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He was 7. Chubby and awkward, a clumsy mess of limbs and curls and just a pinch of too much laughter. He wanted everything in life. He wanted to dig up the dark earth in his mom’s garden, feeling the soil in his small unsure hands. He wanted to see the sunlight streaming between his fingers and see the wind make the leaves dance on cold winter days. He had no real way to describe anything with words, so he kept his days tucked in his mind for when he could tell his mom about the way that the rain falls. How it looks like tiny pieces of glass are slicing through the air in such a dangerously beautiful way that is seems like everything on earth stops for a moment to let them hit the ground before starting again.
But his mom couldn’t understand his half pronounced words and shaky interpretations so he stopped giving them. But he found someone to share the sunlight with. Someone who could understand the way the rain fell, and how the leaves talked to the wind with silent whispers.
And he was 8. He lived across the street. His hair swept across his face like a shield of gold, and his smile was all teeth but mostly kindness. He had pronounced his name proudly, wearing it like a badge, Louis. And this boy had the words to describe how snow fell. And his explanation was simple, like angle tears. Frustrated at the unknown word, Harry would ask what angels were, and after some contemplation the other boy would cock his head to the left and watch the squirrels run up the great oak tree that grew between their houses. Again he would describe it simple, like you.
And they were friends and they took on the world together, sometimes sliding underneath the hole in Harry’s fence (Louis who was already on the other side coaxing Harry, his laughter promising a reward worth the punishment his mom would give if she discovered them sneaking off) and running down the unmarked trails. And Harry had decided the sunlight out here was better than the one in his own yard, and we wished he could capture it in his hands to show his mom, and then maybe then she would understand the way Harry saw through his eyes the color of grass in the spring.
Louis slipped and scraped his knee, and Harry cut his arm on an outstretched branch that hung low enough to snag his sleeve. But they were naïve and young and they were going to live forever.
A year passed, but it didn’t register in their minds, because they were together and they were infinite and when Louis was with Harry he just knew that his youth would last for eternity. So that’s why when he turned 9, he didn’t want a party because it was just another year. And instead of cake and ice cream Harry made them both a crown of flowers and they shared a strawberry pop tart as they wiggled their way under the fence.
Their old unmarked path was worn down with a years worth of stampeding feet, racing each other through the trees, weaving in and out of the tall maples. Hopping over fallen branches, and holding their hands out to feel the leaves as they passed. They had their own kingdom mapped out in the underbrush. And Harry made Louis his king and he didn’t mind being Louis’ Queen because they were together and this world was theirs and their pudgy little hands, still delicate and frail, were the only ones that could touch the sky and feel the sun.
A month passed and it was Harry’s turn to ignore the passing of time. His mom woke him up with a kiss on the forehead and a parcel of sweets and a line about how he’s growing up so fast. He remembered how Louis scorned birthdays and ages and years and months and days and hours because worrying about time wasn’t worth his own. And indignantly, he protested it was only another year and he was only eight years old and he still had a lifetime to live. She returned his objections with another kiss on the head and a squeeze on the arm, and allowed him to skip breakfast and go outside to find Louis.
And Louis didn’t acknowledge Harry’s birthday, but he didn’t care because he was drawing himself and Harry in the dirt with a broken stick, and he gave them both crowns. (He made Harry’s slightly bigger because even though he didn’t say, he knew what the date was so he held Harry’s small hand in his own and treasured him with all his heart)
Two years later and Louis was 11. And their youth was slipping away like grains of sand that the water was eroding on the coast line, carrying it away. Neither one of them said anything when Louis could no longer fit through the hole in the fence, and instead he climbed over it. And with a grunt he landed on the ground with a soft thud and his grin was wider than it had been three years ago and his skin even more golden. And Harry decided that maybe time wasn’t as bad as Louis made it out to be.
It was summer and the sunlight was more vibrant, and Harry told Louis that it was a sign that the air would be sweet with their youth and he took Louis’ hand and they climbed up the [now] giant oak tree than their yards still shared, and they watched the clouds move across the sky and turned their shapes into stories.
And June bled into July and July faded into August and it was months of happiness that Harry wouldn’t give up for any amount of sweets or parcels. But Louis talked about starting Secondary school, and he spoke of new friends and clubs and maybe he would join the football team and maybe just maybe he’d get a girlfriend. Harry listened eagerly trying to understand the new world Louis was so excited about but he couldn’t grasp that there was another life outside the one he and Louis had built up around them. Because Louis was the king of their sunlight kingdom, and he was the one that had showed Harry the way to describe the sunset and how to feel the night sky in between his fingers without smudging the stars. But Louis promised that he would always have time for Harry, and he held him in his arms and nuzzled his face into the younger boy’s crown of curls, because you’re mine and I’m yours. And Harry believed him because he was Louis’ and Louis was his.
