally in my head without a thinking process.

there was this one time when i was about 15 my parents took me to an after-hours medical centre because apparently i was ~speaking in tongues~ or whatever. i don’t remember it, i remember ‘waking up’ with a doctor’s flashlight in my eyes, crying, then holding my sister’s hand as we looked at the fish in the fishtank afterwards. i can’t say how legit that is because i just.. don’t remember it.

one time as a kid, i am absolutely sure i was possessed for about 30 seconds. i was walking down the street on a balmy English afternoon, pine needles scattered underfoot, with my elderly grandmother (paternal), my grandfather, and my sister. i must’ve been 6 or 7? and a streak of evil just bolted through me. and i stuck out my foot and my grandmother fell flat on her face. my grandfather tried to help her up, a car driving by pulled up and asked if they needed help, grandfather said no, and got her back to her feet. i can’t remember if i felt remorse. i think i just knew instinctively that it wasn’t me who did it. but like.. i wasn’t just A Nice Kid, okay, i was The Nicest Kid. i just don’t do things like that. ever. especially not to a kind and generous grandmother who i love so very dearly. i never had before, and i never have since. that’s the single most evil thing i’ve ever done in my life and it came out of nowhere. being more aware now, i think it was a djinn (aka a demon in christian beliefs, i think). they’re known for being mischievous. (my grandmother was fine, by the way. this is the first time i’ve told anyone about this.) now i think about it, i remember cobalt blue behind my eyes then, too.

whoops, this is a really long post now. but uh… basically, i’ve just always been open to feeling these things, and believing in what i sense for myself, without subscribing to whether or not the science has been done yet. in fact, i think i’m open to it because i experienced the same stuff when i was young. the energy i feel is very much real to me, completely tangible. i’ve never been able to see auras, but i feel them on some people. i think just being open to feeling something makes it more likely to come to you. i try not to ignore my instincts (because they’re always right. always.) but i find it’s super hard to distinguish between anxiety (which i feel often) and magical ability (which is far less commonly felt). also sometimes the instinct is so faint it doesn’t even become a passing thought, just a blur of something i half-considered. but in hindsight i realise what it ought to have been, had i paid proper attention.

i can comfortably manage to go outside in bare feet, shut my eyes and let the moonlight do its thing. it has an immensely powerful energy, i always feel cleaner inside when i go back in. (my cat Wilson sometimes asks me to go outside with her when there’s a full moon. almost every night, especially on warm nights, but even freezing ones, we can just stand out there for an hour together. watching the moon set is transcendent. far more so than a sunset.)

right now, due to years of bad health, i have to force some natural abilities away (like the nightmares) because they’re too much for me to handle. i think as i recover, over time it’ll be easier for me to accept that stuff back into my life.

oh, one more thing, regarding my health - i have celiac disease, which has kept me essentially bedridden for the last 7+ years - WHICH BY THE WAY, my family spent literally 9 years trying to diagnose. my doctor kept doing an anaemia test, telling me there was nothing wrong with me and sending me back to school. i saw various specialists, herbalists, a naturopath, physiotherapists, cardiologists, had an MRI scan, saw family counsellors, school counsellors, a hypnotist, etc etc - basically consulted every medical professional under the sun when a simple blood test would’ve done it. stupid misogynistic doctor who thinks all teenage girls fake it to get out of school.

but one thing we did do was visit a psychic, who told me i had something called a candida. my dad, a sceptic and nonbeliever, googled it and said it was “some kind of magical thing in the gut”, and was therefore bullshit, so we continued the search for a diagnosis. years later - years - after a change of doctor (who i chose because i got a good vibe from her picture) we find out it’s celiac disease, a disease of the gut. of the hundreds of people we saw, the only ones to even pinpoint the right body part were the psychics. i googled candida just now and guess what? literally celiac disease. this woman diagnosed me with celiac disease by kneeling at my feet, holding my hand, and shutting her eyes for 30 seconds.

for the record, slightly off topic, i know very few men in real life, and this is what the men in my life have been. my doctor, dismissing me as a liar because i was a teenage girl. and my father, dismissing my declining health as “not trying hard enough”, even now, more than a year after i was diagnosed by a doctor. i think this is why i take refuge with male fictional characters. they’re better. i want them to be soft and understanding like the men i’ve never known.

