Young & Beautiful

He scrunches his brows inquisitively as Harry continues to stare before the latter sighs, eyes falling
to Louis’ lips.
“You are impossibly cruel, Louis,” Harry whispers, turning his body to face him so that they are
nose-to-nose, heart-to-heart. Louis’ entire body is thrumming with too many emotions and too
many desires and too many fears. “You are cruel for making everything else seem dull. You are
cruel for imprisoning me in your very touch—“—carefully, he brings the pads of his fingers to
Louis’ cheekbones, swirls delicate patterns onto his flesh—“—for freeing me with your every
word—“—his fingers slide to graze over Louis’ lips—“—and for bestowing upon me the most
painful sense of longing that I’ve ever had the pleasure to suffer at the hands of. You have shown
me color in a world of gray and you are cruel, Louis Tomlinson, for you take the color with you
every moment that you’re not beside me. You are cruel because I will gladly suffer until the
world has returned.” At that, Harry’s eyes flicker up to Louis’, and the words linger in his stare,
pelting Louis again and again and again.
And Louis might actually die.
“Harry,” he breathes, pulling him closer, pulling him until Harry’s lips find his and he can feel
again, feel Harry—the world.
He doesn’t want the night to end, he doesn’t want to go just one day without this boy (love is
horrible, it’s awful, it’s unhealthy for fuck’s sake) and it terrifies him a bit, terrifies him that he just
needs another soul so much. But it’s as intoxicating as it is toxic, thrilling as it is chilling.
Louis wants.
“We’ll see each other every day,” Harry whispers between fevered kisses, his curls tumbling and
tangling in Louis’ fingers, his skin hot, his shirt clinging to his skin and catching on Louis’ angles.
“I’ll move into the flat as soon as I can.”
The words tingle Louis, run up his spine and make his heart beat faster.
“Promise me,” he finds himself saying as Harry mouths at his neck and when did he become so
needy?
But he doesn’t care, doesn’t fucking care because he’s not scared.
“I promise,” Harry manages, the words formed into Louis’ skin and it’s all so, so much.
Louis loves Harry so, so much.
“Louis,” Harry suddenly says quietly, and it sounds like a plea, his hands scrambling over his
body, settling up on the waistband of his jeans and—oh.
Oh.
Louis breaks off, inspects Harry’s flushed face and burning eyes, lit with fire and the orange,
flickering shadow of candle flame.
“Harry?” he questions, voice barely above a whisper. There’s a heavy silence as they stare at each
other, Louis trying to decipher the flickers in Harry’s eyes, his breath coming out in uneven spurts.
The silent plea is in Harry’s breath, in his hands, in his stare. And Louis’ chest is collapsing. “Are
you…sure?”
It feels delicate and unknown, that unspoken question.