And then it was September and the promise was gone just like Louis was. He went away. Not just physically, because Harry reminded himself daily that Louis went to a different school so that means he had a different schedule and that he had different priorities. But during the weekends he watched from the Oak tree as Louis stayed inside with his new friends, and Harry learned a new routine of counting the birds in the sky alone. And when he climbed to a higher branch than he was able to just a month before, he shared his exuberance with the wind because there was no golden smile to congratulate him.
Louis moved into a world of FIFA and sneaking out of his house to meet up with kids from his school and making fun of Harry from the window in his room as his 9 year old neighbor struggled to fit his lanky frame under the hole in the fence. And he was cruel and he found that the time that he and Harry had saved in a jar was wasting away, and the light that the sun provided was dim and the sunsets not as grand.
And then Harry turned 10 and he felt the build up of four years of non existent birthday’s crash upon him like a tidal wave of sorrow because there was no one to forget the day with. After years of being told his birthday didn’t matter, his mom had given up on waking him with a kiss and a smile and a line about how he was growing up so fast and instead she focused on more important things like a cup of tea and a novel. So Harry stayed in bed all day just staring at the white of his ceiling and the white of the walls and he thought of the snow that was falling outside [because it almost always snowed on his birthday] and he remembered how Louis described the snow that fell like angel tears. And Harry felt it ironic because he was the angel crying tears of falling snow that stuck to the ground and gathered on the branches of the trees in his now abandoned kingdom.
Another two years passed, and Harry watched the leaves turn from green to yellow to gold and drop to the ground two times (and both times he’s alone). He wonders if Louis ever thinks of him, and it’s silly really how often he thinks of Louis. But it’s genuinely not his fault, because Louis is everywhere.
He’s in the way that the flowers in his mom’s garden creep up the side of their house, he sees Louis every time the sun goes down and the last metallic rays of sunlight peek over the horizon giving a meek goodbye before settling underneath the earth to make room for the stars and Harry is pressing to break away from his youth. He doesn’t want to be Louis’ kid neighbor that wouldn’t let go of his pathetic childhood ideas.
But he deemed it impossible to forget the sunlight or the falling of rain that made him able to live so open heartedly. The people in his school hated the way he made everything sound like a poem and how he saw life in everything, and he wasn’t Harry- not at school- no, he was that weird kid with the curly hair who needs to grow up a little.
And Harry needed Louis, he needed him to help. Because he was just a year older, and he stood in the back of the crowd as Harry was shoved down, his bag kicked across the hall. He watched as Harry was pushed into lockers and he didn’t bat an eye. But Harry understood why he didn’t, because he was that weird childhood friend that Louis was embarrassed to say he used to hang out with.
Harry had only talked to Louis maybe three times in the span of two years, and it was ridiculous, seeing as they were neighbors. One time Harry and Louis went out to get the newspaper at the exact same time. Louis had caught a lanky figure with a mane of chocolate brown hair in the corner of his eye and had to repeat to himself over and over again, don’t look at him Lou, don’t look at him, dontlookathim. And he had locked his eyes on the paper not looking up once.
Once inside Louis decided he was a coward. Not the type of coward that’s afraid of others but one that’s afraid of the little voice in the back of his mind trying to get him to go back outside and fold Harry into his arms and never let him go again. Because Louis missed the way Harry’s face would come to life when he talked about the sun, and he missed the way Harry would gaze at him like there was nothing in the entire world that could ever be the equivalent to Louis.
The second time Louis saw Harry they had exchanged a few words. Harry mom had promised Louis’ mom flowers from her garden to make a bouquet. Louis had been sent over to retrieve them, and of course Harry was the one to get the flowers. And he didn’t seem angry at Louis, and that was confusing. Because he had a right to be angry, he should be solemn and stone faced and adamant about Louis talking to him like nothing had happened. But Harry seemed like he was waiting for Louis to ask him to go back to their kingdom, like at any command he would pull out his old crown of daisies (Wrinkled and weathered) and take Louis’ hand and lead them back to their life that existed with out the knowledge of time. But Louis didn’t ask so Harry didn’t say.