anyway, this is the part of my life’s story i never really pieced together until right now. it’s a lot, more than i expected. i happily call myself a witch. most of my magic goes into my stories, and i think a lot of people who read them feel it, even if they translate it as passion or love or good vibes or something. the amazing comments i get would speak to that. i love the energy i get from comments, because it does come through in typed words, even if it’s much fainter than seeing people face-to-face. some comments just hit me with waves of goodness, even if the words themselves aren’t so powerful. so i really appreciate that stuff. it’s good stuff.

yep. that’s all. i hope this satisfies your curiosity, anon!!! <3

sidealonq  asked:

you're taking fic requests? i have one: (in a basically "everyones happy and not dying" au because i cannot live with the canon cries) where peter brings harry over to his house and aunt may is talking about how he's grown so much and peter has his arm around harry and harry's head is on peter's shoulder and crap idk just general fluff and happiness and peter and harry being adorable cuddly bros(who are super homo)

Harry was nervous.

For the first time in his life since he had been old enough to learn to repress his emotions, he was actually, legitimately nervous.

{rest of prompt under read more}

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here is the rundown of today. yesterday, i guess. i already feel kind of guilty for the entire thing because it felt sort of TOO perfect. like i just literally lived the pentaholic dream. fuck.

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Pitch Pipe and Knitting Needles

anonymous: Could you please write a cute fluff story about Harry and Louis being strangers, but both taking the same train every morning, and every morning Harry is sitting in silence and knitting (you can choose what’s he’s knitting?) and Louis happen to find it extremely cute and sexy and he thinks Harry is kinda hot himself, so they start talking to each other, and so on? :) I just thought it would be super duper cute and I really like your way of writing stuff, so yeah <3 Thank you in advance.

Louis had always been a big dreamer. He had always wanted to be famous, to travel the world, and to have lots of money to support his family as his mum continued to grow older and older. He had thought himself to be a decent singer; his whole family said so, and the Tomlinsons weren’t the type to lie to make someone feel good, even someone in their family. Maybe if The Rogue hadn’t broken up when all his friends went off to university and his confidence hadn’t been shot, he would’ve tried out for one of those silly singing entertainment shows for his fifteen minutes of fame, or he could’ve pooled his money with the other boys and booked a recording studio to record one simple demo and go from there. He really wanted to perform, but he knew those dreams had been dashed once his band disintegrated. He didn’t feel like he could go it alone anyway.

Louis wished he had worked harder in school as well, maybe to earn a scholarship or two. He knew he was smart, he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t. He just hadn’t cared about school, too busy dating and goofing off and not balancing the band and schoolwork and his other antics, so his grades suffered. He had definitely matured since then, but he wished he had gotten his reality check sooner, instead of when it was time to look at universities and he realized his family simply didn’t have enough money to pay for him to go and continue his studies. He had been looking at a teaching degree, maybe with separate music classes on the side, but the funds weren’t there. He was devastated when he realized he wouldn’t be able to go away to school, at least not now. His confidence was gone, his mother was often upset with him for reasons unknown to everyone, and he honestly just felt sad all the time. Louis felt alone and didn’t know what to do with himself. 

Louis tried to keep hope and faith, however. He always carried a pitch pipe in his pocket in case he saw someone who might need some music in their life, and if they did, he decided he would sing for them. He hadn’t used it yet. His days consisted of waking up and heading to the train, off to his measly office internship in the city, where he would take phone calls and inventory of the business shop where he worked, staring out the window at the city below, and daydreaming his days away. He’d go home and make dinner at the flat he had shared with Stan until Stan moved out to live with his girlfriend. At least Stan had the kindness to leave Louis with their cat, Noah. That was his life, and although Louis thought the future was always bright, it’s needless to say that he was often left feeling a tad discouraged with his routines.    

All Harry ever wanted to do was help people. 

It was in his blood, he supposed. His aunt was a therapist, his oldest cousin was a doctor, and his mother was one of the kindest women he had ever known. She had been so accepting of Harry when he came out as gay, and she helped him through everything, wiping his tears away when he was bullied and telling his father off when he refused to accept his son’s sexual orientation. Harry admired her and the rest of his family for their kindness and generosity, and wanted to help others in any way that he could.

His mother had taught him how to knit when he was ten years old. He had been watching her sit on the couch with Gemma, trying to teach her, when all Gemma really wanted to do was go out and play with her friends. But Harry had watched intently and had all but begged Anne to teach him. So she gave him some needles and a ball of blue yarn and put him to work. In no time he was knitting up a storm, learning crazy stitches and getting better and better. Soon he was even better than his mother, and the student became the teacher. Harry began to teach Anne all of the tricks he had learned online and in the innumerable knitting books he had snagged from the library. It was his favorite pastime, his favorite hobby. That, and singing, but he thought he was rubbish at that. Knitting calmed him down, and made him feel like he could do something right.

