Holy - l.s.

chapter 2.

The thing is, Louis is the most beautiful person Harry has ever laid his eyes on.

Louis, with his soft brown hair that sweeps down his forehead, giving him a boyish look. Louis with his clear blue eyes that seem to shine that much brighter when he's looking at Harry. His freckled cheeks and button nose and a smile that punches the air out of Harry's lungs, filling his veins with nostalgia for something he's never even laid his hands on.

And Harry's so gone for it. Gone for the way Louis presses his thigh against Harry's at breakfast, under the table where no one else can see. The smooth warm skin of his legs exposed by the trunks he's wearing, and Harry cant help but let his eyes wander to the hem of his shorts that cover Louis' upper thigh, his skin looking so soft and golden, fingers twitching in his lap to reach out and touch.

And his body. God, his body. Louis is all sharp angles and smooth curves. His small shoulders and petite figure create a startling contrast to his larger than life personality, His ability to keep the entire room's attention on him. His cotton shirt always dips just the right amount to display his collarbones and the junction between his neck and shoulder. His smooth tan skin makes Harry want to leave his marks on him, marks of his fingers and his mouth.

Harry watches him walk around the village in the afternoon, stumbling in and out of shops while everyone stops and stares at him, looking at this pretty little creature. Harry doesn't blame them really. He trails behind Louis with his hands in the pockets of his denims, his eyes on Louis as he talks to the villagers, charming them with his perfect smile and mischievous eyes.

Harry lives for the way Louis laughs, with his head thrown back and crinkles around his eyes, sweet laughter bubbling out of him like a melody being played on a piano.

No matter who Louis is talking to, he keeps looking back at Harry. Making sure Harry's attention is on him, making sure he's watching the way he lures people in. It makes Harry's skin prickle. Because all Harry wants to do is wrap him up in his arms; kiss his neck, his cheeks. His lips. But he can't. He knows he can't. He can't let anyone find out what he feels for this boy, the magnitude of his affection.

* * * *

The day of the bonfire comes around quicker than Harry would've liked. His parents thought it would be an excellent way of socialising with their neighbours and getting to know everyone since they were going to spend the entire summer in this town.

So now, Harry is sitting in one of the chairs in the backyard, holding his glass of beer loosely in one hand, his eyes locked on Louis who is dancing wildly, jumping and whipping his head, hands up in the air. He's surrounded by the kids his age, laughing along and trying to get his attention.

Louis looks electric tonight, with his dress shirt unbuttoned down to his chest and loosely tucked in his jeans. He's got a flush creeping up his neck and onto the highest points of his cheekbones, making desire swirl in Harry's belly. His lips are wet and shiny from the drink he was having before; Harry had watched how some of the liquid dribbled down his chin and Louis had wiped it away with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek.

To sum it all up - Louis is beautiful. Breathtakingly so. And Harry can't find it in himself to even question the fact that he thinks so. Louis is mesmerising, nearly magnetic with all the energy bouncing off of him. Harry doesn't know what to make of it, but he knows he doesn't want this night to end.

Louis nicks a bottle from a nearby table and brings the lip of it to his mouth. Harry watches the way his cheeks hollow, clear skin stretching over delicate cheekbones and accentuating their sharpness. Harry wonders if the skin of his fingers would split open were he to touch them.