fic: think lovely, wonderful thoughts (2/2)
title: Think lovely, wonderful thoughts
author: girl_in_stripes
rating: PG
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
disclaimer: I own/have no affiliation with any of the boys, and Peter Pan belongs to J.M. Barrie and the various creative executives who have had permission to use him after her.
summary: His favorite of these stories, the one he loved like it had been stitched into is skin, was the story about a boy who never grew up. (Peter Pan AU).
notes: all the thanks in the world go to lucy_and_ramona for listening to me complain about this incessantly and reading it over for me when I was convinced it was horrible, and fuzzlol for being ridiculously supportive. without them, this wouldn’t be a proper thing, just a couple hundred words sitting lonely in my documents, so to them all my thanks go.
continued from here.
Finding a thimble in the x-factor house proves to be ridiculously challenging.
They’ve only been back at the house for a week, and that’s how long Harry’s been looking for this little worthless piece of metal. He searches the old drawers in the desk in the parlor, tries the chest in Cher’s bedroom, searches the floors and the cupboards and the closets but he can’t find one anywhere. He even goes as far to ask the other women in the house if they have one, but most of them just look at him like he’s lost his mind, which really, maybe he has.
It takes him a week and a half of searching, a trip to the costume department of the show, and about a hundred pricks of needles in his fingers from searching in sewing bags before he finally procures one, shiny and silver and exactly what he remembers from when he was younger. He beams and tucks the tiny little thing away in the pocket of his jeans, patting the bump as he skips from the room, a little more than pleased with himself.
Finding the right moment to put it to use, however, also proves to be pretty difficult. For one thing, the boys are always around, always right on top of him in a way that usually makes Harry happy but right now is just driving him off the wall. He can never find a moment alone, let alone a moment alone with Louis, and it’s starting to grate on his nerves. The longer the thimble sits tight in his pocket, the more Harry convinces himself that this is a stupid idea, he shouldn’t even bother.
But then, miraculously, they’re out to town as a group and Zayn and Niall run ahead leaving Liam calling after them and trying to keep up, and suddenly it’s just Harry and Louis, strutting side by side, laughing at the world, Louis’ arm around Harry’s shoulders and Harry’s heart in his throat, pounding away in anticipation.
Louis’ head is buried in his shoulder, his lips laughing against his throat, and Harry thrusts a hand into his pocket and plucks the thimble from his jeans. He holds it in his palm for a second before pulling away from Louis and grabbing at his wrist, letting his fingers stay there, wrapped around the bone.
“I have something for you.” Harry says, his voice dropping down low. Louis’ eyes go wide with excitement, skipping from one foot to another, always surprisingly light on his feet.
“Really?” He asks, clapping his hands together. Harry grins, pushing his hair out of his eyes with the back of his wrist, thimble still pressed tightly in the center of his palm.
“Yeah,” Harry says, looking at Louis from under his lashes. “But it’s just for you, okay? No one else. You’re the only one I want to give one to.”
Louis’ brows furrow for a minute before he nods slowly, the skipping stopped, but the smile still on his face. Harry takes a deep breath and lets his hand fall open like a flower, the thimble resting right in the center of his palm like a pearl in a clam shell, glinting brightly in the sun.
“It’s a kiss.” Harry says softly as Louis takes the thimble from him, turning it over gently in his fingers, staring at it with his mouth slightly agape. “Just for you.”
Louis looks up at Harry like he doesn’t know what to say, still holding the thimble tightly in his hands. He opens and closes his mouth twice before shaking his head, an incredulous smile stretching across his mouth, lighting up his whole face. “This is,” He trails off, the glint from the thimble catching in his eyes. Harry smiles, his heart fluttering in his chest.
“Well,” Louis says, jerking his head up and grinning toothily at Harry. “I shall have to give you one in return!” He carefully drops the thimble in the chest pocket of his t-shirt before scanning the ground intently, hair falling in front of his eyes. Harry’s about the protest, red already coloring his cheeks, before Louis dives to the ground, landing gracefully in a plot of grass.
“Here!” He exclaims, sliding back so he’s sitting on his heels, polishing something tiny and brown on the hem of his shirt. “A kiss for you, kind sir.” He beams up at Harry, his hand outstretched and offering a small acorn.
Harry takes the acorn in his hands and feels a swell of emotion whoosh up in his chest, swirling around his heart like lights dancing over a river. “Why, it’s marvelous, Louis.” He says, making sure to catch Louis’ eye, smiling a small, private smile that reaches all the way across him from his toes right to his heart.
~
After the thimble, it’s like there’s an unspoken bond between them.
Harry never confronts it directly, nor does Louis bring it up, but there’s suddenly an easiness in the air around them, a calmness in Harry’s head like he’s stopped trying to justify these strange thoughts that he’s been having.
It’s like they both know, and it’s like they’re both okay with it.
Louis is Peter Pan. The same as Harry has curly hair and Niall likes Nandos and Liam gets first dibs in the bathroom on performance days. It’s just a fact, now. It’s not an idea in his head or something that’s ridiculous, it just is.
Nothing really changes, at least nothing too noticeable. They’re still the same Louis and Harry, except now maybe Louis is less careful with how he moves around, lets himself be a little lighter in his step, doesn’t try to cut his laugh short, doesn’t look away from Harry as quickly. It’s different, and Harry notices even if no one else does, but it feels natural, more natural than before. It feels like they were both made to be able to be this open with each other, even with these little things.
Louis is still a little tentative about it, Harry thinks. He never voices anything about it, and Harry doesn’t push too much. He knows Louis, and he knows that if he asked, he’d probably be able to hear all the stories he wanted, see all the things he imagined without so much as a second glance, but that’s not fair to Louis.
Still, he’s curious. As much as he wants Louis to be entirely open with him, Harry still wonders,
“You owe me something.” Harry says softly against Louis’ shoulder one day, curled next to him on the couch.
“Hm?” Louis asks absentmindedly, flipping through the television channels, his other hand tapping a pattern into the space between Harry’s neck and shoulder where his arm’s thrown across.
“I gave you my thimble.” Harry says simply, and Louis sighs, putting the remote down, like he knows this is going to cross into territory he’s still a little nervous about. “So I think you owe me something.” Harry bats his eyelashes playfully and he can see where Louis represses an eye roll, even if there is a smile playing at the left hand corner of his mouth.
“I gave you your acorn.” Louis’ gaze flickers down to Harry’s pocket, like he knows it’s there. Harry shakes his head.
“That doesn’t count,” He says, shifting up, but close enough so Louis’ arm can still be around him. Louis clutches at his chest with the hand no longer holding the remote, gasping melodramatically. Harry laughs despite himself. “I just want you to be able to talk to me.” He says, cringing a little when he realizes exactly how romantic comedy it sounds.
Louis bites his lip for a second, before he chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “I have such a soft spot for you, Harry.” He says like it’s a confession, and Harry’s heart shudders against his ribcage.
“The feeling’s pretty much mutual.” Harry assures him, before he drops his voice. “Listen, you don’t have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to.” He swallows. “I don’t mean to push, you reall-”
Louis cuts him off with a finger over his lips, smiling slightly. “I know,” He says, and it feels like he’s reassuring Harry that it’s okay to ask questions. “And thank you,” He adds as an afterthought. “But you’re right, I do owe you. Come on, follow me.”
Louis slips off the couch, his movement fluid, his step light, making his way through the house. Harry follows, stumbling over piles of clothes and half unpacked suitcases.
