a runaway american dream (hs/lt) 2/2
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The bed is empty when Louis wakes up in the morning, but he runs his hand over the other side, finding it still warm. The shower's running, a curl of steam coming from under the door. Louis sighs, rolling over into the phantom warmth. He stares at the ceiling.
Harry pads out of the bathroom and Louis looks over at him. Harry meets his gaze briefly, then drops his eyes, digging around for clean clothes. "Morning," Harry says quietly.
Louis lets his eyes fall shut again. "Morning," he says back. "I'll just... shower, then."
He gets ready as quickly as possible, because there's no air in this fucking room, there are just heavy shadows from the night before. He throws on whatever clothes are closest, does his hair, and slides on his sunglasses. Harry's sitting on the side of the bed, staring out the window.
"Ready?" Louis says, hesitant.
Harry jumps a little, but glances back at him and nods. "Yeah. What's the plan today?"
Louis shrugs. "Was thinking we could stop near Oklahoma City for lunch - there's this barbecue place in Arcadia or something? It's supposed to be really good. And we should probably get some barbecue at some point, I think."
Harry's lips twitch up and he nods. "Sounds good. I'll drive."
It's early. Earlier than their days usually start, and the sun's not all the way up yet. There's still a sense of newness hanging in the air - that quiet of just after dawn. Louis looks over to the bar in this morning light. There are only a few motorcycles outside now, and it's quiet, dark. Louis bites his lip and glances over at Harry. Harry has dark smudges under his eyes and his lips are drawn into a small pout and there's a slump to his shoulders that Louis hasn't seen in a long time.
"H," Louis says. "Should we, like, talk?"
Harry looks over at him, jerking his head as though startled by the sound of Louis's voice. "What?" he says, and then blinks a bit. He pulls his sunglasses down from his hair. "Nah, Lou, it's fine."
Harry puts on Gregory Alan Isakov and Louis slumps in the seat, sinking into the melancholy of the morning, the music, the mood.
After an hour of dusty Oklahoma road, Harry turns down the music and starts to speak quietly. "I'm sorry, Louis. About last night. I was way out of line. That was... I don't know. I was really - I don't know. Over-emotional? Over-protective? I never meant to - to push myself on you, or anything. Fuck." Harry's knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
Louis closes his eyes tightly behind his sunglasses. "Harry..." he says softly.
"No, I just-" Harry cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. The speedometer is creeping up slowly. "I just, like. I really love you and I just. It was hard for me, I guess, last night."
Swallowing tightly, Louis thinks maybe his throat is failing him. "Harry, no, stop. I... it wasn't like that. Don't think that you were, um. Doing that at all. I just... I love you too, you know? And, fuck, Harry, this is it, you know? And I don't want you to regret a single minute of it."
Harry's quiet for awhile, driving in silence. He doesn't look at Louis. Finally, he says, just barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't regret it, Louis."
Louis smiles bitterly out the window, curling his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around himself. Harry's so young. "We'll be okay, H." He reaches out, blindly, grasping for Harry's hand, curling it around his own.
Harry sighs, slumping back into his seat, squeezing Louis's hand. "Yeah."
They decide to spend the night in Texola, Oklahoma. Another room that looks exactly the same, but Harry takes them a little further off the highway into the town, to a small motel on the mainstreet. Louis points to a diner.
"M'starving," he says.
Harry nods.
They've been quiet all day, barely stopping. Louis stared out the window at the world rushing past them, feeling their time slipping out of his hands too quickly. He wanted to beg Harry to pull over at the curiosity museums, the roadshows, but Harry just drove on, foot heavy on the gas pedal.
Now, though, they step into the diner, into a thick cloud of chicken fried steak aroma - gravy and mashed potatoes on every plate. Harry looks at Louis, now, excitement in his eyes. "Imagine how much fat is in a single dish here," he whispers, and Louis wrinkles his nose, patting his belly.
"Just what I need," he hisses back, sticking out his tongue. Harry rolls his eyes, pulling him to a booth.
A girl about their age comes up to take their order and immediately melts as soon as Harry opens his mouth. Louis hides his smile in the menu.
