Fine Line || L.S.

This Love of Life Makes Me Weak

Their old bedroom, curtains were drawn back, city lights dimly illuminating the room, casting Harry's shadow onto the furthest wall.

He stood in front of the TV stand, lighting candles, focusing on the small, delicate flame of the lighter. He could hear his breathing and was the most aware of his body he had been in a long time.

The soles of his feet felt warm on the cold hardwood, and his sweater felt heavy on his shoulders.

He leaned down once the candles were lit, and opened the TV stand. There was his favourite record player, the one he and Louis had figured how to, after a day of harmless bickering about the logistics, wire into the surround sound they had installed.

Both truly did believe that vinyl sounds better.

Harry knew exactly what to listen to, what he wanted, and what he would bet his life on Louis liking.

And that was the 1970 album from The Kinks, titled Lola Versus Powerman and the Money-Go-Round, Pt.1., in the form of the vinyl copy, Louis stole from his mother's house. This album had been with them in almost every place they had lived and was a go-to for when the moment felt right.

Harry took out the disc, lifting the needle on the rim before the second track, Strangers, their favourite of the album.

As if the timing could be no better, the bathroom door opened slightly, light spilling into the darkroom for a moment before the light was turned off.

And there was Louis.

Just like he always had, he excused himself once they got to the bedroom, after a silent walk, Harry leading by just a footstep, to brush his teeth.

Harry turned up the volume just a tad, and stepped back from the TV stand, and looked at Louis. The silence between them was not still but was stirring with excitement and adoration and the best kind of nervousness, and in the almost-darkness, Harry wanted to stand forever, in anticipation of Louis, of everything it meant and felt like to be with him.

"I love this song," Louis said, finally, quietly. Harry could see the soft curves and edges of his face in the darkness and wanted him more than ever.

"I know."

He took two steps towards him, slowly, not breaking eye contact, taking his face gently, finding his lips in the darkness. Louis' hands went gently to his neck, pressing perfectly against him, their bodies meeting.

Harry's skin was warm, soft, freshly shaven. His torso against Louis' felt like an extension of himself, and it began to feel like there were too many layers between them, and Louis found the bottom hem of Harry's sweater.

Instead of rushing, like Louis was often predisposed to, instead of hurriedly taking off Harry's sweater and tackling him onto their bed, he firmly grasped his hips and then his back, attempting to pull him closer, as gently as he could.

Harry seemed to feel Louis's pace and began to back up, moving slowly until he felt the end of the bed on the back of his legs, pulling Louis with him. Once he felt the bed, he turned them slowly, and smiled against Louis's lips, singing along to the song, never above a whisper, "So I will follow you wherever you go," and then promptly resuming the kiss, feeling Louis's lips turn into a smile.

Louis gently reclined on the bed, pulling Harry with him, the music quietly surrounding them, loud enough to hear the lyrics but quiet enough that he could hear every breath, every noise that Harry made.

"We are not two, we are one," Harry said, lips barely off Louis, which made Louis smile, almost laugh.

Louis moved his hands from Harry's back to his hips, and then slowly worked them under Harry's sweater, feeling Harry's bare skin, his hip bones, and then his ribs, the goosebumps he was causing.