Work Text:
The circus is coming to town. The posters scream it, the university promotes it, and Liam mentions it every day.
"I've never been to a circus, have you, Harry?" he asks on the way to the coffee shop round the corner from uni, looking far too excited than Harry would ever be over a bloody circus.
"Yeah, my mum took me and Gemma once when we were little." It had been okay, nothing to write home about. There had been a fortune teller, though, a pretty boy with a nice smile who seemed to know everything about Harry. It had freaked Harry out, being seven years old and being told what his favourite colour was, he didn't like that, didn't like people knowing things about him that he hadn't told them. It had made him feel funny, all shivery and glowy. It had put him off circuses for life, really.
"Let's go let's go let's go!" Sometimes -- most of the time -- Liam is a puppy which makes it difficult to say no to him.
"I'm not going to a circus, Liam." Difficult, not impossible. "Take Andy if you really want to go."
Liam sighs. Harry sighs, too. They both know Andy won't go. Andy's a dick. "There'll be candy floss and popcorn and and -- cider! You can get drunk and block it all out if you really want to. Come on, be a mate."
Harry's fighting a losing battle. "You're paying for my ticket." he warns, pointing a finger at Liam who beams.
"Course!"
--
The circus smells of candyfloss, flowers and sun tan lotion: summer. It makes Harry smile despite himself, pulling his features back to sullen when Liam turns and grins at him, pushing a ticket into his hand.
"Cheer up, you're at the circus! You can't be grumpy; it’s against the law."
Harry's tempted to say watch me and be exactly that but that sounds too much effort so he plasters a smile on his face and leads them over to the big wheel. "Let's go on this, then."
The boy running it looks around their age with a tall black quiff and a pout; he looks as thrilled to be here as Harry does. He’s smoking when they approach and instead of putting it out he just slides it to the side of his mouth.
“Two? That’ll be four quid.”
“For a ride on a wheel?” Harry asks, sceptical.
“Harry,” Liam hisses, digging his elbow into his side, shooting the boy an apologetic smile, but the boy shrugs, blinking slowly so his eyelashes brush his cheeks.
“It’s a bump but we have to eat,” he says, waving them on once they’ve both paid -- Harry reluctantly handing over the coins.
“Please keep all limbs inside the carriage at all times and stay seated. Have fun,” he smirks. Harry loses any sympathy he had for him.
The big wheel is uneventful apart from Liam having to pull Harry’s arms back in several times in an act of defiance. They jump off when it’s finished, running towards the exit.
Later in the afternoon when the sun is burning orange and low in the sky Liam and Harry split up for a bit. They promise to meet up again in an hour and Harry watches as Liam ambles off towards the games before he heads across to the other side of the circus, the side that they’ve left unexplored.
It’s cooler round here with long shadows stretching out in front of Harry making him distorted even though it’s barely five o clock. He passes the lion tamer’s tent, a roar and a round of applause audible as he slopes past. The Ice Garden looks interesting, too. And there’s a maze up ahead that looks sort of fun; better than anything else here, anyway. He’s making his way towards it when he stops suddenly and he finds he can’t go any further, almost as if there’s a wall blocking him from taking another step.
He frowns, kicking out in front of him and hitting nothing. He tries walking again but nope, he’s going nowhere. A breeze flits through the air; ruffling his curls and making him turn his head to the left to shake them out his face.
There’s another tent. It stands out from the others, a cover of mystery setting it apart. That might be why Harry is drawn towards it, his feet moving before his mind can catch up. But above that there’s a pull in his stomach that’s telling him he needs to go in there, like it or not.
Feeling too much like a shitty character in a shitty movie Harry resigns to his ‘fate’ and approaches the tent.
Ducking under the curtain draped across the entrance, Harry sneezes at the sudden rush of smells; vanilla, childhood and home mixed with something else that Harry can’t put his finger on. He stands up straight so his head brushes the lowest part of the makeshift ceiling and takes it all in. It’s smaller than the other tents but that could be because of the fabrics and secrets covering every surface, hiding things that aren’t supposed to be found.