When he was sixteen and Gemma had gone off to Uni, Anne decided she was sick of living in Holmes Chapel and decided to move herself and Harry to Doncaster, to be closer to Anne’s brother. Harry knew he should be upset because Holmes Chapel was his only home, but it didn’t have much to offer and Harry dreamed big, so he wasn’t all that upset. He was ready for a new beginning, and he was hopeful.

Harry was seventeen now. He was in his last year of school before university, and frankly, he was freaking out. He had not clue what he wanted to do with his life, at least practically. And Harry had always had a tendency to avoid his problems and procrastinate to begin with, which only made him even more stressed and anxious. Harry didn’t have any friends at school yet, and he felt shy and antisocial. He spent his days knitting. It was his coping mechanism. On the train to school, he sit, take out his yarn and needles, and begin to knit. He loved to knit scarves, and he decided he wanted to begin to knit scarves for the homeless. He saw plenty of homeless people at the train stops, near school, on the streets. He wanted to help them keep warm in the cold that was Doncaster. It became his mission to knit 100 scarves this school year. He’d get his work done on the train to school, after school and on the weekends, whenever he had free time, which was often. As of November 17, he had knitted four full scarves. He was beginning to think his goal may have been a bit of a long shot, but he was still determined to try and knit as much as he could. 

So that was Louis and Harry. Two completely different souls, who would never be thought to be brought together at any point in the universe, if it weren’t for the train.

The train left the station at 6:56 every morning, without fail. That was the policy of the company. If you missed it, you were screwed. That was the case for Harry and Louis both. Harry’s school day began at 7:45, and his mum went into work at 7:30. If he missed the train, which he had only once before, he was forced to trudge home and he had no way to get to school. Most kids would love having a day off with nothing they could do about it, but Harry hated it. He actually liked school. Not for the people. He hated the people; well, except for Michael, the only other lad at the school who liked to sing, that he knew of. Michael was one of his only friends, not necessarily by choice, but just because he really disliked basically everyone at the school. Harry simply loved to learn. So, he set alarms extra early and always made sure to be out the door and on the train on time. 

Louis had to be at work on time every day, or his boss would cut his pay an hour. His boss was an utter prick and Louis was incredibly anxious to be out of this job, but he needed to pay the bills somehow, so he continued for the sake of the money and so the landlord wouldn’t kill him.

The first time Louis noticed Harry, it was an ordinary December day.

He got on the train as he always did, planning on sitting in the same seat he always did, third row, window seat. It had been his routine ever since he started his business job, and he never planned on changing it. That would be pointless. However, today, he saw an elderly woman and a little boy Louis guessed was her grandson sitting in the seats he usually sat in. He had never seen them before, so he guessed they were tourists. Then why are they traveling so early in the morning? a little voice in his head asked, but he didn’t think much of it. His brain was preoccupied by the petty annoyance of his routine being screwed up. He knew there was nothing he could do about it; he wasn’t going to ask a poor old woman to give up her seat for Louis’ sanity. So, he moved further into the train, a couple rows back. 

Louis sat down in the back of the train, where the seats faced each other. He sat across from a pretty, curly-haired boy with earbuds in and concentration on his face. Oh, and he had knitting needles in his hands. The boy licked his lips and and began to mumble to himself. “Knit, purl…one more…shit.” Louis smiled. This boy was pretty cute, he had to say. He sighed to himself. Well, if I can’t sit where I usually sit today, it’s good enough to have someone cute to look at to pass the time on the train. And the boy got even cuter when he began to hum and mumble the words to what sounded like and Ed Sheeran song Louis vaguely knew. And hey, the kid didn’t have a bad voice either. Actually, he had quite a lovely voice. Louis smiled to himself, but looked away when the boy looked up.

Louis didn’t say anything to that boy that day, but for some reason, he was on his mind all day at work.

Maybe Louis didn’t always have to sit in the third row window seat every day after all.

The first time Harry noticed Louis was actually the next day.

He had arrived at the train stop extra early today, because it was raining and he ran from his house to the stop so he wouldn’t get too wet. The train obviously wasn’t there yet. According to his watch, he had six minutes before the train actually arrived. He took a seat under the roof-like cover at the stop and he was about to shove his earbuds in his ears to drown out the sound of the rain when he heard a voice that sounded like a goddamn angel coming from about ten feet away from him.

