Archive of Our Own

1939, Hollywood, USA

Louis leans forward to shake hands with Harry Styles - golden boy of American cinema, they call him the adult Shirley Temple, with his trademark dimples and curls - right as a camera flash goes off in his face.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mister Styles,” Louis says.

He and Harry have been cast as the two lead males in Victor Fleming’s latest. They have never worked together before; a baby faced boy and a scruffy charmer rarely cross paths in film plots, but of course Louis has heard of him. How could he not? With a face like that, Harry is everywhere, and Louis has been paying attention.

“Please, call me Harry,” Harry says, showing off the famous dimples to Louis as they head into the back room of a secluded restaurant together.

The papers all want shots of Harry and Louis these days and if Louis is going to get to know Harry behind the scenes, privacy is what they need.

-

“Louis,” Harry gasps, hours later. After a very successful lunch together, if Louis does say so himself, Harry had invited himself back to Louis’ home for tea. Louis is under the distinct impression that “tea” does not actually mean tea, but he has no complaints whatsoever.

Louis has got Harry spread out beneath him, sighing happily every time Louis lays a hand on him. He looks beautiful; dark curls fanned out around his head in a stark contrast to Louis’ white sofa, bottom lip sucked between his teeth - when it’s not between Louis’ own - with the very tips of his ears flushed red. Harry had lost his dinner jacket somewhere between the front door and the living space, which Louis takes advantage of. He tears open the top of Harry’s shirt to access his collarbones and chest, biting and kissing and sucking as he goes.

The whimpers escaping Harry’s mouth are more than enough encouragement for Louis to continue, but he has mercy, leaning back a little to give Harry a chance to catch his breath.

“We’re going to be a grand team, you and I,” Louis says, running his hands down Harry’s front, fingers skimming over the remaining buttons of his shirt.

Harry moans at that, letting his head fall sideways off the sofa arm before sitting up and turning them over so he can straddle Louis’ hips.

“Yeah? You like hearing that?” Louis asks. As Harry nods and presses kisses down his neck, Louis adds, “We’re going to be so good together. The best.”

Harry grinds his hips against Louis’, trailing kisses back up towards Louis’ mouth so that they can kiss each other breathless. Harry winds his arms around Louis’ neck, bringing their bodies as close together as possible for friction and heat.

“I’m dizzy for you,” Harry whispers into Louis’ lips. “I want-”

Harry trails off and slinks backwards off the couch so he’s nestled comfortably in between Louis’ spread legs. Louis swears, runs a hand over his face to compose himself, asks, “What do you want, baby?”

“I want to suck you off,” Harry says, quickly undoing the belt holding Louis’ trousers in place. Louis thinks he could come on the spot, just from seeing Harry like this. Glossy eyes and tangled curls, darkened cheeks and wet, pink mouth that’s so close to his cock.

Louis lifts his hips so Harry can pull his pants down, freeing his hard cock. Harry opens his mouth straight away and presses a wet kiss to the head of Louis’ dick, making Louis hiss and try not to jolt forward. Instead, he settles back against the sofa and closes his eyes, trying his best to relax. He feels Harry sizing him up with his hands and mouth, jerking him off slowly and kissing down his length until he reaches Louis’ balls.

Harry stops himself there, sucking a quick lovebite into Louis’ hip, before moving back to take Louis’ dick into his mouth. Harry moans and Louis can hear him unzipping his own pants to get himself off.

The phone rings suddenly and Louis jumps, dick still in Harry’s mouth, which results in an interesting amount of teeth and tongue.

“Don’t answer,” Harry pouts. He’s pulled off of Louis and is stroking him slowly instead. Louis watches as his wet cock slides in and out of Harry’s fist. He’s applying the perfect amount of pressure and Louis thinks he could die happy. Harry rubs his thumb over the head of Louis’ prick and he shudders, allowing himself a few thrusts before he lets his head clear.

“I’ve got to, my love,” Louis says gently. “My agent will want to know how we went.”

“I’m sure you not answering will be answer enough,” Harry suggests. His eyes are hooded as he looks up at Louis, hand still moving slowly but surely over his dick. Dammit, Louis is tempted.

“I’m sorry,” he says, bending in half to give Harry a quick kiss before picking up the phone. “Zayn?”

“How did you go with Styles?” Zayn asks. Straight to the point then.

If only you knew, Louis wants to say.

“Very well,” Louis says instead. “He’s great. In fact, as we speak he is over here for a spot of tea.” Harry smirks from between Louis’ legs and leans forward to swirl his tongue over Louis’ balls. Louis hisses and slides down the couch, tilting his hips up to give Harry better access. He has to take his hand away from Harry’s hair so he can bite the side of his palm instead, not wanting to give Zayn any chance of clueing into what’s going on.

“- top combination,” Zayn is saying.

“Yes, yes,” Louis replies. He has no idea what Zayn is talking about. He’s a fantastic manager and an even better friend, but Louis could not care less about business right now.

Harry replaces his hand with his mouth and sucks Louis down again. Louis feels him swirl his tongue around the tip of his dick before bobbing his head up and down in earnest, taking Louis as deep as he can.

This is it, Louis thinks in hazy bliss, I am going to die right here on the spot with my manager on the phone and my dick inside Harry Styles’ mouth.

“Oh, god,” Louis wheezes. It takes him a moment before he realises Zayn can still hear him.

“What? Are you alright?” Zayn asks.

“I’m fine!” Louis takes a few deep breaths, glares down at Harry (who smiles around his dick in response - his innocent reputation is an absolute lie) and tries to collect himself.

“Alright, mate,” Zayn says. He sounds extremely skeptical but Louis can’t bring himself to be bothered.

Between his legs, Harry hums around his dick and the vibrations send sparks shooting up his spine. Louis has to bite the back of his own hand again but Harry looks up and catches him at it.

Harry pulls away, frowning, and Louis watches as a blob of precome catches on his bottom lip. Harry takes Louis’ hand from his mouth and settles it on the crown of his head instead. “Use me instead,” he mouths silently, dropping back down to lick the base of Louis’ cock..

Louis gives an experimental tug on his curls and watches Harry melt into it. “The script is being altered this week, but you shouldn’t have a problem with it,” Zayn is saying.

“Nope,” Louis grunts, agreeing. Harry spreads his legs apart, which makes him sink deeper onto Louis, and thrusts into his own fist, hips swirling and pumping along with his head’s movements. Louis tightens his grip in Harry’s hair and they both moan.

“I’m sure Styles won’t either,” Zayn says. Louis grunts again. He can feel his grip on the telephone loosening as he gets more and more worked up.

A few minutes of one-sided conversation later, Harry sucks on the head of Louis’ cock again, and Louis can hear Zayn talking about scheduling another meeting or a script reading - Louis will ask him again later.

Louis lazily thrusts into Harry’s mouth and sighs, humming the occasional “yes” or “okay” into the phone to keep Zayn placated. He hopes Zayn can’t hear Harry’s noises in the background: tiny moans and hums as he sucks Louis down and fucks into his own fist.

Harry gets a grip on Louis’ cock with the hand that isn’t jerking his own and taps it on the flat of his tongue. He sucks on the head for a second, pushing it against his lips and smearing precome over his mouth. Holy shit, is all Louis can think as he jerks upright, Harry seamlessly accommodating to the movement and taking him deeper.

“Zayn, I have to- seeyoulater,” Louis says all at once. He manages to hook the phone back on the receiver just as Harry focuses all his energy into sucking on the tip of Louis’ cock. Louis sees stars. He comes down Harry’s throat and Harry swallows happily, pressing a kiss against Louis’ hip again when he’s finished.

Harry braces his hands on Louis’ knees and pushes himself up so that he can settle in Louis’ lap again. He squirms, clearly close to coming himself, and settles his arms around Louis’ shoulders. Louis gets his hand on Harry’s bum and pulls him closer, breathing heavily against Harry’s open mouth. They’re close enough to kiss, but Louis doesn’t make the move just yet.

“You were so good,” he says. He feels Harry’s lips curl up into a pleased smile.

“Yeah?” Harry whispers. He bites his lip and gasps as Louis’ hand closes around him, moving slowly. Louis cannot get enough of Harry’s noises, but he knows it’s unfair to keep teasing.

“Come for me, baby.”

Harry presses his cock against Louis’ belly and thrusts, once, twice, three times, coming as soon as Louis finally closes the gap and kisses him. Harry pulls back and smiles, dimples forming on his red cheeks, almost shy.

“Dear god,” Louis breathes. He runs his hand through Harry’s hair and tucks a loose curl behind his ear. “I am going to love working on this film, darling, I know it already.”

Harry grins into Louis’ neck and sucks a quick mark there. Not too dark that makeup won’t be able to cover it in a few days. Smart boy.

“Me too,” he says.

1716, The Sparrow, Caribbean Sea

Harry jumps aboard The Sparrow and quickly tucks his hat and personally addressed letter into his belt.

The letter reads:

H Styles,

The Sparrow needs you.

Find us at the docks by the Three Chimney Tavern, you will know us when you see us.

You and 13 other men will set sail by noon on June 11.

Regards,

Sparrow and crew.

Followed by a large, scrawling signature that vaguely depicts a Z and an M.

