TIRED TIRED SEA (Larry Stylinson) by MediaWhore on AO3

CHAPTER 7

Later that day, much later, after they"ve done the dishes in tandem to the sounds of a soft jazz playlist that Harry carefully selected on Louis phone, picked up from the top of the tower when Louis was still sleeping, their shoulders pressed together as they swayed, Louis washing while Harry dried, they go back to the lantern room. They clean up their messes quickly, Harry blushing a little at the devastation they"ve caused the night before, cushions and blankets thrown haphazardly on the floor and mugs of tea miraculously not cracked where they"ve fallen off the chest. There"s even books on the floor, more than just the poetry book from last night, not to mention the torch they lost in the midst of passion. Louis didn"t remember it being that messy when they left, but he had been somewhat preoccupied at the time.

They"re almost done with the cleaning, Louis finishing carefully putting the cushions back on the bench when he hears the creaky sound of the door leading to the gallery. He turns just in time to catch Harry sneaking outside the room, smiling a little when he leans on the railing with nothing but his flimsy white tee. There"s already goosebump on the flesh of his arms, Louis can tell, but Harry doesn"t seem to mind, looking ahead with the ever-present pensive look on his face that Louis has come to like so much. His hair is getting long, Louis can"t help but notice as the wind makes his curls dance against his cheeks. He looks beautiful in the late afternoon light; ethereal, yet not out of place even though maybe he should. The sun has started to set, bathing him in golden pink light. He looks like he belongs, looks as beautiful as the scenery and it hits Louis in the chest ferociously, like a bullet. Bang. This is really going to hurt him.

Because Harry doesn"t belong, no matter how much he looks like he might, no matter how much Louis might want him to. He belongs in faraway cities, on a gigantic stage, in front of seas of people... He might not be sure if he"s going to continue his career right now, but Louis has a hard time imagining he"s ever going to find his way back here. Not when he has so much left to say, all those songs he"s been writing shyly that are going to need an audience soon. He going to leave, as he should, and it"s going to hurt.

If Louis were a stronger, wiser man, he might pick up the courage to talk about this. He might sit Harry down, establish some boundaries, discuss what the hell they think they"re doing right now when he"s scheduled to leave in a little over a month. But he"s not. He"s not a strong man, he"s a foolish one and he wants this. He wants to kiss Harry again and again, every second of every day until he leaves, wants to cherish the opportunity while he has it, before Harry goes back to being who he was born to be. Louis knows he"s nothing but an interlude, hopefully, a memory Harry will dwell upon with fondness once in a while, a little fling special enough to be remembered... And he wants it all. He wants so much more. Louis can"t even find it in himself to be upset, the thrill of Harry"s touch still coursing through his veins, the euphoria of what finally happened between them impossible to dampen.

Louis sighs as he looks at the sunset, looks at Harry looking at the sunset, seeing the ribbon of pain still coursing through him, but also seeing the strength of his character, seeing the way he"s rebuilding himself and suddenly he has to blink back tears at how fiercely proud he is of this man. This dumbass who always works so hard and had to learn not to wear his heart on his sleeve in the cruellest of ways, but who never let it change the kindness of his spirit. This absolute complete dumbass shivering in nothing but a t-shirt outside on the gallery just to watch the sunset properly, to watch the sea.

Louis shakes his head fondly before looking away, going straight for the chest and grabbing an ugly purple cardigan that came straight from hell in the 80s. Then, he joins Harry on the gallery, closing the door behind him and smirking a little at the fierceness of the wind. The whistling can almost always be heard through the glass but it"s truly unavoidable once outside, a powerful and overtaking sound. Louis doesn"t waste a second before walking straight to Harry, carefully placing the cardigan over his shoulders, just like he carefully placed the blanket over him last night. Harry tenses for a second, less than an instant, before relaxing into Louis" body once he"s recognised that it"s him. Louis lets his hands slide from Harry"s shoulders and now his arms, making sure the fabric is secure over him before wrapping his arms around Harry"s waist from behind, enfolding him, their bodies so close together there isn"t a sliver of space between them. Louis scratches Harry"s belly for a second while pressing a kiss on top of his right shoulder. Then, he lets one of his palms rest soothingly on Harry"s lower belly, the other up near his heart, feeling the slow rise and fall of his deep breaths. Resting his chin on Harry"s shoulder, Louis takes in the sight of the dramatic cliffs and the tumultuous sea beyond them, the breathtaking sunset all around.