The third time Louis had been angry. And his anger stemmed from the fact that Harry would sit in the tree in between their yards and sing songs to himself and Louis couldn’t comprehend why his 12 year old neighbor couldn’t just grow up. And he was bitter and angry and he didn’t know why. So he went outside and stood at the base of the Oak Tree, his arms crossed. His voice was thick with frustration as he yelled at Harry. He yelled at him for being so stupid and pathetic and why didn’t he have any friends beside that stupid tree. Why is the sun the only one that listens to you little Harry? It’s because you’re a loser. And then it started to rain but Louis was persistent and he kept yelling but then the rain wasn’t actually rain it was his angel, and his angel was crying and Louis’ anger left him as quickly as it came and he was standing on the ground that suddenly wasn’t there with an empty feeling in his chest as he fell to the ground. And he looked up and his angel was clinging to the trunk of the tree, his lip quivering and it looked like he was trying to disappear into the bark. Like he wanted to turn into a slab of wood growing from the ground because then maybe Louis wouldn’t hate him.
Harry. Louis was breaking, he was shattering inside of himself and he felt the pieces pressing against his skin threatening to break through, Harry I didn’t mean it. And his voice dropped to a whisper and the words got trapped in the back of his throat and they wouldn’t come out and he was shaking and he decided that if the wind started to blow he would snap in half and maybe be carried somewhere else, some where he couldn’t hurt somebody who loved everything even if they didn’t deserve to be loved.
But Harry climbed down the tree, because he wasn’t as broken as the person below, and he climbed into Louis’ lap and let himself be held. And Louis buried his face into Harry’s shirt and cried some more because he was forgiven for being a shit person. And he whispered imsorrys into Harry’s neck and cried a little bit longer. And then his imsorrys turned to iloveyous and it was out and it was open and Louis just wanted Harry to say it back. But instead Harry pressed kisses onto Louis’ hand and then his arm, and then his shoulder and neck. And he finally got up to his face and Louis was looking at him with all the love in the world and he didn’t need Harry to say it back because he felt Harry’s love like the wind on his face and the tears in his eyes, and he thinks that the pain is his chest is actually Harry taking up permanent residence there. He didn’t wait for Harry to finally press his lips against his cheeks and make his way up, and maybe he should apologize for rushing it but Louis leaned down and grabbed Harry’s lips with his own because he needed to. Because Harry was his angel, and he was the one that knew the earth with every beat of his heart and Harry was the only one who could name every single one of the stars in the night sky. And they were still young but not as young as they had been, but they still knew forever existed because that was the only way they could stand being together- if they had forever.
And they sat there for a while and Harry told him what it was like being lonely for three years and Louis said I’m sorry a couple more times. But then they both felt the sunlight on their backs and Harry told Louis that it meant he would be okay, and even if it didn’t turn out okay, he would still have him. And Louis wondered why he had been so stupid.
And the next three years that passed weren’t as lonely; because Louis taught Harry how to play football and together they led their school to (three) huge trophies that stood side by side in a giant glass display box right next to the library. And Harry still loves the sunlight and Louis still loves Harry and it’s a delicate balance that neither one of them want to face. Because Louis is 16 and he’s about to go to University, and Harry is 15 and doesn’t want to be left behind again.
And soon it’s their last summer together and Harry wishes they could stop time like they used to be able to, or at least pretend like it didn’t exist. But they weren’t as naïve and they knew that it did exist and it was running out. And Harry tried to make the sunsets slow down, but they kept coming. And then it was the last week and they spent every day outside trying to soak in as much of the summer air as possible before winter came and the coldness settled in their bones. And Louis tells Harry about how he had loved him from the start, and how he would always be his. And Harry kisses him for maybe the millionth time and tells Louis about how he could tell his future based on the lines on his palm and Louis said show me.
So Harry moves off of Louis’ lap and Louis holds out his hand and Harry talks about life lines and love lines and heart lines, and he moves his finger along Louis’ palm and up along the lines of Louis’ ‘Life’ (according to Harry). And he finishes by kissing Louis’ palm and saying that he had no fucking clue what he was talking about and he had been spouting bullshit but it sounded nice coming out of his mouth. And Louis laughed and kissed him softly.
And then it was the last day, and Louis would be leaving the next morning. When Harry had woken up he realized he wasn’t in his bed, and that he was outside on a blanket underneath the tree and Louis had his arm wrapped firmly around Harry’s midsection. Turning to face him, Harry snuggled into Louis’ chest and tried to convince himself that they were still little kids that could fit through the hole under his fence, and that would make them some more crowns out of flowers and they would be young and happy and they wouldn’t have to worry about time or growing up or anything else except the sunrises that they could watch together. They spent the day walking through the unmarked trail that had once again become unmarked.
Over the course of the summer they had worked on taking out the part of the fence that had parented the hole. They had fashioned a gateway, and Harry had planted Jasmines and Tulips and all of his favorite flowers. The Jasmine flowers had wound their way around the wooden paneling; much like Louis had wound his way around Harry. And it was almost dusk on the evening of their last day on their last summer. And now Harry understood why Louis hated time so much as a child, because it meant endings and endings meant goodbyes. He wanted to prolong this night for the rest of his life, but it was inevitable.