Harry knows, of course, that this is a letter from Zayn Malik, his long term friend and captain of The Sparrow. Every now and then, Zayn gathers a collection of fellow pirates together in search of new coves or islands that could hold unfound treasures.

On a Sparrow journey three years ago, the boys had been successful and found abandoned sailing goods and gold trinkets washed ashore a small island. They had split the riches and sold them all for decent sums of money but since the first Sparrow success, many of the men have disbanded and gone their own ways with high hopes of more luck.

Harry has always stayed and stuck with Zayn, though.

So today he is once again finding himself on The Sparrow, ready to meet Zayn and the new crew. The ship is a large, two-masted brig with billowing sails pushed outward by the wind, ready to set sail. Sitting at the top of the main mast is what has always been Harry’s favourite flag. The solid black background has two white sparrows facing one another painted on each side and the breeze makes them look like they’re flying towards one another.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots a solid gold compass lying in the middle of the deck, glistening in the afternoon sun. Harry quickly scoops it up and slips it into his pocket.

Seconds later, Zayn and a few men come up from below decks. “Harry!” Zayn shouts as soon as he sees him. “You’re here!”

Zayn wraps Harry in a hug and over his shoulder, Harry sees a pirate eyeing him off angrily. Harry takes note of his appearance just in case: He’s wearing a black tricorne, black pants and boots, and a burgundy coat that looks extremely expensive. Brown hair swept up into his hat, blue eyes, sharp features. Harry opens his mouth to ask Zayn who he is, but Zayn speaks first.

“Waiting on some more,” Zayn says, pulling back. “Horan… You seen him lately? And s’more, we should be able to leave soon.”

“Where are we going this time?” Harry asks. He reaches into his pocket absentmindedly and makes sure the compass is still there.

“Can’t tell ya yet, lad! I’ll give you all a debrief once we set sail,” Zayn promises.

He leans in to give Harry another clap on the back before bounding down the stairs to the main quarters. Harry smiles after him, taking it all in. He loves seeing Zayn like this: buzzing with the excitement of being out at sea, looking for treasures, working with a new crew. He has to admit he’s feeling it too. No matter how many times they do this, ever since the war started in 1712, it still gives everyone on board a thrill.

Granted, back then they were legal privateers until the war ended and half of them joined the navy instead. Now, as illegal pirates, the air of danger makes it better, Harry thinks.

As soon as Zayn disappears, the Angry Pirate pulls Harry aside by his shirtsleeve.

“I beg your pardon,” Harry says, startled. He reaches towards the sword sitting on his hip, unsure about where this is going to go.

“Show me what’s in your pocket, mate,” the man says. Definitely not what he expected. Harry stares at him and raises his eyebrows. The pirate sighs. “Your pocket. The compass?”

“How do you know, I mean, what compass?” Harry asks innocently. He bats his eyelashes for effect.

Angry Pirate rolls his eyes and dips his hand straight into Harry’s pocket himself. “This one, mate,” he says smartly.

Harry attempts to snatch it back. He doesn’t want to get into a fight with his future crewmate, but if this thing is worth any money, he wants it.

“That’s mine!” he says.

“Actually, I think you’ll find it’s mine,” says Angry Pirate With A Very Attractive Voice. Harry shakes his head. No. Compass. But then he’s watching it being flipped over in the man’s palm. Carved into the back in neat cursive it says - LT.

Harry stares at him, confused.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis, still with a very attractive voice, says. “My name. Meaning this is mine.”

“Oh,” Harry says. Stealing is typically in his job description, but stealing from fellow crew - crew with a lovely voice and face and everything, really - is perhaps a step too far. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was yours, just saw it on deck.”

Louis’ face brightens up. “I must have dropped it when Zayn pulled me down the stairs earlier. Thought he was going to tear my arm off in excitement,” he laughs.

“He gets a bit like that, doesn’t he,” Harry says.

“You know him well, then?” Louis asks. Now that he’s got his compass back he’s more of a Friendly Pirate than an Angry Pirate. It makes him even more beautiful, Harry notes.

“Have for years, yeah,” Harry replies. He and Louis quickly move out of the way as another pirate dashes past them to greet someone else joining the ship. “Since we were on the same crew during the war.”

“Ah,” Louis nods in understanding. “I met him at a pub, we got to talking and ended up here.”

“Three Chimneys?” Harry asks. He watches as Louis nods again. He tries not to stare too much, instead letting his eyes drop to Louis’ coat. He studies the buttons running over his torso. They look like small crests. He wonders what family it dates back to. “He goes there a lot, tries to scout new men for The Sparrow.”

Louis leans back against the gun walls and smiles, tilts his head back and closes his eyes against the sun. “I’m glad he found me. Can’t wait to get back out there, see what we can find.”

Harry wants to ask where he’s been before, who he worked with, what he knows and what he found. He wants to know everything. He settles for, “I’m glad he found you, too.”

Louis smiles at him again and pushes himself off the wall. They walk slowly, side by side, down the ship towards the stairs to the living quarters. Their steps match one another as they watch the goings-on around the deck. Harry counts 12 men, meaning there should be one left before Zayn can debrief and they can leave the docks.

“I’ve got the second largest quarters, you know,” Harry says suddenly. Louis grins, like he already knows what Harry is about to ask. “Would you like to stay with me?”

“‘Course. Privileges of being Zayn’s best mate, I suppose?” Louis asks. He takes off his hat and runs his spare hand through his hair. His eyes meet Harry’s and time seems to stop for a moment.

Harry shakes himself out of it quickly. “Two bunks, of course.” Louis smiles. “But it would be nice to stay with someone you get along with, you know? I promise I won’t steal any more of your compasses.”

“Just the one compass, but thanks. Got our ship, got our compass, where to?” Louis says. Harry smiles again, and leads him below deck.

2089, London, England

Louis double checks the note in his phone, presses the tiny button attached to his shirt collar and watches as his notes app appears before his eyes. He re-reads the hologram quickly and swipes his hand through the image, shutting it down. David Bickery, 204 Holling Road, it said. He’s definitely in the right place.

He hops off his wheel-less skateboard and knocks on the door, box of chocolates in hand and at the ready.

The door opens less than a minute later and Louis clears his throat, ready to begin his spiel. Louis has been working at The Breakup Business for almost three years now and he’s got it down to an art form. Knock on the door, give the poor bastard on the other side a tooth-rotting speech about love and how there’s plenty of it out there before breaking the bad news, throw the flowers or chocolates (the Breakuper’s choice) in Breakupee’s arms, and get the hell out of there as fast as possible.

“Hello?” A gorgeous boy with thick curly hair and green eyes opens the door. No, not gorgeous, Louis thinks. That would be unprofessional. This poor guy’s about to get his heart broken.

“Hi David! I’m Louis, I’m here on behalf of your girlfriend Anna,” Louis says confidently. The other guy looks extremely confused, but Louis gets that a lot. He doesn’t understand it either, to be honest. Why hire someone else to end your relationship for you? It seems like a lot of effort to Louis. But he gets paid, so he’s not complaining.

“I just wanted to let you know that sometimes love doesn’t last, but that’s okay. Ending an old, stale relationship often opens up new doors and opportunities for both people involved. I promise there’s more out there than just Anna, plenty more fish in the sea, so to speak,” he continues. David is standing in his doorway, biting his lip and trying not to smile. Definitely the weirdest reaction Louis has had in a while. It probably doesn’t beat the time a guy collapsed at his feet and begged for forgiveness, but it’s getting close.

Louis collects himself for a moment, trying to think of what to say next. He usually breaks the news now and offers as much comfort as he can before he bails, but for some reason he can’t stand the thought of making this guy upset. Not when he’s standing there looking so happy. He’s got no idea what’s coming, it seems.

“I promise one day you will find the one for you. Someone who loves you unconditionally, someone who knows you inside and out. A best friend and a soulmate all wrapped up into one package. The sun to your moon. And,” Louis says, still trying to prolong the inevitable. “Just remember Cupid’s out there, shooting his arrows into people’s hearts all the time, you know? Every day, in fact. Which, when you think about it, it’s kind of a creepy concept. A baby shooting an arrow into hearts to make people fall in love… ” Louis trails off. David still looks amused, and Louis is getting more and more concerned.

“Uh. Unfortunately I have to tell you today that Anna feels like Cupid’s work has failed, you’re not the fish for her, etcetera. You’re being broken up with. I’m sorry,” Louis says. And he waits for tears, denial, yelling, or (he hopes not, he’s still recovering from a bruise on his shin) throwing of heavy objects.

Instead, David bursts out laughing.

“Are you okay, mate?” Louis asks. He’s actually somewhat concerned. Hysterical laughter isn’t something he’s been trained for.

“My name’s not David,” Apparently-not-David says, doubled over. He straightens up slightly and wipes a tear from his eye. “I have no idea who Anna is. I’m gay, and I’m single.”

Louis gapes at him. “What? You’re not David? 204 Holling Road, right?”

“This is 206 Holling. I’m Harry. Harry Styles.” Harry says. He’s still laughing a bit, and Louis pouts.

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt your speech,” Harry says. “I’m sorry. It was really cute. If it makes you feel any better, if I was really being broken up with, I’d be glad it was coming from you.”