Once they find themselves in the boys’ collective bedroom, Louis drops down beside the suitcase closest to his bed, shut tight and neat, unlike the rest of the suitcases in the room. “What I’m about to show you,” Louis says in a voice that’s serious but bordering on adventurous, like he’s daring Harry to look. “can’t be seen by anyone else.”
Harry nods fervently and Louis catches his eye, looking at him directly before he sighs again and goes back to opening his suitcase. Once he has the flaps open, he pulls some clothes aside and reaches further into the suitcase, pulling at another zipper. “Okay,” He says after a minute, head bowed into the bag, voice muffled. “C’mere.”
After taking a step forward, Harry realizes that Louis hadn’t been talking to him. Instead, Harry sees, he’d been talking to something standing in the middle of his palm, bright like sunlight, but in the shape of a tiny person, with wings like a dragonfly’s and a tinkling sort of sound following its movement.
“What,” Harry starts, but stops once he realizes that he hasn’t entirely formed a question in his mind yet. Louis’ eyes are shut like he’s bracing himself against something, waiting for something horrible to happen, but after a second of silence he opens them cautiously, looking from Harry to the thing in his hand.
“She’s a fairy.” Louis says finally. “I know you won’t believe me, but-“
“I believe in fairies.” Harry cuts him off, his hands coming together almost instinctively, the clap startling them both in the quiet room. The little person in Louis’ hand turns, light beaming onto Harry’s face, before she rises tentatively, stretching her wings, and flouncing to the area around Harry’s left shoulder, a light tinkling in his ear. She flounces around a little bit, tiny bright hands pulling at Harry’s curls playfully.
“She likes you.” Louis gapes, mouth open in apparent shock. Harry turns his head to the fairy and takes half a step back, offering his hand slowly. “That’s so,” He cocks his head to the side and watches and the fairy flits around Harry’s shoulders. “odd.”
“How d’you do?” Harry asks the fairy, just barely able to make out the outline of a person through all the bright light. “I’m Harry, Harry Styles.” He introduced himself. There’s more tinkling in his ears, and the light tickles his skin, like the sun on a summer day. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss.”
The fairy flutters around his shoulders for a few more seconds before shooting back to Louis, tinkling music in his ear and tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. He hisses when she pulls too hard and rolls his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” He mutters quickly. “I don’t like having to keep you in there as much as you don’t, but it’s got to be done-“
“You understand her?” Harry interrupts, before flushing a shade of pink. The fairy on Louis’ shoulder nods pointedly, and Louis sighs.
“Unfortunately,” He says before the fairy kicks at his neck, and he scrunches his nose in discomfort, turning his head towards her. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, hush, you.” Louis rubs a finger of the spot where the fairy kicked him, a small red spot appearing like he’d been pinched. “I’ve always been able to understand her.” He smiles proudly, chuckling when the fairy flies back to Harry’s head, playing with the mop of curls.
“And she likes me?” Harry asks, incredulously, giggling as she hits a ticklish spot on his neck.
“Apparently.” Louis said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She hardly likes anyone.”
The fairy makes an indignant sort of tinkle over Harry’s head, and he looks up just in time to see sparkles sprinkling down from her wings, landing in his hair, in his eyebrows, on his shoulders. He chuckles, trying not to sneeze when some gets too close to his nose.
“Oh,” Louis says, moving to brush some off of Harry’s shoulders, chuckling. “That’s just-“
“Starstuff.” Harry finishes, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. “Or pixie dust.” He looks up just in time to see Louis’ mouth drop open. Harry grins a little smugly.
“You are,” Louis begins, sitting back and pulling his knees up to his chest, cocking his head at Harry. “the most peculiar boy I’ve ever met.”
“Yes, because I’m the boy with a fairy in my suitcase.” Harry teases, apologizing when the fairy in question pulls at his hair in warning. “Right, no, sorry, sorry.” He mutters, and he takes the light tinkling he gets in response as forgiveness.
“Don’t apologize to her, Tink’s a right diva sometimes.” Louis says, waving a hand in their direction. The fairy shoots toward him, tugging at his hair and pinching at his nose. “Don’t argue with me, you know it’s true.” Louis says, swatting her away gently.
“Tink?” Harry asks, amused. “Her name’s Tink?”
Louis nods, still trying to keep her at bay. “Tinkerbell, if we want to be formal, but I just call her Tink.”
The fairy- Tink- nods, still flying agitatedly around Louis’ head. “Tink, stop, stop.” He says looking around at the floor, now sparkling with the amount of dust littering it. “Oh, great.” He moans, trying in vain to scoop some of it into a pile to pick up. “Now I’m going to have to hoover in here or else the whole band will just float away.” He narrow his eyes accusatorily at the fairy, who flutters away.
The tinkling sound Tinkerbell lets out sounds an awful lot like a laugh to Harry, and he tries to hide his chuckle with a cough. Louis still flicks some pixie dust at him before hastily leaning over to brush it off his shoulders. “Wouldn’t want you flying off, now would we?”
Harry grins, his shoulder tingling where Louis’ fingers touch, glittering gold dust falling off his shoulders and onto the floor around him. Tinkerbell resurfaces a moment later, from behind a pile of Louis’ clothes, to promptly sit on Harry’s head. Louis groans.
“Can’t you make anything easy for me?” He asks, and the fairy shakes her head, hands tugging curiously at the ends of Harry’s curls. Louis sighs. “I thought so.”
Somewhere in the house, a door slams and Tinkerbell starts, tumbling forward into Harry’s curls, her wings tangled and pulling. “Ah,” Harry hisses, bringing his hands up gently to pull his curls away. The fairy twists a little more and somersaults out of his hair, stamping her foot in the air with a loud humph.
“Alright, alright.” Louis hisses, rolling his eyes. “Back in the case, back in the case, c’mon.” Tink vocalizes her frustrations at him as Louis waves her into the bottom compartment of his suitcase before whispering a mumbled apology to her and closing the case.
“Well.” He says finally, hands on his thighs. “Show you enough?”
Harry laughs incredulously and nods, completely speechless. Louis beams at him, albeit a little smugly, like he’s proud of making Harry forget how to speak.
He’ll never tell Louis, but Harry’s willing to be speechless an awful lot more if it means Louis will smile like that more.
~
They’re lying out on the grass in the acres of park area behind the house, just talking, like they’ve been doing it all their life, when Harry remembers.
“You can fly.” Harry says. He feels Louis shift next to him on the grass, moving to lean on one elbow and look at him. “I mean, I think you can.” Harry corrects himself, looking up at Louis. “I’ve heard it mentioned, before. So you should, maybe.”
Louis his lip and lies back down beside Harry. “I can.” He says after a moment, sighing slowly, the puff of air pushing his fringe out of his face. “It’s been a long time since I have.” He admits. “I’m not sure if I still can.”
“Yes, you can.” Harry says, turning his head to look at Louis, the grass tickling his ear. “I believe you can.”
Louis purses his lips and looks back up at the stars, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “Sometimes believing isn’t everything, Hazza.”
Harry bites the inside of his cheek before rolling over so he’s kneeling beside Louis. “Sure it is.” He shrugs, tugging at Louis’ arm. “Now come on, fly.”
Louis gapes at him, head already turned like he’s going to shake it. “No, Harry-” He argues, frowning. “I can’t.”
