Work Text:
And everyday
I'm learning about you
The things that no one else sees
And they would be as in love with you as I am
the dorm hallway was crowded, pack so tightly with boxes and bodies that harry had started to wonder if maybe this had been a bad idea. maybe he should have taken his mother’s advice and gotten an apartment near campus instead, because apparently first year in the dorms is hell.
“but i want the full college experience,” officially tops the list of things he regrets saying the most in his lifetime.
he felt the wheel of someone’s large suitcase go over his foot just as someone else elbowed him right in the back and he was on the verge of dropping the box in his arms when a hand landed on his shoulder and he spun around to find a tall, lanky boy standing just behind him.
“you look lost and annoyed, so i’m probably the person you’re looking for.” the boy said, giving a crooked smile that showed perfectly white teeth. he had blonde hair sticking out of a cap, perched backwards on his head, and he looked far too cheerful to be doing… whatever he was cursed with doing here.
“and you are?” harry asked, the snark in his voice plain as day. maybe he was being rude, but this was college and he had been bumped and bruised and lost for nearly an hour now. he really just wanted to find his room and hide until the crazy ran out.
“niall horan. it’s my second year and i’m supposed to be helping freshman get sorted.” he had a thick irish accent that harry had blanked out before, but it was practically bursting now as he boasted his job title. “let me help you find your room.”
without preamble, he took the handle of one of harry’s suitcases and started dragging it along, in the opposite direction from where harry had been heading.
“what’s your name, again?” he asked, as if suddenly realizing that was important.
“harry styles.”
“ah! saw that earlier! had a good laugh. harry styles. hair styles. your parents must be comedic geniuses.”
harry felt his eyes roll without his permission, but didn’t comment. this had been the way of his life for as long as he could remember, to the point where it had even stopped bothering him. mostly.
“harry styles!” niall shouted suddenly, making a sharp turn and pulling harry from the hallway and into a room, finally. “knew i’d remember it.” he added, thunk-ing harry’s suitcase down on the empty bed and grinning like he’d won some kind of award or something for his efforts.
“thanks,” harry started awkwardly, not sure what to say from here, but niall was already waving him off and heading for the door.
“m’job. no biggie. see ya around!” and with that, he was gone as fast as he appeared.
harry found he missed him a little.
the room was empty aside from himself and the luggage of whatever person had already claimed the opposite side of the room and that was fine by him. he could unpack in peace, and maybe meet his roommate later, after he’d already hung his artwork without asking for approval.
he was just setting up his tripod, camera loaded, eyes peering through the lens to make sure he had it at the right height, when the door opened again and, who he assumed was his new best friend for foreseeable future, walked in.
he didn’t stand, didn’t speak, just closed his finger over the trigger and watched the lens click closed and then open again, imprinting this image forever.
“oi, that gonna happen all the time?” the new best friend asked, but his smile made it hard for him to sound truly irritated.
harry stood then, realizing that at his full height, he had quite a decent amount of inches on this guy. “no, sorry about that. habit, i guess.” he tried to explain awkwardly. how do you tell someone why you took their photo before you even met them?
‘your beauty blew me away and i needed to remember it forever, lest you walk out of this door and i never see you again’ sounded a bit shifty.
“i’m harry styles.” he said instead, because the silence was getting awkward now.
a flash of teeth and bright blue eyes and harry was sunk. absolutely dead for. “louis tomlinson. guess we’re roommates.”
thank. the. gods.
