Into the Blue

20

They prepare quietly, muscle memory having them fall back into a synchronised pattern. With Harry’s features shrouded by the dim light inside the dive hut, Louis is thrown back into the memory of their very first day together, that instant thread of fascination -- fascination that quickly spiralled out of Louis’ control, unfurling into something bright and blinding, just this side of too much.

When Harry catches Louis looking, he blinks and stills, then gives him a timid smile. He’s down to a pair of clinging briefs, skin as pale as it had been when he’d arrived for the first time, his scattered tattoos standing out in sharp contrast.

There are no marker lines, no bruises, no trace of Louis on him. The sudden need to change that robs Louis of all thoughts, a moment of white static. Think, he needs to think, and Harry asked him something, what did---?

“Sorry.” Louis shakes his head. “What was that?”

Another smile, a hint bolder. “I asked whether you could help me find my shorty?”

“No shorty, you’d freeze your bollocks off.” Louis walks around Harry to get to the wall of wetsuits and decidedly doesn’t think about that time he’d brought Harry off in this same spot, Harry fighting to stay quiet with Louis’ hand on him, their friends just outside. No. Not thinking about that at all, no. Grabbing a long john off the rack, Louis turns and holds it out for Harry to take. “Here, this should fit. In case you didn’t notice, babe, summer’s over.”

Babe.

It just... It just slipped, Louis’ treacherous brain sneaking the endearment into the sentence. Harry must have noticed it, ducking his head a little, but not enough to hide the shadow of his left dimple. Ah. So his dimples did make the flight, too. Good to know.

Louis possibly loves those dimples. Louis possibly loves Harry -- maybe, possibly, probably. Still and again.

He doesn’t know how much more of his heart Harry could break.

Thrusting the wetsuit at Harry, Louis steps around him, avoiding the brush of bare skin. His heart is twisting high in his throat, and his voice comes out choked. “Come on, get ready. I want to be back before George returns with the morning group.”

“Okay,” is all that Harry says, but when Louis glances at him, Harry is still smiling quietly, eyes downcast as he peels the neoprene up his legs. He looks hopeful, cautiously happy.

He doesn’t look like someone about to screw Louis over yet again.

--

As soon as Louis sinks into the ocean, his pulse calms, his breathing slowing down to a deep, even rhythm. The inside of his head quiets.

Next to him, Harry is flailing a little, long limbs cutting through the water as he fumbles with his inflator. Touching his elbow, Louis swims close to adjust the fit of Harry’s jacket, and when he retreats, Harry’s eyes are fixed on Louis’ face, pupils wide behind the mask.

‘Okay?’ Louis signals, and Harry nods his head before he remembers to form an ‘O’ between thumb and index finger. Okay.

They stay close throughout the dive, drifting past rocks and over the moonscape illusion of a stretch of sand, craters marring the even surface. Sunlight cuts through the water in clear stripes, turning it a lighter shade of blue.

Five minutes in, Louis notices that Harry has timed his breathing to match Louis’, the dragging hiss when he inhales echoed by Harry’s regulator, bubbles rising each time they exhale. When they both reach for the same glittering shell, fingers tangling over it, Louis finds himself smiling, the calm rhythm of the world around them blanketing his thoughts. He raises his gaze to find Harry looking at him already, and as soon as their eyes meet, Harry grins so widely that water seeps into the bottom of his mask.