The feeling that has been building inside Harry grows stronger and stronger until it feels like he’s glowing bright and gold but when he looks at his hands they’re still the same. Fucking circuses.
He steps under a garland of dahlias, moving cautiously further into the tent until he sees a table with someone sitting at it.
It’s the boy from years ago. The fortune teller with the pretty face and the nice smile and all of Harry’s secrets. And he -- he hasn’t changed at all, not one bit. Harry steps back in shock, hoping to edge away quickly and quietly and pretend none of this ever happened because that was twelve years ago and
“Watch the owl on your way out,” the boy says before Harry can move. “He bites.”
Harry starts. He looks behind him and sees the owl staring at him through his cage beside the door. It’s a large, beautiful, snowy owl. “Very cliche.” he says without thinking.
But the boy laughs, loud and unabashed, making his blue eyes crinkle at the sides. He’s very pretty. “Hedwig? Yeah my friend got me him, thinking he was being hilarious.”
“Very funny,” Harry deadpans, edging away from the owl and nearer to the boy. “What is his name then?”
“Starky.”
“Oh.” It’s not what Harry was expecting.
“Tony Stark. You know, Iron Man.” he adds when Harry’s face doesn’t immediately light up.
“I know who Tony Stark is,” Harry says defensively. “Just didn’t know circus kids could read comics.”
The boy grins. “What, you think we were all hippies or summat? Think we can't read? Niall's a total stoner but that's about it.” The joke eases the tension and Harry almost forgets he was here twelve years ago talking to the same boy who still looks the exact same.
“Yeah you’ve all disappointed me,” he says, not feeling up to sharing his past experience with the circus. If the boy doesn’t remember then, well, that’s his loss. “The guy running the wheel was smoking; completely ruined my childhood illusions of magic and mystery.”
“Yeah Zayn doesn’t give a shit.” The boy gestures to the seat in front of him and Harry finds himself sinking down onto it. The boy picks up a stack of cards, shuffling them quickly, the years of practice showing. "It's Niall you want if you're looking for magic and mystery." Harry watches as he splits the deck into three piles, placing them carefully onto the table. The cards are covered in dragons with curved, spiked tails that twist and overlap in the centre. Words make up the border but they’re too small for Harry to read.
"The stoner?" See? Harry's been listening.
"Best illusionist this side of the Atlantic. Now, pick a pile."
Harry scrunches his nose. "Nah, thanks but I like the mystery of not knowing what’s going to happen."
“I can tell you more than your future, you know. I’m sort of an all round spiritual being: mind reading, spiritual readings and fortune telling, obviously.”
“Not just a one trick pony, are you?” Harry says, humouring him because come on, mind reader? This isn’t some lame superhero film.
"So are you just in my tent to completely tear apart my profession or did you have an ulterior motive?"
Harry shrugs, not going into the whole pull he felt towards the place or how they've met before or anything else that would make him sound like a nutter.
"Nothing else to do."
"You're at a circus, Harry. Don't try and tell me you're too cool for magic tricks and juggling.”
“I’m too cool for everything.” Harry says, rolling his eyes.
The boy laughs again, re-stacking his cards and shuffling lazily, his eyes flickering over Harry, unabashedly checking him out. Harry doesn’t mind, in fact, he does it right back, taking in the sharp cheekbones, the perfectly styled fringe and the piercing blue eyes. There's something model-like about him. He doesn’t fit the psychic stereotype.
“Right, well, Harry Styles, you’re wasting my time with your cynicism so clear out and let me make money from uncool customers please.”
Harry stands up because yeah he’s having an alright time talking to him but he has a point and there’s no way he’s paying money to get told a bunch of made up lies any time soon, “So, this is goodbye.”