~
it was months into the semester and harry had settled well, all things considered. the first day of moving and getting acclimated had been a one time experience and everyone had more or less calmed down since then.
all except niall, who had taken a liking to harry and his camera, always eager to be a subject or see what harry was working on, and that was fine for harry. he enjoyed taking photos of anything that would sit still long enough.
and louis. beautiful louis.
well, louis was a special case in and of himself.
louis, with his constant football practices and games, his meticulous studying sessions, and the way his eyes light up when harry walked into a room.
he was harry’s favorite subject, and he hated it.
binders had turned into shields, bed sheets covered the length of his body, and he’d accumulated a land speed of 60 mph around the nearest corner or doorway as soon as harry even thought to reach for his camera bag. always ready, always on guard, like if harry got even one more picture then he might melt or die.
it had become a game for them. when louis has his nose buried in a book, harry tries to sneak his camera from off his bed, but it was as if louis has some kind of sixth sense for it now.
four months and he understood harry better than anyone ever has before.
the only time that harry found he can get around all of louis’ crafty block-aids was at footie matches. he had never been an avid sports watcher, not really interested in all the excitement and anger involved in backing a team throughout the season. however, he found himself sitting in bleachers more and more often as the semester wore on and there was a very specific reason for that.
when louis wasn’t on the field, he had this habit that harry adored. he would stand on the sidelines, hands on his hips, watching the game. his back would always be toward harry, last name displayed boldly across his shoulders. sometimes harry could visibly see his body heave with labored breaths, and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to put down the camera the entire time.
shots of louis running fingers through sweater hair. bent in half, hands on knees. profile views with his mouth wide as he yelled at his team.
harry captured it all. the victory jumps and the group huddles and hugs and dog piles. he had photos for days of games he barely remembered. all he ever saw was a tiny boy standing on the sideline, shoulders tense, eyes light, and body vibrating with joy.
harry wanted louis to love him, but he would settle for watching louis love this game.
not that he didn’t think louis cared for him. he wasn’t blind or stupid. he wasn’t full of himself, but he was smart enough to see the way louis looked at him.
it was different then the fire he had on the field. it was subtle. a slow burn, like pressing your hand to a cool pot and feeling it start to warm beneath your palm. that’s how harry felt when louis looked at him. he was warming from the inside out.
it would happen during study sessions. louis would look up from a book just long enough to catch harry’s eye, smiling that crooked, knowing smile. during dinner, he would bump harry’s foot under the table where the other lads couldn’t see. when they’d watch movies on one of their beds, louis’ hand would find it’s way into harry’s and they never mentioned it later.
that was the silent rule. don’t mention it.
rule two was to let louis make all the first moves.
that was fine by harry, too. he wouldn’t know what to do with louis even if he had the chance.
louis’ set of rules were vastly different from harry’s.
louis had never been the adventurous type. he grew up in doncaster, living in the same house his whole life. he had had the same best friend since birth, had gone to the same school as everyone else, straight on through to college, and he was probably going to die and be buried in that sleepy little town.
leaving for university, going away to another town somewhere big and different, was the most exciting and terrifying thing he had ever done. it wasn’t that he wasn’t bold; he was probably the craziest person in doncaster. always up for a prank or a laugh, and he was known for it too. it was just that in his mind, nothing in doncaster was unsafe.
but manchester. manchester, with it’s big school and new street names to memorize and unfamiliar faces. manchester was uncharted territory. louis didn’t own manchester like he had owned doncaster. he was a small fish in a big pond now.
and he was terrified.
so it had been a god send when his roommate had turned out to be a lovable geek with a photo fetish and eyes that put spring clovers to shame. harry was his saving grace in this place where he knew no one and nothing.
because while louis’ rules were simple and clean cut, harry didn’t seem to have any at all and he was a willing conformist. that was the first thing louis realized about him. he bent to the will of whatever louis wanted, letting louis take the lead right from the start, and that was precisely what he needed.
he needed to control something, even just a small aspect such as this.
rule number one for louis tomlinson was simple.
always be in control.
he picked his side of the bedroom first, and he never heard a word from harry in protest. when they went out to dinner on their first weekend there, he picked the place they ate, even though harry was from the area and knew all the best places. in fact, he even let louis choose what he ate that night.
