without having to confess
Title: without having to confess
Author: lyricsandhearts
Disclaimer: I absolutely don't own any of the boys of One Direction. Title, cut text, and quite a few of the lines in the fic are from poems by Richard Siken.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Harry/Louis, mentions of vaguely OT5-y feelings?
Warnings: Second-person perspective, and I guess that's pretty much all.
Summary: I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything.
Author's Notes: Welp. It's been almost exactly a year since my last Siken!fic, and I've been trying to write another one ever since. And then last night, this happened? So. This may become an interfandom series-type-thing, we'll see... Many thanks to folkloric_feel for encouraging my crazy. ♥
1.
You are eighteen. You know these things: You know how to sing a harmony, and you know how to smile at a red carpet event like you're happy even if you aren't, and you know that a boy who has fallen in love with another boy is as good as fired unless he keeps his mouth shut.
You are not going to keep your mouth shut anymore - not because you couldn't, god knows you could, but because you are so, so tired.
Every look you give him, every thumbs up, every time you smile at him and whisper in his ear you're risking something, and you're tired of it, the way that somebody, everybody, somebody is trying to make you ashamed of what you feel. You're sitting here on the floor and painting with all the colors you've ever known. You're breaking windows and tearing down houses and you wish it meant something to anyone besides five terrified kids who only ever wanted to sing.
Somewhere in here there's a moral, maybe a happy ending or two, but right now all this fairy tale has given you is four princes to save, a fire-breathing dragon, and a butterknife to take it down with.
2.
He's very beautiful when he stands on the edge of a stage like this, lights glaring bright in your eyes so that none of you can see where you're stepping, but he somehow knows exactly where he's going with every step, and it's breathtaking. Hand pressed to his heart, eyes shut, he sings and sings and sings - you hold the microphone up to your mouth and wonder if you could scream all of your love into it, if that would make it okay, screaming so loud that everyone heard and nobody questioned.
What could you say?
There are so many things I'm not allowed to tell you, you could say. There are so many things wrong, but we've gotten so many things right and I just want to make it all worthwhile. The hand you're holding the microphone in is shaking, and there's feedback, hello, hello, is this thing on, and the others are giving you looks out of the corners of their eyes. You realize too late that your mouth is silently forming the words your voice can't bring itself to create.
The song that's blaring from the speakers is one you should know by heart, one you do know by heart (there are many other things you know by heart - the rhythm of the cheers below your feet, the speech you get every time you say something questionable in public, the trace of his fingers on your skin), but you can't bring yourself to sing along. Your hand falls to your side and you realize that you're meant to be singing another song entirely, the one you've been singing since the beginning.
It's a song about love and freedom and newspaper bravery, maybe, and Louis has been singing, too, but no one notices at all.
3.
Liam says he wants to start a fire, and the magazines keep asking you all the same questions - do you have a girlfriend, how do you feel about all this attention, are you happy?
You say you've never been happier and it isn't exactly a lie, but what you don't tell them is that you've never been more scared, either.
Liam wants to start a fire and he doesn't say it out loud to anyone but you and Louis and Zayn and Niall. People have caught on, though. People are noticing.
Nothing exactly like this has ever happened before, yet as surely as you know that, you also know that history is bound to repeat itself - history is anybody it wants to be, a weary man in an ill-fitting suit and a briefcase or a woman who stays up all night trying to find a cure for her sick daughter or a few stupid, ridiculous teenagers who refuse to shut up. History is anybody that wants to become it.
You all want to start a fire, and the walls are already beginning to burn.
4.
You're nearly asleep one night when Louis rolls over, grabs your face, looks you straight in the eyes with an almost manic determination.
"I'm worried," he says, and your heart drops because Louis does not worry, even when he's scared to death. Even when you all are. "Something's happening."
It takes a moment to respond but eventually you do - you're nodding into your pillow, staring back at him with wide eyes. He's still very beautiful, and he's yours, and he's Liam's and Zayn's and Niall's too. "Something is happening," you say, trying hard not to choke on your words. "Are we going to let it happen?"
He swallows hard. Bites at his lip. Closes his eyes for just a moment, and when he opens them, he's steady.
"We're going to make it happen, Hazza." A split second passes, and then he's laughing, laughing, and you're laughing too. The weight of the whole damn world feels like it's been lifted off your shoulders when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, humming quietly.
"This is all so weird," he mumbles into your shoulder, "so weird. Are we ever gonna get used to this?"
You shrug, run a hand through his hair.
He's silent for just one more second, and then he says, "I don't think I want to." He exhales deeply. "God. Tell me we'll never get used to it."
"We'll never get used to it," you mutter, grinning, mostly asleep again already, and when he kisses you, knocking your heads together and barking out another laugh, you know that somehow, despite everything, your life has gone very, very right.
5.
It's a road movie, a double-feature, five boys striking out across the world, while desire and frustration slowly carve their way out of the woodwork, desperate to be known. It's torture, the way nobody is allowed to know the ending yet, the way everyone has to sit with bated breath, anticipating the worst and the best.
Those same five boys huddle together, waiting, warming themselves by the growing fire and watching carefully to see if the rest of the world will find a way to figure it out.
(You smile back at Louis when he looks at you like you're the most important thing he's ever known and hold your breath for some kind of revolution.)
