(no subject)
Title: Breathe Me - Chapter Nine
Pairing: Harry/Louis (Larry Stylinson)
Summary: Neither Harry, nor Louis, knew what they were getting into when they boarded the Titanic that day. Nobody could have been prepared for what was about to happen to them, because nobody knew just how much their lives would change within the next few days.
Warning: Due to the time period, some homophobic context may arise.
AN: Massive thanks to my lovely Beta, Allyssa.
-
When Louis had been twelve years old, he met a girl called Emily. She was lovely, caring and sweet. Everything a well brought up girl ought to be. She was his first kiss.
It had been clumsy, neither of them really knowing what they were doing and, truth be told, neither really wanting what they were doing. But what else were two young people supposed to do when rumours and snide remarks were being shot their way by their fellow peers once it was revealed that neither had been kissed yet? Words such as 'gay' weren't taken lightly in Doncaster and at twelve years old, Louis had no idea why that term scared him so much.
After time, he grew to know that he wasn't like the other lads in his school. The term that had scared him became something that almost comforted him because hell, there had to be others like him if there was a label for it, didn't there?
He had been fifteen when he met Anthony. Anthony had been his fourth kiss, his second and third belonged to nameless faces on drunken nights out with friends trying desperately to shake the label that had been given to him after he had been caught staring just a second longer than he ought to at James Connoly's backside. Still, it had been his first kiss with a gender that felt right. Anthony had been dominant and demanding, with too much tongue and not enough feeling behind his actions.
Kissing Harry was nothing like that.
Harry was neither dominant nor submissive when it came to kissing. There was an equal balance between the two as they lay there on Louis' bed, limbs tangled together as they gradually explored each other's mouths. If Louis had thought kissing Anthony felt right, then Christ, kissing Harry was bloody perfection.
The younger boy broke away with a soft chuckle, earning an inquisitive look from Louis.
“I was just thinking-” he started,
“Always a dangerous thing.” Louis interrupted, grinning.
Rolling his eyes, Harry couldn't help but smile back. “I was just thinking what my Father's face would look like, if he knew what I was doing right now.”
“Is he really that bad?” Louis couldn't help but ask, thoroughly intrigued. Sure, he'd heard a lot about the senior Mr. Styles from both Harry and Niall, (who's information on everyone and everything seemed to only grow as the days wore on) but he couldn't imagine a man being so horrible to somebody- his own son, nonetheless. Not even his own father was that bad. Granted, he had left Louis' mother while the twins were only toddlers, leaving him and Jay to raise them alone (with the occasional help of his other sisters), but he didn't fail to send them money towards their living expenses whenever he could. He wasn't a bad man at heart, not really.
Harry simply offered a half-shrug as a reply, not wanting to ruin the moment with fear or apprehension, and he certainly didn't want any sympathy from Louis.
“Harry...” Louis' words became lost in his throat as the younger boy leaned down to cover his lips with his own once more. He let it go, kissing Harry back. If he didn't want to talk about it, then he wasn't going to push the subject. His hair was still damp to the touch, his clothes not completely dry but definitely less wet than they were when he first entered the room, and Louis couldn't resist the temptation to push himself closer to the other male.
He was obviously doing something right, as a soft, almost silent moan came from Harry's throat as his long fingers wound into Louis' hair.
“Lou... what...” he cleared his throat, opening eyes that he wasn't even aware he had closed. “What time is it?”
Louis groaned softly, not wanting to separate himself from the other boy, but knowing that he had to. He grabbed his pocket watch from underneath his pillow, flicking it open. “Twenty-five minutes past six.”
It was now Harry's time to groan, burring his head into Louis' chest. “I have to go.” he mumbled, pulling away. “I have to be at dinner with my family.”
Louis nodded, biting his lip. “I understand.” leaning forwards, he kissed Harry quickly once more, savouring the feeling of warm lips puckered against his. They untangled themselves from each other, sliding out from the bunk.
Harry stretched once he was stood, not used to lying on such a hard mattress for over an hour. “Remind me to sneak you into my room sometime.” he chuckled. “I think you'd find it's far more comfortable.”
“Are you trying to seduce me, Styles?” Louis grinned, eyes darting down to the slither of skin on his torso that had been exposed as the younger boy stretched.
Harry fake gasped, mirth twinkling in his eyes. “I'm a gentleman, Tomlinson!”
“Gentleman, my arse. You just spent the last hour in my bed, kissing me senseless.” Louis retorted, fighting back a laugh. He liked this, the playful banter between the two of them. It was easy, relaxing almost.
They smiled at each other for a few moments, neither wanting to separate just yet. “Goodbye, Louis.” Harry said softy, his tone almost a whisper.
Louis shook his head. “No goodbyes. It's an, ''I'll see you later.''.”
The younger boy grinned, stepping forwards to place a chaste kiss on Louis' cheek. “In that case, will you meet me later?”
“Where?”