And they finally ended up in the place that their kingdom used to be and they saw the old drawings that they had carved into the trees, the crude thrones made of rocks, and everything was the same. And Harry saw the same sunlight that had been there all those years ago, they sunlight that had filtered through the trees and had illuminated Louis’ face and made Harry fall in love. And they laid out their blanket because if they had one last night together they wanted it to be where it all started.
And Louis asked, he asked the question that a million lifetimes could take and stretch among the years, and the years would dissolve into seconds and each second would be dangling by a single thread of unsureness. And instead of an answer, Harry gave him a story- The story of a boy who just wanted to know how to describe the rain, a boy who had been drowning in sunlight. And Louis had come and provided the shade that Harry needed so desperately. He told him about how Louis’ voice filled him like a flame, his energy filling up every pore of his body. And then Harry felt the words stop sounding real to him, instead they were just a rush of letters and sounds that would sound like utter nonsense to anyone except Louis. Because Louis treasured it. The way every syllable was the promise of an unknown angel- The promise of hope, the promise of sunlight and warmth because he had once been lost in the darkness before he found the boy with bright eyes which held too much sun.
So Louis presses his lips firmly against Harry’s, and asks one more time. And Harry just nods, pressing his lips against Louis’ with more force, and this time Louis opens his mouth. They’ve never really kissed like this before, so insistent and needy and filled with lust and want, and the feel of Louis' tongue, wet and strong on his makes Harry feel dizzy. Louis, he moans, pleading, begging for something, anything and his voice sound broken as his struggles to remain grounded.
And then Louis pushes Harry onto his back and presses kisses down his chest and pulls down his jeans and boxers, tossing them to the side (probably into the trees, but right now it didn’t matter) and licks Harry's straining dick into his mouth and Harry can only grit his teeth and try not to push himself up into Louis’ mouth. Louis mouth is amazing and hot and wet and filthily, and Harry remembers the lovely words that had come out of his mouth before now. Words describing how beautiful it was when the stars first come out at night and the color of the sky before the sun came over the horizon in the morning.
But he's swirling his tongue around Harry, warm heat, liquid fire around him, and he's not going to last, because this heat is different than the one that he was used to during the summer. This heat was sinful and perfect and it made Harry make guttural moans of appreciation as he twisted his body around and up. He wants to buck his hips up, to hold Louis' delicate head with his hands and thrust up into him but he doesn't want to do anything without Louis giving him the okay so his hands dig deep into the dirt that lies beneath the blanket, and his mouth falls open in pleasure and concentration.
There is white behind Harry's eyelids that’s different than the sun and he is sure he is about to melt into a puddle or die and then Louis eases off his cock and slowly kisses his way back up to his lips.
And Louis sucks a mark into Harry’s neck while telling him about the snow and angel tears and he unbuckles Harry’s pants and takes the rest of his clothes off and Harry's mouth waters, but his throat dries and it’s an odd feeling.
And Louis talks of a boy who made crowns out of flowers as he slicks up his fingers, loud and wet and ridiculously hot and Harry finds his hips shifting unconsciously, searching, pressing.
And Louis tells Harry about a boy who had strawberry pop tarts and loved the sun too much and he now has three fingers inside Harry and Harry tells him he needs more and he whines desperately and raises his hips and Louis stops speaking.
And this time it’s Harry turn to talk (or try to) and he talks about a boy who had golden hair and a wicked smile (And Louis is rolling on a condom) so he talks of a boy with a name like a badge and an uncanny knack for being right always, but then he can’t pronounce words because Louis is big and hot and throbbing inside of him. And Harry moans loud and rough and his eyes are clenched shut even though he wants them to be open, because he wants to be able to see Louis there in front of him. He wants to see the king of their sunlight world.
And at some point time is distorted in Harry's mind, and it’s not an unfamiliar concept, and it feels like hours that Louis is inside him. But those hours turn to days and months and a life time, and Louis peppers his chest and neck with small kisses until his thrusts turn back to days and minutes and seconds and he can’t kiss Harry anymore so he lets his head fall to Harry's shoulder and he fills the condom deep inside Harry and Harry gasps and it is blue eyes and flashes of light and hard skin and he explodes into white and a lifetime of emotions that he can’t explain.
And Harry loves him so much and he says that multiple times and even after Louis’ fallen asleep beside him on the blanket he still says it, whispering it into Louis’ shoulder- murmuring words and lines about love and friendship and the earth.
And Harry decided that if tomorrow the sun stopped shining, he wouldn’t mind because he had spent too much time enjoying it already.