“I guess it is.” He’s focused on his cards again, sorting through them and mumbling to himself, so Harry makes his own way out. He’s just opening the flap to step back outside when he hears, “Bye, Harry, come back to visit me tomorrow yeah?”
It’s only when Harry’s making his way back over to Liam that he realises he never told him his name.
They wander aimlessly round the rest of the park, Harry charming Liam into buying them both candyfloss and then eating half of Liam’s as well as his own. They pass the illusionist’s tent but don’t go in. Harry tries to peer under the entrance flap but all he can see is dark and a whisper swirls round the tent that sends a shiver down his spine.
It’s dark by the time they leave, Harry slightly buzzed from the cider and the smile from the mysterious fortune teller, and okay yes he did actually enjoy it in the end.
(When he gets home that night he watches Iron Man, not because of that stupid owl but because he’s actually a big Robert Downey Jr. fan, okay)
--
He goes back the next day. Not because the boy told him to, not because of the strange itching feeling that he’s felt since before he stepped into the fortune teller’s tent yesterday, but because he missed the illusionist’s performance yesterday and he wants to see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be. He tells Liam he’s babysitting his cousin and no, he doesn’t need any help, thanks anyway. He wishes he had his baby cousin with him, she would make him feel less self-conscious walking back into the place he swore never to go again and he was there yesterday.
The girl working at the ticket booth has brown hair piled prettily on her head and a pink corset which looks impossible to breathe in. And it makes her boobs look. Wow. Harry tries not to stare, focusing on her face instead which is equally spectacular. Her eyes are big, made even bigger by the copious amounts of eyeliner and then when Harry has decided she must be some sort of rock chick magician’s assistant she smiles, painted pink lips showing a flash of fanged teeth. Bloody hell, if this is the same girl who was serving yesterday Harry would have happily bought the tickets, and extra.
“You were here yesterday.” she says, not asking him. Her accent is local, like Harry's, but she's nothing like the girls from round here.
Harry nods, “Couldn’t stay away.” He winks, flirting a little, but the girl rolls her eyes, punching a hole in his ticket and handing it to him. Their hands brush, her's are ice cold. Huh.
“Check out the fortune teller’s tent, okay? Tell Louis I sent you.”
“Gonna need a name then, babe.”
That earns another eye roll. Tough crowd. “Eleanor. He came looking for you, you know. Harry.”
“Pretty name - wait. What?” How does everyone in this place know his name?
But the people behind him are tsking so Eleanor waves him on, waggling her fingers and grinning when he wanders through, confused.
Harry goes to Niall’s tent first, not wanting to miss out again. He stops by the toffee apple stall but he’s still first in line. He chews at his apple, reading the sign telling him to be prepared for “big things” and that his eyes will deceive him and please, no flash photography.
Just before twenty five past ten -- five minutes before showtime -- the curtain rustles and Zayn From the Big Wheel comes out, another boy with blond hair and a red snapback close behind him. They’ve clearly just fucked; the second boy’s lips are swollen, his cheeks flushed and Zayn’s smiling dopily, his fingers tucked into the waistband of the other’s shorts which aren’t even done up properly. Harry smirks knowingly at Zayn who recognises him from yesterday and raises a hand in salute.
“Harry.” What the fuck.
“How does everyone here know my name?” he asks, unsticking his fingers from his apple to gesture widely.
The blond boy, Harry guesses this must be Niall, looks on, amused. “So this is Harry?” He’s Irish, Harry’s not confused enough to not notice.
“Yeah, that’s him.” Zayn says before Harry can.
“I’m Niall.” he says, smiling lazily and holding out a hand for Harry to shake. Harry holds up a toffee covered hand and shrugs apologetically. Niall waves a hand and the toffee is gone. Harry stares at his hand with suspicion before reaching forward and shaking Niall’s. “You coming to the show?”
“Yeah. Uh -- Louis? He said you were brilliant.”
“Louis’s easily impressed.” Niall says with laugh. The laugh is dirty, made dirtier by Niall’s accent, curling round the words making them softer, and the grin on his face.
