your skin, your skin and bones
Fandom: One Direction
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Word Count: 800~
Summary: Harry gets the "Hi" tattoo
For Christ and bless Keyes for being amazing tbh.
If someone had asked what it meant, Harry could have said that he had fallen in love with Louis’ hands, that he loves his chin, his smile, the way that his touch lingers, but that mostly he loves him. But he wouldn’t say any of those things, he’d shrug it off, he’d say it was nothing because once, it was.
This is how it works: It’s only a crush when the world is spinning, when the world stops, it’s love. When the world pauses to take a breath, when the its weary bones settle to take a break, when it slows to down to look at the beauty with you, then it’s love.
Love grows, it fills all the empty corners, makes a home in all the broken cracks. Love is all smudged fingertips and kisses that sting long after they’ve finished. Love is made of things that fade away.
✘
The first time it happened Harry was still spinning.
There was something about the way that Louis curved the ‘H’ and dotted the ‘I’ that made Harry feel comfortable, even the first time, like Louis was mapping out a journey on his skin. Or the way that Louis’ fingertips felt as they grazed across Harry’s arm, like Harry was a secret that Louis wanted to keep, not because he wanted to hide him but because he wanted to keep him to himself, just his. This was just theirs.
“Doesn’t matter that we can’t talk to each other on stage now,” he beamed, “if you look down you’ll know that I’m still speaking to you,”
“Is this some subtle way of saying that I had you at hello?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Louis answered.
That was it. It was simple and understated, half-serious, half-smiled, all Louis, all over Harry and all his, always.
✘ This is how things break: First they smudge, they fade and suddenly there’s a shadow of somebody else trailed all over skin. A touch that’s forgotten, a secret left behind and utterly broken. A thousand tiny pieces that are a constant reminder of what once was, what could never really be.
Love stops the world and everything else in its tracks.
✘
When she first arrived Harry didn’t pay much attention. He knew exactly why she was there, Louis knew exactly why she was there. There was no point in discussing things. There was no point in fine combing through the details. But then, things started to change, the way Louis’ hands would interlock with hers, a little tighter each day or the way he started to laugh at her jokes.
It was simple, really. The world had stopped and Harry was still halfway, still falling, still waiting. It wasn’t that he’d wanted to resent her but he wanted to know if she felt Harry’s hands when Louis touched her, he’d wanted to know if he’d kissed Louis in places she’d never see, if he’d stain him, if she felt him, if she could see that Louis’ smile for her was second best, that should never be first. That Harry was his, all his, always.
“You don’t write anymore,” Harry said, knowing she was in the next room, knowing that Louis was about to walk out any second to be with her.
Louis paused.
“Write what? Letters?”
“On my skin, you never write ‘Hi’ anymore, and sometimes I look down and I expect it to be there, like I’m looking for you, but you’re not there,” said Harry.
“I am,” Louis whispered, “I always am, always, even when I can’t be.”
Harry nodded, “but,” he tried again.
“You could always tattoo it,” Louis said.
✘ So maybe it was a joke but before Harry knew what was happening, Louis had dragged him to the nearest tattoo parlor, his handwriting was being traced onto Harry’s skin and he was squeezing Harry’s hand talking about white picket fences and a future that existed for them in some far off time.
“And we’ll have family photos on the mantelpiece, those horribly taken professional ones that are awkward and everyone says that they like even though they don’t,” he smiled, “I’ll make you breakfast and tack little post-it notes to the fridge to remind you to pick up milk - does it hurt?”
“It’s not bad, you’ll do the washing up right?” Harry said.
“Don’t push it, Harry, I’m not going to be your fucking maid,” joked Louis, “you do know that’s permanent, you can’t have some crazy afterthought about this being a mistake, it’s there forever.”
Harry nodded.
“Always, right?”
“Yeah, always,” Harry replied.
✘ This is how it works: Sometimes love is permanent, sometimes always is more than just a faded promise. Sometimes the world stops and everything, everyone stops with it.