Harry eats it up, too, of course. "Tell me, love," he says, accent heavy and dripping from his pretty lips, "what do you recommend?" and the girl - Krissy, her nametag says - just about swoons.
"Well, I love the meatloaf," she chatters. "It's my ma's recipe and we've been makin' it forever, but the steaks are all real good, too. Need some potatoes, also, the garlic ones are my favourite..."
She's still talking but Louis tunes it out, only hopping back into the conversation when he hears Harry order and Krissy's attention is turned to Louis. "I'd like the chicken sandwich and a house salad, please," he says, smiling politely at her.
She gives him a closed-mouth smile back and nods, taking his menu. Harry winks at her when she makes to walk away, and she giggles, blushing madly.
Louis rolls his eyes at Harry and Harry just grins, not at all ashamed. "Why not use it to our advantage, eh?" he says.
"You're a pig," Louis says, kicking at Harry's ankle.
When they ask for their bill, Krissy brings it to them and hovers for a moment, twisting her blonde hair around her finger nervously. "So, um, I was just thinkin' that my friends and me are gettin' together later tonight? Out past town a little bit, in the field. You just take mainstreet down till you hit the field, it's real easy to find. And, like, maybe you guys would be interested in coming?" She's looking at Harry, talking to Harry, but she glances at Louis too, smiling a little more warily.
Harry's nodding before she even finishes talking and he glances over at Louis. Louis shrugs. "Sure, babe," Harry says. "We'll be there. What time, about?"
She shrugs her thin little shoulders, biting her lip coyly. "Whenever, really. Around nine, maybe? It's just like a bonfire and some beers and stuff," she says.
Harry looks up at her with hooded eyes and red lips. She looks like she's going to pass out, and Louis understands. The full Harry Styles charm is not something to be trifled with. "Sounds proper American, love," Harry drawls. "We'll see you there."
She giggles, blushing madly, and twirls away, taking their bill. Louis just shakes his head, amused, grinning at Harry. "You slag," he says.
Harry laughs. "Let's go get ready. Big night out, you know."
*
They make their way out to the field a little after nine, and they hear it, smell it, before they get there. There's a group of teenagers around a huge bonfire and Louis has a small pang of fear about a brushfire, but shrugs it off. They would know better than he would.
Krissy sees them walking up and bounces over, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him over. "Hey, y'all," she yells, "these are the English boys I was talkin' 'bout!" There are drunken cheers greeting them, pulling them into the circle.
She has a blanket spread out and pats it, motioning for them to sit down. Louis finds a PBR pressed into his hand before his arse hits the ground and he smiles his thanks.
Krissy dominates most of Harry's time and attention, which does not surprise Louis in the slightest, so he stares at the fire for awhile, smiling politely at the conversations around him. There are mostly boys, a handful of girls in short cutoff shorts and tiny tank tops, but they're either on the laps of boys or huddled together on the roof of the pickup truck pulled onto the field, coolers filling the bed.
A blond boy drops down next to Louis, nudging him slightly. "So what brings y'all to OK, then? Don't get too many foreigners 'round here, gotta say."
Louis laughs a little. "Yeah, we're doing Route 66. That whole cliche, I guess."
The boy smirks, nodding. "Yeah. Hey, I'm Jack." He holds out his hand.
"Louis," Louis says, smiling back at him. He's alright looking, big and broad in the way Louis has always imagined American boys to be, with short, cropped blond hair and slight freckles across his nose. Louis blinks away.
Jack nods over at Harry. "Your buddy should be careful, there."
"Oh?" Louis says, taking a long drink of his beer, glancing over to where Krissy has draped herself across Harry's back, giving him a massage. Louis tries not to laugh at the slightly trapped expression on Harry's face.
"Yeah," Jack says, snorting. "She's on the prowl, if you get me. Got dumped a few weeks ago."
"Ah," Louis says. "Well, we're out of here tomorrow, so, like. Harry's good at that."
Jack laughs knowingly, and then he digs in his pocket, pulling out a glass pipe. "Wanna toke?" he says, sparking the lighter suggestively.
