so when you hold me like this (harry/louis, pg)
so when you hold me like this, one direction, harry/louis, a dash of louis/eleanor, a pinch of ot5 if you squint, pg, 1927 words. I miss the way your neck wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in.
a/n: title is from olly murs' "heart skips a beat," with which i am unhealthily obsessed with rn. poem is from "A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You" by Jon Sands. the ending is choppy, i'm not sure how well it flows, not sure about a lot of the timing because this tour is killing me already why won't it end noooooooow. enjoy anyways? any spelling/grammar mistakes are mine and mine alone because i'm too lazy to edit, oops.
disclaimer: not mine and this didn't really happen.
"I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in."
The thing is Harry misses Louis even if they're only apart for a day. He blames the weird co-dependency shit they have going on, but yeah, there it is, he almost constantly misses him. It's almost unhealthy, really, but at least he acknowledges it, right? It's not as bad if he realises the problem, obviously.
They're in the hotel now, a few hours before their evening New York show, and they're all taking the break between their matinee and the show tonight to unwind and relax before they go back to the venue. Liam and Niall are probably at the gym again because even the most ardent of fans can't stop them from exercising. ("It's a good way to relieve stress," Liam explained once, but Harry just rolled his eyes, although he agreed.) Zayn is most likely trying to find a peaceful place to smoke. That's his stress reliever.
Harry's way of relieving stress is to cuddle up to Louis and talk about anything and everything, something nothing at all, dozing off in a blissful silence, but Louis is with Eleanor -- or Eleanor is on tour with them and he knows that Louis wants time with his girlfriend and look, Harry's not pining, okay? He isn't pining because he doesn't pine and besides, despite fan rumours (or frenzy, depending on which perspective is taken) to the contrary, Harry isn't in love with Louis and Louis isn't in love with Harry.
(Harry loves Louis, more than possibly anyone he's ever known, and his heart swells with happiness every time he sees him or thinks about him, and there is no one he is more comfortable with, and so he likes Eleanor just fine because she's pretty fit and kind of hilarious and is excellent at holding her alcohol, stop spinning it out of proportion, guys, even though there's an irrational (is it irrational) part of him that resents her for taking away his time with Louis.)
(Because he clearly doesn't spend enough time with him as it is.)
(Besides the point, of course. The point is, Harry's not pining for Louis and he's doing just fine
except there's a dull ache of Imissyou Imissyou Imissyou that's probably tied back to the co-dependency and -- okay, fine, maybe there's some pining, but he can't help it that Louis' company is his way of relieving stress.)
He rolls over on his bed, groaning with the effort, and reaches his arm out to pull the hotel phone towards him (his own phone is somewhere on the floor and he can't be bothered to get up and go all the way across the room to get it) before dialing the numbers for Louis' hotel room. It's with a bleary "'Lo?" that Harry realises how glad he is that Eleanor didn't answer because what kind of conversation starter would it be to say, "So, uh, it's been a few hours, can I have my best friend time now?"
"Oh, uh, did I wake up?" Harry asks in a sheepish voice, reaching a hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes.
"Yeah, way to go, Haz," Louis answers, but it's full of teasing fondness, and Harry can imagine the sleepy smile on his face, and the thought of it makes Harry smile. He likes when Louis is happy.
He loses his sheepishness and settles into his Louis-voice, tinged with affection and happiness. "Sorry, you know how I am with timing. Awful at it and everything." Louis laughs softly, and he can hear him shifting, sitting up. Eleanor's probably asleep still, Harry thinks, and to be sure, he asks, "Did I wake El up too?"
"Nah," Louis replies. "Still sound asleep, your bad timing doesn't affect her as it does me. Something up?" That's something he likes most about Louis; he always asks if something's wrong, always makes sure to be there, to listen, because that's who he is. Louis looks after all of them, in different ways than Liam does, and he always makes himself available.
Harry bites his lip and twirls the phone cord around his finger before saying, "Miss you." It's like a second nature kind of breath, the way the two words float out, hanging in the air, waiting to be caught.
"You saw me just a bit ago," Louis says immediately, and Harry has a reply ready ("Tosser. I was being all heartfelt.") but Louis interrupts before he can get any words out by adding on, "Miss you too. Can I come over?" He knows it's just a formality, but that's Louis for you. As much as he pushes boundaries, he is unfailingly polite about making sure he's wanted. (Harry doesn't know why he thinks he has to do that, because there isn't a time when Harry doesn't ever want Louis to be there with him.)