it extended even farther then that as well. when they studied, louis picked the location. libraries, parks, coffee shops, their room…
“whatever makes you comfortable,” harry had said the first time, not like he knew it was what louis needed to hear, but like he really meant it. like he really cared what made louis comfortable.
harry was so perfectly selfless. so freely giving of himself and his time, so happy to accommodate. and louis had always been a selfish taker, ready to suck someone dry if they’d let him. he never even gave it a second thought.
until the first time he held harry’s hand.
it wasn’t supposed to be complicated. they were simply sprawled out on the floor of their room, legs tangled together on top of a makeshift bedding of sheets and duvets. there was a bowl of popcorn resting on harry’s stomach and the screams of horror from some idiot girl running upstairs from her would-be murderer playing on the screen and louis just… did it. he reached out, taking harry’s hand in his and laced their fingers together as if this was normal. as if this happened every day.
harry didn’t pull away. that was the first thing he noticed. he didn’t even seem to flinch or move or breath. he was so unfazed that louis wondered if he was asleep with his eyes open now.
but then there was a gentle pressure. fingertips pressing into the back of louis’ hand, for a second at most, before it was released and harry was still once more and louis realized in that moment that harry was not someone he could take and take from.
harry deserved to be given so much.
rule number two of being louis tomlinson was that you never let anyone have more of you then you can live without.
he had given his heart away before. he had seen love, tasted it on his tongue like the sweet and tangy bite of an orange when it’s fresh and peeled straight from the tree. he knew the flavor of it and the soft burn it could bring. he knew how a person could hunger for it.
he also knew how poisonous it could be. he knew how the citrus could hurt, could make his heart feel like it was on fire and make him regret letting something manipulate him in such a way as to get under his skin and seep through his very bones.
he knew better.
but then harry would raise that stupid camera to his eye level, biting into his lower lip in concentration, and louis would capture that image with the lens in his mind before blocking harry’s view or running in the opposite direction. he could taste the new flavors of love in those moments. like pressing cotton candy to your tongue, just to have it evaporate and leave you eager for more.
harry was different. harry made the rules so impossible. so… wrong.
he made louis want to be different.
and he scared him to death.
they went with niall when he got his first tattoo. it was their first time spending time together without outside eyes and if they tried to pretend not to be nervous, they probably failed miserable. it was easy to act like themselves, to be who they were, when they were the only two people there to judge. it was easy to hold hands, to touch, to do all the things they wanted, when they knew they were safe.
niall wasn’t unsafe. not in the least. niall was every bit the bright, effervescent light he appeared to be and he made no comments or gave scathing looks to the way the two of them seemed to gravitate around each other. in fact, if harry wasn’t forcing himself to think otherwise, he’d say there was a fondness in niall’s eyes.
“so, since when do we have a tattoo artist on campus?” louis asked as they walked the concrete path. harry could see the tension in his jaw and he longed to kiss it away, to rid him of whatever nervousness this was.
niall smirked when he glanced louis’ way, a mischievous spark in his eyes that he never seemed to lose. “since zayn malik bought a tattoo gun.”
zayn was niall’s year, but he was brilliant. he’d tested out of college before most of them could blink at the bright new hallways and surpassing them all.
pursuing an art degree. rumor had it that his family was completely disappointed, but he was seen as enough of a badass that it was actually hot, rather than sad or wasteful.
he was some what of a legend in harry’s area, but louis just gave niall a look that said ‘who’s zayn?’
“zayn’s this art major. complete genius.” harry informed, and if he sounded like he was in awe, it might have been true. he just had a healthy respect for anyone with any level of talent above his.
maybe they practiced art in different ways, but harry could see true beauty in someone’s work, no matter the styling.
niall was laughing now, slinging an arm around harry’s neck. “he’s chill, mate. trust me. no need to bow at his alter.” he teased easily, ruffling harry’s curls into an even worse mess then they were before.
harry just shrugged, not phased by the teasing. he caught louis’ eye in time to see something akin to jealousy, but he wrote it off.
it was wishful thinking.
louis was not the jealous type.
louis was completely the jealous type.
as soon as they stepped into the zayn person’s dorm room, he felt out of place. there was a dense haze over everything, the smell of marijuana thick and grating and he wondered how anyone was breathing properly.