Louis glances down at it, then up at Jack. "Sure, then, yeah, mate, thanks."
He takes a long hit, letting the smoke curl in his lungs, and passes the pipe back to Jack. Jack shakes his head and motions over at Harry. "Your bro want any?"
Louis shrugs and leans over to tap Harry. "Weed?" he offers and Harry's eyes light up, nodding.
"Brilliant, mate, cheers," Harry says, leaning over Louis to see Jake.
Jake laughs. "Y'all are so English."
"It gets us out of trouble," Louis says with a wink.
The pipe is passed around a few more times and Louis is melting into the ground. Jake's pressed close to him, halfheartedly explaining American football strategy. Louis isn't really listening to him, attention more zeroed in to Harry on his other side, delicately fending off Krissy's far from subtle advances.
Jake seems to notice, too, because he leans in and mutters, "So what's up with you two?"
Louis blinks. The fire is golden like sunsets and Harry's face reflects it, golden skin and glassy eyes. He turns to Jake. "Hmm? He's my best mate. Going to Harvard in the fall."
Jake nods a bit. "You... y'know?"
Tilting his head, Louis looks Jake full in the face curiously. "Nah," he says, figuring that's the safest answer. Jake relaxes a little bit, nodding.
Harry turns to Louis then. "'S gone midnight, Lou," he says.
"Oh," Louis says, smiling up at Harry lazily. "Having fun?"
Harry lies down on the blanket and folds his arms under his head, staring up at the sky. Louis copies him. There are a lot of stars in Oklahoma, he thinks. "Orion," he says, pointing. Harry nods, nudging Louis with his shoulder. Louis looks over at him.
Their faces are too close, but Louis is too high and too warm and too happy to care.
"It's pretty out," Harry says, eyes jumping from Louis's eyes to his lips to his cheeks, roaming his face. Louis smiles softly.
"You wanna go, H?" he says, reaching out to pat at his hip, but something gets lost in the motion and Louis's fingers crawl under Harry's shirt to stroke little circles on the jut of bone. Harry's eyelids flutter briefly.
"Yeah, Lou, let's go."
Louis nods and pulls himself up. Jake's looking at him again, this time more guarded. Louis just claps him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the chat, mate. Great to meet you. Good luck with the football, and all. Come to England, yeah? We'll show you real football."
Jake just raises his eyebrows and nods a bit, smirking at him. "Have a good trip, guys."
Louis stands up, nodding at the rest of the lads around the circle. Everyone's eyeing him curiously, but he doesn't care. Harry's making his excuses to Krissy, who's pouting. Rather unattractively, Louis thinks.
After a kiss on the cheek that Krissy tries her hardest to turn into a snog, Harry waves his goodbyes around the fire and presses himself behind Louis, a hand firm on his hip, walking them back to the car.
The drive back to the motel is slow. Harry's behind the wheel and Louis lets his eyes glaze over, buildings and lights blurring together. Harry reaches a hand out for Louis's and he holds it tight.
They stumble into their room and Louis hasn't been this high in a long time. He feels loose, calm, horny, eager, and Harry's staring at him, smiling big and red and so pretty and he can't help it. He corners Harry against the sink, leaning into him. They're just in their pants, getting ready for bed, and Louis can't help himself.
There's a voice in the back of his mind, muttering furtively that he can't just be another one of Harry's mistakes, can't be another straight-boy mistake, can't do that again, and Louis knows that. Louis knows he would rather die than have Harry avoid his eyes and apologise uncomfortably, loving him but not loving him the right way. Louis knows that, knows he won't handle that well, but. But there's a louder voice, a more insistent, stoned, sweet voice in the front of his mind telling him to do it, to kiss him, because fuck knows if he'll get another chance.