Louis laughs, too. “I think I can safely say this has never happened before.” When Harry gives him a questioning look, he says, “Flirting with a Breakupee. Well, not technically, I guess. Single, you said?”

“Yeah. I guess Cupid’s arrow never hit me at the right time,” Harry says. Louis knows he’s poking fun, but at the same time Harry is flushed a deep, pretty pink, so he doesn’t mind.

“Oh,” Louis says, suddenly remembering the box of chocolates in his hand. “These are for you. Well, technically they’re for David but I think I’m all speech-ed out, I’m going to have to go back tomorrow instead. Keep them. An apology for me wasting your time.”

“You definitely didn’t waste my time,” Harry says. He leans his hip against the doorframe and the next words are out of Louis’ mouth before they even register in his mind.

“Well, let me take you out instead, then,” he says. “To apologise for breaking up with you accidentally.”

Harry laughs again, and Louis thinks he could easily become addicted to the sound. “You don’t need to apologise for that either, but I’d love to,” he says. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans, taps a button, and his phone number is instantly transferred to Louis’.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Dinner?” Louis suggests. “I’ll bring my bike instead of my skateboard. Make sure you’re ready to jump on at any minute because I don’t know how the real David is going to react to my news.”

Harry giggles into the back of his hand. “Sounds perfect,” he says, watching as Louis powers up his skateboard. “Oh, and Louis?”

“Hm?”

“If you need to break up with me sometime, don’t go through The Breakup Business, yeah?” he asks gently.

“I don’t ever plan on it, love,” Louis says. He jumps up one last step to Harry’s doorway and presses a kiss to the dimple that’s come out, thanks to the huge grin on Harry’s face. “See you tomorrow.”

1898, Colorado, USA

Harry twists a washcloth around the outside of a glass, watching a rowdy table out of the corner of his eye. Horan’s Saloon is due to close for the night and Harry is ready to go home, but there are a couple of men sitting around a table playing poker with still half-full drinks in their hands.

He’s been watching them for most of the night in-between serving other customers. Having been a barkeep at Horan’s for a few years, he knows the regulars from the visitors, and he knows how to make a mean Mule Skinner. Harry knows that one of the men at the table, Louis, he thinks he’s heard, isn’t from around here. He also knows that he’s playing the rest of them out of their money.

Harry sets the now clean glass back under the bar, and knocks open the swing door with his hip. He throws the washcloth over his shoulder as he makes his way over to the poker table.

“How’s everything going, boys?” he asks. He notices straight away that Louis perks up at his voice, but doesn’t drop concentration from his cards.

He gets general noises of contentment and gets the message, picking up any empty glasses he can and trying not to disturb them. He watches Louis, though. He’s not sure how he’s doing it, but he’s absolutely cheating.

Louis’ pile of cash has been steadily piling up throughout the course of the night at a rate Harry has never seen before. And Harry has seen a lot of games through his years at Horan’s.

For some reason, though, Harry is rooting for him. It’s nice to see someone new for a change. Someone who treats tavern staff well, too. Louis has been nothing but polite all night, offering Harry smiles and tips and quick-witted banter. His usual clientele are drunken old men who try to swindle him out of money.

Harry thinks it’s nice for them to finally get a taste of their own medicine. Not that they realise it, of course. Louis has been smart about what he’s doing. Harry would absolutely bet money on the fact that Louis has done this before. Makes a living out of it, probably, going from town to town and winning as much as he can before leaving.

It’s a pretty easy decision that Harry makes.

He walks back to the table, swinging his hips as he goes, and clears his throat. “Sorry, guys. Gotta close up now. It’s getting late but I’ll see you all again tomorrow.”

A few of them groan and complain, as usual, but for the most part they seem fed up of losing their money to Louis. Louis, who is quickly sweeping all of his earnings into a small burlap sack, smiling to himself.

Harry watches as the men stumble out the door. He scrubs the washcloth around their table until a hand reaches over his to stop his movements. Harry straightens up and turns around only to find himself crowded against the edge of the table by Louis.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis says. His voice is low and scratchy, accent heavier than what Harry is accustomed to, possibly from an area further down south. It suits him, Harry thinks, with his stubble and long hair and heavy looking overcoat.

“Do what?” Harry asks. Louis smiles at him and gently runs his hand along Harry’s hip. He moves away to gather up his money sack and stow it in the bigger bag he’d walked in with. The leg of the chair he was sitting at is hooked around the strap of the bag to stop it from being stolen. Definitely done this before, then.

Louis swings the bag over his shoulder and crosses the distance back to where Harry is still leaning against the table. “You didn’t have to end the game. I knew what I was doing.”

“I’m sure you did,” Harry says. Louis’ hand is tucked into the pocket of Harry’s jeans now, and Harry is tempted to slide his own hand into Louis’ back pocket.

“I did,” Louis repeats. “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” he says. He can feel them inching closer and closer to each other. He’s not even consciously thinking about it, just feels a gravitational pull between Louis’ body and his own.

“Well, Harry. I’m Louis,” says Louis.  

“I know.”

Louis hums. “I saw you watching me all night. Wasn’t sure if you wanted to pick up on how I played, or if it was something else. When you came over to stop the game, I knew.”

“Knew what?” Harry asks.

Louis snorts. “You’re very coy. I like it. ‘s cute.”

“Thanks,” Harry beams. “You too. Your poker game, I mean. Not interested in anything else.” He makes the move and wiggles his fingers into one of Louis’ back pockets, his actions betraying his words.

Louis full-out laughs this time. Then he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips against Harry’s. They giggle into each other’s mouths for a second before melting into it. Harry closes his eyes and feels every single part of the kiss from head to toe. Louis’ tongue nudges against his own and Harry smiles, pulling him in closer.

Louis steps back for a second but before Harry can pout, Louis is hoisting Harry up and back, sitting him down on the table. Harry grins and spreads his legs for Louis to stand between.

Their lips connect again and it’s like magic, Harry thinks. He wants to do this forever. He wraps his arms around Louis’ neck, legs around his waist, and kisses him until he can’t breathe anymore.

Harry tilts his head to let Louis closer. Around them, the bar is dark and quiet, nothing to be heard but the sounds of their kisses. Once they pull apart, heavy breaths now filling the silence instead, Harry opens his eyes and watches Louis.

“Where are you from?” Harry decides to ask. What he means is, when will you be leaving?, which he both does and does not want to know. His breath hitches as Louis moves forward and presses kisses into his jaw.

“Couple counties south,” Louis says into Harry’s neck.

Harry hums, he thought that was the case. He looks down and asks, “How long until you go back?”

Louis shakes his head and kisses Harry again. Harry sighs, moves his hands away from Louis’ jeans, toying with the hem of his shirt for a moment before moving upwards and settling in his hair. They kiss for a long time then, Louis’ tongue in Harry’s mouth and Harry’s hands tugging on his hair.

“I won’t be going back,” Louis says eventually, once they’ve separated again. His eyes are hooded and he can’t stop looking at Harry’s own pink, well-kissed lips. “Just moving on to the next town.”

Harry frowns and taps his foot against the back of Louis’ leg in a pout. “When will you be leaving?”

“Depends,” Louis says with a little shrug.

“On what?” Harry knows he’s being a terror with the questions but Louis doesn’t seem to mind. He kisses Harry once, quickly.

“A few things.” Another kiss. “How much money I can make before I get caught.” Kiss. “How much I like the town.” Kiss. He trails off, kisses Harry’s cheek instead. “If you’re coming with me.”

Harry feels his face turn pink and he burrows his head down under Louis’ chin. “Really?” he asks. He feels Louis nod so he nods himself, and pulls back to look Louis in the eye.

“You’ll have to teach me how to play, then. Come back tomorrow,” Harry says. Louis is trailing his fingers along Harry’s lips so Harry grabs his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“I will,” Louis promises. He cups his hand around Harry’s cheeks and kisses his mouth. “Just for the gambling and the money, of course.”

Harry giggles. “Of course,” he says seriously. Louis pulls away to adjust his bag against his hip and set his Stetson on his head. He gives Harry one last kiss and turns for the door.

“I’ll see you, Harry,” he says.

“See you,” Harry replies. As soon as Louis is out of earshot Harry buries his face in his hands and lets out a squeak.

1942, HMS Fortuna, Indian Ocean

Louis flinches, arm still tied up in a sling, as he helps three or four other men on board throw the anchor over the side of the ship. The rope is thick and heavy and makes Louis’ arms burn, but he wants to help as much as he can while he’s stuck in the middle of the ocean.

Two days ago Louis had been in Burma, bullets flying everywhere. One had caught him in the upper arm on his right side, and that was that.

Now he’s on the HMS Fortuna with several of his men while they await medical treatment. Most of the others have minor wounds like Louis’, some have trench foot, some malaria. All Louis knows is that the next few weeks are going to be long and painful while he waits for his injury to heal.

He grunts in pain as he bumps his bad arm against another soldier, still trying to help them lower the rope. He hears someone behind him gasp and he’s suddenly being pulled backwards away from the edge of the ship.

“You shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting!” Louis turns around to see a male nurse standing in front of him, hands on his hips and pout on his face. His nametag reads: Harry.

“Sorry,” Louis shrugs. “Just wanted to help out.”