Author: lyricsandhearts
Disclaimer: I absolutely don't own any of the boys of One Direction. Title, cut text, and quite a few of the lines in the fic are from poems by Richard Siken.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Harry/Louis, mentions of vaguely OT5-y feelings?
Warnings: Second-person perspective, and I guess that's pretty much all.
Summary: I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything.
Author's Notes: Welp. It's been almost exactly a year since my last Siken!fic, and I've been trying to write another one ever since. And then last night, this happened? So. This may become an interfandom series-type-thing, we'll see... Many thanks to folkloric_feel for encouraging my crazy. ♥
1.
You are eighteen. You know these things: You know how to sing a harmony, and you know how to smile at a red carpet event like you're happy even if you aren't, and you know that a boy who has fallen in love with another boy is as good as fired unless he keeps his mouth shut.
You are not going to keep your mouth shut anymore - not because you couldn't, god knows you could, but because you are so, so tired.
Every look you give him, every thumbs up, every time you smile at him and whisper in his ear you're risking something, and you're tired of it, the way that somebody, everybody, somebody is trying to make you ashamed of what you feel. You're sitting here on the floor and painting with all the colors you've ever known. You're breaking windows and tearing down houses and you wish it meant something to anyone besides five terrified kids who only ever wanted to sing.
Somewhere in here there's a moral, maybe a happy ending or two, but right now all this fairy tale has given you is four princes to save, a fire-breathing dragon, and a butterknife to take it down with.
2.
He's very beautiful when he stands on the edge of a stage like this, lights glaring bright in your eyes so that none of you can see where you're stepping, but he somehow knows exactly where he's going with every step, and it's breathtaking. Hand pressed to his heart, eyes shut, he sings and sings and sings - you hold the microphone up to your mouth and wonder if you could scream all of your love into it, if that would make it okay, screaming so loud that everyone heard and nobody questioned.
What could you say?
There are so many things I'm not allowed to tell you, you could say. There are so many things wrong, but we've gotten so many things right and I just want to make it all worthwhile. The hand you're holding the microphone in is shaking, and there's feedback, hello, hello, is this thing on, and the others are giving you looks out of the corners of their eyes. You realize too late that your mouth is silently forming the words your voice can't bring itself to create.
The song that's blaring from the speakers is one you should know by heart, one you do know by heart (there are many other things you know by heart - the rhythm of the cheers below your feet, the speech you get every time you say something questionable in public, the trace of his fingers on your skin), but you can't bring yourself to sing along. Your hand falls to your side and you realize that you're meant to be singing another song entirely, the one you've been singing since the beginning.
It's a song about love and freedom and newspaper bravery, maybe, and Louis has been singing, too, but no one notices at all.
3.
Liam says he wants to start a fire, and the magazines keep asking you all the same questions - do you have a girlfriend, how do you feel about all this attention, are you happy?
You say you've never been happier and it isn't exactly a lie, but what you don't tell them is that you've never been more scared, either.
Liam wants to start a fire and he doesn't say it out loud to anyone but you and Louis and Zayn and Niall. People have caught on, though. People are noticing.
Nothing exactly like this has ever happened before, yet as surely as you know that, you also know that history is bound to repeat itself - history is anybody it wants to be, a weary man in an ill-fitting suit and a briefcase or a woman who stays up all night trying to find a cure for her sick daughter or a few stupid, ridiculous teenagers who refuse to shut up. History is anybody that wants to become it.
You all want to start a fire, and the walls are already beginning to burn.
4.
You're nearly asleep one night when Louis rolls over, grabs your face, looks you straight in the eyes with an almost manic determination.
"I'm worried," he says, and your heart drops because Louis does not worry, even when he's scared to death. Even when you all are. "Something's happening."
It takes a moment to respond but eventually you do - you're nodding into your pillow, staring back at him with wide eyes. He's still very beautiful, and he's yours, and he's Liam's and Zayn's and Niall's too. "Something is happening," you say, trying hard not to choke on your words. "Are we going to let it happen?"
He swallows hard. Bites at his lip. Closes his eyes for just a moment, and when he opens them, he's steady.
"We're going to make it happen, Hazza." A split second passes, and then he's laughing, laughing, and you're laughing too. The weight of the whole damn world feels like it's been lifted off your shoulders when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, humming quietly.
"This is all so weird," he mumbles into your shoulder, "so weird. Are we ever gonna get used to this?"
You shrug, run a hand through his hair.
He's silent for just one more second, and then he says, "I don't think I want to." He exhales deeply. "God. Tell me we'll never get used to it."
"We'll never get used to it," you mutter, grinning, mostly asleep again already, and when he kisses you, knocking your heads together and barking out another laugh, you know that somehow, despite everything, your life has gone very, very right.
5.
It's a road movie, a double-feature, five boys striking out across the world, while desire and frustration slowly carve their way out of the woodwork, desperate to be known. It's torture, the way nobody is allowed to know the ending yet, the way everyone has to sit with bated breath, anticipating the worst and the best.
Those same five boys huddle together, waiting, warming themselves by the growing fire and watching carefully to see if the rest of the world will find a way to figure it out.
(You smile back at Louis when he looks at you like you're the most important thing he's ever known and hold your breath for some kind of revolution.)