He curls a hand into Harry's hair, tugging a little, loving the way Harry's eyes flutter, the way he naturally submits, curling down into Louis's hand. Harry fits his big hands around Louis's hips and their faces are so close, their breath heavy. Louis can't help himself. He pushes himself slightly onto his toes, leaning further into Harry's body, hip to hip, and nudges his lips against Harry's. Harry responds immediately, letting out a huff of breath that sounds like yes, and pulling Louis in tight against him, sweeping his tongue across the seam of Louis's lips. Louis closes his eyes and relaxes into Harry, into being held close, and wraps his other arm around Harry's neck, opening his mouth against Harry's mouth.
They kiss lazily against the sink, not moving, not progressing further than chaste kisses, until Harry shudders a little and his hands drop from Louis's waist to the top of his arse, as if asking permission.
Louis pulls back a little, grinning, and before Harry's face can fall into disappointment or rejection, he pulls Harry's hand and leads him to the bed, falling onto his back and tugging Harry down on top of him.
Harry immediately shoves a thigh between Louis's and his elbows frame Louis's head, huge hands cupping his face. Harry dips back down, kissing him deeply, and the weight of his body on top of Louis's makes Louis groan, sliding his hands from Harry's shoulders down across his back and down further to clutch at his bum, pressing down as he pushes his own hips up. Harry stills, eyes clenched shut tight, and then lets out a harsh breath against Louis's lips, rutting them together, grinding down into Louis.
Louis slams his head back into the pillow and Harry just bends down and attacks his neck, biting and sucking harshly, definitely leaving bruises, as he finds a rhythm to rut their hips together, cocks aligned perfectly.
"God, Lou," Harry pants out, lifting up on an elbow and staring down at him. "God."
And Louis doesn't know what to say to that, because, yeah. God. He slides a hand back up to curl into Harry's hair, stroking through, letting his thumb drift down to rub at his cheekbone. Harry leans into it, closing his eyes. He grabs Louis's thigh and hooks it up, fitting himself perfectly in between Louis's legs, and oh. The angle changes and it's perfect - Harry's cock is sliding just up against his balls, so close to where Louis wants him, and Louis's cock is rubbing, slick in his pants, against Harry's hard stomach and Louis hazily thinks he could come this way.
Harry seems to be on the same wavelength, because he presses in hard - once, twice, and stills, face tight, mouth dropped open, eyes clenched shut, and Louis watches, rapt. He wishes he had the polaroid on him, wants to capture Harry's face in this moment, coming into his pants like he's fourteen fucking years old, but coming just from Louis, just from rubbing up on Louis's body. And fuck if there's anything better than that.
Louis sneaks a hand between them, curling it into his own underwear and stroking hard, fast, almost there already. He comes quickly, cupped into his hand, letting out a small whimper as his eyes finally close, breaking their eye contact.
When he comes back to earth, Harry's staring down at him and Louis wants to hide his face because Harry's looks fucking wondrous and there's really nothing in Louis's So You're In Love With Your Straight Best Friend manuel that guides him through this.
Harry rolls off him, but not far. He keeps an arm wrapped around Louis's waist, pulling him close to press a kiss to his hair.
Louis smiles over at him, a bit hesitant, and Harry just grins back.
"Shower?"
Louis relaxes. "Race you there."
*
The next morning dawns like the fiery depths of hell. The thermometer on the car says it's 104 degrees and Louis things he might already be well-done. The leather of the seats is griddling his thighs and the thick air chokes him.
"Amarillo," Harry trills next to him, rolling the r, "Texas."
They have Fast Car on the radio and Louis hums along, "Startin' from zero, got nothin' to lose."
"Me and myself, I got nothin' to prove," Harry finish, beaming over at him.
They stop in Shamrock, Texas to see the Pioneer West Museum and Harry searches every souvenir shop on the block for a bolo tie with a shamrock for Niall. It's futile, and Harry drops back into the car, spitting, "What is even the bloody point, then?"
They drive on to McLean to see the Devil's Rope Museum and Louis is hot, tired, and cranky. "Can we bloody go, H?" he snaps, when Harry gets distracted by the thrilling history of barbed wire.
Harry glances back at him, laughing at Louis's pout, pulling out the camera and snapping a photo. "Almost better than your o-face," he says, winking, and Louis flushes.