"Yes,” Harry says stubbornly, pulling Louis into a sitting position. “You can. If I believe in you, why can’t you believe in you?”
Louis swallows nervously for a minute, but when Harry smiles at him a determined look comes over him, the spark in his eye twinkling. “I do believe in me, I suppose.” He says, his palms flat on the grass as he pulls his feet under him, crouching in front of Harry, the thimble on the chain dangling loosely around his neck. “Well, then.” He clears his throat, clapping. “Would you like to see me fly, Harry dear?”
Harry nods, eyes wide, smile even wider. “More than anything, Lou.”
Louis nods, and closes his eyes for a minute, his chest rising and falling in steady, even breaths. Harry watches as he focuses, brows pressed together in concentration. A breeze floats through the park, lifting Louis’ hair around his ears, and then all of a sudden he’s rising, floating up, his hands flexed out. He lets out an audible sigh and stretches in the air, rising higher and higher.
He opens his eyes when he’s about twenty feet in the air and looks around, beaming. Tentatively, he moves around in the air, one foot to the left, then one to the right, before twirling around in place, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Harry watches as he flies around, first up, then down, before somersaulting around in mid air.
“You’re doing it!” Harry calls, hands cupped around his mouth, grinning up at Louis’s silhouette against the moon. “I told you!”
Louis laughs, doing figure eights around trees, feet pointed, arms stretched up over his head. Shooting upward he lets out a sort of crow of pure joy, legs stretches and hands on his waist, beaming at the stars. “Look at me!” He says to the entirety of the empty park, voice full of pride. “Just look!”
Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and stares up at Louis, unable to contain his smile. He watches as Louis turns and does a sort of pirouette in the air, grinning and smiling and moving in a way that’s so natural, that’s like nothing Harry has ever seen before.
Suddenly, Louis stops mid-turn and looks down at Harry, like he’d forgotten he was there. He grins and shoots towards the ground, startling Harry into taking a few steps back, hands coming up to block his face. “Come on, then.” Louis says once he’s hovering next to Harry, a meter or so off the ground. He stretches out his hand. “Grab hold.”
Harry looks from Louis to his outstretched hand, eyes wide. “You’re serious?” He asks, holding his breath. “I can fly with you?”
Louis snorts. “Of course you can!” He says, and he stretches forward to clasp Harry’s hand in his.
Instantly, Harry feels lighter. There’s a sort of fire running up the hand and arm that Louis is holding on to, warm and nice like the heat on a summer evening. His whole body feels like he could float away at any second, despite remaining firmly on the ground until Louis pulls at him and then he’s airborne, watching the ground and trees grow smaller under him.
“Woah!” He gasps, and his other hand scrambles for a more secure grip on Louis’ arm, feet flailing out under him. “Oh my god.”
Above him, Louis laughs. “Surreal, isn’t it?” He calls, turning to look at Harry, an infectious smile plastered on his face as his hair whips around him. “Hold on tight!” He advises, waiting until Harry’s sure his grip on his hand is secure before speeding up, twirling through the trees and telephone wires that surround the park.
The clouds tickle his face as they get higher, drops of rain appearing on his arm as they go through the fog, dampening his shirt, sending a shiver up his spine, something akin to excitement. The stars glow brighter, twinkling closer to their faces as they fly over bus stops and skyscrapers, watching as double-decker buses parade through the streets below them.
The city at night is beautiful- Harry’s always known that, but something about seeing it from a bird’s eye view reminds him how he used to look out the window, not just for a boy who refused to grow up, but to watch the city as it breathed through the night, the lights flickering and changing and always moving. He tightens his grip on Louis’ arm, and Louis ducks his head back to smile at him, sending a flurry of butterflies up Harry’s tummy and straight to his chest.
Louis swings them by the clock tower, after circling the point of the tower, and lands them down on the rafters above the clock, the hands pointing up at them in greeting. Harry sits, dazed by the sudden feeling of heaviness and stillness that comes over him once Louis lets go of his hand. He coughs and tries to sort himself out, blinking amazedly at the light from the face of the clock shining up at him, and stretching all over the city, lighting the whole of the world out in front of him.
“S’beautiful, isn’t it?” Louis says, sidling down next to Harry, leaning his elbows on his knees and pressing his chin to his hands, staring wide eyes and smiling at the city.
“Yeah,” Harry breathes, still transfixed by the hundreds of tiny lights all over the city, glinting in their different shades of whites and yellows.
“I used to come up here when I was real little.” Louis says, like it’s an admission. “When I first learned how to fly.”
Harry looks over at him, watches the way the light from the face of the clock catches on his cheekbones, his eyelashes, his lips. “How long have you been-“
“As long as I can remember.” Louis answers, gazing out over the city. “I’ve only ever known London from the sky, really.”
Harry’s fingers tighten on the stone of the rafters, his feet swinging. “Do you ever want to go back?” He asks, leaning his head back to watch the few stars still shining above them. “To Neverland, I mean. If it is a real place, that is.”
“It’s real as anything.” Louis says, instinctively quick to the defense. “It’s everything you’ve heard about from story books and old mother’s tales, and probably more than you can possibly imagine.” He relaxes his shoulders as his eyes go far away, fingers still on his knees. “It’s got lagoons and seas and mermaids and mountains too high to see the tops of.” He blinks, and the look is gone, his eyes clear and firm.
“Why wouldn’t you want to go back, then?” Harry questions, running his fingers over the cracks in the stone beneath them.
Louis looks over at him, his boyish face appearing older in the upward cast light from the clock. “I dunno.” He sighs, hopping into a crouching position, toes dangling off the edge of the tower. “It’d be nice, I suppose.” He says, hopping off the tower edge and twirling in the air, still a little experimental in his movements. “But I’ve been away for so long.”
“Does it matter?” Harry asks curiously, leaning out to look down at the cars passing miles beneath them.
“Well, sure it does.” Louis answers, shrugging. “When I’m there, I get to stay the same forever and do whatever I want.” He does a front flip in the air, grinning cheekily when he’s floating upright again. “But when I’m here,” He flips again, “I have to grow up.”
Harry frowns, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t grow up that much here. I’m still pretty much a kid.”
Louis smiles at him. “That you are, Harry my lad. That you are.” He hangs up in the air for a minute and then slips down, like a piece of paper flitting to and fro on its way down from a window, until he lands softly next to Harry, their fingers overlapping.
“And besides,” Louis says, quieter now, a small smile playing on his face. “Why would I want to go back to Neverland,” He moves his hand, letting his fingers fit into the spaces between Harry’s, lacing them together. “When you’re still here?”
A lump catches in Harry’s throat and he takes a second to remember how to breathe evenly, before he beams up at Louis, emotion still swelling inside his chest. “I’d go wherever you go.” He says, and he means it to be pointedly corny, but once the words tumble out of his mouth and into the night air around them, he realizes they’re true. Harry would go anywhere Louis wanted to, would probably follow him to the end of the earth, or the sky, or the universe, if he asked.
“That’s kind of you, Harry.” Louis says playfully, tugging on Harry’s hand and pulling him back up into the air with him. “But Neverland’s a tricky place to visit.” He grabs Harry’s other hand and takes them on a little somersault in the air that sends Harry’s stomach into his chest. “There’s the lost boys, who will of course demand my attention.” He shoots them up a little higher into the sky, rising up to the peak of the clocktower, spinning around it. “There are pirates, who aren’t really a match for me,” Louis boasts, and Harry tries not to find it incredibly endearing.