Harry purses his lips and tisks. “I understand it’s hard, but you’ve got to be careful or you could end up with permanent scarring or a worse injury. Did you hurt yourself? Let me have a look.”

He talks slowly but captivatingly, and Louis finds himself hanging onto every word. The white cap sitting atop Harry’s curls bounces with his hair every time he moves his head to examine Louis’ arm.

“I’m fine,” Louis says. “I swear. It just twinged a bit, is all.”

Harry makes another noise. “Hmm. Can you come to the medical tent with me? I need to have a look at those stitches.”

Louis rolls his eyes and huffs but Harry stares him down so he complies. Harry leads him into a small white tent towards the rear of the ship and sits him down on the edge of a cot. Louis watches as Harry sterilises the wound. Harry’s face is focused but soft and gentle, green eyes fixed on Louis’ skin. Louis tries not to make a noise when the alcohol hits his skin, but he hisses and digs his fingernails into his palms.

“Sorry,” says Harry. “That’s never a pleasant thing to do.” He dabs at Louis’ arm a few more times before he takes Louis’ hands in his and opens his fingers up, relaxing them. He massages Louis’ open palms and the back of his hands, all the way around his wrist. Louis’ arms feel loose and relaxed when Harry pokes at his stitches the second time, so much so that he doesn’t try to flinch away.

“You did that on purpose,” mumbles Louis. Harry looks up at him in surprise from where he’s touching Louis’ shoulder and he smiles.

“Guilty,” Harry says. He smiles. “Knew it would make you relax. Where are you originally from, soldier - ?” He pauses at Louis’ name.

“Oh, Louis,” Louis tells him. “Louis Tomlinson. From Doncaster. You?”

“Harry Styles,” he says. “Cheshire. Not too far apart. I love finding other people from home. Makes me a little less homesick, I think.”

“Do you miss it, then?” Louis asks. “Cheshire?” Harry is still fiddling with his arm, examining it at every different angle. Louis isn’t entirely sure what it is he’s looking for but Harry’s warm, steady hands make him feel at ease.

Harry doesn’t reply for a while, too caught up in what he’s looking at. “Sometimes,” he says after a moment. “Not so much the town itself, it’s just. I miss my mum and my sister. Gemma, her name is. But I know what I’m doing here is important.”

“You’re so important,” Louis says earnestly. He sees the corner of Harry’s mouth turn up. “We don’t tell you enough, I don’t think. I’m sure your mother and sister know you are, too.”

“Thanks, soldier,” Harry says. He shoots Louis a wink before he stands up and digs through a medical box on a nearby table. He comes back with tweezers, a long roll of gauze, and bandage tape. Louis winces. “What about you? Family back home?”

“You’re welcome, nurse Harry. Yeah, I’ve got my mum and six siblings.” Louis laughs at Harry’s wide eyes. “I know. It’s a handful. I do feel bad about leaving mum behind with them all but like you said, important.”

Harry nods seriously. “She’ll be fine. Just focus on getting this arm healed up so when you get back home you can help her with all the kids.”

“You’d love them, I think. Five girls and a baby boy,” he tells Harry.

“Yeah? You’ll have to introduce them to me.” Louis isn’t sure if Harry’s being serious or humouring him to be nice, but he says it so genuinely it warms Louis’ heart. He doesn’t usually like thinking about his family, it makes him ache with sadness, but speaking with Harry makes it hurt less. It makes him feel like home.

“Do you mind if I-?” Harry asks, gesturing to the bandages and Louis’ arm.

Louis shakes his head and offers his arm up, letting Harry get to work. He ends up needing to re-bandage his arm, even though the stitches are intact, his wound needed a good wash and fresh bandages anyway. Louis feels his arm shaking as he lifts it up to allow Harry to wrap gauze around it tightly so he shuts his eyes and tries not to focus on the pain.

Harry, again, senses his pain and distracts him with more questions. “Who did you see when you first came aboard? Who did your stitches?”

“Nurse Joly,” he says through gritted teeth. “Sorry, I need to put my arm down for a second.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says patiently. His voice has gone soft and he rubs Louis’ leg in an attempt to comfort him. “Do you feel ill?”

Louis nods and Harry makes a sad noise. “You’re alright, it’s just the elevation. Your body is still figuring out what’s going on and how to fix itself. We won’t lift it up as much this time.”

“Nurse Joly’s lovely, isn’t she?” Harry asks him. He’s still running his hand along Louis’ leg soothingly. “She did a great job with your stitches, they’re holding up really well.”

Louis nods, feeling weak and pathetic. “I knew I hadn’t treated you myself, I definitely would have remembered,” Harry continues. Louis perks up at that and manages a smile and a flirty look at Harry from under his eyelashes, making Harry giggle.

“I’m alright to try again now, I think,” Louis says. He holds his arm out at a lower angle this time and bites his lip while Harry applies pressure and continues to spin the gauze around his arm. A few rotations later and Harry expertly tucks it all into itself to hold it tightly in place.

“Done!” he says happily. Louis can’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. Harry’s smile is infectious and makes Louis’ whole body feel alight.

“Thank you,” Louis says sincerely.

“No need to thank me, just promise me next time you’re bored you come and talk to me instead of trying to lift a few-hundred pound rope and anchor,” Harry says seriously. He holds one of Louis’ hands in both of his and rubs the backs of Louis’ fingers with his thumb. “You’ve been shot, Louis. You’ve got to take care of yourself. Please promise me.”

Louis is staring down at their joined hands. “I promise,” he says. “And I promise I’ll come and visit you when you’re not busy.”

“Thank you, love. I want to hear more about those girls of yours. Go and get some rest. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Harry leans forward and brushes a chaste kiss on Louis’ temple. Louis watches him leave the tent before standing up and heading to his own cot, smiling the whole way there.

1982, Bondi Beach, Australia

Harry is so excited.

He’s heading to the beach today, bright and early with his mum because it’s the weekend and the weekend means no school. Though he does love his teacher Miss Samuels because she lets him paint and sing and play all day long, this weekend is The One.

Harry is finally going to be able to mark off his sighting of the Blue Triangle, or “Graphium sarpedon,” as his book tells him.

For Harry’s sixth birthday (which was three months ago, he’s six and a quarter now, he tells everyone proudly) his grandpa had given him his absolute favourite present of the bunch, The Complete Field Guide to Butterflies of Australia.

Butterflies were Harry’s specialty. He drew them at school, could talk his mum’s ear off about any he’d seen in the playground that day, and he even had one printed on a sweater.

But today is the day of the Blue Triangle, and Harry can’t wait.

As soon as the car pulls up by the beach, tires scraping against the burning hot bitumen, Harry is out like a flash with his treasured Field Guide packed neatly into his owl-shaped backpack. He’s also wearing his favourite rainbow coloured polka dot boardshorts and a black swim shirt, because mum tells him it’s very important to keep away sunburn.

“Harry!” his mother, Anne, warns. “Remember our rules. Always make sure you can see me and don’t go too far, baby.”

“I know, mum!,” Harry replies as Anne grabs her beach bag out of the car; towels, flip-flops, sunscreen and hats for the two of them.

Harry sprints down the wooden stairs, jumps off the second to last one, and lands with a soft thud in the golden sand. He knows his mum will set up their beach gear by the red and yellow surf flags as usual, so he sets off to his prime butterfly spotting location. There are shrubs of all sorts lined up against the wall where the sand ends and the footpath begins, right opposite McDonald’s and the car park. Harry’s mum took him to the McDonald’s once, for a 5c cone, as a special treat after his first day of school.

Harry wonders if he could have another one today, to celebrate finding a Blue Triangle, he - “Oof!” Harry yelps as he’s knocked backwards by a sudden force.

He looks up to see a boy a little taller than him, with soft looking brown hair and bright excited eyes, his white tshirt now stained a dark brown from the drink Harry made him spill on himself.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” Harry says, lower lip trembling with guilt.

The boy looks down at his empty cup and shrugs. “It is what it is,” he says casually. He dumps the paper cup in the sand - Harry’s going to remind him to put it in the bin later - and tugs his shirt away from his body to appraise the mess.

“What?” Harry asks, nose scrunching up in confusion. He doesn’t know what ‘it is what it is’ means.

The boy shrugs again and reaches a hand out to help Harry up. “I dunno mate, I heard it on TV and thought it sounded wicked.”

Harry stands up and brushes his hands against his pants. “It did sound pretty wicked, I think. I’m Harry, I’m looking for butterflies,” he says.

“Yeah? I’m Louis,” the boy - Louis - says, “And what butterflies? Where?”

“Well, I don’t know where yet. I’m looking for the Blue Triangle. It’s a special one that I need to find so I can mark it off in my book,” Harry explains very seriously.

“What book? You’re weird, curly boy,” Louis laughs as he picks a leaf off a bush in front of them. He folds it in half and sticks it right on top of Harry’s head.

“I’m not! You’re weird. And you ask a lot of questions,” Harry says, shaking the leaf out of his hair and sitting down in the sand so he can take his backpack off. He needs to show Louis his book and prove that he’s Not Weird.

“How old are you?” Louis asks, absently petting Harry’s curls now as Harry flips through his book to find the Blue Triangle page. “I like your shorts.”