Zayn snorts.
“Go back to your wheel.” Niall pushes Zayn in the chest so his arm falls from around his shoulders, laughing when he pouts. The effect is devastating. Niall seems to be immune to it. “Go on. Scram. I’ve got customers.” Zayn walks backwards across the grass, his arms spread wide as he mouths along to the song playing through the speakers round the corner. Niall turns back to Harry, over it. “Nah you’ll enjoy it even if magic isn’t your thing.”
“I swear I’ll be amazed no matter what,” Harry promises.
“That’s the spirit.”
There’s a line now, winding all the way round the tent and back down to the entrance where Eleanor is still punching tickets and crushing hearts.
“Where’s my fecking assistant?” Niall cranes his neck to see across the crowds. “I need to get ready.”
“Are you gonna have time?” Harry asks, glancing at his watch and then at Niall’s shorts and tank top combo; not exactly magician attire.
Niall must spot whoever he’s looking for because he waves frantically; mouthing what Harry can only guess is hurry the fuck up. He turns back to Harry once he’s satisfied with their speed, “Of course. I just need the illusion of taking ages. Makes it look more professional, innit. Come on, you can lead the way in, pick a row in the front.”
--
The show is, well, fucking unbelievable is the only way to cover it. Harry and the rest of the audience sit amazed as Niall performs trick after trick: conjuring birds from thin air; levitating everyone off the floor so their toes are left skimming the floor before they’re lowered back down again; transforming the whole room into a jungle and back again in thirty seconds flat. Harry gasps -- though he will later deny it -- when Niall claps once and his assistant, a leggy, tanned girl called Danielle, appears beside him straight out of thin air, winning smile and all. Harry tries to find explanations; mirrors, trapdoors, anything that could make any of it seem possible but finds nothing.
At the end he claps until his hands hurt, sending Niall a thumbs up when he glances his way as he’s bowing. Niall grins, pleased, and promptly disappears with a bang.
--
“You came back.”
“Eleanor sent me.” Harry had had to wait in line today while Louis predicted gullible people's futures. The man in front of him had come out looking close to tears. Harry wonders what Louis told him.
Louis raises an eyebrow, “Did she now? Smashing girl, isn’t she.”
“She’s something else,” Harry says, Eleanor’s sharp teeth and pale cheeks flashing in front of his eyes. “Is she --”
“Taken?” Louis, wrongly, finishes for him. Vampire Harry was going to say, actually; he’s reluctantly moved onto the mentality that anything’s possible.“Yeah. Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry at all. He’s smirking again, his head tilted as he stares at Harry like he knows everything about him, which, yeah, he does.
“Why does everyone know my name?”
The subject change doesn’t surprise Louis. Instead he picks up the same cards from yesterday, shuffling them thoroughly before looking up at Harry. “You were cute. Had to let people know I had staked a claim.”
It’s a blatant lie, Harry can tell. There’s something Louis isn’t telling him, probably to do with the feeling that keeps threatening to overwhelm Harry. It’s stronger now he’s here in the tent with Louis, so strong he feels he could float if he lifted his feet off the ground. He stays grounded, though, for now, because Louis is looking at him with a smile playing on his lips, one that looks like he can’t believe that Harry is actually here. Maybe he does remember him.
“We’ve met before.” he blurts out.
Louis blinks. “I know. Twelve years and fourteen days ago.”
“I didn’t think you remembered.” Not that Harry cares about Louis or anything but it’s a relief that he’s not been making the whole thing up. On the other hand that means -- “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“How nice of you to say, Harry. Neither have you, your favourite colour’s still blue.” Louis’s eyes are twinkling, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“But how --?” How are they skipping over the fact that Louis hasn’t aged in twelve years and fourteen days?
“That’s a story for another day. You gonna pick a pile today or just waste my time again?”
Harry gapes for a moment before he catches himself. “Waste your time.”