‘probably too stoned to care.’
there were gorgeous art pieces all over the walls, some hung up and some just leaning there. the desk seemed to have been removed from the room to make way for a couch, and on it was a boy that louis was sure he had seen around campus, though he didn’t know him well.
he had to assume he was zayn.
he was hunched over, the notches of his spine showing clearly through his thin t-shirt, as he held his face close to the chest of the person splayed out on his coffee table. a soft buzz filled the room and louis watched as the needle moved over bare skin, leaving a permanent imprint.
the whole business of it made him itch all over.
“startin’ without me?” niall barked, causing zayn’s eyes to drift upward. he seemed to do everything slowly, like he had all the time in the world. though the smile he offered upon seeing them, or maybe just niall, was quick to cross his face and seemed genuine enough.
“you’re late. as always.” zayn retorted, accent different then louis was used to hearing around here. he couldn’t place it, but it fit, somehow. zayn was just a barrel of interesting and abnormal to him. he couldn’t quite figure him out.
“figured you’d be used to it by now.” niall asked, plopping down on zayn’s bed like he owned the place. “brought some friends. this is harry and louis.”
zayn gave them both nods, still smiling slightly, though a little wary now. “you’re on the football team, right?” he asked suddenly, eyes focusing in on louis’ face and startling him.
louis managed a nod, not sure what to say and opting to keep his mouth closed. he wasn’t in the habit of embarrassing himself until after he was sure everyone in the room already adored him.
in fact, he felt completely out of his element. this wasn’t his place. he wasn’t in charge here. he had no control and he was slipping. he could feel it, even now, simply because zayn owned this space and louis didn’t know how to function without the leading role.
warm fingers slid into his and harry was breaking rules suddenly but that was okay. that was more than okay.
because the pressure louis exerted on his hand, the way his nails could dig in a little and he knew he’d find tiny crescents in their wake, left him breathing easily.
outwardly, nothing had changed. he was still standing there, listening to niall and zayn bicker, but inside he was no longer churning and harry was beside him, anchoring him.
“what’re you studying, harry?” zayn asked then, head bent once more, making idle chatter as he finished up whatever piece he was doing. for his part, the guy on the table was too busy biting his lip and scrunching up his entire face to seem to care that anyone else existed.
harry cleared his throat and louis saw, for the first time, that he was nervous.
“photography.” he said, his voice ringing clear, as slow and smooth as ever. only louis would know the way his hand shook slightly. only louis could recall the talks they had once had about harry’s fear of being judged for his choice of art.
zayn’s eyes flickered upward though, looking at harry briefly. “that’s cool, actually. i’ve been looking for someone to come take pictures of my work. good pictures. not that shit you see in the school paper. those fucks don’t know what they’re doing.”
harry groaned and his body relaxed and then he was nodding along, discussing his discontent with the school’s news staff with zayn in earnest. it was like they had been friends for ages all of a sudden.
and all the while, niall was on the bed, grinning like the cheshire cat.
that’s how they met zayn. that’s also the night they discovered niall’s dirty little secret, something he hadn’t told anyone before, something he was disclosing to only the two of them for some unfathomable reason…
except maybe louis understood.
because niall was in control. this secret was his. his to share, his to keep. zayn was a secret for niall, and niall had the choice here.
and when he kissed zayn in front of them, a kiss that looked practiced and routine and so content that it made louis’ stomach flip, he let them into his world.
he opened the door and invited them to stay.
that’s how harry and louis stopped hiding away in their room and darkened library corners.
