All That You Are Is All I'll Ever Need

18

Louis thinks that the person who is best fit to love you isn't someone who makes you feel the happiest, but someone who makes you feel the biggest, the most. Harry does that. Even when Harry becomes jagged and figuratively cuts him like the broken glass he is, Louis will still, and always be, in awe of how fucking stunning Harry looks shining in the light, colours bouncing off his broken tips into the world around them; Louis wouldn't even care if he bled to death.)

Right now, they are lying on their sides, facing each other in bed; it is a gold-drenched sunny morning, 7:00 a.m. The sheet is tangled between their ankles, legs, each other; draping down their bodies in folds of cascades. The duvet is lost somewhere on the floor still, along with a mistful gleam of all they've done.

Harry's eyes shine with a certain tenderness, a silky shimmer running through his burnt-sienna curls and down to his temple, his skin a warm honey-tan, and Louis gets lost in his features, his winsomeness. An eyelash falls to his cheek, and Louis thinks it is him falling for Harry all over again; every day.

For some reason in the back of Louis’ mind, he thought Harry would wake up crying after sex, he imagined him sobbing and cowering away; scared. He had this irrationally rational fear that he would have to remind Harry that he wasn't Mark, that he didn't hurt him, and never would.

(Harry woke Louis up by brushing his thumb over his cheekbone, lips barely parted as his soft breaths trifled lightly against Louis’ face - no words.)

They still haven't spoken anything, they're just staring. Looking over each other’s bodies like it is the first time they've ever seen each other naked, like it is the first day of their lives, and everything is new and exciting and they are untouchable.

Their arms drape around each other lazily, whilst simultaneously holding the most important thing in the universe- at this moment- the smell of euphoria filtering through the air, pure bliss.

“I still remember the number of steps to his flat, y'know?"

It is lifeless, the way he says it, staring directly at Louis, whilst being so far, far away, departed from the bed that they lay on, and the life they live in. A bitter tear slips from his eye and Louis lets it roll down his cheek, he thinks it is the best way to remind Harry that he is still viable in the most gentle of forms.

(He thinks about last night, about how beautiful Harry was, gasping beneath him, legs quivering and breaths short. The way his face scrunched up when he came, the sounds he made, god, Louis doesn't understand why that wouldn't be enough. He doesn't get how someone could just take advantage of something that isn't theirs.

It hurts to know, but Louis knows it is hurting Harry a hell of a lot more.)

Louis isn't actually sure of what to do as a weak smile spreads across Harry's face. His fingers dance across his ivory-smooth skin, tracing a scar that goes down his side, trailing down his spine and back up again as he smiles in return. He traces ‘I love u'  into Harry's skin with his fingertips, delicate, and at first he isn't even sure Harry notices what he has done.

But Harry smiles, biting his lip, and he traces ‘u 2’ onto Louis’ back.

Louis has never felt so full, so much.

:3