“The lifts. After dinner. I-I want to show you something.” hope gleamed in Harry's eyes, along with a small amount of nervousness. And really, how could Louis say no to that pleading face?
“Of course I will.” he smiled. “Around eight o'clock, then?”
Harry grinned, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “That sounds perfect.”
-
Dinner was a lot less tense than it usually was. Harry had arrived back at the suite only minutes before Gemma and his parents, managing to escape to his room to dry and change before they saw the flushed state he was in. Never in his life had he felt so lucky.
Throughout the courses, he and Phillipa actually talked. It was amazing how little he actually knew about her, during the appetisers he learned that she was a skilled in equestrian, had a passion for literature, and that her literary heroine was Jane Eyre. (“I just admire her. Her strength to be so independent in a man's world is amazing.”) When the main course arrived, he learned that she hated caviare, despite being practically raised on the stuff, and that if she could, she would have loved to work in a bakery. Unfortunately for her though, it was a task utterly frowned upon for a woman of her status to be doing. By the time they had finished desert, he knew that she was fluent in both French and Latin, was deeply intrigued by art and design and detested the colour yellow.
All in all, it was a pretty successful evening. Gemma continuously cast him confused glances, a small sense of betrayal in her eyes. Harry reminded himself that he would have to talk to her tonight, explain that despite their previous convictions, Phillipa was actually a pretty nice girl. For now though, he tried to hide the smirk that radiated from within him as he took in Denis' delighted face. He thought he had won. As images of Louis' face flashed across his mind, accompanied by memories of their actions earlier in the evening, he couldn't help but think 'If only he knew.'
-
It seemed to take a lifetime for seven forty-five to roll around, but by the time it did, Harry had to physically repress a sigh of relief.
“Now, Gentlemen,” Denis addressed the other men at their table. Harry recognised Mr. Ismay and the Colonel, (whom he had yet to remember his proper name) but the others were all nameless strangers. Strangers who were only seated with them due to his father and their own mutual obsession with money and power. “Will you join me for a Brandy in the smoking room?”
There was a murmur of “Yes”'s and “Indeed”'s, before the men stood, biding goodnight to the women in attendance.
“Harold?”
“No, thank you.” Harry tried to keep his tone neutral, inconspicuous. “I think I shall just return to the suite. With Phillipa.” he added, once it was clear Denis was about to protest. At this, his father smiled smugly, (an action which made Harry want to shudder) and took a step away from the table.
“Very well, lad. Have a nice evening.”
It took around another thirty seconds, an excruciatingly long thirty seconds, for his father and his company to leave completely, by which time Harry was practically bouncing on the edge of his seat with anticipation and the need to see Louis again. It may have appeared pathetic, that his life now revolved around one boy whom he had known for such a short period of time, but he really couldn't bring himself to care.
“Phillipa; I'm going to have to ask you for a favour.” Harry whispered in her ear, low enough so that they wouldn't be overheard by anybody else, but loud enough so that his words were easily distinguishable.
“And what might that be?” she replied, raising her glass to her lips and taking a slow sip, careful to keep her voice as low as Harry's.
“Could you maybe, I don't know... Keep Gemma and my mum away from the suite for an hour or two? Two would be fantastic. But I need to make sure that they wont come back, because-”
Phillipa giggled softly, flashing Harry a smile. “Stop rambling on, Harry. Seriously. If you and...” she lowered her voice to a point where even Harry had trouble hearing her words, “if you and Louis need time alone, I will gladly help out. Two hours, yes? I'll do it.”
Harry grinned, leaning forwards to kiss her cheek. “Thank you. Really, I mean it. You're amazing.”
She blushed softly, mumbling something along the lines of 'you're embarrassing me, Harry.' only the younger boy didn't hear her. He was too busy getting to his feet and sneaking out of the dining room while his Mother and Gemma were still deep in conversation, in order to avoid any awkward questions, to listen properly.
It was 7:58 by the time he reached the lifts, precisely 8:00 by the time he reached Louis' deck. The moment the barriers opened Harry grinned at the sight before him. Stood there, leaning against the wall facing the lifts with his arms crossed and an expression on his face that showed his imagination was a million miles away, was Louis.
“Hello, Stranger.”
Louis jumped slightly as he heard the familiar voice, looking up to see Harry walking towards him. “Hi there.” he grinned. “You know, the amount of time you spend down here, for a stranger, people might start to talk.” he bit his lip, playing along with the joke.
Harry flashed him a smile. “My thoughts exactly!”
A flash of fear spread through Louis. To say he was confused would be a slight understatement, because hell, they'd gone from flirting, to... this... in a matter of three seconds flat. He should have known that it wouldn't last long, that soon Harry would see sense and not want to be with somebody like him, and fuck he was such an idiot for believing in happy endings - even if it was just this once.
“Don't worry, Lou.” Harry grinned. “I'm not abandoning you or anything.” to this, Louis visibly relaxed, a motion that made the younger boy smile. “but instead of me coming down to you, you're coming up to me for once.”