They make it to Amarillo for lunch, and Harry insists on barbecue again. He gets the sauce all over his face and Louis laughs, taking a picture and resisting the urge to kiss the mess off, but Harry sees the look in his eye and takes his time licking his lips, eyes sparking with laughter.
Louis kicks him under the table and dips his finger in his own excess sauce, drawing it into his mouth, batting his eyelashes across the table at Harry. Harry just narrows his eyes and says, "You just wait."
They make it out of the city unscathed, but narrowly, because Harry yanks them into an old alleyway just off the main street, pushing Louis against a wall and kissing him until Louis is grasping at Harry's shoulders just to keep standing. Louis shoves him off after a good five minutes of snogging, giving Harry a dirty look. "You're gonna get us in trouble, babe," he says, trying to force his giddy expression into something serious. Harry just shrugs, holding his hands out as if to say I can't help it.
Louis wants to punch him and then kiss him. And then kiss him again and again and again.
Louis is possibly in the eye of the goddamn storm.
They make it to Tucumcari and check in at the Blue Swallow Motel, drawn in by the huge neon sign on the highway. Louis's eyes are closing already and he can't even be annoyed by Harry's hands gripping his hips tightly when they stand at the desk. There's an old woman behind the counter and she barely notices, anyhow.
They stumble to their room and Louis falls on the bed. He's sticky and hot and exhausted, but mostly he just wants Harry to fall down next to him.
And like Harry's reading his mind, he does. He has to be just as hot and he's definitely as sticky as Louis is, but he wraps himself around Louis, flipping on the telly to a baseball game. It's the Houston Astros versus the Seattle Mariners and Louis doesn't even pretend to register it, just turning in to nose at Harry's neck as Harry presses small kisses down the side of his face.
They fall asleep that way and Louis briefly thinks before he drifts off that they really need to shower in the morning. The thought makes him smile.
Things are really almost perfect, however momentarily.
*
It takes them two more days to get to Flagstaff, and they decide to spend the night there. They find a quiet diner and Harry pours over the map for long enough that Louis gets impatient, kicking at him under the table.
"What could possibly be so interesting? We literally stay on the same road the entire way," Louis whines. "I'm prettier."
Harry smirks down at the map and catches Louis's ankle between his feet, holding it in place. "Wouldn't dare argue, darlin'," he says.
"Then pay attention to me!" Louis grumbles.
Looking up with a long-suffering sigh, Harry props his head on his fists and gives Louis a mockingly attentive look. "Dazzle me, Tommo," he says.
Louis makes a face. "What are you even looking at, though?" he says, gesturing to the map.
Harry shrugs. "I think we should go up to the Grand Canyon."
Louis raises his eyebrows. "Okay."
"Really?" Harry sounds surprised.
"Sure," Louis says, shrugging. "Why not? We're basically there, aren't we? It's just, like, what, 80 miles north?"
Harry nods. "Yeah, about that far. We can take Highway 180 straight there, basically."
"Sounds good." Louis smiles over the rim of his milkshake. "Romantic, innit? Grand Canyon and all."
Harry laughs a little. "Gonna sweep you off your feet, I think."
"I'm planning on it."
Harry's feet stroke over Louis's briefly, before pulling away. "Back to the hotel?" and Louis is out the door before Harry's left the tip.
*
Harry makes them wake up at five o'clock in the morning the next day, because he wants to get to the Canyon before it's too hot. Louis makes him drive and sleeps on the way, huddled in the corner, waking up when they arrive to the sound of the camera spitting out a photo. Louis mumbles into his arm and rubs at his eyes. "We here?" he asks.
Harry nods. "I haven't looked yet. Waiting for you."
Louis smiles, rolling his eyes. He ruffles Harry's hair. "You're so cute. Let's go."
They step out of the car into the desert and Louis is almost knocked back by the intense dry heat. Harry rounds the car and holds out his hand to Louis. Louis stares at it for a moment and shakes his head, smiling at his feet.
"God, Harry," he says, taking his hand.
Harry just looks at him, all earnest big eyes and soft grin. "What?"
Louis shakes his head again. "You're gonna ruin me," he says.