“No one’s really a match for you, are they?” Harry asks a little breathlessly, looking down at London sitting directly below his feet.
“Not at all!” Louis exclaims proudly. “But they like to pretend they are, those pirates.” He perches Harry down on one of the flatter sections of the roof and floats back to lazily mime poking a sword at someone, probably a pirate.
“Sounds exciting.” Harry comments, trying not to be overwhelmed by how high up they are. Louis shrugs smugly at him, floating along the air in a sort of backstroke.
“It is, I suppose.” He says, before righting himself and floating down by Harry. “It’d be better if you were there.” He admits quietly, looking up into the sky. “See, right there?” He stretches an arm out towards one of the hundreds of stars littering the night sky. “That bright one, right there, yeah?” Harry nods once he sees the star Louis is talking about, one of the brightest ones in the sky. “The one to the right of it. You find that, and then from there you just,” He looks wistfully up at the stars. “Go.”
“Straight on ‘till morning?” Harry asks, and Louis beams.
“Exactly that,” He sighs, the stars reflected in his skyward turned eyes. “Straight on ‘till morning.”
“One day I’ll go with you.” Harry says, slipping his hand into Louis, lacing their fingers together. Louis looks down, like he’s startled at the contact.
“Maybe,” He says slowly. Harry shakes his head.
“Definitely.” He corrects, and Louis smiles, closing his eyes. “I’ll go wherever you go, remember?”Harry looks out at the star, now permanently etched in his memory of the sky. “And besides, you really want to go back.” Louis catches his eye, brow raised. “I know you do.”
Louis quirks a brow at Harry, shaking his head despite his quiet laughter. “You’re too perceptive for your own good, Harry.”
Harry shrugs a little smugly, holding tight to Louis’ hand. “Not really.” He smiles at Louis. “I just know you.”
Louis smiles back at him, before he finally springs up and turns his back on the stars, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right, shall he head back, then?”
“No,” Harry says immediately, looking over the darker section of London, not wanting to ever leave this spot, wanting to just stay here with Louis and the stars and the twinkling lights forever.
“Well, we’ve got to.” Louis laughs, tugging at Harry’s curls. “Honestly, Harry, it’ll be a sad day when you force me to be the adult, here.”
Harry sticks his tongue out at Louis but willingly offers his hand to the other boy, who takes it gracefully, with a playful kiss on the top of his knuckles. “Shall we go, then?” Louis asks, and the second Harry nods they’re off again, flying over London, hand in hand, and Harry wonders what he could do to make sure they can stay this way forever.
~
Harry realizes he’s in love with Louis when he wakes up curled next to him on the couch after a night of storytelling.
He’d fallen asleep with his head on Louis’ leg, Louis’ fingers carding through his hair, Tinkerbell somewhere near his left ear, careful to be just out of sight in case one of the boys came in. He’d dozed off listening to Louis tell him the same stories he’d grown up on, only with a new twist, with a new feeling of adventure that comes only straight from the source.
Half asleep, he thinks he hears stories of a different nature, tales that feel like old ones, but with himself written in, fighting and flying and laughing alongside Louis, and the lost boys, and even the pirates. He realizes, stirring slightly from sleep, with Louis whispering in his ear, that these aren’t old stories at all, but new ones, about himself and Louis and all of the adventures they’ll have together.
Louis presses his fingers into the open palm of Harry’s hand and he falls back to sleep with a smile on his face.
After this, it’s a strange progression. They fly together under the cover of night and bright stars, they eat most meals together, they make stories and tales and moments together. They’re attached at the hip, but neither of them can really say what they are as a unit. Harry would like to call them together, because there are moment where the only thing he wants in the world is to kiss Louis on the cheek, on the forehead, on the lips.
Harry had realized long ago, so long ago that he’d been able to forget it and then remember it, that he’d go anywhere with Louis. He likes to think that Louis feels the same about him, but he can’t be sure, can never be sure with Louis. Through all the flying and all the discovering and storytelling, Harry’s still unsure if what he wants is what they both want. Whether his uncertainty stems from Louis or his own worry, he isn’t sure.
He finally gets the nerve to talk about what neither of them have been able to one night after they’ve been flying. It’s a testament to how late they’re out that the London Eye is completely still, though the world below them is still bustling about, finishing up its night and heading off to bed.
Harry’s sitting on top of the topmost compartment, legs crossed indian-style, while Louis balances on one of the metal beams running across compartments, looking out onto the water. Harry fidgets with the acorn he keeps in his pocket, running it through his fingers, trying not to let his worry show.
“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, spinning around on the beam. Harry sighs. That didn’t work too well.
“Nothing,” He answers, laying back on the compartment and staring up at the sky, the cool air from the water making him shiver.
“You’re lying.” Louis says simply, flitting over to where Harry is, hovering an inch or two above him. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Harry sighs and sits up, Louis standing just past his feet, his toes brushing the bottoms of Harry’s trainers. “I’m worried you might not take me seriously.”
Louis raises an eyebrow before frowning, shaking his head. “Harry, I-” He stops himself short holding out a hand, which Harry takes with a small smile. “I know I’m not, er, not typical in every sense of the word.” Harry snorts and Louis pinches his wrist lightly. “But I can take things seriously, you know.”
Harry swallows thickly, pulling the hem of his t-shirt down where it’s ridden up. “You just have to hear me out on this, okay?” He warns, holding Louis’ eye.
“I promise,” Louis says seriously, and Harry takes a deep breath.
“I used to say I’d go on any adventure with you.” Harry says softly, the toe of his shoe nudging Louis’ heel. “When I was little, I used to talk to the window. Talk to you.”
“I heard you,” Louis says, his voice just as soft, just as unsure. “I used to talk back, you know.” He looks up and catches Harry’s eye, holds it there like in a movie. “You just don’t remember.”
“No, I don’t.” Harry admits, putting his hands in his pockets, fidgeting. “But I want to remember all over again.”
Neither of them say anything for a long moment. The silence between them is thick, tense with uncertainty and anticipation and all of the buzz of excitement that something big is going to happen.
The words build behind Harry’s lips, fizzing like pop rocks and soft drinks, soft and excited they absolutely have to be said, can’t be held inside anymore. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
The silence that comes after that is deafening in a way that the previous one wasn’t. This one is heavy, heavy enough to weigh down infinitely in the air between them, broken only when Louis lifts his head and looks Harry in the eye, nervous, worried, maybe a little relieved.
“Are you?” He asks quietly. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Harry replies instinctively. There’s a long moment before Louis is saying something, his voice as tentative as Harry feels.
“Falling in love,” Louis whispers finally, looking down at his feet, “is part of growing up, I think.” He looks up at Harry, bright blue eyes wide and nervous. “I’ve never been very good with growing up.”
Harry bites the inside of his cheek, looking at Louis. “Maybe,” He says after a minute, moving a hand around to the back of Louis’ neck, his skin tingling under Harry’s fingertips. “you don’t have to grow up entirely.”
Louis takes a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to Harry’s, his hand resting on Harry’s waist. “Maybe,” He says, just as quietly, leaning in slightly so their noses fit together, their lips nearly touching. Harry runs a hand up Louis’ chest and just under the collar of his shirt, fingers fiddling with the chain around his neck, finding the thimble that rests there.