“Thank you, me too. They’re rainbow. Six and one quarter,” Harry replies instantly. He can’t wait until he can say “six and a half.”

Louis’ eyes widen as he sits down next to Harry for a better look at the pages in Harry’s lap. “Whoa, you’re just a baby!”

“I’m not,” Harry pouts. “Look, this is the one. See its wings? They are blue and black and look like triangles, which mum says is why it’s called the Blue Triangle. Mum also read -”

“What grade in are you, then?” Louis interrupts. The butterfly does look quite pretty, really, but Harry is vastly more interesting.

“One. Mum says you can only find these ones where we live, because they adapted to live here instead of a rainforest!”

“Ha, see! I’m in grade three already, ‘cause I’m eight and a half,” Louis brags, but Harry sulks down at his book so Louis quickly rectifies, “But year one is cool, and the butterfly is cool too, don’t worry.”

Harry beams and closes the guide, setting it carefully back into his bag. “Louis,” he says. “Now that you know what it looks like, do y’wanna help me find it?”

“Definitely, I reckon I’m a really good spy. I can be real sneaky and quiet, I do it all the time at home to scare my mum and my sisters.”

Harry giggles and takes his hand. “Come on, then. Remember to only look for blue, black, and triangles.”

“I’m sure I can remember that, it’s called the Blue Triangle after all, ain’t it?” Louis says as he squeezes Harry’s hand in his.

-

Seven false butterfly spotting alarms, two sunscreen reapplications, and three sneaky cheek kisses later (two by a confident Louis, one by a nervously giggling Harry) there is still no Blue Triangle to be found. Harry’s getting increasingly worried, asking Louis what happens next? What if they can never find one? What if they’re - he learned this word just last week - extinct?

“Turn around,” Louis says, spinning Harry by the shoulders so Louis can access his backpack. “Let’s take another look, maybe we just missed it.”

Louis pulls The Complete Field Guide to Butterflies of Australia out of Harry’s bag and sits in the sand again, positioning himself strategically in the shade. He pats the space beside himself for Harry to sit too.

Harry sadly declares that no, they both know what the Blue Triangle is supposed to look like and that no, they hadn’t found one. His mission has failed.

Harry buries his face in his hands and trembles, hiccuping huge, sad sobs into his tiny fingers. Louis scrambles to close Harry’s book and place it gently in the sand before turning to comfort Harry.

“It’s okay, curly head,” Louis says, cuddling Harry close and rubbing his back just like his own mum does for him when he’s sad. “I know you’re going to find that butterfly someday soon, I just know it. I feel it in my heart. Right here.”

He gestures to his chest until Harry peeks through his hands. Louis can see his eyes shining with fresh tears so he makes the silliest face he can think of; he scrunches up his nose, pokes out his tongue, and crosses his eyes all at the same time. Harry giggles and wipes his nose, sand and snot and tears clumping together on his face. Louis still thinks he’s the cutest boy he’s ever seen.

“Do you really mean it?” Harry asks wetly.

“Of course I do,” Louis says, “And guess what? I promise we’ll see each other again soon and I’ll help you look all over again.”

To Louis’ utter bemusement, this declaration makes Harry burst into heart-breaking tears again.

“No, no, Harry,” he says, flailing his arms about wildly before settling them again on Harry’s back. “That was supposed to make you happy, silly.”

“I am happy,” Harry wails, he opens his mouth to speak again, but -

“Harry?” Anne asks, walking quickly up the sand, beach towels and bag in hand. “What’s happened my love?”

“I didn’t make him cry on purpose, I swear,” Louis apologises quickly. He jumps up to face Harry’s mother as Harry leaps into her arms.

Anne smiles at Louis and asks Harry, “Did you find the Blue Triangle, baby?”

Harry shakes his head into Anne’s neck as she hums sadly. “I’m sure you will next time.”

“That’s what I said,” Louis says proudly.

“And who are you, my dear?” Anne asks, bending down to deposit Harry back onto the ground.

“‘s my best friend, Louis,” Harry explains. He wipes his eyes and nose again and blinks rapidly as he gets sand stuck to his eyelashes. Both Anne and Louis reach out to help him wipe it away.

“Yup,” Louis says after Harry’s face is sufficiently sand-free. “I’m Louis, I tried to help Harry find the blue butterfly ‘cause he spilled my coke all over my shirt, see? Hang on.”

Louis sprints off towards the nearest flowering bush. He comes back holding his hand out delicately to show Harry and Anne a tiny pink sweet pea flower with its stem expertly looped into a circle.

“This is for you, Harry,” Louis says, picking it up and sliding it onto a finger on Harry’s left hand. “A ring to marry me with.”

Harry’s eyes widen to the size of the moon as he looks between his new ring, Louis, and his mum. “For me?” he asks in astonishment.

Louis nods. “You’re s’posed to say yes now.”

“Yes!” Harry yells, throwing his arms around Louis’ neck. “Next time we see each other we’ll be husbands and find a Blue Triangle together.”

“I pinky swear,” Louis promises. He pulls back and holds out his pinky for Harry to shake.

“I hate to break this up but we’ve got to get going, Harry,” Anne says gently. Before the waterworks start again, she adds, “We’ll organise a proper playdate with Louis soon. What’s your home telephone number, love?”

As Louis helpfully recites the eight digit number, Harry gives him one last peck on the cheek, bringing the grand total up to four. Fiercely blushing, Harry takes his mother’s hand and heads towards the car.

“See you soon, Lou,” he says, making sure he waves with his left hand so Louis can see his flower ring.

“In a while, crocodile,” Louis says back.

“That’s not how it goes, silly!”

2578 BC, Giza, Egypt

Louis lets out a frustrated huff and crouches down low on the ground to catch his breath. He wipes the sweat off his brow and runs a shaky hand through his hair, before standing up again and getting back to work.

As a nephew of Khufu, Louis technically doesn’t need to work a day in his life. But since birth he’s been taught that all men, no matter their status, should strive to work hard and honor their families. So here Louis is, working hard and honoring his uncle by working at the pyramid complex.

Louis is set to be let off the day’s work as soon as the sun sets, which, if his estimations are correct, is soon. Maybe two more trips carrying limestone blocks back and forth between the cart and the pyramid’s base. Just one, if he’s lucky.

It ends up taking two, and by the time Louis is packing up and walking home, he’s dead on his feet. Eyes closed and head bowed, he trudges through the sand and mud, too tired to flick any of it out of his sandals. He’s just about to fall asleep mid-step when he knocks into something and hears the ear-piercing shatter of what sounds like a now-broken pottery vase.

He looks up and locks eyes with a startled looking boy who has a head full of curls tied back with beautifully decorated fabric. The material looks as though an array of animals - birds, cats, horses - have been painted over the colours of a sunset; the pinks and oranges of which bring out the flush on the boy’s cheeks. It suits him.

Louis notices smashed red clay laying at the boy’s feet. “I am so sorry,” he says. “Is this yours? I will fix it, I promise.”

The boy, Sunset, Louis decides, is suddenly jolted into action by Louis’ hasty apology. “No matter,” he says, nervously tucking a few stray curls under his scarf. “I have plenty more.”

“I still feel terribly,” Louis says. He bends over to pick up as much of the broken vase as he can and Sunset scrambles to do the same. Louis notices more beautiful paintings of animals on the clay, gazelles this time, in the same style as on the boy’s head. “You must be an artist?”

Sunset nods, placing the smallest broken pieces carefully on the front of his wrap, cupping them in the folds of linen. “Pottery, mostly. I try my hand at sculptures sometimes, too, but I love painting the most. I paint fabrics and vases for a lot of people in my village.”

“Did you paint that scarf in your hair?” Louis asks. He has five huge pieces of vase in his hands now. Sunset nods again and Louis can see him bite back a shy smile. He stands up delicately, making sure the clay doesn’t fall off the front of his skirt, before gesturing for Louis to follow him home.

Louis adjusts the heavy weight of the vase pieces in his arms and falls into step beside Sunset. They chatter amicably on the way through the village to Sunset’s small home and Louis learns that his real name is Harry, he has lived here all his life (how have I never met you before? Louis wonders, astonished. He knows he would remember someone like Harry), and birds are his favourite animals to paint.

As soon as they arrive at Harry’s home, made of mud and stone and straw, Louis gasps. The floor, walls, and roof are all lined with Harry’s stunning artwork. The floor is a deep brown with bright plants, trees, and grass sitting almost lifelike around the room. The walls are similar to Harry’s scarf, various colours with animals and people worked seamlessly into the scenery. There are even small pyramids painted into the background of one of the walls. The roof is Louis’ favourite though. On the roof, Harry has painted a bright blue sky filled with any and every type of bird Louis could think of. Some are flying, some are perched on the trees that Harry has worked from the floor upwards, and some are gracefully walking on clouds.

Louis carefully lays the chunks of pottery on Harry’s floor, by all of the other sculptures, vases, and painting materials Harry had. It should feel cluttered and tiny, but instead it feels homely and warm and very, very Harry. As Louis stands he catches Harry watching his reaction out of the corner of his eye. His face is that pretty sunset colour again, blushing at the obvious awe written all over Louis’ face.