What?! “I.. What about... Harry, if-” Louis stuttered, once again tense. First class quarters were completely off limits to anybody who didn't belong there. There was a difference between sneaking onto the first class deck, and sneaking into first class rooms. There was a huge difference.
“Louis, stop panicking. We have the suite to ourselves for two hours. By the time my family gets back, I'll make sure that I've returned you to your room, and nobody will be any the wiser, I promise.”
It took a few minutes for Louis to loosen up a little, letting Harry's words sink in. “Promise?”
Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing Louis' wrist gently and pulling him into one of the lifts. “I promise” he whispered, low enough that the attendant wouldn't hear.
Now, Harry wasn't an idiot. He knew that if anybody saw him with Louis then they would talk. Word would soon get back to his father and they would both be dead. Because of this, the two boys found themselves dodging down different corridors and into supply cupboards every two minutes in attempts to avoid anybody that was wandering the hallways.
By the time they finally got to the Styles suite, they were both laughing, stumbling through the threshold blindly as they clutched at their sides in pure ecstatic humour.
“That was...”
“Bloody hilarious.” Louis finished for him, leaning against the now closed door as he attempted to get his breath back. “I mean, how many supply cupboards do you need up here?”
“People have a lot of shit.” Harry chuckled, “they need a lot of storage for it.”
The older lad couldn't help but grin at Harry. Really, it was the first time he had heard him swear and wow, it sounded amazing coming from those perfect lips. 'Jesus, Lou.' he thought to himself, 'since when did you become such a sappy git?'
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he began to survey the room he was now in. It was the first time he had been to Harry's quarters, heck it was the first time he'd seen any of the first class rooms, but they certainly didn't disappoint. They were lavish, overly so, and the smell of paint was still faint in the room, overwhelming his senses.
There were doors leading off into other rooms, (bedrooms, he supposed) and placed strategically around the room, only complimenting the grand size of it, were a variety of couches and chairs, accompanied by a single coffee table towards the far left of the room. What grabbed his attention the most, however, was the parlour grand piano standing proudly in the middle of the room. The deep mahogany looked so smooth, so firm, and Louis' fingers began itching with the desire to play.
Noticing his gaze, Harry smiled softly, walking over to his lover and sliding his fingers between his. “Come on,” he said softly, pulling on his hand gently, leading him to the instrument.
The two sat on the wooden stool, just the perfect height to reach the keys, and Louis smiled to himself when he found himself thinking that even a stool felt more comfortable than his own -third class- bed. Not that he was being bitter or anything of the sorts, it was just an observation.
“This is what I wanted to show you.” Harry licked his lips nervously, pushing the fallboard back to reveal pristine, ivory keys
For a moment, Louis was speachless. He really didn't know what to say. What did you say to someone when they had just lead you to the one thing that you had always loved? It was a sentiment that was so unbelievably sweet that he didn't quite know what to do with himself.
“Harry...”
“You said you were a composer.” Harry stated softly, trying not to let his nervousness show. “So I thought you might like to... you know... and none of my family are going to use it, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste.” he babbled, suddenly questioning whether he'd done the right thing. “And... and I'd love to hear you.”
Upon his admittance, Harry ducked his head to hide the blush that was slowly creeping onto his cheeks. Louis simply grinned, tilting the younger boy's face to meet his with his fingers, gently tracing his jawline. “Thank you.”
Harry grinned and 'hello dimples' Louis thought to himself, not even bothering to suppress his own smile at the sight.
Turning his attention back to the piano, Louis ran his fingers softly over the keys, becoming familiar with the touch of them. He had never played on an instrument that was kept in such condition, hell it was probably newly made. Definitely a first for him.
Taking a breath, he pressed down on the first key. Then another. And slowly, a soft melody began to fill the room. (x)
He hadn't realized how much he missed playing. It had been almost a month since he'd had access to a piano. For the past seven months he'd been able to sneak into the theatre house in town once it had closed, and practice on the piano there. It was far from new, having been retuned one too many times, but it was still great to practice new music on. Unfortunately, however, small theatres didn't do too well in Doncaster these days, and the place shut down little under four weeks ago, leaving bare rooms to gather dust, and Louis with no place to rehearse. Music would only sell if it had been practised to the extent in which it was no longer new, no longer raw with emotion and an almost gateway into the soul. It was often a shame for Louis to make sale, knowing that those hours of work would mean nothing to someone but a means of entertainment, but this, this spontaneous composure... he had almost forgotten how liberating it felt.
As the melody floated through the room, Harry became almost hypnotised. To say it was beautiful would have been an insult because it was much, much more than that. It was... it was everything. It was sadness and grief, love and longing, all rolled into one. It was Louis.
The score ended, and as the final note faded into nothing, Harry couldn't have stopped what he was about to say even if he wanted to. It was a whisper, almost low enough not to be heard, yet it was. It broke the spell of silence around them, and Harry had no idea whether he had just scared away the best thing that had ever happened to him, or not;
“I think I'm falling in love with you.”