the smoke was thick, the paint fumes were heavy on some nights, and other times the buzz of the tattoo gun left louis’ head throbbing after an hour or two, but that was how ‘louis and harry’ became ‘louis and harry’ with ‘zayn and niall’.
harry remembers the first time louis started to dabble in poetry. it was comical, when he first suggested an interest. too many hours of watching misfits and skins and believing his life was some angst-ridden sob fest.
harry never openly discouraged him, of course not. if louis wanted to write a poem, harry would provide the pen and paper. he would read miles upon miles of inscriptions if that’s what louis desired and he would praise every single one of them. harry was full of belief in louis and whatever he wanted to do.
he remembers the first poem louis ever wrote him because it was the day he left for holidays. louis was headed home to doncaster, but harry was staying for an art competition the school was holding. his teacher had submitted one of his photographs and he was sticking around to see the other pieces he was working against. maybe it was masochistic, when he could just find out what he did after break, but he liked to torture himself or something.
it must have been a struggling artist thing.
he remembers louis’ first poem because he woke up to find it on his pillow, room already empty and bed cold where it was normally otherwise occupied.
he remembers the tiny corner of a page, ripped from a notebook and slightly crumpled. he remembers carrying it around in his wallet for years to come, because it’s still the best piece of literature he’s ever read in his life.
i will love you from afar
and i will miss the pieces of you
that i haven’t yet touched
and i will taste you in the lonely nights
as i count them away until spring
he stuck it to his cork board and read it every morning for the remainder of the break. he read it when he got out of bed, read it while he got dressed, and read it before he went to sleep.
because louis had never once said he loved him. never aloud, with a whisper or a shout. never written it down and sent it in a text. he had never displayed affection on such a level yet there it was.
written in the words of a poem, a reminder of his presence even when he wasn’t truly there.
it was the best poem harry had ever read in his life.
it might have been what got him through that winter.
when break ended and louis came back, the room was empty. harry’s sheets were crumpled but cold, his clothes were scattered like he had dressed in a hurry, and louis could see his tiny, hastily written poem stuck to the cork board they shared between their beds.
it was joined by a photo.
louis didn’t know when it was taken, or how harry had gotten it past him, but there it was. he read his name repeatedly as it was displayed on his jersey. he saw the number in his mind even when he shut them. he could remember the way his body was aching in that moment, like some many before and so many after. he could feel the sweat on his forehead, even if it wasn’t visible in the photo. he saw his hands, one on his waist and the other outstretched and pointing to something the lens couldn’t capture. he was barely visible in profile, just the outline of his jaw and cheekbone, barely the edge of his nose, but it was there.
it was enough to see the excitement on his face. the thrill and the spark of life that being so caught up in the game brought to him.
with numb fingers, he pulled the pin from the board and took the photo from it’s resting place. he didn’t touch it, grasping corners and edges, afraid of any harm he may do.
some phantom energy had him flipping it over, as if his body knew what his mind did not. and there on the back, in harry’s sloppy but legible handwriting, were the words of a poem all his own.
i fell for a beautiful boy in a simple photograph
i didn’t know i could love him in the world as well
for all his preparation, and for all his self-awareness, for all the time he had spent convincing himself that he knew better… louis had ever been prepared for a boy like harry styles.
he had never been prepared for the kind of love that could knock the wind out of you. no one had ever warned him off the kind of people that saw to the core of you and straight on through. he’d never seen a kind of love that could prepare him to fight this away.
and he found he was glad.
because losing this, losing harry, losing these words and this view of himself, would be the worst thing he could experience.
he was breaking all of his rules, and harry’s too. he was moving mountains he had constructed in his valley and he was tearing down all the blockages.
when he placed the photo back on it’s board, next to his own confession, he knew that’s where they would stay.
just like he knew this is where he would stay, and this is where harry would stay. he wasn’t afraid of this loss of control, because he was anchored. he was solid.
this was a space he owned. this was a space he could share.