"'Course you can, please," and Harry doesn't even wince at how desperate that might sound. It's not just Harry who recognises their co-dependency issues. Louis is well aware of it too, and they basically embrace it.
"Okay, give me a moment and I'll be there." Harry hears him shifting again, imagines him swinging his legs over the side of the bed, slipping his feet into his Toms, writing a note to Eleanor telling her where he's gone.
"I'll be waiting ever so patiently," he says, and with Louis' "Ha, you, being patient," being the last words in the phone conversation, he hangs up.
"Did you time me?" Louis' voice is loud as he shuts the door behind him. Whenever they actually use their separate hotel rooms, Harry and Louis always exchange the copies of their hotel keys so that each of them have the other's spare key. It's so much more convenient (or lazy, considering it really is such a long walk to open the door).
Harry looks at his watch, pretending to muse over it. "Yep. You were too slow for my standards, 'm afraid I'll have to kick you out now." Louis jumps onto Harry's bed after that sentence, landing on Harry's legs, and they both wince at each other before dissolving into giggles because they are twelve and find everything they do amusing.
"You'll never kick me out," Louis replies, lazily curling up against Harry's side, an arm swung over Harry's torso, and Harry shifts so that he's not half leaning against the headboard and just lying down on the bed. Louis moves with him, curling tighter against him, his arm tightening his grasp as well, and Harry moves his hand so that it's in Louis' hair, running his fingers through it, breathing out a contented sigh.
"Caroline'll kill you for messing with the hair," comes through as a mumble as Louis's face is pressed into his chest, as if he's trying to get closerclosercloser even though it's not very possible at the moment.
"I can take her, though. 've got muscles and all that," Harry says slowly, and it's so comfortable on the bed, with Louis by his side, and he feels so much better now that he's not missing him that it's easy to fall asleep, fingers tangled in Louis' hair, Louis' fingers drawing lazy circles on his lower back.
When One Direction ends, two years after their third album, it's not a heartbreakingly devastating thing. It's heartbreaking, yes, because they've spent so much of their lives with each other, on tour, making music, having fun, but it's not devastating because all those years has taught them how to be close and brought them closer, even without the influence of music. It's jarring, though, to return back home, without knowing they'll be back up to deal with interviews or performances in the morning.
Sometimes it's a little devastating to think about, but all of them still live close to each other, and basically refuse to leave each other, so there's that too. (There may be some co-dependency issues there too.)
"Flat sweet flat," Louis says good-humoredly, flashing a smile to Harry before dropping his bags on the floor, and then stretching his arms. Harry elbows his side and he retracts his arms so suddenly that they hit Harry in the head and he stumbles back with a whining sound. "Oops, sorry, Harry, but it is your fault, you know." Harry's glare only keeps up for a few seconds because Louis is by his side immediately, hugging him, as if that will solve the dull throbbing on the side of his head.
(It kind of does, oddly, but Harry's not about to admit that.
Okay, he's pretty sure he doesn't even have to say it because it's so obviously written on his face.
Whatever.)
After they stop hugging, they curl up on the couch together and flip through the TV channels, settling on some game show before they doze off together and Harry thinks, yeah, they'll make it. It's back to square one, just Harry and Louis living together, only with more fame and without an Eleanor, and it's still not bad.
So it happens one day without any fuss. It's not like he agonises over his feelings (maybe he did a little, and maybe there was some whinging about it to Zayn, and then Niall, and then Liam when all of them kick him out for going on and on and on about it, but Liam doesn't because it's Liam and he always listens) and Louis looks so wonderful as he pads around the kitchen, his bare feet on the cold tile, dropping two pieces of bread into the toaster.
"Hey." It's a simple way to alert Louis without making him accidentally knock over the toaster with his uncontrollable limbs he calls his arms. It's always an uneasy time whenever Louis is in the kitchen and he's not, because there is seriously a risk of everything burning down.
"Hazza!" Louis says excitedly, much too bright for the morning, but Harry smiles. "C'mere." He holds his arms out slightly, and he doesn't even hesitate to walk into them, arms wrapping around Louis' body instantly. Harry is taller than him (a fact he likes boasting about at various times, much to the annoyance of the rest of them) and he buries his face in the crook of Louis' shoulder, and it's like he's on autopilot, pressing kisses into the skin, moving his way up the expanse of Louis' neck, light and soft on his jawline, edging the corner of Louis' mouth, before Louis move his head slightly and pressing his lips against Harry's, insistent and urgent.
"Hi," Harry says after they break apart, unable to keep the smile of his face.
"Hi," Louis says back, his hands on Harry's hips.
