Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

sixty-one

They eat dinner at a family-owned Italian restaurant that has the most intense small-town feel Louis has ever experienced.

It's decorated for the Christmas holiday, with a real tree in the corner that has everything smelling like pine. It isn't particularly unpleasant, but rather unexpected. There are cartoon decals of Santa Claus on the windows and stringed lights everywhere. The server is a sixteen year old girl who seems to have grown up in Snowshoe and been here since birth. She's chewing bubble gum and makes no attempt to hide it when she asks for their orders.

They end up eating pasta, and tons of it. Harry and Louis are in a passionate conversation about the beauties of autumn in the midwest when a group of middle-aged ladies at a neighboring table hop into the discussion to add their two cents. They're very sweet and hilarious, actually, sending Louis into fitfulls of giggles multiple times.

Louis can tell she's going to say it before she really says it, asking the question he knows they've all been wondering for a while. Hell, even Louis has been wondering the same thing.

"Is this a date? Are you two here on a date?"

He can't help the way his eyes widen and he looks across the table, expecting to meet Harry's equally torn expression. However, Harry isn't looking at Louis. He's blushing, but very decidedly saying, "Yes," before Louis can get a word in.

And thank god, because the word "No" was on the tip of Louis' tongue. Imagine if he had said "No" at the same time Harry said "Yes." What a disaster that would be.

The ladies coo over them which is a much nicer alternative to persecuting them for their gayness, and it kind of warms something in Louis' cynical heart. Harry is just as moved by it, because he keeps looking over at Louis and catching his gaze, eyes glistening with tears.

The thing is, it takes Louis' breath away.

If there's anyone on earth right now who deserves soft, subtle kindness at all times, it's Harry. He has been through so much torture, has experienced so much hatred. Kindness and warmth won't make up for the abstructions of his parents, but it might help him learn to grow from the memories rather than cower in their wake.

When I remember my childhood, Harry had said two days ago in the car, when their conversation had turned serious, my memories are in third person, like I'm detached from myself and watching from above.

Like you're in a movie? Louis had asked.

Harry had nodded, agreeing. It's so much easier to remember it like that, rather than to feel everything happen to me all over again. I just... It makes it harder to tell if it's even real, if any of that ever really happened to me.

Whenever Louis doesn't know how to respond, he grabs Harry's hand and squeezes it softly, hoping Harry can feel all of Louis' emotions, even the ones he doesn't know how to say quite yet. The sadness and sorrow but also the care he feels for Harry, the love that burns deep in his heart, the ardent need to protect him at any given moment, protect him even from the memories in his head, the nightmares that plague his sleep.

Seeing Harry now, surrounded by cheesy holiday decorations, astounded that strangers may actually be supportive of him for once... It's a lot. It makes Louis ache. It makes Louis want to swathe him up in a big warm blanket and never let him leave, so he can always make sure he's safe and protected from the horrors of humanity.

It isn't exactly possible but he's still trying his hardest.

Louis offers to be the designated driver, giving Harry the opportunity to drink as much wine as his heart desires. They share a bottle but Louis only has a glass and a half. By the time they're ready to leave, the bottle is empty and Harry is more than a little bit buzzed.

Drunk Harry is always an interesting concept because his mood before he starts drinking determines his mood after he starts drinking. Sadness turns to depression, fear turns to anxiety, and so on.

Luckily, tonight he is in a good mood before he even begins going at the wine. The alcohol puts him in an even better mood. Albeit clingy, but better. By the time they're ready to leave, as the wine is gone and there's no reason to stay anymore, Harry is giggling wildly and demanding Louis shower him with affection.

"Calm down, sheesh," Louis remarks as they leave the restaurant, the tipsy ladies laughing at the way Harry stumbles and Louis catches him before he brains himself on the window, or perhaps crashes through the glass. With his arm around him now, there's no escaping Harry as he clings to him and nuzzles his face into his neck, somehow still managing to blabber on about his deep, desperate love for Stevie Nicks.

"She'd love you," Louis tells him, hauling Harry through the snow, towards the car. As he says this he realizes it isn't just placation, it's the truth. Everyone would love Harry, if they gave him a chance. If they saw who he really is, rather than just making stupidly fallacious assumptions about him.

"I'm sad," Harry whimpers suddenly, refusing to let go even when Louis gets the passenger's door open and is actively trying to sit him down on the seat. His arms wind around Louis' neck, his hot, humid breath in his face and smelling sweet, intoxicating.

"What is it, babe?"

The pout falls away in an instant and is replaced by a soft, shy smile. If his cheeks weren't already rosy from the cold and the alcohol, he would probably be blushing. He giggles, and dips his chin, pressing his face into Louis' neck, nosing along the skin chilled by the snow but feeling hot under the attention. "I like when you call me that," he admits bashfully.

"What, you mean 'babe'?" Louis rolls his eyes fondly, wondering what the hell he's going to do with Harry fucking Styles. He sets his hands on his soft hips— unfairly soft hips, for someone who is so athletic—and lifts him up as best as he can, setting him inside the car.

Harry goes mostly willingly, cramming his long giraffe legs in the limited space and struggling minimally when Louis reaches over his tummy to buckle his seatbelt. He laughs, as if there's anything actually comical happening, and captures Louis' hands in his own, keeping them trapped against his chest.

Looking right into his eyes, he declares:

"I love you."

And just like that, the world stops.