“Listen,” the voice said. “I know things are really hard right now, but I promise you it’ll get better. I’m sure someday you’re going to have a great house all to yourself and you’ll be happy, really happy. I promise it’ll get better, honestly.” The person this man was speaking to looked homeless, and she was crying. She were sitting, wrapped in a blanket on the ground with a hat beside her for spare change, and Harry’s heart broke. He leaned his head closer to the conversation so he could hear what was going on better.

The man continued. “Listen. There’s not much I can do for you except give you these two pounds and offer some encouraging words, but how about I try and cheer you up, love?” he said quietly, stroking her hair. He then took a pitch pipe out of his pocket and blew into it. And if this couldn’t get any sweeter, the man began to sing, and Harry honest to God thought he heard angel voices.

And you don’t need

You don’t need to run

And you will see it’s easy to be loved

I know you wanna be loved

The woman smiled and thanked him quietly, wiping her tears away. the man smiled and kissed her cheek, and then the train came. Harry stood up, still in awe, and smiled to himself. As he was walking onto the train to get to his seat, he accidentally bumped into the man. The man looked at him with wide eyes and blushed, then smiling. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“My bad,” Harry said back. “Sorry, but what you did back there with that woman was so lovely. Um…and you have a really nice singing voice,” he mumbled quickly. 

“I’m Louis,” the now named stranger blurted out. “Please sit with me?” Harry’s eyes widened and he nodded. “I’d love to,” he replied. “And m’Harry,” he added. Louis smiled from ear to ear. “N-nice to meet you, Harry.”

The two boys found a seat together, the same seat they had been sitting in the day before, actually. Harry sat by the window but sat facing Louis. He really hoped this extremely attractive and beautiful soul of a man would continue talking to him, and his prayers were answered.

“I sat across from you yesterday,” Louis said suddenly. He didn’t know how he could be so open with Harry, but it was coming so natural to him right now. He was never like this. Maybe singing for the woman at the train stop gave him some confidence. Harry blushed. “Oh, you did? Sorry, I didn’t notice. I, um, I kind of get lost in my thoughts sometimes.” Louis nodded. 

“Me too,” he agreed. “You were knitting, right?”

Harry blushed again, deeper this time. He looked at the ground. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I kind of have this goal for myself, to um…to knit scarves for as many homeless people as possible, because it gets so cold outside and I feel so bad and this is the only way I feel like I can help…it’s not much, but…” and oh, Louis really wanted to kiss this boy.

But he barely knew him, so obviously that was off the table for a while. “That’s wonderful, Harry. That’s such a kind thing to do, honestly.”

Harry grinned. “It calms me down, and it’s a nice way to pass the time on my way to school or whenever I have time at home.” Louis nodded. “I think that’s lovely,” he said honestly. 

“So, Louis,” Harry began. “Tell me about yourself.”

So Louis did. In the half hour train ride, Louis told Harry all about his boring office job and the band he used to have and the significance of the pitch pipe. He went on and on and Harry hung onto every word. Louis tried to drag it out because he wanted an excuse to sit with this boy again tomorrow, so Harry could tell Louis about himself. And his plan worked. Harry said the should sit together the next day.

And that’s how their friendship began. Harry told Louis all about his life. He was such a fascinating man. He was sweet and smart and adorable and Louis was definitely crushing. Harry felt exactly the same way. Louis was so endearing and kind, and he wanted to know everything about him.

So, they began to sit with each other on the train every single day. Harry would sit and knit, humming to himself and listening to Louis tell him hellish office stories and anecdotes all bout his cat Noah, and Harry tried to teach Louis a few knit stitches. Louis was rubbish at it, but he still enjoyed the feeling of Harry’s hands on his, teaching him how to move the needles. The boys exchanged numbers and began texting and talking on the phone nonstop. Anne noticed a significant mood change in Harry, one for the better. “This Louis must be a really great man,” she often commented. Harry would always blush and nod to himself. 

And then, on February 17,many wonderful things happened.