“Maybe I could give that a try.” Louis finishes, swallowing nervously. Harry lets a grin spread across his face before leaning in to show Louis that maybe he’s willing to give it a try, too.
author: girl_in_stripes
rating: PG
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
disclaimer: I own/have no affiliation with any of the boys, and Peter Pan belongs to J.M. Barrie and the various creative executives who have had permission to use him after her.
summary: His favorite of these stories, the one he loved like it had been stitched into is skin, was the story about a boy who never grew up. (Peter Pan AU).
notes: all the thanks in the world go to lucy_and_ramona for listening to me complain about this incessantly and reading it over for me when I was convinced it was horrible, and fuzzlol for being ridiculously supportive. without them, this wouldn’t be a proper thing, just a couple hundred words sitting lonely in my documents, so to them all my thanks go.
continued from here.
Finding a thimble in the x-factor house proves to be ridiculously challenging.
They’ve only been back at the house for a week, and that’s how long Harry’s been looking for this little worthless piece of metal. He searches the old drawers in the desk in the parlor, tries the chest in Cher’s bedroom, searches the floors and the cupboards and the closets but he can’t find one anywhere. He even goes as far to ask the other women in the house if they have one, but most of them just look at him like he’s lost his mind, which really, maybe he has.
It takes him a week and a half of searching, a trip to the costume department of the show, and about a hundred pricks of needles in his fingers from searching in sewing bags before he finally procures one, shiny and silver and exactly what he remembers from when he was younger. He beams and tucks the tiny little thing away in the pocket of his jeans, patting the bump as he skips from the room, a little more than pleased with himself.
Finding the right moment to put it to use, however, also proves to be pretty difficult. For one thing, the boys are always around, always right on top of him in a way that usually makes Harry happy but right now is just driving him off the wall. He can never find a moment alone, let alone a moment alone with Louis, and it’s starting to grate on his nerves. The longer the thimble sits tight in his pocket, the more Harry convinces himself that this is a stupid idea, he shouldn’t even bother.
But then, miraculously, they’re out to town as a group and Zayn and Niall run ahead leaving Liam calling after them and trying to keep up, and suddenly it’s just Harry and Louis, strutting side by side, laughing at the world, Louis’ arm around Harry’s shoulders and Harry’s heart in his throat, pounding away in anticipation.
Louis’ head is buried in his shoulder, his lips laughing against his throat, and Harry thrusts a hand into his pocket and plucks the thimble from his jeans. He holds it in his palm for a second before pulling away from Louis and grabbing at his wrist, letting his fingers stay there, wrapped around the bone.
“I have something for you.” Harry says, his voice dropping down low. Louis’ eyes go wide with excitement, skipping from one foot to another, always surprisingly light on his feet.
“Really?” He asks, clapping his hands together. Harry grins, pushing his hair out of his eyes with the back of his wrist, thimble still pressed tightly in the center of his palm.
“Yeah,” Harry says, looking at Louis from under his lashes. “But it’s just for you, okay? No one else. You’re the only one I want to give one to.”
Louis’ brows furrow for a minute before he nods slowly, the skipping stopped, but the smile still on his face. Harry takes a deep breath and lets his hand fall open like a flower, the thimble resting right in the center of his palm like a pearl in a clam shell, glinting brightly in the sun.
“It’s a kiss.” Harry says softly as Louis takes the thimble from him, turning it over gently in his fingers, staring at it with his mouth slightly agape. “Just for you.”
Louis looks up at Harry like he doesn’t know what to say, still holding the thimble tightly in his hands. He opens and closes his mouth twice before shaking his head, an incredulous smile stretching across his mouth, lighting up his whole face. “This is,” He trails off, the glint from the thimble catching in his eyes. Harry smiles, his heart fluttering in his chest.
“Well,” Louis says, jerking his head up and grinning toothily at Harry. “I shall have to give you one in return!” He carefully drops the thimble in the chest pocket of his t-shirt before scanning the ground intently, hair falling in front of his eyes. Harry’s about the protest, red already coloring his cheeks, before Louis dives to the ground, landing gracefully in a plot of grass.
“Here!” He exclaims, sliding back so he’s sitting on his heels, polishing something tiny and brown on the hem of his shirt. “A kiss for you, kind sir.” He beams up at Harry, his hand outstretched and offering a small acorn.
Harry takes the acorn in his hands and feels a swell of emotion whoosh up in his chest, swirling around his heart like lights dancing over a river. “Why, it’s marvelous, Louis.” He says, making sure to catch Louis’ eye, smiling a small, private smile that reaches all the way across him from his toes right to his heart.
~
After the thimble, it’s like there’s an unspoken bond between them.
Harry never confronts it directly, nor does Louis bring it up, but there’s suddenly an easiness in the air around them, a calmness in Harry’s head like he’s stopped trying to justify these strange thoughts that he’s been having.
It’s like they both know, and it’s like they’re both okay with it.
Louis is Peter Pan. The same as Harry has curly hair and Niall likes Nandos and Liam gets first dibs in the bathroom on performance days. It’s just a fact, now. It’s not an idea in his head or something that’s ridiculous, it just is.
Nothing really changes, at least nothing too noticeable. They’re still the same Louis and Harry, except now maybe Louis is less careful with how he moves around, lets himself be a little lighter in his step, doesn’t try to cut his laugh short, doesn’t look away from Harry as quickly. It’s different, and Harry notices even if no one else does, but it feels natural, more natural than before. It feels like they were both made to be able to be this open with each other, even with these little things.
Louis is still a little tentative about it, Harry thinks. He never voices anything about it, and Harry doesn’t push too much. He knows Louis, and he knows that if he asked, he’d probably be able to hear all the stories he wanted, see all the things he imagined without so much as a second glance, but that’s not fair to Louis.
Still, he’s curious. As much as he wants Louis to be entirely open with him, Harry still wonders,
“You owe me something.” Harry says softly against Louis’ shoulder one day, curled next to him on the couch.
“Hm?” Louis asks absentmindedly, flipping through the television channels, his other hand tapping a pattern into the space between Harry’s neck and shoulder where his arm’s thrown across.
“I gave you my thimble.” Harry says simply, and Louis sighs, putting the remote down, like he knows this is going to cross into territory he’s still a little nervous about. “So I think you owe me something.” Harry bats his eyelashes playfully and he can see where Louis represses an eye roll, even if there is a smile playing at the left hand corner of his mouth.
“I gave you your acorn.” Louis’ gaze flickers down to Harry’s pocket, like he knows it’s there. Harry shakes his head.
“That doesn’t count,” He says, shifting up, but close enough so Louis’ arm can still be around him. Louis clutches at his chest with the hand no longer holding the remote, gasping melodramatically. Harry laughs despite himself. “I just want you to be able to talk to me.” He says, cringing a little when he realizes exactly how romantic comedy it sounds.
Louis bites his lip for a second, before he chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “I have such a soft spot for you, Harry.” He says like it’s a confession, and Harry’s heart shudders against his ribcage.
“The feeling’s pretty much mutual.” Harry assures him, before he drops his voice. “Listen, you don’t have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to.” He swallows. “I don’t mean to push, you reall-”
Louis cuts him off with a finger over his lips, smiling slightly. “I know,” He says, and it feels like he’s reassuring Harry that it’s okay to ask questions. “And thank you,” He adds as an afterthought. “But you’re right, I do owe you. Come on, follow me.”
Louis slips off the couch, his movement fluid, his step light, making his way through the house. Harry follows, stumbling over piles of clothes and half unpacked suitcases.