Harry scoffs and pulls Louis close, knocking their hands between their hips, leading him to the edge. And-
Oh.
Staring down, Louis feels like he's the biggest, sorriest cliche in the entire world. He feels every single thing he's ever mocked anyone for feeling in his entire life. He feels infinity and he feels connection to nature. He feels connection to something bigger than himself and a sense of awe and-
"Hey," he says quietly. Harry tightens his hand around Louis's in response, too caught up to say anything back.
"Back in uni-" Louis starts, and swallows, because he doesn't like to talk about his brief time there. He gets mad and jealous and guilty and inadequate, especially around Harry, with Harry's success and privilege and future. Harry looks at him now and pulls him closer, untangling their fingers and wrapping his arm around Louis's waist.
"Yeah?" Harry prompts.
Louis takes a deep breath. "Back in uni, I was in some psychology class, I don't know, entry-level stuff, but we read Civilisation and its Discontents, you know? That shitty Freud manifesto?"
Harry nods, fingers slipping under Louis's shirt to pet at his hip.
"And," Louis continues, "I mean, it was mostly bullshit, right, but like. He described this feeling, I dunno, it was mixed in all the penis talk or whatever, but he described this thing called the oceanic feeling? Like, it's the feeling of limitlessness. He used it to describe the religious experience, but like, also the feeling you get by staring into something so, like, untouchable? I don't know. But you know what I mean?"
Louis feels Harry staring at his profile and his cheeks burn red. "Sorry." He laughs a little. "I probably just rambled stupidly about something you wrote a goddamn thesis on. Sorry."
"No," Harry says immediately. "Keep going."
Louis shrugs. "I don't know, it's dumb. Just like. This, you know?"
Harry nods, and turns a little, facing Louis. He brings his fingers to tilt Louis's chin up and presses a soft kiss to his lips. He pulls back and gives Louis a small smile. "I think you're pretty oceanic, Tomlinson," he says.
Louis shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. He rests his head on Harry's shoulder and stares out into the Canyon. They're silent for almost ten minutes, until Louis says, "Thank you. For doing this with me."
Harry takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Of course, Louis," he says, choked.
"I'm just - I'm going to miss you so fucking much," Louis says. "You're the best thing in my life."
Harry turns his head and buries his mouth into Louis's hair. He doesn't say anything, but Louis feels his uneven breath. Closing his eyes, he brings Harry's free hand, the one not on his waist, up to his mouth and holds it there, mouthing words he can't make himself say.
They decide to spend the night on the rim of the Grand Canyon, folded up on the reclined seats in their dirty little car, because Louis wants to see the sunset and Harry wants to see the sunrise.
Harry decides they need supplies, so they stop at McDonald's for dinner and then some little convenience stores. Louis buys cheap fleece blankets and a stockpile of candy, energy bars, and soda. Harry buys a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Louis arches an eyebrow at him. "Okay, Zayn, wanna explain?"
Harry grins, cheeky. "You did say I was James Dean."
Louis rolls his eyes.
"No," Harry laughs, "but I want the whole literary experience."
"And that involves lung cancer?"
"No, it involves pretending we're beat poets and laying on the hood of our car, smoking cigarettes and discussing infinity and oceans and constellations and other pretentious shit."
Louis laughs and pulls Harry in for a kiss. "Okay."
So they do.
*
The next morning, Louis blows Harry as the sun rises over the Canyon, and then they fold themselves back in the car, heading back down to Route 66. They make it as far as Barstow, California, where Louis turns into the first motel he sees and throws the car into park.
"I am sunburnt and exhausted and hungry and exhausted and cramping and exhausted and hungry and thirsty and exhausted and we are stopping here, okay? I will not drive another mile." Louis stares at Harry challengingly, daring him to argue.
Harry blinks back, bleary. "No complaints, mate."
Louis nods shortly and stalks into the front office of the motel, saying no more words than are strictly necessary.
Harry's leaning against the car when he comes back out, holding their backs, awaiting direction. Louis jerks his head and leads them to their room, opening the door and immediately falling onto the bed.
"I'm never moving again," he says into the pillow.