The toaster makes a sound, and Harry goes to take out the toast, drops it onto a plate, and takes a bite out of one of the slices, laughing at Louis' frown.
a/n: title is from olly murs' "heart skips a beat," with which i am unhealthily obsessed with rn. poem is from "A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You" by Jon Sands. the ending is choppy, i'm not sure how well it flows, not sure about a lot of the timing because this tour is killing me already why won't it end noooooooow. enjoy anyways? any spelling/grammar mistakes are mine and mine alone because i'm too lazy to edit, oops.
disclaimer: not mine and this didn't really happen.
"I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in."
The thing is Harry misses Louis even if they're only apart for a day. He blames the weird co-dependency shit they have going on, but yeah, there it is, he almost constantly misses him. It's almost unhealthy, really, but at least he acknowledges it, right? It's not as bad if he realises the problem, obviously.
They're in the hotel now, a few hours before their evening New York show, and they're all taking the break between their matinee and the show tonight to unwind and relax before they go back to the venue. Liam and Niall are probably at the gym again because even the most ardent of fans can't stop them from exercising. ("It's a good way to relieve stress," Liam explained once, but Harry just rolled his eyes, although he agreed.) Zayn is most likely trying to find a peaceful place to smoke. That's his stress reliever.
Harry's way of relieving stress is to cuddle up to Louis and talk about anything and everything, something nothing at all, dozing off in a blissful silence, but Louis is with Eleanor -- or Eleanor is on tour with them and he knows that Louis wants time with his girlfriend and look, Harry's not pining, okay? He isn't pining because he doesn't pine and besides, despite fan rumours (or frenzy, depending on which perspective is taken) to the contrary, Harry isn't in love with Louis and Louis isn't in love with Harry.
(Harry loves Louis, more than possibly anyone he's ever known, and his heart swells with happiness every time he sees him or thinks about him, and there is no one he is more comfortable with, and so he likes Eleanor just fine because she's pretty fit and kind of hilarious and is excellent at holding her alcohol, stop spinning it out of proportion, guys, even though there's an irrational (is it irrational) part of him that resents her for taking away his time with Louis.)
(Because he clearly doesn't spend enough time with him as it is.)
(Besides the point, of course. The point is, Harry's not pining for Louis and he's doing just fine
except there's a dull ache of Imissyou Imissyou Imissyou that's probably tied back to the co-dependency and -- okay, fine, maybe there's some pining, but he can't help it that Louis' company is his way of relieving stress.)
He rolls over on his bed, groaning with the effort, and reaches his arm out to pull the hotel phone towards him (his own phone is somewhere on the floor and he can't be bothered to get up and go all the way across the room to get it) before dialing the numbers for Louis' hotel room. It's with a bleary "'Lo?" that Harry realises how glad he is that Eleanor didn't answer because what kind of conversation starter would it be to say, "So, uh, it's been a few hours, can I have my best friend time now?"
"Oh, uh, did I wake up?" Harry asks in a sheepish voice, reaching a hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes.
"Yeah, way to go, Haz," Louis answers, but it's full of teasing fondness, and Harry can imagine the sleepy smile on his face, and the thought of it makes Harry smile. He likes when Louis is happy.
He loses his sheepishness and settles into his Louis-voice, tinged with affection and happiness. "Sorry, you know how I am with timing. Awful at it and everything." Louis laughs softly, and he can hear him shifting, sitting up. Eleanor's probably asleep still, Harry thinks, and to be sure, he asks, "Did I wake El up too?"
"Nah," Louis replies. "Still sound asleep, your bad timing doesn't affect her as it does me. Something up?" That's something he likes most about Louis; he always asks if something's wrong, always makes sure to be there, to listen, because that's who he is. Louis looks after all of them, in different ways than Liam does, and he always makes himself available.
Harry bites his lip and twirls the phone cord around his finger before saying, "Miss you." It's like a second nature kind of breath, the way the two words float out, hanging in the air, waiting to be caught.
"You saw me just a bit ago," Louis says immediately, and Harry has a reply ready ("Tosser. I was being all heartfelt.") but Louis interrupts before he can get any words out by adding on, "Miss you too. Can I come over?" He knows it's just a formality, but that's Louis for you. As much as he pushes boundaries, he is unfailingly polite about making sure he's wanted. (Harry doesn't know why he thinks he has to do that, because there isn't a time when Harry doesn't ever want Louis to be there with him.)
"'Course you can, please," and Harry doesn't even wince at how desperate that might sound. It's not just Harry who recognises their co-dependency issues. Louis is well aware of it too, and they basically embrace it.