Once they find themselves in the boys’ collective bedroom, Louis drops down beside the suitcase closest to his bed, shut tight and neat, unlike the rest of the suitcases in the room. “What I’m about to show you,” Louis says in a voice that’s serious but bordering on adventurous, like he’s daring Harry to look. “can’t be seen by anyone else.”
Harry nods fervently and Louis catches his eye, looking at him directly before he sighs again and goes back to opening his suitcase. Once he has the flaps open, he pulls some clothes aside and reaches further into the suitcase, pulling at another zipper. “Okay,” He says after a minute, head bowed into the bag, voice muffled. “C’mere.”
After taking a step forward, Harry realizes that Louis hadn’t been talking to him. Instead, Harry sees, he’d been talking to something standing in the middle of his palm, bright like sunlight, but in the shape of a tiny person, with wings like a dragonfly’s and a tinkling sort of sound following its movement.
“What,” Harry starts, but stops once he realizes that he hasn’t entirely formed a question in his mind yet. Louis’ eyes are shut like he’s bracing himself against something, waiting for something horrible to happen, but after a second of silence he opens them cautiously, looking from Harry to the thing in his hand.
“She’s a fairy.” Louis says finally. “I know you won’t believe me, but-“
“I believe in fairies.” Harry cuts him off, his hands coming together almost instinctively, the clap startling them both in the quiet room. The little person in Louis’ hand turns, light beaming onto Harry’s face, before she rises tentatively, stretching her wings, and flouncing to the area around Harry’s left shoulder, a light tinkling in his ear. She flounces around a little bit, tiny bright hands pulling at Harry’s curls playfully.
“She likes you.” Louis gapes, mouth open in apparent shock. Harry turns his head to the fairy and takes half a step back, offering his hand slowly. “That’s so,” He cocks his head to the side and watches and the fairy flits around Harry’s shoulders. “odd.”
“How d’you do?” Harry asks the fairy, just barely able to make out the outline of a person through all the bright light. “I’m Harry, Harry Styles.” He introduced himself. There’s more tinkling in his ears, and the light tickles his skin, like the sun on a summer day. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss.”
The fairy flutters around his shoulders for a few more seconds before shooting back to Louis, tinkling music in his ear and tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. He hisses when she pulls too hard and rolls his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” He mutters quickly. “I don’t like having to keep you in there as much as you don’t, but it’s got to be done-“
“You understand her?” Harry interrupts, before flushing a shade of pink. The fairy on Louis’ shoulder nods pointedly, and Louis sighs.
“Unfortunately,” He says before the fairy kicks at his neck, and he scrunches his nose in discomfort, turning his head towards her. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, hush, you.” Louis rubs a finger of the spot where the fairy kicked him, a small red spot appearing like he’d been pinched. “I’ve always been able to understand her.” He smiles proudly, chuckling when the fairy flies back to Harry’s head, playing with the mop of curls.
“And she likes me?” Harry asks, incredulously, giggling as she hits a ticklish spot on his neck.
“Apparently.” Louis said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She hardly likes anyone.”
The fairy makes an indignant sort of tinkle over Harry’s head, and he looks up just in time to see sparkles sprinkling down from her wings, landing in his hair, in his eyebrows, on his shoulders. He chuckles, trying not to sneeze when some gets too close to his nose.
“Oh,” Louis says, moving to brush some off of Harry’s shoulders, chuckling. “That’s just-“
“Starstuff.” Harry finishes, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. “Or pixie dust.” He looks up just in time to see Louis’ mouth drop open. Harry grins a little smugly.
“You are,” Louis begins, sitting back and pulling his knees up to his chest, cocking his head at Harry. “the most peculiar boy I’ve ever met.”
“Yes, because I’m the boy with a fairy in my suitcase.” Harry teases, apologizing when the fairy in question pulls at his hair in warning. “Right, no, sorry, sorry.” He mutters, and he takes the light tinkling he gets in response as forgiveness.
“Don’t apologize to her, Tink’s a right diva sometimes.” Louis says, waving a hand in their direction. The fairy shoots toward him, tugging at his hair and pinching at his nose. “Don’t argue with me, you know it’s true.” Louis says, swatting her away gently.
“Tink?” Harry asks, amused. “Her name’s Tink?”
Louis nods, still trying to keep her at bay. “Tinkerbell, if we want to be formal, but I just call her Tink.”
The fairy- Tink- nods, still flying agitatedly around Louis’ head. “Tink, stop, stop.” He says looking around at the floor, now sparkling with the amount of dust littering it. “Oh, great.” He moans, trying in vain to scoop some of it into a pile to pick up. “Now I’m going to have to hoover in here or else the whole band will just float away.” He narrow his eyes accusatorily at the fairy, who flutters away.
The tinkling sound Tinkerbell lets out sounds an awful lot like a laugh to Harry, and he tries to hide his chuckle with a cough. Louis still flicks some pixie dust at him before hastily leaning over to brush it off his shoulders. “Wouldn’t want you flying off, now would we?”
Harry grins, his shoulder tingling where Louis’ fingers touch, glittering gold dust falling off his shoulders and onto the floor around him. Tinkerbell resurfaces a moment later, from behind a pile of Louis’ clothes, to promptly sit on Harry’s head. Louis groans.
“Can’t you make anything easy for me?” He asks, and the fairy shakes her head, hands tugging curiously at the ends of Harry’s curls. Louis sighs. “I thought so.”
Somewhere in the house, a door slams and Tinkerbell starts, tumbling forward into Harry’s curls, her wings tangled and pulling. “Ah,” Harry hisses, bringing his hands up gently to pull his curls away. The fairy twists a little more and somersaults out of his hair, stamping her foot in the air with a loud humph.
“Alright, alright.” Louis hisses, rolling his eyes. “Back in the case, back in the case, c’mon.” Tink vocalizes her frustrations at him as Louis waves her into the bottom compartment of his suitcase before whispering a mumbled apology to her and closing the case.
“Well.” He says finally, hands on his thighs. “Show you enough?”
Harry laughs incredulously and nods, completely speechless. Louis beams at him, albeit a little smugly, like he’s proud of making Harry forget how to speak.
He’ll never tell Louis, but Harry’s willing to be speechless an awful lot more if it means Louis will smile like that more.
~
They’re lying out on the grass in the acres of park area behind the house, just talking, like they’ve been doing it all their life, when Harry remembers.
“You can fly.” Harry says. He feels Louis shift next to him on the grass, moving to lean on one elbow and look at him. “I mean, I think you can.” Harry corrects himself, looking up at Louis. “I’ve heard it mentioned, before. So you should, maybe.”
Louis his lip and lies back down beside Harry. “I can.” He says after a moment, sighing slowly, the puff of air pushing his fringe out of his face. “It’s been a long time since I have.” He admits. “I’m not sure if I still can.”
“Yes, you can.” Harry says, turning his head to look at Louis, the grass tickling his ear. “I believe you can.”
Louis purses his lips and looks back up at the stars, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “Sometimes believing isn’t everything, Hazza.”
Harry bites the inside of his cheek before rolling over so he’s kneeling beside Louis. “Sure it is.” He shrugs, tugging at Louis’ arm. “Now come on, fly.”
Louis gapes at him, head already turned like he’s going to shake it. “No, Harry-” He argues, frowning. “I can’t.”
"Yes,” Harry says stubbornly, pulling Louis into a sitting position. “You can. If I believe in you, why can’t you believe in you?”