“Suit yourself.” Louis drops the cards on the table then leans back in his chair, drawing Harry’s eyes to the sliver of skin that becomes visible between his t-shirt and jeans. “You like Niall’s show then?”
“It surpassed my expectations.” Harry says, flopping onto the seat he was on yesterday. He reaches for the cards just to have a flick through them, see what’s in store for all the gullible believers in fate and fortune, but just as he touches the top card, a moon, Louis stops him, placing his own hand over Harry’s and moving it away. As soon as their skin touches Harry’s body seems to thrum, a wave of something he can’t describe, something like yearning, home, and lust rolled into an unstoppable force, crashes over him making him suck in a breath through his teeth and lean back, overwhelmed, as Louis sorts the cards into a neater pile.
“Sorry,” Louis murmurs, meeting Harry’s gaze, his eyes soft. “I can’t let - no one - you can’t touch them.”
Harry considers himself warned, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere. They’re beautiful cards.”
Louis reaches over and touches Harry’s arm; the feeling isn’t as strong this time but it’s still there, making Harry shift in his seat, his skin almost burning where Louis’s hand is. “You weren’t interfering. I’m just ridiculously protective over my cards.”
“Understandable.” Harry says, “So what does the moon mean?”
“Surely cynical Harry Styles is not asking the meaning behind a silly tarot card?!”
“Mark your calendars.” Harry mutters, resting his head on his folded arms on the table and watching as Louis flicks through the cards till he finds the one that caught Harry’s attention.
Louis clears his throat and draws himself up to full height, milking this for all it’s worth. Harry half wishes he hadn’t asked but it’s nice seeing Louis in his element, doing what he was -- literally -- born to do. “There’s a few meanings, a lot of them involving dreams and imagination but they’re not the ones for you, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Harry agrees, trying to be offended but not quite getting there.
“Basically, you’re losing control of your life.” He smiles, and then adds: “In a good way.”
“Say it ain’t so.” Harry drawls, not moving from his slump. He blinks slowly, thinking over the prediction and decides it fits. “Is any teenager in control of their life?”
“Your way is special.” Louis says, not cryptic at all.
"So I'm gonna suffer but I'm going to be happy about it?" Harry says two minutes too late.
"Stop with the Harry Potter references. God."
Harry laughs, feeling completely at ease in the darkened tent, cut off from the rest of the world. "If the shoe fits. How long's the circus in town, then?"
Louis smiles, but it’s strained. "You counting down the days?"
"I can't bear to see you go," Harry jokes, a sliver of truth sneaking in. He's known Louis for two days, not even two full days, but there's something about him. Something he doesn't particularly want to let go of.
"We're here till Monday then we're moving up to Scotland for a bit."
“Oh,” Scotland’s awfully far away. “Must be fun, being in a circus.”
“It’s alright,” Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair, “The people I work with are great. I just wonder what I’ve missed out on not being normal.”
“You don’t want to be normal,” Harry reassures him because he’s devastatingly ordinary, “It’s boring; wouldn’t suit you.”
That makes Louis throw back his head and laugh, Harry following the line of his neck and startlingly wondering what it would taste like if he ran his tongue along it. The sound is sunny and free and gives Harry a sense of achievement that he shoves to the bottom of his heart.
“You’re not so normal yourself, Harry Styles.”
Harry scoffs. “Again with the elusive comments.”
“Just doing my job,” Louis grins to the point where he seems to shine, which is ridiculous because boys don’t shine. There’s a glow round Louis, though, like the one inside Harry; his edges bright. Maybe some boys shine.
“Gonna go try my luck with Eleanor again, then.” Harry says as he gets to his feet, winking at Louis who rolls his eyes but laughs like he can’t help it. Truthfully he would rather stay in here with Louis, learning everything he can about him and the circus, but he needs to leave. He’s not here for anything like that.