Louis helps Harry transfer the remaining pieces of the vase from his wrap to the floor. Their hands touch on several occasions and Louis feels sparks shoot through his fingertips every time.

“Well,” Louis says, straightening up and breaking the silence. “Sorry again, Harry. If this helps you to forgive me at all, your artwork is exquisite.”

Harry finally lets out the grin he’s been holding back for the past hour. If Harry is the sunset, Louis thinks that watching his mouth curve into a bright smile is like watching the sun peek over the horizon.  “Thank you, Louis. I assure you, you already have my forgiveness. I hope to see you around soon?”

Louis ducks his head gently and sees himself to the door. “Goodbye, Harry.”

-

The next day, as Louis finishes another shift of work, he watches a sparrow fly overhead. He immediately thinks of Harry and his artwork. Harry seemed to love birds. They were all over his fabrics, his ceiling, his pottery.

Louis makes a quick decision and piles an assortment of animal glues, clays, and brushes from the pyramid resource pits into a spare linen bag, ready to make the trek back to Harry’s house.

He quietly ducks under the entryway and finds Harry sitting on the floor, a huge canvas stretched out in front of him, with sketches drawn all over the material. He has paint splattered over his bare chest and Louis thinks he can even see a patch of blue smeared on his cheek.

Louis clears his throat and tries not to laugh as Harry jumps. “Louis?” he asks, standing up and dusting his hands off on his wrap. “I did not expect to see you again so soon, how are you?”

“Well, thank you,” Louis says, moving further into the room. “I brought supplies, I thought I could help to repair what I broke yesterday.”

Harry smiles Louis’ favourite sunny grin again. “You really shouldn’t have,” he says.

Louis feels his own smile fall off his face. “Oh. Should I leave? I’m sorry for intruding, I thought-”

“No, no,” Harry interrupts. He moves forward to take Louis’ hand, sitting down with him in the art-filled corner of his house. “I meant you didn’t need to, but I appreciate it very much. Thank you.” He looks so sincere, eyes glittering in what’s left of the daylight shining in the tiny window above them, and Louis can’t help but smile again.

“I have glue and clay, will you let me put the vase back together?” Louis asks.

“Of course. Thank you, Louis,” Harry says again. “Do you mind if I…” he trails off, gestures to the canvas.

Louis would love nothing more than to watch Harry paint. He tells him so and watches fondly as Harry shakes his head at the compliment and fiddles with his hair, smearing a blob of red through his curls.

They work quietly for a while; Louis mapping out every piece of the vase on the floor like a puzzle while Harry delicately fills the canvas with bright, vivid colours.

“Thoth inspired my love for art, you know,” Harry says, out of the blue. He’s sketching the head of a bird and Louis can definitely see the similarities, now Harry has pointed it out. “God of knowledge and wisdom. Birds are sacred to him. I think animals should be important to all of us. I know one day we will be able to fly like the birds. If the pyramids can be built like this from the ground, imagine what we could do in the sky.”

Louis listens intently, nodding along to what Harry has to say. He believes it all. He can see how clearly important it all is to Harry. The passion flows from his brain to his mouth, his hands to his artwork.

“He believes in equality for all humans, creatures, gods. I like the thought of that. We are all the same, living together… It’s why I like to draw us and nature together.” Harry looks at Louis quickly, as if he hadn’t even noticed he was talking. He flushes and turns back to his canvas. “I’m sorry, you must-”

“What about Horus?” Louis asks. Harry sets his brush down and turns his whole body to Louis. His face is lit up with excitement.

“Of course,” he says. “Head of a falcon. Just as Thoth has the head of an ibis. Controlling the skies and the sun and the moon. If not for him, we would not have day and night as we know it.”

Louis nods. He, too, has stopped his work, preferring to talk to Harry instead. “During my studies Amun always stood out to me. King of all gods!”

“I have always thought he must be incredibly handsome,” Harry says, fingers tapping against his artwork.

Louis smirks. “What, as a ram?” he teases.

“No! His human form!” Harry says. He stares at Louis stony-faced for a second before cackling, his head tilting back with the force of it. His eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth. “I have never made that sound before.”

“It was a wonderful sound,” Louis tells him. Harry blushes - he does that a lot, Louis notes happily. He distracts Harry with a question about the vase (“where should this piece fit?”) and they get back to work, this time filling the silence with talk of gods and animals and everything in between.

-

It becomes a routine for the two of them. Every day after work Louis returns to Harry’s house and sits with him until it’s too dark to continue painting and gluing. Even when Louis finishes fixing the vase (he presents it to Harry with a flourish, and Harry is so absolutely overwhelmed with delight that he pulls Louis into a tight hug and thanks him profusely) he finds excuses to visit Harry: fetching new materials, mixing his paints, helping him with new ideas. One day he even sits still for hours while Harry uses him as a model for a clay sculpture.

Louis has to come clean. “Harry,” he says one day from Harry’s floor. Harry is designing a new shape for a vase he wants to experiment with, but looks up at Louis’ hesitant tone. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Harry asks. He drops the reed he’s working with and scoots closer to Louis, resting a comforting hand on Louis’ leg.

“I need to be honest about why I have been visiting you so often. After I finished fixing your vase I had to keep seeing you. I like you so much, Harry. Probably too much, but I cannot help it. I am sorry I kept this from you,” he says. He can’t bring himself to look at Harry. Doesn’t want to see betrayal written all over his features.

“Louis,” Harry says. Louis feels a finger gently tap the bottom of his chin, lifting it up so that he can look Harry in the eye. Harry, who is smiling at him, beautiful as always. Sunset, Louis thinks vaguely, before Harry leans in to kiss him.

1349, London, England

Styles’ Sweetmeats sits at the top of one of the most bustling lanes in London. Harry and her mother had owned and ran their family sweetmeats shop, while her brother and father worked for Farmer Wimund close by.

The Styles family had done well enough for themselves; a sweets shop in high demand as well as earnings from the boys’ manual labour. It allowed Harry some time to herself to wander down to the nearest square and watch passersby go about their daily chores. Some days she was even able to take a coin or two and buy herself a new hat or ribbon to tie into her thick, dark curls.

Three weeks ago, Harry was saying goodbye to her family as she did every second weekend when she visited the out-of-town markets (they sold the sweetest and best produce Harry had ever found). Two days later she had returned to find her home boarded up, the dreaded words: PLAGUE, KEEP OUT, plastered across the front door. Harry was alone.

She knew the Black Death had been spreading, knew family and friends died all too, but she had never expected to lose them all at once.

The following two weeks were tough, Harry working alone in the shop to get by. Thankfully, the centre of London had not yet been hit by the plague, it was only the outskirts and smaller villages where here home had been that were affected. Styles’ Sweetmeats is safe but Harry knows it won’t be for long.

Now Harry is in the shop, delicately working on candied angelica for sale. She has boiled and dried the green stems, waiting for them to harden before she covers them in sugar. Candied flowers and herbs are Harry’s favourite, both to eat and to make.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees a girl enter the shop and look at the current display of sweets. She has beautiful wavy hair swept to one side, bright blue eyes darting back and forth between frosted rose petals and sugared plums, and a cheeky tilt to her lips.

“Morning!” Harry greets. “What would you like?” she asks, dusting sugar off her hands to package up whatever it is this girl is looking for.

The girl looks up, startled, as if she had no idea Harry was there. She hums quietly and points to a rose petal. “This one? Only, I don’t have any money on me, I-”

“That’s alright,” Harry finds herself blurting out. “You can try it. I made it myself, it’s yours.”

“Oh, thank you,” the girl says. She looks at Harry from under her eyelashes, shy and confident at the same time. Harry’s heart flutters in her chest. “I’m Louis.”

“Harry,” Harry tells her, trying not to blush as she hands Louis the sweetest looking petal. “What do you think?”

Louis places it on her tongue and grins as the sugar dissolves in her mouth. “Delicious,” she declares. “Do you make all of these?”

“This is… Was my family’s shop,” Harry explains. “I do the flowers and herbs, I’m working on candied angelica right now. I love the fruits too, sugared orange peel and sugared plums are my favourites. Marchpane fruits as well, I - sorry, I’m blathering on.” She stops herself quickly. She has always been told she talks too much, too slow, too boring.

“They all look so beautiful, Harry,” Louis says. She looks up at Harry and grins. “Really beautiful.”  

“Do you want to take a look at the candied angelica I’m drying?” Harry offers, feeling a boost of confidence at Louis’ genuine show of interest. Louis nods straight away and moves towards the back of the room, behind the display tables and windows. “I’ll let you put the sugar on them, if you like,” Harry adds.

Louis unties a blue ribbon from her wrist and uses it to tie her hair up and out of the way (Harry thinks, I do that too, with a pleased smile on her face). “Oh, yes! I’ve got a huge sweet tooth,” Louis says, looking Harry directly in the eyes. Harry breaks contact first, moving them so they stand side by side at Harry’s work table, arms close enough to touch.

Harry knows her cheeks have most definitely turned pink by now.

“The stems are dry,” she tells Louis, “so now we have to cover them in sugar. Once that’s done, we heat them up in water so they turn a beautiful bright green -”

“Like your eyes,” Louis interrupts. She cheekily winks at Harry and nudges their hips together.