Louis swallows nervously for a minute, but when Harry smiles at him a determined look comes over him, the spark in his eye twinkling. “I do believe in me, I suppose.” He says, his palms flat on the grass as he pulls his feet under him, crouching in front of Harry, the thimble on the chain dangling loosely around his neck. “Well, then.” He clears his throat, clapping. “Would you like to see me fly, Harry dear?”
Harry nods, eyes wide, smile even wider. “More than anything, Lou.”
Louis nods, and closes his eyes for a minute, his chest rising and falling in steady, even breaths. Harry watches as he focuses, brows pressed together in concentration. A breeze floats through the park, lifting Louis’ hair around his ears, and then all of a sudden he’s rising, floating up, his hands flexed out. He lets out an audible sigh and stretches in the air, rising higher and higher.
He opens his eyes when he’s about twenty feet in the air and looks around, beaming. Tentatively, he moves around in the air, one foot to the left, then one to the right, before twirling around in place, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Harry watches as he flies around, first up, then down, before somersaulting around in mid air.
“You’re doing it!” Harry calls, hands cupped around his mouth, grinning up at Louis’s silhouette against the moon. “I told you!”
Louis laughs, doing figure eights around trees, feet pointed, arms stretched up over his head. Shooting upward he lets out a sort of crow of pure joy, legs stretches and hands on his waist, beaming at the stars. “Look at me!” He says to the entirety of the empty park, voice full of pride. “Just look!”
Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and stares up at Louis, unable to contain his smile. He watches as Louis turns and does a sort of pirouette in the air, grinning and smiling and moving in a way that’s so natural, that’s like nothing Harry has ever seen before.
Suddenly, Louis stops mid-turn and looks down at Harry, like he’d forgotten he was there. He grins and shoots towards the ground, startling Harry into taking a few steps back, hands coming up to block his face. “Come on, then.” Louis says once he’s hovering next to Harry, a meter or so off the ground. He stretches out his hand. “Grab hold.”
Harry looks from Louis to his outstretched hand, eyes wide. “You’re serious?” He asks, holding his breath. “I can fly with you?”
Louis snorts. “Of course you can!” He says, and he stretches forward to clasp Harry’s hand in his.
Instantly, Harry feels lighter. There’s a sort of fire running up the hand and arm that Louis is holding on to, warm and nice like the heat on a summer evening. His whole body feels like he could float away at any second, despite remaining firmly on the ground until Louis pulls at him and then he’s airborne, watching the ground and trees grow smaller under him.
“Woah!” He gasps, and his other hand scrambles for a more secure grip on Louis’ arm, feet flailing out under him. “Oh my god.”
Above him, Louis laughs. “Surreal, isn’t it?” He calls, turning to look at Harry, an infectious smile plastered on his face as his hair whips around him. “Hold on tight!” He advises, waiting until Harry’s sure his grip on his hand is secure before speeding up, twirling through the trees and telephone wires that surround the park.
The clouds tickle his face as they get higher, drops of rain appearing on his arm as they go through the fog, dampening his shirt, sending a shiver up his spine, something akin to excitement. The stars glow brighter, twinkling closer to their faces as they fly over bus stops and skyscrapers, watching as double-decker buses parade through the streets below them.
The city at night is beautiful- Harry’s always known that, but something about seeing it from a bird’s eye view reminds him how he used to look out the window, not just for a boy who refused to grow up, but to watch the city as it breathed through the night, the lights flickering and changing and always moving. He tightens his grip on Louis’ arm, and Louis ducks his head back to smile at him, sending a flurry of butterflies up Harry’s tummy and straight to his chest.
Louis swings them by the clock tower, after circling the point of the tower, and lands them down on the rafters above the clock, the hands pointing up at them in greeting. Harry sits, dazed by the sudden feeling of heaviness and stillness that comes over him once Louis lets go of his hand. He coughs and tries to sort himself out, blinking amazedly at the light from the face of the clock shining up at him, and stretching all over the city, lighting the whole of the world out in front of him.
“S’beautiful, isn’t it?” Louis says, sidling down next to Harry, leaning his elbows on his knees and pressing his chin to his hands, staring wide eyes and smiling at the city.
“Yeah,” Harry breathes, still transfixed by the hundreds of tiny lights all over the city, glinting in their different shades of whites and yellows.
“I used to come up here when I was real little.” Louis says, like it’s an admission. “When I first learned how to fly.”
Harry looks over at him, watches the way the light from the face of the clock catches on his cheekbones, his eyelashes, his lips. “How long have you been-“
“As long as I can remember.” Louis answers, gazing out over the city. “I’ve only ever known London from the sky, really.”
Harry’s fingers tighten on the stone of the rafters, his feet swinging. “Do you ever want to go back?” He asks, leaning his head back to watch the few stars still shining above them. “To Neverland, I mean. If it is a real place, that is.”
“It’s real as anything.” Louis says, instinctively quick to the defense. “It’s everything you’ve heard about from story books and old mother’s tales, and probably more than you can possibly imagine.” He relaxes his shoulders as his eyes go far away, fingers still on his knees. “It’s got lagoons and seas and mermaids and mountains too high to see the tops of.” He blinks, and the look is gone, his eyes clear and firm.
“Why wouldn’t you want to go back, then?” Harry questions, running his fingers over the cracks in the stone beneath them.
Louis looks over at him, his boyish face appearing older in the upward cast light from the clock. “I dunno.” He sighs, hopping into a crouching position, toes dangling off the edge of the tower. “It’d be nice, I suppose.” He says, hopping off the tower edge and twirling in the air, still a little experimental in his movements. “But I’ve been away for so long.”
“Does it matter?” Harry asks curiously, leaning out to look down at the cars passing miles beneath them.
“Well, sure it does.” Louis answers, shrugging. “When I’m there, I get to stay the same forever and do whatever I want.” He does a front flip in the air, grinning cheekily when he’s floating upright again. “But when I’m here,” He flips again, “I have to grow up.”
Harry frowns, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t grow up that much here. I’m still pretty much a kid.”
Louis smiles at him. “That you are, Harry my lad. That you are.” He hangs up in the air for a minute and then slips down, like a piece of paper flitting to and fro on its way down from a window, until he lands softly next to Harry, their fingers overlapping.
“And besides,” Louis says, quieter now, a small smile playing on his face. “Why would I want to go back to Neverland,” He moves his hand, letting his fingers fit into the spaces between Harry’s, lacing them together. “When you’re still here?”
A lump catches in Harry’s throat and he takes a second to remember how to breathe evenly, before he beams up at Louis, emotion still swelling inside his chest. “I’d go wherever you go.” He says, and he means it to be pointedly corny, but once the words tumble out of his mouth and into the night air around them, he realizes they’re true. Harry would go anywhere Louis wanted to, would probably follow him to the end of the earth, or the sky, or the universe, if he asked.
“That’s kind of you, Harry.” Louis says playfully, tugging on Harry’s hand and pulling him back up into the air with him. “But Neverland’s a tricky place to visit.” He grabs Harry’s other hand and takes them on a little somersault in the air that sends Harry’s stomach into his chest. “There’s the lost boys, who will of course demand my attention.” He shoots them up a little higher into the sky, rising up to the peak of the clocktower, spinning around it. “There are pirates, who aren’t really a match for me,” Louis boasts, and Harry tries not to find it incredibly endearing.