Harry laughs softly behind him. "Okay. Give me the car keys, love, I'll go grab us dinner."
"You're my favourite," Louis mumbles, passing them over.
Harry's gone for a half an hour which is approximately twenty minutes longer than it takes for Louis to find out there is literally nothing on television in Barstow, California.
"This place is a shithole," he grumbles when Harry walks back in, holding takeaway bags from a taco place.
"Someone's in a good mood," Harry says lightly.
Louis glares at him. "Give me food, wanker."
Harry does and Louis stuffs the food in his face, staring at the local news blankly, feeling nothing but exhaustion.
After Louis has finished his tacos, he flops back out on the bed. "God," he moans. "That was fantastic. Let's move to Southern California. I will live on tacos and you will earn me taco funds and we will be happy ever after."
Harry smirks into his food. "After a few years I'll have to roll you to the taco truck."
Louis shrugs. "Worth it."
"You're way too incredibly, unbelievably, ridiculously vain for that."
Louis flips him two fingers and wrestles with the pillow behind his back, pulling it into a better position.
Harry eats and they sit in silence, only the faint mumble of the newscaster and the wrappings on the tacos breaking the stillness.
"Hey, Lou?" Harry says, suddenly.
"Mmm?" Louis responds, eyes half-lidded and growing heavier.
Harry hesitates. "Should we, like, talk? About... this thing?"
And there it is.
Louis tenses, chills washing over him. "What thing?" he asks, casual.
"Louis." Harry's looking at him, intent. Serious.
Sighing, Louis rolls to face him, reaching out to stroke a hand up his thigh. Not suggestively, just. Comforting. "Harry," he sighs. He pauses, and then: "What's the point?"
Harry freezes, taco halfway to his mouth. He looks at Louis, wounded.
Louis squeezes his fingers into Harry's leg. "I mean. God, Harry. You're moving away. To fucking Boston. It's just. We have only a few days left. Can we just leave it?" He can't look at Harry now.
"Do you - do you want to just leave it?" Harry asks quietly.
Louis swallows hard and turns off the TV. He rolls off the bed and walks to the bathroom. "Yeah," he says. "I do."
*
The battle through Los Angeles traffic makes Louis want to swerve into the oncoming lane.
It's not helping that Harry isn't speaking to him.
It takes six hours to reach the Santa Monica pier. The sun is gleaming off the water, catching Harry's skin. The beach is fucking packed, because it's the afternoon at the end of June. Screaming children and screaming parents and if anything has ever been so stereotypically American, Louis is sure this is the peak.
They walk the boardwalk silently, breeze flipping through Harry's hair and Louis takes a chance, because they're at the end of the road, literally and metaphorically. Harry's mad at him, mad because Harry thinks Louis doesn't care enough and the thought alone makes Louis want to laugh, vomit, and die, respectively. But they weave through the crowds of teenagers and families and surfers and drunks and Louis reaches out for Harry, needing his hand.
Harry tenses when Louis laces their fingers together, but his lips turn down slightly and his hand curls around Louis's smaller one and Louis just. Needs something. Needs a moment.
"Let's go down to the water," he says suddenly, leaning up to say it into Harry's ear, and because Harry is Harry, he immediately leans down to make it easier for Louis.
There isn't one aspect of this day that doesn't make Louis want to cry.
Kicking off their shoes, they make their way across the scalding sand until they're ankle-deep in the water, waves slapping noisily against skin.
They're alone now. Well, as alone as they can get.
"Harry," Louis says.
Harry has his hands stuffed in his pocket and he's standing distantly, staring at the horizonline where the water meets the sky.
"Harry, please look at me."
And Harry turns to him, biting his lip, obviously reluctant. Louis thinks back to how powerless he's felt this whole trip - how powerless he always is to Harry. He wonders if Harry ever feels that. If Harry could ever feel anything Louis feels.
"D'you remember the night you told me you got into Harvard?" Louis asks, and sirens immediately go off in his brain: what are you doing what are you doing you stupid fucking arsehole what are you doing.
Harry nods slowly. "Secret night," he says.