"Okay, give me a moment and I'll be there." Harry hears him shifting again, imagines him swinging his legs over the side of the bed, slipping his feet into his Toms, writing a note to Eleanor telling her where he's gone.
"I'll be waiting ever so patiently," he says, and with Louis' "Ha, you, being patient," being the last words in the phone conversation, he hangs up.
"Did you time me?" Louis' voice is loud as he shuts the door behind him. Whenever they actually use their separate hotel rooms, Harry and Louis always exchange the copies of their hotel keys so that each of them have the other's spare key. It's so much more convenient (or lazy, considering it really is such a long walk to open the door).
Harry looks at his watch, pretending to muse over it. "Yep. You were too slow for my standards, 'm afraid I'll have to kick you out now." Louis jumps onto Harry's bed after that sentence, landing on Harry's legs, and they both wince at each other before dissolving into giggles because they are twelve and find everything they do amusing.
"You'll never kick me out," Louis replies, lazily curling up against Harry's side, an arm swung over Harry's torso, and Harry shifts so that he's not half leaning against the headboard and just lying down on the bed. Louis moves with him, curling tighter against him, his arm tightening his grasp as well, and Harry moves his hand so that it's in Louis' hair, running his fingers through it, breathing out a contented sigh.
"Caroline'll kill you for messing with the hair," comes through as a mumble as Louis's face is pressed into his chest, as if he's trying to get closerclosercloser even though it's not very possible at the moment.
"I can take her, though. 've got muscles and all that," Harry says slowly, and it's so comfortable on the bed, with Louis by his side, and he feels so much better now that he's not missing him that it's easy to fall asleep, fingers tangled in Louis' hair, Louis' fingers drawing lazy circles on his lower back.
When One Direction ends, two years after their third album, it's not a heartbreakingly devastating thing. It's heartbreaking, yes, because they've spent so much of their lives with each other, on tour, making music, having fun, but it's not devastating because all those years has taught them how to be close and brought them closer, even without the influence of music. It's jarring, though, to return back home, without knowing they'll be back up to deal with interviews or performances in the morning.
Sometimes it's a little devastating to think about, but all of them still live close to each other, and basically refuse to leave each other, so there's that too. (There may be some co-dependency issues there too.)
"Flat sweet flat," Louis says good-humoredly, flashing a smile to Harry before dropping his bags on the floor, and then stretching his arms. Harry elbows his side and he retracts his arms so suddenly that they hit Harry in the head and he stumbles back with a whining sound. "Oops, sorry, Harry, but it is your fault, you know." Harry's glare only keeps up for a few seconds because Louis is by his side immediately, hugging him, as if that will solve the dull throbbing on the side of his head.
(It kind of does, oddly, but Harry's not about to admit that.
Okay, he's pretty sure he doesn't even have to say it because it's so obviously written on his face.
Whatever.)
After they stop hugging, they curl up on the couch together and flip through the TV channels, settling on some game show before they doze off together and Harry thinks, yeah, they'll make it. It's back to square one, just Harry and Louis living together, only with more fame and without an Eleanor, and it's still not bad.
So it happens one day without any fuss. It's not like he agonises over his feelings (maybe he did a little, and maybe there was some whinging about it to Zayn, and then Niall, and then Liam when all of them kick him out for going on and on and on about it, but Liam doesn't because it's Liam and he always listens) and Louis looks so wonderful as he pads around the kitchen, his bare feet on the cold tile, dropping two pieces of bread into the toaster.
"Hey." It's a simple way to alert Louis without making him accidentally knock over the toaster with his uncontrollable limbs he calls his arms. It's always an uneasy time whenever Louis is in the kitchen and he's not, because there is seriously a risk of everything burning down.
"Hazza!" Louis says excitedly, much too bright for the morning, but Harry smiles. "C'mere." He holds his arms out slightly, and he doesn't even hesitate to walk into them, arms wrapping around Louis' body instantly. Harry is taller than him (a fact he likes boasting about at various times, much to the annoyance of the rest of them) and he buries his face in the crook of Louis' shoulder, and it's like he's on autopilot, pressing kisses into the skin, moving his way up the expanse of Louis' neck, light and soft on his jawline, edging the corner of Louis' mouth, before Louis move his head slightly and pressing his lips against Harry's, insistent and urgent.
"Hi," Harry says after they break apart, unable to keep the smile of his face.
"Hi," Louis says back, his hands on Harry's hips.
The toaster makes a sound, and Harry goes to take out the toast, drops it onto a plate, and takes a bite out of one of the slices, laughing at Louis' frown.