“- then we dry them again and dust them off with caster sugar,” Harry finishes. She is definitely ignoring the blush that has now travelled down her neck, sitting prettily on her chest.

“Sounds lovely, I can’t wait to try one,” Louis says, watching Harry roll the thick stems through the sugar on the table, rubbing it in with her fingers, making sure every inch is covered. She picks one up for herself and does the same, getting so lost in the soothing repetitive motions that Harry’s declaration of “you’re a natural!” makes her jump.

Harry giggles, swaying on her feet and letting her head drop to Louis’ shoulder. “Sorry, Lou, didn’t mean to frighten you. You are though. I bet you could do the rest without my help.”

Louis nudges her softly again as they work in companionable silence for a while, before Harry speaks up. “Where are you from? I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Do you live and work around here?”

Louis locks eyes with Harry and smiles sadly. “I’m from the parish just east of here, but I don’t work, no. Nobody in my family does. We’re doing a bit poorly at the moment, so I,” she stares back down at the table, rolling an angelica stem aimlessly between her fingertips. “Anyway, what about your family?”

“Oh,” Harry breathes. She feels her eyes well with tears at the thought of having to explain it aloud. “They passed. Plague. Just a few weeks ago. We lived in Camberwell, south of here. I was away to pick up more supplies for the shop and when I returned the house was already locked up, they were gone.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Louis says. “I had no idea, I’m sorry I asked so carelessly. Are you alright? Where are you staying now?”

Louis drops her angelica and drags Harry, who lets a few quiet tears escape, into a hug. “I live here, in the shop,” she mumbles into Louis’ hair. “Because the house was boarded up I wasn’t allowed back inside. Don’t have much left, really.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Louis says again. “I know just how that is. Because my family isn’t doing well, we. Well, I have to make do, don’t I?” She opens her mouth to continue, when -

BANG!

Two large, burly men crash into the sweetmeats shop, making both Harry and Louis scream. One of them grabs Louis roughly by the arm and drags her toward the other man.

“What are you doing?” Harry yells. Louis locks eyes with Harry and Harry wants to cry, again, at the look on her face.

“This one’s been stealing food from around ‘ere,” the shorter of the two men says. “Lucky she didn’t grab anything from you!”

Harry gasps and momentarily lets go of her hold on Louis, which the men take as a sign to drag Louis away. “Wait, stop!” Harry screams, chasing the three of them down the street. She loses them in the crowd quickly and feels tears well in her eyes, knowing she can’t leave the shop unattended for much longer.

She retraces her steps and stands behind her work table once again, mind whirring with tear tracks down her cheeks.

-

Come nightfall, Harry’s mind is made up. She’s getting Louis out of the county prison. If Harry doesn’t have much time before the sweetmeats shop is caught by the plague, Louis will have even less, trapped in the dark, damp, flea-ridden cells.

She closes up shop and heads out toward the town jail. She has a plan; find the guards, find a key, find Louis, get out. Perfect.

She hikes up her royal blue kirtle and lengthens her strides, walking quickly through the narrow lanes, grateful that people tend to stay indoors at night time now for fear of catching the plague. As if coming down with it during the day is impossible, Harry thinks sadly to herself. It’s a cool night out but her stockings and smock underneath are keeping her legs warm. She hopes Louis isn’t too cold in the cell she’s being kept in.

Once Harry makes it to the prison, she slips inside and carefully takes the stairs on her immediate left. She’s been here once before, a few years ago, when her father was mistakenly imprisoned (he was let go once they proved it had been another man stealing from Farmer Wimund) but can remember vividly how she had tripped and fallen down the stairs, landing on the stone floor bottom-first.

She makes it to the main cells, where common thieves and liars are kept. Immediately, she spies a large brass key hanging on the wall besides two guards.

“Pardon me,” she sniffles, making sure to look as upset and watery-eyed as possible. She edges towards the wall as the two men stare at her.

“You shouldn’t be down here,” one of them says gruffly. “Get out before I lock you up meself.”

Harry lets out a soft cry. “My sister is here,” she lies. “She’s very sick and I need to make sure she’s alright, see if she needs any medicine or a doctor’s visit.”

The men look at each other. Clearly conflicted, one of them sighs. “Fine, go and visit your thieving sister. I’ll be coming with you.”

“Oh, there’s no need!” Harry says. She leans her head back against the wall, feigning upset while grabbing the key with her hands behind her back. “It’s… A private matter.”

The two guards seem to have had enough and they dismiss Harry quickly, apparently deciding she isn’t a threat worth worrying over. “Get going. Get back out here quickly.”

Harry hurries down the dim corridor, down another set of precarious stairs, and finally sees Louis. She’s sitting on the ground staring at the wall in front of her and worrying the hem of her skirt. She seems to be faring much better than a lot of the other prisoners - who give Harry dirty glares as she passes by - but she has only been in half a day. Harry just hopes she hasn’t been treated too poorly.

She approaches Louis’ cell slowly, not wanting to startle her and make a scene. “Louis,” she says quietly. “Lou!”

“Sweetmeats Harry?” Louis whispers. She jumps up from her place on the ground and brings her face and hands up to the dingy bars in front of her.

“Yes, it’s me,” Harry says, reaching out to take Louis’ hands in hers. “Nobody knows I’m down here, we have to be quiet.”

Louis gapes. “What are you doing?”

“I came for you, of course,” Harry says. She reaches between her breasts - Louis’ eyes widen at that - and produces the key to Louis’ cell. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of you in here, getting the whip or iron or worse.”

“You are grand, Harry Styles. Hurry up then, we don’t want you thrown in the clink too, do we?”

Harry makes quick work of the lock on the bars, opening it just enough for Louis to squeeze out but not enough to raise suspicion in the meantime. Louis takes Harry’s hand and they walk quickly in the opposite direction of the guards, past every other cell, ignoring the yells and taunts from the other prisoners. They slip out the back entrance and end up back at Harry’s sweetmeats shop in minutes, but both know it can’t last for long before Louis’ absence is noticed.

Louis pushes Harry toward the back room where all bags of sugar are kept, and kisses her hard. Harry feels her whole body heat up and kisses Louis back as best she can, pressed awkwardly against an unused work table. She has never kissed a girl before, never kissed anyone before, she has no idea what she’s doing. So, she tentatively places her hands on Louis’ hips and hopes for the best.

Louis pulls away eventually, lips wet and red and gorgeous. Harry leans in to kiss her again but Louis gently pushes her away. “Why did you come for me?” she asks Harry.

“How could I leave you? Something about you, I couldn’t just, I don’t know, I -” Harry stumbles over her words. She’s not sure what to say. How do you tell someone you’ve only just met that you think they’re wonderful, brighter and softer and lovelier than anyone you’ve ever known?

Louis senses her nerves and takes her hands. “I am a bit of a charming rogue I s’pose, aren’t I?” she grins.

Harry giggles into Louis’ neck and nods. Presses a soft kiss there.

“Run away with me,” Louis says suddenly, hair and eyes and voice wild. She’s getting increasingly nervous, can obviously sense that they’re in danger of being caught. “Let’s leave London, get out before the plague hits hard and before we’re locked up to die in the clink or worse, the Tower itself.”

Harry pulls back and stares at her, shocked. But she knows what she’s going to say before the words are out of her mouth. With her family gone, she has nobody left, not even the shop will last much longer with the spread of the disease. “Of course I will. Where are we going to go?”

“I know a farmer, north of here, his family would let us stay until we can find somewhere else,” Louis says. She helps Harry move quickly through the store, packing up what’s left of Harry’s belongings as well as food and supplies for a few days’ worth of travel.

“Do they have kittens?” Harry blurts out suddenly. She shakes her head to remind herself: plague, Louis, jail. Priorities, Harry. But Louis’ eyes crinkle and she gives Harry the brightest smile that makes Harry feel safe and warm and at home all at once.

“They have so many, love. I swear to you, more animals than you could count!”

Harry leans forward to kiss her one more time. “Let’s go,” she whispers. Louis takes her by the hand, and they run.

1969, Woodstock Festival, USA

Louis is in the queue for food, tapping his fingers against his shirtless stomach. It’s been over twenty minutes already and he’s grumpy, starving, and missing Tim Hardin’s set. It’s nearing ten at night and looks like rain and Louis is ready for some food, a few more songs, then sleep.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots a boy, lit up from the yellow tinted lights of the kebab stall and the giant smile on his face, doing a strange penguinlike waddle through the middle of the queue. He’s wearing an oversized denim jacket with a fur collar, ripped denim shorts, black knee-high socks, and black boots.

He also has five perfectly placed bright red roses sitting like a halo on his dark curls.

He penguin walks in Louis’ general direction before breaking away from the queue and doing a twirl, surprisingly in time with the music they can hear from the stage. Louis smiles to himself when the roses stay in place.

The boy, embarrassingly, spots Louis staring but before Louis can turn away, he gives him a small wave.

Louis waves back and the next thing he knows the boy is joining him in the queue.

“Hi,” he says. “What’re you getting to eat?”

Louis blinks. He’s met a lot of people at the festival so far but nobody has been quite this friendly straight off the bat.

“Uh,” Louis says. “Not sure yet. You?”