Harry got to the bus stop early, as he always did these days, expecting to see Louis talking to his new friend, the homeless woman who he sang to the first day Harry met him. However, Louis was nowhere to be found. Harry frowned and pouted. He didn’t understand why Louis wasn’t there. If he was sick he would’ve texted him, but his phone had no notifications. The train came and Harry was half tempted to tell the conductor to wait and not leave till Louis got there, but he knew they wouldn’t listen to him. With a sigh, he went to his seat, alone, and put in his headphones. He took out his needles and yarn and slowly began to knit, singing along softly to the music on his phone. He missed Louis telling jokes and stories and making his day brighter. the train didn’t feel complete.

The train jolted to s stop at the next stop, but Harry barely noticed. He continued singing along and knitting. He only had three more rows on this scarf, and he wanted to get it done.

And then, he felt a weight on the seat next to him, and arm come around his shoulders in a sir hug. Harry jumped and ripped the headphones out of his ears, sighing in relief when he saw who it was. “Louis!” he all but squealed, grinning from ear to ear. “Where were you? I was worried…” Louis shushed him. “I know, I know I’m sorry I really should have texted. Stan stayed over last night because he and his girlfriend got in a fight, and he was really hungover and I had to take care of him this morning, and then I realized I missed the train, so I ran as fast as I could to this stop, so I could go to work and so I could see you.” (Louis knew that was half a lie. In any other circumstance, he would’ve just skipped work that day if he missed the train. He just really wanted to see Harry.)

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Harry admitted. “I missed you.” Louis rolled his eyes and pushed his shoulder. Harry blushed and went back to his knitting.

“Oh, by the fucking way Styles, what the hell? I know you told me you liked to sing, but that voice?” Harry looked at him, puzzled. “Before you noticed me sit next to you, I heard you singing along to your music, and you honestly have the voice of a fucking angel.” Harry keened at the compliment. “Oh, come on, Louis, that’s you,” he argued. “When you sang for that lady the first time I met you, it was unreal. It gave me the chills, no lie.” 

Louis blushed. “I’m really not that great.” 

Harry pushed his shoulder right back. “Yes, you really are, you little shit.”

Louis gasped in mock offense. “Well! I guess we’ll just have to sing together then.” Harry nodded. “I guess we will someday.”

Louis shook his head. “No, I mean right now.” Harry’s eyes widened, and Louis took out the pitch pipe. “Do you know Look After You?” he asked quietly. Harry nodded, eyes wide. 

“I’ll start,” Louis offered. He blew the pipe and began to croon quietly. 

If I don’t say this now, I will surely break

As I’m leaving the one I want to take

He nodded at Harry, who was lost in Louis’ eyes. He opened his mouth.

Forget the urgency, just hurry up and wait

My heart has started to separate

Louis joined him.

Oh, oh, be my baby

Oh, whoa

Oh, oh, be my baby

And I’ll look after you…

They sang together in perfect harmony. Their voices blended beautiful together. Louis smiled as he sang. He really really liked this boy. Harry smiled, feeling the same way.

Some people around them began to stop their conversations and listen to the two boys singing, lost in each other’s eyes and voices. They nudged the people sitting with them and pointed at the boy with the fringe and the boy with the needles, looking fond as ever.

They finished the song and finally broke their gaze, and people around them applauded. And maybe it was the adrenaline or how fucking beautiful Harry’s eyes were, but Louis leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Harry’s eyes widened and Louis immediately worried that Harry didn’t like Louis like that, but in less than two seconds Harry grabbed the back of Louis’ neck to pull him closer, closed his eyes, and they were kissing again. The people around them applauded again, and both boys smiled.

From then on, Harry and Louis were HarryandLouis. Harry would still knit on the train, but now he’d have Louis’ head resting on his shoulder, watching him work fondly, and Louis would sing to him, instead of the music on his phone. And at the end of the day, Harry would often go to Louis’ flat and they’d cook dinner together and watch movies, and snuggle, talking about whatever they wanted. Louis would help Harry with his homework, and Harry would do the dishes.

And at the train stop, Louis would help Harry hand out finished scarves, and then they’d sing to people together to cheer them up. It was a lovely arrangement, and both boys couldn’t be happier. 

Louis eventually learned how to knit a bit better, and together, by the end of the year, the boys together reached Harry’s goal of 100 scarves. As they handed them out, Harry whispered with tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Lou.” Louis grabbed Harry into his arms and smiled. “I’m so glad I could help you.

Harry’s 101st scarf ended up being for Louis, for his birthday, which was ten days after the one year anniversary of the day they met. As Louis opened his gift, he saw the tag on the inside, sewed in.

To Louis.

Thank you for bringing the music back into my life.

Love always, Your Harry.