“You’re wasting your time, I’m telling you.” he shouts as Harry’s leaving. "I know about these things!"
Harry lazily gives him the finger, flashing a grin before he steps outside again, blinking in the sun and hastily sidestepping an impatient woman desperate to hear about her tall, dark and handsome stranger.
Eleanor’s sitting with Danielle, Niall's assistant, when Harry approaches the ticket booth again. They’re sitting close together so their heads touch, different shades of brown overlapping, and they’re whispering, secret words that make each other giggle and Harry self conscious.
His intentions must be obvious since as soon as he’s reached the wooden hut Eleanor shakes her head at him, Danielle laughing with her face pressed into her shoulder. Harry’s not too heartbroken; he knew he was chancing it, anyway, he’s still thinking about Louis too much to really care.
“Didn’t Louis tell you I’m off the market, Styles?” Eleanor laughs, pushing Danielle away playfully, sticking her tongue out at her.
Harry leans against the counter, “Didn’t think you’d be able to resist.” He’s charming, his mum says so.
Eleanor tilts her head to the side, considering him. “You’re pretty cute. You should try that on Lou.”
Harry doesn’t admit that that thought’s already crossed his mind several times. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow,” because who is he kidding, of course he’s coming back.
“Oh. Wait,” Eleanor holds up a hand so Harry pauses. She nudges Danielle’s leg out the way and rummages under the booth, making a lot of noise, before she pulls out a shiny tag. “So you don’t have to pay every time,” she explains, handing it over.
This card entitles the holder to unlimited admission. reads one side. On the back it says: Le Cirque de Rêves in a plain font and underneath in smaller letters: Simon Cowell, Proprietor.
He pockets the tag, feeling accepted.
--
The third day Harry ends up at the circus, he makes his way over to the fortune teller's tent straightaway; no point pretending anymore. As he approaches, Louis appears at the entrance and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it and hanging it from the pole to the side.
This is the first time Harry's seen Louis standing up, not surrounded by mystery or vicious owls. He’s shorter than Harry by a head with a tiny waist and an incredible arse. He almost looks ordinary out here except not really because Harry doesn’t think Louis could ever be described as ordinary.
He turns and waves when Harry reaches him, “Hi.”
Harry can’t hold back his smile, feeling like an idiot. It's allowed, they're at the circus. "Hi. What’s going on?”
“Thought we could have some fun,” Louis grins, his smile just a touch wicked before he grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him through the crowds and all Harry can do is follow, Louis’s hand tiny in his.
Zayn lets them jump the queue for the wheel and waves them on for free. "Circus perks," Louis sticks his tongue out at Harry who punches his arm not the least bit hard but Louis yelps anyway.
When they're at the top Louis points out all the areas Harry missed: the giant bird cage full of every type of bird from parrots to budgies to hummingbirds; the chocolate fountain hidden in the centre of the maze; the top of the Cloud Tent; the spot behind Niall’s tent that is hidden from every angle bar this one where they smoke weed at the end of the day. Harry feels himself becoming part of the Circus of Dreams, enchanted by the secrets and tricks hidden under everything, giving him a sense of achievement when he uncovers something new.
He feels the same with Louis; every new fact he snatches up and locks away to examine later when he has time to look away from the fortune teller. He learns that Louis is originally from Doncaster but he hasn’t been back for a long time. He learns that Louis’s favourite colour is red and his favourite flavour of ice cream is mint choc chip and that if you poke him just below his ribs he dissolves into a fit of giggles. His favourite new thing he learns about Louis is that when he smiles really big his eyes crinkle at the side which is really kinda cute. He smiles really big a lot, Harry’s noticed.
They do the maze next; Louis pulling Harry this way and that so they end up completely lost. They run into Zayn and Niall somewhere near the middle. Both of them are giggly and loud, their hands clasped and Zayn keeps smacking kisses to Niall’s temple. When they look away from each other to greet Harry and Louis Harry adds together their bloodshot eyes and lopsided grins and comes up with stoned.
