currents//larry stylinson

3: yes I'm changing

It didnt take me too long to truly accept what Louis and I had admitted to each other, but ever since, I've seen the world in whole new colors. Something clicked, something changed. I changed. I felt, well, gay. Maybe it was because I was growing up? Finally becoming the horny teenager that everyone had expected? 

Everything Louis and I had felt like this massive secret weighing on both of our shoulders, but neither of us knew it was there, even though we did. Does that make sense? I don't know. It does to me. I miss feeling something so strongly, whether it be actual feelings for another human or just joy and excitement. Nothing like young love, right? 

I want to kiss him again like the first time, except I don't. I hate picture I have of it in my head. It messes with everything else in my life because it's become this constant clip replaying in my mind, for years now. I loved how we were in summer, but things were so different during the school year. We talked, we hung out, but our "gayness", per se, seemingly only came out in the late hours of summer. 

"Can I turn on the radio?" Mum's voice interrupted my thoughts. 

"Yeah, I don't care." She clicked a button on the dash, I think she was just trying to fill empty space, but the music only made it emptier. "Vienna" by Billy Joel was playing, and we both froze. 

"This was her favorite song." Mum said, her grip on the steering wheel tightening.

"I remember." Harry replied, the car seeming to expand, the hollowness growing, the silence heightening. 

Billy Joel. What a fleeting memory. Maybe the world is against me today! How nice of it! I often ask myself what I could've done different, but my therapist so kindly reminds me that dwelling on those things won't get me anywhere. It's better to learn to accept what did happen, per her words. Whatever. Is this what depression feels like? Constant emptiness? 

Louis never felt empty, he was always filled with everything. Words, poems, love, joy, laughter, intelligence, everything I never was. Or maybe I once was, but am not anymore. Is he still filled with those things? I wonder if he still has that Walt Whitman book he used to carry everywhere. He found it at a thrift shop the summer he got glasses. I remember thinking how smart he looked, reading poetry with his cool glasses. 

June 16th, 2016

"Woah, who's this stud?" Mum pinched Louis' cheeks when he hopped out of Jay's car. 

"Anne!" Louis playfully swatted her hand away, using a finger to slide the glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"You look adorable Louis! Doesn't he look adorable Harry?" Anne looked at him expectantly, grinning ear to ear. He felt his cheeks heat up. 

"Yeah, uh, yeah, totally adorable." Harry muttered, immediately feeling embarrassed. He turned on his heel and made a beeline for the lakehouse. Louis started laughing and followed him inside, blue hardcover clutched under his left arm. 

"Hey goofy, do you have any plans for this fine evening?" He asked with a bright smile. Harry looked at him confused. 

"Um, no? We're at the lakehouse?" This made Louis laugh again.

"I want to go exploring, just for fun. Let our moms take a couple shots in peace." Louis said, and Harry couldn't help but notice how the glasses really accentuated the color of his eyes.

"Yeah, let's do it. I'll steal a couple more wine coolers and some marshmallows." Harry grinned evilly, like he truly was the baddest boy in the world. 

He loved having this giant secret with Louis. 

There was a couple miles of forestry to the left of where all the houses on the lake were bunched together. Harry stuffed his backpack with snacks and what was left of the wine coolers. Both boys knew that their moms were aware of them stealing alcohol from the fridge, but neither Jay or Anne said a word. They trusted the boys. 

Louis and Harry bumped shoulders as they made their way through the trees (A/N: Hey Siri, play Through the Trees from Jennifer's Body). The low hanging branches pushed them deeper into woodland. 

"I like this spot." Louis abruptly stopped, Harry almost running into him. There was a bit of a grassy patch, and you could see the lake in the distance, the sun sparkling off the summer water. "We should also go swimming later." Louis turned. 

"That sounds fun." Harry smiled, and plopped the backpack off his shoulders, searching for their blanket. Once it had been spread out, Louis immediately laid down with a full body sigh. Harry sat down next to him, but Louis opened his arms. "C'mere." Louis patted his tummy, beckoning Harry's head to rest there. He readjusted, laying his head gently on Louis' belly, feeling each breath he took, and each he released. A happy silence filled their lungs, nature bustled too. Everything was in motion, everything except them. And that was okay. 

"Can I read you something?" Louis asked. 

"Yeah." Harry gazed up at him through his lashes.

"Hand me my book." Louis extended and arm towards the ground where his blue hardcover laid. Harry handed it to him and watched him flip through for a little bit. "This is Walt Whitman, he's my favorite poet." Harry snuggled even more into Louis, waiting for him to begin reading. 

"I believe in you my soul... the other I am must not abase itself to you, and you must not be abased to the other. Loafe with me on the grass... loosen the stop from your throat. Not words, not music or rhyme I want... not custom or lecture, not even the best, only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how we lay in June, such a transparent summer morning; you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me, and parted the shirt from my bosom bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, and reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet. Swifty arose and spread around me the peace and joy and knowledge that pass all the art and argument of the earth..." Louis read. The poem continued, but Harry had stopped listening. He had stopped listening because he had already heard what he needed to hear, a message. Something neither could admit. 

"What did you think?" Louis had put the book down, finger stuck in between pages where he'd left off.

"It's beautiful. I loved it." He sat up and rolled over so he could look at Louis' face. "I really loved it." Louis searched Harry's eyes for something, anything. 

"We both agreed we would always forgive each other, right?" Louis asked.

"Of course. I could never stay mad at you, not for anything." Harry looked down at his and Louis' intertwined fingers, mindlessly playing with each other. 

"Always?"

"Always."

"Please forgive me." Louis leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Harry's, the sensation unexpected, but welcomed. They lingered there for many moments, not going any deeper, but not pulling away. Barely brushing each other. Harry placed his right hand over Louis' heart and leaned back so he could speak. 

"I mind how we lay in June, such a transparent summer morning." He whispered to Louis, resting his forehead on Louis' chest. "I've wanted you to do that for so long." He admitted. 

"I've wanted to do that for so long." Louis laughed. He cupped Harry's face in one hand, and pulled it closer to his once again. They kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed, and all Harry could think about was lips. Lips, lips, lips, Louis' lips. A boy's lips. Harry moved down towards Louis' jaw, pulling his own lips over the tan skin, kissing it tenderly, watching in awe as the older boy's head tipped back in pleasure. Louis carded his fingers through Harry's curls, and pulled the boy's face away from his own.

"I think you're my split apart."