Chapter Text
Harry and Louis are lying down together on the stage of the empty arena. It's early morning - or late at night, depending on what you want to call it - and everything is deserted.
After leaving the boys in the pub, Louis had finally stolen Harry away. They'd ended up on a tiny tour bus bunk, but the way Louis took him apart with his mouth, kissing and biting with agonising slowness, made it feel like pure luxury.
Afterwards, Harry denied himself sleep, forcing his dry eyes open, even when Louis told him to 'please go to sleep or I can't go to sleep' and drawn butterfly soft patterns on Harry's skin with his fingertips in that soothing way that usually has his eyelids getting heavy.
But he just couldn't let himself miss a second of being held by Louis like this, like he's finally Louis' boy again, like Louis loves him. Harry has spent so long watching Louis be this other person, this angry, distant person, and the fact that Louis was thinking of him all along, that he was always in Louis' mind, still makes his chest clench.
He'd never admit to such a cliched thought, but he worries that he's going to wake up and that the whole thing will have been a strange, beautiful dream.
After a few hours of murmured conversation, when it became clear that Harry was going to fight off sleep all night, Louis had whispered, "Come on, baby. Let's go somewhere where I can hear you talk."
It's one of those little things that assures Harry that Louis isn't lying, that Louis really loves him - he's obsessed with hearing Harry talk. "I always want to know what you have to say." Louis told him the other day, and then with a laugh, "And I always want to see how long it's going to take you to say it."
'Somewhere I can hear you talk' turned out to be the empty stage. The shows are cancelled now, of course, but no one thought to tell the lighting guys who let them in before shuffling off to fiddle around in one of the wings in preperation.
The floor is hard and cold on Harry's back where he's lying, but it's worth it for the view - all that space where the audience would usually be. It's cavernously empty now, but Harry knows how quickly it fills with people and voices and excitement at night. It's his favourite feeling.
"You're quiet." Louis says, tracing his fingers through Harry's hair where it fans across the floor. He's propped up on one elbow, looking down at Harry. Always looking. It makes Harry smile, looking back up at him.
"Don't tell me you're tired now, love." Louis murmurs, leaning down a little closer.
"Not tired." Harry says automatically, like he's been saying all night. They both know it's a lie.
Louis strokes a fingertip over the hollows under Harry's eyes, where tired little purple bruises are probably forming. "Yeah, yeah. You're wide awake." He says.
When Louis leans over him like this, Harry can see the tattoo on his neck which used to be Harry's name. It's covered over now, with a design that looks like a tangled heap of roses, all wild and growing over eachother. It's a beautiful tattoo, but, it still makes him have to look away. It's a sharp reminder that Louis didn't want to wear his name, a memory that's too close to home.
"Your tattoo." Harry says quietly, knowing that Louis is about to ask what's wrong. "I can see the tattoo on your neck really well from here."
"And that makes you sad?" Louis asks, soft, curious.
"I didn't cover mine up." Harry says, looking back to meet Louis' eyes.
Louis nods, using one hand to ruck up Harry's hoody and splay his hand over the 'LOUIS' tattoo on his stomach.
"Why did you get roses?" He asks. "To cover my name up. Why did you chose roses?"
Louis face turns sad, biting the inside of his cheek like he does when he's worried. "You might hate me a little bit if I answer that."
Harry laughs at that. "I can't. I've tried."
Louis slides his hand up to cup Harry's cheek, leaning down to brush a kiss over Harry's mouth as an answer. "The tattoo is still about you." He says when he draws back again. "The roses."
"What about me?" Harry asks, resisting the urge to pull Louis back towards him, because if he doesn't stay focussed the topic will slip away altogether.
Louis looks down, away from Harry's face. "When I got it done we had just broken up. And I used to think that..." He sighs, looking back at Harry, "I was thinking that, like, what you and I had-" He scrubs a hand over his face, grimacing, "Fuck Harry, are you really going to make me say this? I sound like a pretentious twat."
Harry laughs, delighted. "You know, you're just making me more and more curious."
"Fine! Fine." Louis says, trying to sound exasperated but failing almost entirely. "It was a metaphor, alright? Because I was thinking that, like, what you and I had was always going to end, because it was too beautiful to last. Like a rose."
Harry's brain seems to go blank for a second and it suddenly feels very hard to breathe. Too beautiful to last. That sounds a lot like the end of something.
"Do you still think that?" He asks, the words coming out without his conscious permission.
Louis acts immediately, cradling Harry's face in his hands. "No, baby. Fuck no, of course I don't."
Harry's eyebrows pull together as something dark and cold surges in his stomach. "Are you going to think that again? The next time something difficult happens between us?"
Louis' face hardens. "Nothing like that will ever happen again." He says firmly, fingers pressing a little harder into Harry's skin, like he's trying to communicate his certainty.
"Nothing like that." Harry allows. "But there's going to be difficult stuff, Louis. There's going to be so much life to get through. So much to rebuild. And I can't have you just deciding it's all temporary again. I can't have you ending it again when something goes wrong, telling yourself it was inevitable, no matter how bloody poetic you make it sound."
They're strong words. Harry's chest is heaving rapidly by the time he's finished saying them, his voice rising in volume in correlation with his panic.
Because, fuck, it's all true. If Louis thinks this is all temporary, Harry honestly doesn't know what he's going to do. He can't go through losing Louis again. It half-killed him last time. A second time would probably finish him off.
"We're less than an hour's flight from Vegas right now." Louis says.
Harry shifts back, crossing his legs and sitting up. The words are nonsensical to him, with his brain racing like this, and it irritates him. He needs reassurance, he needs to know that Louis understands him.
"Las Vegas is less than hour away." Louis repeats slowly, as he sits up too.
"Yeah. I know." Harry says abruptly, even though it's not true, he's lost track of where the hell they're going each week at this point. "So?"
Louis swallows, swears under his breath. "Fuck, okay, let's try this a different way."
"What?" Harry demands, jaw tight.
"Do you remember the night we broke up? Do you remember that you said you'd be anything I wanted you to be?" Louis asks, watery eyes catching the light, hands clasping Harry's own like it's a reflex to touch him.
"Yes." Harry says quietly, his own eyes getting a little blurry and wet with the memory. "I remember that."
"Harry, I want is for you to just be you." Louis says, voice shaking. "But I also want you to be my husband."
Harry suddenly feels like everything is spinning around them, like the only fixed point is Louis' blue eyes, wide with hope and fear.
"Loving you is the only thing that's never changed. It's not temporary to me, baby." Louis says, hands gripping Harry's fingers so tight that it's a little painful.
He takes a breath.
"Will you marry me?"