“The moon knows,” is what he says, breath colored in liquor and a smile.
Louis stares at him.
“What are you talking about?”
Another manic grin from Harry, and then he pulls him in again, his hand travelling to the side of Louis’ face, cradling his cheek.
“The moon knows that we’re in love.”
And Louis pauses at that, his entire body and physical processes pause, because Harry has never said he loves Louis. He’s implied it, his eyes have whispered it, but he’s never said it and…did he just, sort of, maybe say it?
“Wha—“ he begins, dizzy, his veins filling, but Harry steps even closer, continues to whisper even lower.
“I’m in love with you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, curls the words in Louis’ ear, and when Louis pulls back to look at him, his gaze is dazed and soft, grinning with freedom and the recklessness of inebriation. Fond. “And this belongs to you,” he continues in his low, rumbling volume as he places Louis’ hand over his heart and presses it there, holds it there with his cool fingers clasped around Louis’ wrist. “It’s yours, and yours to keep, and nobody deserves to know because nobody else matters.” Louis thinks he might die, standing here with the perspiration layering his skin like a delicate film, the gaze of the heavens alighting his limbs as he feels the beat of Harry’s thumping heart beneath his fingers.
Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.
The year is groovy 1973, and eighteen-year-old Louis Tomlinson is perhaps the gayest teen to ever grace the gloomy, hateful town of Fortwright. Would be fine if he wasn’t so viciously bullied at both home and school for such a “harmful” sexual preference.
After discovering the mansion was less abandoned than he’d thought, he’s now left with the most riveting mystery of a lifetime; every new finding leaving him with more questions. Who is this elusive owner, and why won’t they show themselves? Why is there a set of journals in the same handwriting that span over centuries? Why in the world is there a padlock on the refrigerator…and who the hell is Alexander?
au where harry and louis are solo artists and they’re not exactly friends per se but they’re friendly, know each other from industry parties and things like that and there’s always been this weird unspoken sexual tension between them and louis’ always kinda confused bc isn’t harry the biggest ladies’ man in the industry
Harry doesn’t get it. He wears his heart on his sleeve because he hasn’t any idea what the world is really like. Things don’t always happen for a reason. Sometimes life is mean and pointless and people hurt you just because they can. Sometimes you fall in love with a person or a fantasy of the person you’re going to be someday, and all it ever does for you is make you into something you hate, brittle bones and stone walls.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the motion out of the corner of his eye of Harry lifting up his phone. Louis gets a hand in front of his face just before he hears the fake shutter sound of the camera going off. “Missed me,” he says, peeking out from behind his fingers.
“I don’t get why you won’t let me take your picture,” Harry says, pouting a bit, and Louis just laughs.
“Well, we can’t have you finding out I’m a vampire, can we?” he says, patting Harry’s thigh consolingly. He turns back to the film, and tries not to worry about what Harry might see in his eyes if he ever managed to catch him off-guard.
Gears started turning in Louis’ head. Purely mischievous gears that had Louis formulating a revenge plan against Taylor. He’d had enough of sitting around and taking it. If she was going to call him a whore, then fine, he’ll act like one for real. “I’m going to say something, and as my friends you are obligated to love me anyway.”
“This can’t be good,” Niall said, Zayn just groaned.
“So I know we have this strict ‘no lashing back at Taylor’ rule with me, but what if I can get press revenge a different way?” Louis asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer, because they knew by now to just go with it. “What if I stole her boyfriend?”
Or, the story of Louis ‘Steal Your Man’ Tomlinson.