"Can you shut the fuck up !!, English , do you speak English?" Harry groaned sliding his large hand down his face in frustration because of the small blue eyed boy in front of him .
"je veux aller a la maison" Louis sobbed brokenly , shoulders shak...
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Does it always rain in France ? No , it's usually beautiful. So why does it rain today ? It wants to welcome you .
Louis smiles as the older man raises an eyebrow at the statement, it was his second day in the city of heart and writing - second day amongst lovers who spend too much time together than apart and for his greeting the city cries . Cries beautiful tears .
Thus tears speaks like one does when cradling a violin to their chest with every pull of string the violin whimpers a word "listen to me , miss this , remember how it once felt to be young ... be young again here , be young with the boy beside you ."
Harry pushes back at the stray hairs that fall on his forehead, he's soaked from top to bottom , shoes to the socks and then to the cobble stones - they are all one , he's slipping into what France is ..a story , a memory and when Louis walks this very alley years from now he will remember Harry Styles .
Harry Styles who sat on green grass as he read his favorite excerpt from his most prided novel , "read it again , I think I'm finally getting it ." - he will remember that roaring laugh and those pouty lips against his while preparing breakfast.
This spot would never be the same . They are two strangers and no one knows them as Harry pulls the small boy to his side and whispers against the wetness of his hair , tucks himself into musky scent .
A camera flashes "l'homme mouillé et sa muse" owner of such camera states , he shakes the Polaroid - shaking for dear life and Louis wishes all this did not exist , that fucking Polaroid , France or. Harry .
In a silent harmony love can speak . It's an loud intruder, it comes when least expected and demands to be heard even if broken in the process love demands such entitlement.
" this is a beautiful place ,-" hugs at waist "your home is a beautiful place ." Harry' lips ghost over the bare spot on the young boys neck , he hums taking in his scent and swaying them slowly though his grip - his grip tightens .
Fear . He's afraid the boy will disappear, will find much more peace where he was born than in the arms of a murderer of a nightmare.
Louis sighs looking up meeting dark moss green eyes " my father did not like this small part of the alley -"
"It's not beautiful because of him , this part is beautiful because of you . "