"Yeah." Louis lets out a dry chuckle. "Secret night."
Harry's still looking at him, eyes obscured behind his black wayfarers. "You didn't have a secret. For the first time. You didn't have a secret."
Louis runs a hand through his hair, already hopeless from seawind. He digs his toes into the soft sand underfoot. "Yeah. I did, though. I do."
Harry keeps looking at him.
Taking a deep breath, Louis says, "My secret is that I've been in love with you since I was thirteen years old, Harry. And I don't expect you to, like - whatever. Feel the same. Obviously. But that's my secret and you're leaving and it's just pointless. I shouldn't even be, like, putting this on you. You have this whole amazing life ahead of you and I'm just-" Louis pauses, shrugging. "I don't want you to feel tied down to anything. But that's my secret."
Harry's still, silent, and everything around them is moving. The ferris wheel behind them is spinning, never ending, and there are children splashing in the water, there are surfers drinking beer twenty feet away from them, the waves are constantly crashing, the world is still turning. Everything is in motion but Harry.
Louis waits.
Finally, after an agonising few minutes of Louis choking back his panic, Harry speaks.
"Do you remember when we were kids? Like, really young, I don't know. Eight, maybe." Louis nods, but Harry's turned back to the ocean, leaving Louis with only Harry's profile. Harry continues, "I did everything I could to be your friend. Everything. I told you my mum packed me two bags of crisps in my lunch, said I already ate one at break when I gave them to you. I fell out of my window when I was grounded, sneaking out to see you when you broke your arm. And remember when I got sacked at the bakery? It's not cos I was caught snogging Jenny, it was because I gave you too many free pastries."
Louis feels sick, unsure.
"And when I was sixteen, when we had secret night, I wanted so badly to tell you what a huge crush I had on you, how you were the only thing I ever saw, how I wanted to be around you every fucking second. It was killing me to keep that inside. Instead I said I fucked Stephanie Carr at Michael Henderson's party, remember that?"
Nodding slowly, Louis turns away from Harry, too, staring out across the water. He reaches out again, their constant, to link their hands again.
Harry holds on so tight. Louis is wound so tight, and not with fear, just. Expectation. Uncertainty. Hope. Hopelessness.
"And then I just figured the time had passed, I guess. You had your string of boyfriends and I had my string of girlfriends and I was scared you wouldn't take me seriously and we were such good friends, so comfortable. I couldn't lose that. I figured if you were interested, you would have, like, said something."
Louis licks his lips. "So I'm too late," he says quietly, nodding slowly.
Harry doesn't respond, doesn't move, until: "And then I decided the best solution to, like, move on or whatever, would be to move away. So I applied to schools in the US, but I - fuck." He cuts himself off, and rubs a hand across his eyes, under his sunglasses. "I - couldn't. Fuck, Louis, I'm going to Oxford in the fall. I couldn't fucking leave. You. I couldn't fucking leave you."
And that's a gigantic fucking lorry Louis did not see coming. He's winded, drowning in this. "You're - Harry," he chokes out. He turns to face him, and Harry doesn't move, jaw held tightly, shoulders high.
Fuck that. Louis yanks him until they're chest to chest, and Louis pushes his own sunglasses up into his hair and then reaches up to do the same to Harry. Harry's eyes are red, wet, and he's so young, Louis thinks again, again, again. "Harry," he repeats. Harry, Harry, Harry.
Harry's face crumbles and he winds his arms around Louis, pulling him close. "I love you so much, Louis," he whispers into Louis's hair and Louis is shaking now, clutching at Harry's back and burrowing his face into Harry's neck and there's so much rushing through him.
He pushes up onto his toes to fit his mouth against Harry's ear. "I think, Styles, that we're oceanic."
Harry's hands tighten around him and they're standing in the water, holding each other so tight and Louis is sure they're being stared at. Watched. Photographed. He doesn't care. He continues, "Limitless."
Harry makes a choked noise and Louis hears him swallow. "Legendary," he says, hoarsely.
Louis pulls back so they're face to face.
"Legendary," he agrees.
*