“I’ve already eaten,” Harry says. He gives Louis a quick up-and-down. “I think you’d like the burgers.”

“Oh, I look like a burger man, do I?” Louis laughs.

Harry nods. “Mhm. Nice shirt, by the way.”

“I’m not -” Louis looks down at his bare torso to double check. “I’m not wearing one?”

Harry nods again. “Exactly,” he says with a wink. Louis blushes. Oh, right.

“I like your flowers,” Louis says. He hopes Harry will forgive his rusty flirting skills if he compliments his roses instead.

It seems to work, Harry flushes and fiddles self-consciously with the rose sitting above his left ear. “Thanks. So…” he says. “Are you here with anyone?”

“Nah,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Thought I’d come alone and see what all the fuss was about, y’know. You?”

“My best mate is here with me but he’s gone off to do the hanky panky with a girl he met earlier today. Abandoned me already and it’s only the first day,” Harry says. He doesn’t look too upset by this prospect but he kicks the grass at their feet with the toe of his boot shyly. “Can we chill out instead, maybe?”

-

A decent burger - Harry was absolutely right - and a rainy set by Ravi Shankar later, Louis is stumbling into his own tent behind Harry. He quickly zips the tent closed and turns around to see Harry’s already lying on Louis’ sleeping bag and scrambling out of his shorts and jacket, rose petals falling prettily on the pillow.

“God,” Louis says. He shucks out of his soaking wet pants and climbs on top of Harry. “You’re sexy.”

He looks at Harry beneath him, splayed out in nothing but his knee-high socks, and takes a deep breath. Both of their cocks are already interested after much groping and teasing on the way to the tent, so Harry lifts his hips slightly to rub his hardness against Louis’.

Louis closes the distance between them and they finally kiss for the first time. Harry instantly gets into it, legs gripping Louis’ waist and hands winding into his hair. They kiss for a few minutes as Louis lazily thrusts against Harry, hand slipping down between his legs.

As soon as Louis’ fingers touch Harry’s hole, Harry gasps and goes limp against the sleeping bag beneath him. His eyes are closed blissfully and his arms drop down, framing his head like a ballerina.

“Yeah?” Louis asks. Harry nods so quickly and enthusiastically that his hair flops forwards into his eyes. Louis laughs under his breath and brushes it away for him, leaning over to press another quick kiss to his mouth. “Okay, hang on a second.”

He reaches for his backpack by the edge of the tent and rummages around. He produces lube and a condom as quick as he can, and when he turns back to Harry he sees that his eyes are open and his eyebrows are raised in amusement.

“Did you plan for this to happen?” he asks.

Louis turns red. “No!” he says. He tosses the condom onto Harry’s stomach. “I wanted it just in case. And lucky I did, because look what happened.”

Harry picks up the condom and holds it out to Louis. “Want me to put it on?”

“Turn over first,” Louis says. Harry raises his eyebrows again but complies, and Louis settles himself over Harry’s thighs. He runs his hands over Harry’s ass cheeks and grabs a handful, gently pushing and pulling at his skin to relax him a little. Harry moans and tries to shift his legs under Louis to grind against the sleeping bag.

“You love this, don’t you?” he asks. He’s not even trying to talk dirty, just genuinely interested in how much Harry seems to be getting off on this.

Harry makes a noise into the pillow beneath him. “Mm, you’re good with your hands. Love being fucked,” he mumbles.

Louis curses and reaches for the lube with one hand, the other still massaging Harry’s bum and lower back, and pops the lid open to pour it onto his fingertips. He rubs them together to warm it up and slowly teases the outside of Harry’s rim.

He uses one finger first, fingering Harry slowly and smoothly to open him up. Beneath him, Harry is biting into the pillow and lifting a leg up to his chest to spread himself wider and get better leverage to grind against Louis’ fingers. It’s driving Louis wild.

Louis works his way up to one, two more, until Harry’s wrapped a hand around his own cock and looks like he could come any minute. Louis kisses up his spine and sucks a bite into the side of his neck before he whispers, “Don’t come yet, gorgeous,” and gently takes Harry’s hand in his own to pull it away.

Harry rolls over onto his back and stares up at Louis. Louis looks back and wonders how the hell he ended up in Louis’ tent. He looks incredible, face and neck flushed from arousal and attention. His cock is lying hard and red and wet on his stomach, fingers laying on his chest and playing with his own nipples so he doesn’t touch himself elsewhere. And then there’s his socks. The black of the socks contrast so beautifully with his pale thighs, and Louis wants to bite them until they’re red all over.

Louis leans over Harry again and kisses him, fingers easing inside of him once more. Harry moans into his mouth and pushes him away, sitting up and making Louis lie on his back instead. Harry smiles at him, rolls on the condom, gives him another quick kiss, and crawls up Louis’ body.

Harry settles his hips right above Louis’ and sinks down achingly slowly. He lets out the most delicious whine Louis has ever heard in his life as he settles on Louis’ dick. “Oh god, Harry,” Louis groans. He struggles with the idea of fucking up into Harry but resists temptation, lets Harry do the work instead.

Harry pants for a second and drops his head down - a rose petal falls from his hair and lands on Louis’ chest - moving his hips in tiny circles to adjust. He holds onto Louis’ shoulders tightly and starts bigger movements; up and down and side to side and around in devastatingly good circular thrusts. Louis holds onto his hips and lets him control the pace, moving up every time Harry slams down to meet him in the middle and make Harry cry out.

The noises they’re making are mostly drowned out by the outside noise and the life of the festival continuing on around them, but Louis can see Harry’s expression perfectly. The lights are shining through his tent and illuminating them both. Harry’s eyes are shiny and lips are bitten and red, face screwed up in pleasure as he rides Louis into the ground.

Harry moves faster and faster, giggling as the sleeping bag moves underneath them until Louis plants his feet to hold them in place.

“Louis,” he moans. His hair is stuck to his forehead, only a few flowers left in it now, but it still looks beautiful. Harry is so beautiful. Harry grips Louis’ shoulders even tighter as he clenches around Louis’ cock. Louis yelps and fucks up into Harry as much as he can to get him off.

He hears Harry get louder with moans and gasps and the odd “oh, Louis,” and responds in kind. He tells Harry how gorgeous he looks above him, how good he is at riding his cock and how much he wants him to come.

Louis wraps a hand around Harry’s dick and Harry shudders, fucking himself down onto Louis’ cock and then forwards into Louis’ fist. It’s not long before he’s coming all over Louis’ chest, rose petal included. He goes boneless and content right away, so Louis flips them over and fucks Harry quickly, coming inside him a minute later.

“You’re incredible,” Louis breathes into Harry’s neck from where he’s collapsed on top of him. Harry cups his hands around Louis’ face and kisses him with the perfect combination tongue and teeth and smiling lips.

“Best tent sex I’ve ever had,” Harry agrees into Louis’ lips. Louis laughs and pulls back to look at him.

“You’ve had a lot of tent sex, then?” he asks.

Harry bites his lip. “Well, no,” he says. “Best sex I’ve ever had, then.”

“Really?” Louis grins. He kisses Harry’s jaw and smiles wider when Harry strokes his fingers through his hair.

“Don’t let it get to your head, I expect a repeat performance tomorrow.”

Louis locks eyes with him and they both smile at the promise of tomorrow. The festival doesn’t end for two more days, so they’ll hopefully have at least one more, and if Louis has any say in it they’ll spend all of the tomorrows together after the festival, as well. He tells Harry so and Harry beams, lifting his head up to plant a happy kiss on his lips.

They’re both getting sleepy, kisses becoming slower and slower, but Louis thinks he could be like this forever with Harry. They kiss wetly for a while until Louis gets too uncomfortable propping himself up above Harry’s chest. He pulls out, smiling at Harry’s tiny squeak, and repositions them so they’re spooning inside Louis’ sleeping bag.

Louis presses kisses down the back of Harry’s neck and files away the information that Harry giggles and flinches when Louis reaches his ear. He wraps his arm around Harry’s torso and pulls him in close.

“Who do you want to see tomorrow?” he asks. He threads his fingers through Harry’s as they cuddle together in the tiny sleeping bag. It’s a tight squeeze but it’s rainy and cool outside and Louis has absolutely no complaints.

Harry hums sleepily into Louis’ neck. “Everyone,” he declares.

“We’ll go together, yeah?” In response, Harry makes another sleepy noise. Louis takes it as a yes.

2010, The X Factor Auditions, UK

Harry takes a deep, calming breath as he steps away from the madness of The X Factor audition queue and into the blessedly quiet bathroom. He stands over the urinal and stares blankly at the wall ahead of him, zoning out and trying to ignore the nerves that are settled deep in his chest. He’s already thrown up once at the thought of performing on stage in front of hundreds of people. Potentially millions, if he ends up on TV, but he resolutely does not let himself dwell on that. He’ll be fine. He knows his song, knows all the words, knows what to say. Totally fine.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a boy appearing beside him. Harry jumps and, mortifyingly, ends up peeing on the other boy’s shoe.

“Oops!” Harry says. He can feel his whole face flush red with embarrassment. But then he hears the boy laugh, a bright, happy sound that makes Harry tingle from his head all the way down to his toes.

“Hi,” the boy says cheekily. Harry turns to him and grins.