larry oneshots

i believe i could die in your kiss

a/n: atp im just doing everything i can to not touch y&b L

It's always during the dead of night that Harry finds himself in awe over Louis Tomlinson.

These are the nights when the moon shines the brightest, casting a pale glow on them both. These are the nights that the stars twinkle, glimmering in the horizons, glowing orbs in the sky that waits to be counted. These are the nights that Harry wakes, still soft and fluffy around the edges, greeted by none other than Louis' sleeping frame.

Harry will never grow tired of seeing Louis, sometimes facing towards him, sometimes away. When he faces Harry, he'll let himself get used to the night before letting the moon cast its shadows on the latter, sometimes he'll try to make out the freckles or count his eyelashes (he's almost never successful; it's too dark), while other times, the times when Louis is facing away from him, he'll just gently intertwine his legs with Louis' and settle into the warmth.

Today is one of his lucky days; Louis is facing him. The glow of the skies cast sharp edges of light on Louis' face as they peek through the window. It's wonderful, quiet, and the definition of serenity. Harry never knows what to think when he sees Louis like this; all vulnerable, trusting as he gives Harry his heart, lying on the bed together, with his body encompassing Harry's own, their matching tattoos finding their way next to each other. Harry could die happy, he could. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this.

He sometimes doesn't realise it's real. He could never take this for granted. The nights they quarrelled, together and apart. The days they fought, together, to show the world that their love is real. They had to prove themselves, had to put everything on display, but it was done. They did it; their love had done it. Harry still doesn't know sometimes how Louis found the strength to pull them through, to ground Harry, to keep him sane. Harry doesn't know.

It was hard; they'd almost lost everything. Somehow though, they found their way, found their way back to each other, into each other's hearts. Twin flames, someone once said, soulmates, said another. Harry doesn't give a single flying fuck about spirituality or all this soul-related shit, but he's got it. Louis is his everything, and despite all the hardships, they pulled through. They did it, holy shit. Harry sometimes still needs time to process that their love is out there, for the world to analyze, to see.

He sometimes still needs time to process that people love them. People love their relationship. He sometimes still doesn't fathom why.

Perhaps it's the ugly words that were screamed, or worse, whispered at them. Perhaps it's Simon's scalding eyes. Perhaps it's the PR team head assigning them stunt after stunt, he doesn't know. Harry sometimes doesn't believe that people would love him for him. Sometimes he thinks he doesn't deserve all this.

("Imposter's syndrome, babe," Louis murmurs, "I think you've got imposter's syndrome."

"What's that?"

"S'when you think you're not good enough for the shit you accomplished. You think you just accidentally got here, you got lucky."

"Well. Yeah."

"Don't think that," Louis says fiercely, and it pierces Harry's heart, the words, "You deserve everything. You'll understand one day, even if you can't now. I'll appreciate it for both of us if you can't. You're talented, you're smart, and you deserve to be here with all the others," Louis presses a firm kiss to his lips, stubborn and reassuring, "I love you."

"I love you," Harry murmurs, before tucking his head into the crook of Louis' neck.)

"Harry?"