“No one’s really a match for you, are they?” Harry asks a little breathlessly, looking down at London sitting directly below his feet.
“Not at all!” Louis exclaims proudly. “But they like to pretend they are, those pirates.” He perches Harry down on one of the flatter sections of the roof and floats back to lazily mime poking a sword at someone, probably a pirate.
“Sounds exciting.” Harry comments, trying not to be overwhelmed by how high up they are. Louis shrugs smugly at him, floating along the air in a sort of backstroke.
“It is, I suppose.” He says, before righting himself and floating down by Harry. “It’d be better if you were there.” He admits quietly, looking up into the sky. “See, right there?” He stretches an arm out towards one of the hundreds of stars littering the night sky. “That bright one, right there, yeah?” Harry nods once he sees the star Louis is talking about, one of the brightest ones in the sky. “The one to the right of it. You find that, and then from there you just,” He looks wistfully up at the stars. “Go.”
“Straight on ‘till morning?” Harry asks, and Louis beams.
“Exactly that,” He sighs, the stars reflected in his skyward turned eyes. “Straight on ‘till morning.”
“One day I’ll go with you.” Harry says, slipping his hand into Louis, lacing their fingers together. Louis looks down, like he’s startled at the contact.
“Maybe,” He says slowly. Harry shakes his head.
“Definitely.” He corrects, and Louis smiles, closing his eyes. “I’ll go wherever you go, remember?”Harry looks out at the star, now permanently etched in his memory of the sky. “And besides, you really want to go back.” Louis catches his eye, brow raised. “I know you do.”
Louis quirks a brow at Harry, shaking his head despite his quiet laughter. “You’re too perceptive for your own good, Harry.”
Harry shrugs a little smugly, holding tight to Louis’ hand. “Not really.” He smiles at Louis. “I just know you.”
Louis smiles back at him, before he finally springs up and turns his back on the stars, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right, shall he head back, then?”
“No,” Harry says immediately, looking over the darker section of London, not wanting to ever leave this spot, wanting to just stay here with Louis and the stars and the twinkling lights forever.
“Well, we’ve got to.” Louis laughs, tugging at Harry’s curls. “Honestly, Harry, it’ll be a sad day when you force me to be the adult, here.”
Harry sticks his tongue out at Louis but willingly offers his hand to the other boy, who takes it gracefully, with a playful kiss on the top of his knuckles. “Shall we go, then?” Louis asks, and the second Harry nods they’re off again, flying over London, hand in hand, and Harry wonders what he could do to make sure they can stay this way forever.
~
Harry realizes he’s in love with Louis when he wakes up curled next to him on the couch after a night of storytelling.
He’d fallen asleep with his head on Louis’ leg, Louis’ fingers carding through his hair, Tinkerbell somewhere near his left ear, careful to be just out of sight in case one of the boys came in. He’d dozed off listening to Louis tell him the same stories he’d grown up on, only with a new twist, with a new feeling of adventure that comes only straight from the source.
Half asleep, he thinks he hears stories of a different nature, tales that feel like old ones, but with himself written in, fighting and flying and laughing alongside Louis, and the lost boys, and even the pirates. He realizes, stirring slightly from sleep, with Louis whispering in his ear, that these aren’t old stories at all, but new ones, about himself and Louis and all of the adventures they’ll have together.
Louis presses his fingers into the open palm of Harry’s hand and he falls back to sleep with a smile on his face.
After this, it’s a strange progression. They fly together under the cover of night and bright stars, they eat most meals together, they make stories and tales and moments together. They’re attached at the hip, but neither of them can really say what they are as a unit. Harry would like to call them together, because there are moment where the only thing he wants in the world is to kiss Louis on the cheek, on the forehead, on the lips.
Harry had realized long ago, so long ago that he’d been able to forget it and then remember it, that he’d go anywhere with Louis. He likes to think that Louis feels the same about him, but he can’t be sure, can never be sure with Louis. Through all the flying and all the discovering and storytelling, Harry’s still unsure if what he wants is what they both want. Whether his uncertainty stems from Louis or his own worry, he isn’t sure.
He finally gets the nerve to talk about what neither of them have been able to one night after they’ve been flying. It’s a testament to how late they’re out that the London Eye is completely still, though the world below them is still bustling about, finishing up its night and heading off to bed.
Harry’s sitting on top of the topmost compartment, legs crossed indian-style, while Louis balances on one of the metal beams running across compartments, looking out onto the water. Harry fidgets with the acorn he keeps in his pocket, running it through his fingers, trying not to let his worry show.
“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, spinning around on the beam. Harry sighs. That didn’t work too well.
“Nothing,” He answers, laying back on the compartment and staring up at the sky, the cool air from the water making him shiver.
“You’re lying.” Louis says simply, flitting over to where Harry is, hovering an inch or two above him. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Harry sighs and sits up, Louis standing just past his feet, his toes brushing the bottoms of Harry’s trainers. “I’m worried you might not take me seriously.”
Louis raises an eyebrow before frowning, shaking his head. “Harry, I-” He stops himself short holding out a hand, which Harry takes with a small smile. “I know I’m not, er, not typical in every sense of the word.” Harry snorts and Louis pinches his wrist lightly. “But I can take things seriously, you know.”
Harry swallows thickly, pulling the hem of his t-shirt down where it’s ridden up. “You just have to hear me out on this, okay?” He warns, holding Louis’ eye.
“I promise,” Louis says seriously, and Harry takes a deep breath.
“I used to say I’d go on any adventure with you.” Harry says softly, the toe of his shoe nudging Louis’ heel. “When I was little, I used to talk to the window. Talk to you.”
“I heard you,” Louis says, his voice just as soft, just as unsure. “I used to talk back, you know.” He looks up and catches Harry’s eye, holds it there like in a movie. “You just don’t remember.”
“No, I don’t.” Harry admits, putting his hands in his pockets, fidgeting. “But I want to remember all over again.”
Neither of them say anything for a long moment. The silence between them is thick, tense with uncertainty and anticipation and all of the buzz of excitement that something big is going to happen.
The words build behind Harry’s lips, fizzing like pop rocks and soft drinks, soft and excited they absolutely have to be said, can’t be held inside anymore. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
The silence that comes after that is deafening in a way that the previous one wasn’t. This one is heavy, heavy enough to weigh down infinitely in the air between them, broken only when Louis lifts his head and looks Harry in the eye, nervous, worried, maybe a little relieved.
“Are you?” He asks quietly. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Harry replies instinctively. There’s a long moment before Louis is saying something, his voice as tentative as Harry feels.
“Falling in love,” Louis whispers finally, looking down at his feet, “is part of growing up, I think.” He looks up at Harry, bright blue eyes wide and nervous. “I’ve never been very good with growing up.”
Harry bites the inside of his cheek, looking at Louis. “Maybe,” He says after a minute, moving a hand around to the back of Louis’ neck, his skin tingling under Harry’s fingertips. “you don’t have to grow up entirely.”
Louis takes a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to Harry’s, his hand resting on Harry’s waist. “Maybe,” He says, just as quietly, leaning in slightly so their noses fit together, their lips nearly touching. Harry runs a hand up Louis’ chest and just under the collar of his shirt, fingers fiddling with the chain around his neck, finding the thimble that rests there.
“Maybe I could give that a try.” Louis finishes, swallowing nervously. Harry lets a grin spread across his face before leaning in to show Louis that maybe he’s willing to give it a try, too.