you're cold and I burn (on hold)

move, “..Mmm, heart, made me want to be someone he’d actually want.”
Louis keeps the kiss going a little longer, his tongue sliding between Harry’s teeth, his h<strong>and</strong>s using
every ounce of his force to keep Harry in place against the wall, as if he’d move anyway. Louis’
fingers slide underneath his shirt, ghosting over the <strong>burn</strong>ing skin of his stomach, his back. When
he removes his lips, his words are melting together, “Keep going.”
Harry takes a deep breath before continuing as Louis’ lips move to his neck, behind his ear, down
to kiss his collar bone. His skin is hot, so responsive as the blood is pulled to the surface. “I loved
him. I really did. I thought he didn’t want me because I was too.. feminine? I cut my hair, dressed
differently, acted tougher. Got rid of all my favorite sweaters, favorite jeans, everything,
completely started over. I thought if he didn’t want me, no one would unless I was, I don’t know..
different.”
At that, Louis’ movements get more gentle, sweeter. Their ragged breathing is causing both chests
to heave dramatically, the room seeming to blur around them, it’s just Harry pinned in front of
him, it’s all that’s happening in the world right now. He knew that turning Harry on this way
would expose the person hiding under that leather jacket, because Harry would open up, you can’t
fight what sexually arouses you, penetrates your mental stability until <strong>you're</strong> weakened, ready.
Louis feels a wave of pride washed in with sadness over a broken heart making Harry think it was
his fault.
“Listen,” Louis’ lips are back to a basic hover, “it’s his loss, okay? There was nothing wrong with
you, there never was, there never will be. You should always be yourself. Be comfortable with
who you are, Harry, because you’re perfect that way.”
“Then why-“
“Because he’s a fucking prick, that’s why he treated you that way. Hearing him talk about you
pissed me off to my very core, so I can’t imagine what you felt. But it’s over, <strong>and</strong> you’ll find
someone to love you for you not whoever this is,” Louis pulls the jacket, sliding it down Harry's
arms until it falls to the floor, “It would be impossible not to.”
“Why should I believe you?” Harry’s eyes fall, his voice light <strong>and</strong> childlike, nervous.
“Because, I’m an artist <strong>and</strong> we know what beauty looks like, <strong>and</strong> you’re beautiful, Harry. You
were beautiful in leather <strong>and</strong> you’d be beautiful in a pretty-colored sweater that’s a little too big on
you. You’d be beautiful with long hair, short hair, anything.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Why are you telling me this, now?”
“Because I cannot st<strong>and</strong> the idea of you hiding behind some persona, all over some asshole who
didn’t realize what he had before he made you question yourself. There’s a difference between
you <strong>and</strong> I, I’ve always been told I wasn’t good enough, but I know that I am, that’s what matters. I
need you to underst<strong>and</strong> that, you are good enough.”
“And this,” Harry’s lips turn up into a crooked smirk, “slamming me against the wall <strong>and</strong> pinning
me there was going to make me realize this, how?”
“Because I knew you’d like it, it would turn you on <strong>and</strong> you’d be a mess at my fingertips. I know
you’re a submissive person, I knew this would be a good way to get you to admit to that, because
you’re too fucking stubborn any other way.”