“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, lads,” Niall says, wagging his finger at Louis and Harry then swivelling and pushing the finger into Zayn’s cheek.
“So we can do anything, then?” Louis smirks, wrapping an arm round Niall’s neck and pulling him into a headlock. Niall squeaks and tries to wriggle free so Louis ruffles his hair, pushing him down further.
“Oi,” Zayn says mildly, and then: “Leave him alone,” still without much heat. Harry watches, amused, as Zayn and Niall both swat at Louis but Louis dodges them every time, still keeping Niall trapped in his armpit.
He releases Niall when his cheeks turn too red, and his laugh is more gasps than giggles. Niall stumbles for a moment, grips at Zayn’s waist as he gains momentum and punches Louis on the shoulder, hard, causing Louis to curl over.
Harry gasps and goes to intervene but Louis is laughing, pushing back at Niall half heartedly. “Never gonna beat me, Horan.”
“Ah well, fuck you too, Tommo,” Niall grins, baring his teeth.
Harry has no idea what is going on but Louis pulls him away again before he can ask, with a “Catch you later!” over his shoulder to Niall and Zayn who giggle again and duck behind another hedge.
“Wha -?”
“You been to the Hall of Mirrors yet, Haz?” Louis asks, linking their fingers again and pulling him back through the maze without waiting for a reply, not making a wrong turning once. “When I first joined I couldn’t stay in there for more than two minutes. S’too freaky.”
“Not for a vain person, I bet,” Harry says, grinning when they’re once again waved past without payment and enter the mirrored hallway.
It’s completely dark inside so all Harry can see is his reflection over and over and over again, Louis darting about behind him, giggling and shrieking whenever he sees himself. Some of the mirrors make them look distorted -- Harry is eight feet tall and then he takes another step and he’s barely three. In some he’s wiggly and in others he’s poker straight. His eyes grow wider at every turn, the blacks of his pupils enlarging. It’s -- unsettling, even if it is meant to be a bit of fun. He yanks at Louis’s shirt, hurrying them along the long long long corridor, his eyes directed at the ground, the only neutral thing, until they reach the door at the other end.
When they spill out into the sun Harry keeps going, running and running and pulling Louis along with him. They come to a halt when they’re back near the maze. Harry drops Louis’s hand and bends over, clutching his knees and gasping, getting his breath back. Louis is fighting the same problem although his solution is to flop onto the grass and lie spread eagled, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Never again,” they say at the same time, and that breaks the tension that had been stretched tight between them over the last few minutes. They snicker, Harry dropping down beside Louis onto the grass. The tips of their fingers brush, barely there, until Harry shuffles an inch or two closer and Louis sighs his approval, his fingers slotting in between Harry’s. It’s like they always have to be touching, Louis’s shoulders relax and the itch that’s been covering Harry’s skin disappears, cancelled out by the warm feel of Louis’s skin against his. It’s confusing, to say the least.
“So you’re not a fan of the old mirrors, either? Had you down as an exhibitionsit to tell the truth,” Louis says after a long while.
Harry has enough breath to be indignant, “Heyyyyy! There’s something not right about that place, exhibitionist or not. Which I’m not.” It’s not what he’d call it, anyway. So he’s not exactly shy. Nothing wrong with that.
Louis pushes out a laugh then gets to his feet, brushing at his bum to get all the grass off. “Stop staring.”
“No,” Harry makes a show of licking his lips, moving his eyes deliberately over Louis making him squirm, glaring.
“You’re objectifying me and I do not appreciate it,” Louis whines.
“What ya gonna do about it?” Harry asks, bending an arm behind his head and tilting his head so the glare from the sun isn’t in his eyes. It frames Louis, giving him a glow, even more so than yesterday in the tent, and making him seem even more like an angel. Ridiculous.
“Gonna take you away,” Louis mutters nonsensically, pulling Harry to his feet using one hand, wrapping the other behind his back. He frog-marches Harry over to his own tent where the sign is still turning people away.
“Are you kidnapping me? Should I struggle?”
“I’m too strong for you to strugg - No, don’t try, I’m still tired from that run,” Louis moans, his arms tightening around Harry like Harry can’t just break free if he wants to.
“Okay, can I shout for help?” They’re behind the tent now, on a little patch of grass that’s cut off from everywhere else. “Or are you going to cut out my vocal cords and feed them to your owl.”
“Shut up. I show you around, I let you meet my friends, I bring you here and this is the thanks I get. So ungrateful.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Harry’s bent in half, clutching at his stomach as he laughs because Louis looks so offended and when Harry let Liam drag him to the circus he never thought he would find anyone quite like this.
“I hate you,” Louis says, but he’s smiling now, the one that sort of makes the whole world light up. So Harry’s completely gone, sue him.
A silence settles over them, both happy to lie and stare at the sky. Harry traces patterns of the clouds in the air, Louis occasionally batting his hand away. The thrumming has dulled to a gentle hum, just under Harry’s skin. It’s manageable. But his head is full of questions that he needs answers to, and he doesn’t know where to start.
“Eleanor,” is what he, unexpectedly, leads with.
Louis laughs, “What about her?”
“She’s not...” Harry props himself up on one elbow to see Louis properly. His eyes are shut, a smile playing on his lips, and his hand flat on his stomach. He could be sleeping. “...human is she.”
Louis cracks open one eye, “Not exactly.”
“The fuck is this place?” Because mind readers and magicians are one thing but vampires? Come on. “Are you human?”
“Unfortunately.” Louis pouts, his forehead creased. “We’re just an odd mix of people who had nowhere else to go.”
It sounds nice, in a way, Harry thinks. Like a family. “Tell me more about Eleanor.”
“You really don’t have a chance with her, you know,” Louis says, raising himself onto his elbows and narrowing his eyes at Harry. “Even with the whole vampire thing.” Harry knew it. “She’s with Danielle.”
“Really,” Harry lets himself think about that for a moment, the shades of brown tangling, painted nails tracing down tan skin and long long legs, long enough for Louis to get disgruntled and huff, nudging his knee against Harry’s thigh. “Nah, think I’ve got my eye set on someone else, actually.”
Louis smiles a tiny smile at that, like he can’t allow himself to react too much, and it’s not exactly a sign but Harry’s taking it to be a good one, anyway. He’s confident like that. “Josh is a vampire, too, if you’re into that sort of thing,” Louis says, getting to his feet and offering a hand to Harry, pulling away when Harry’s halfway up so he falls back on his bum.
Once Harry’s finished grumbling, pushing at Louis half heartedly as payback, he gets back to his 101 questions.
“You gonna tell me the weird non-aging story now?”
Louis leans back against the fence, considering Harry. He sticks a hand into his jeans and pulls out a packet of fags, offering one to Harry, who refuses, and lights up before he looks like he's going to talk, “You work at the circus you become immortal. Simple as that. It’s why I signed up, to be honest. Growing up’s always freaked me out and this was an out.”
"Like a sell your soul to the devil type deal?"
"No, my soul is still mine. I just... don't age. For as long as I work here."
“So you’re not a real fortune teller. You’re just here for the freaky spells,” Harry says.
Louis shakes his head rapidly. “No no, I am psychic -- they don’t hire just anyone for the Le Cirque de Rêves. The immorality just got me to sign along the dotted line quicker.”
Living forever is something Harry can’t get his head around but Louis talks of it so easily, like it’s all he’s ever known.
“How long have you worked here then? What’s your real age?”
“You ask a lot of questions, kid.” Louis smirks round his cigarette, sucking so Harry watches his cheeks hollow prettily before he answers. “I’ve never really thought about it. The circus opened in 1886 and I was 21 at the time so that makes me... 140?”
“138,” Harry corrects him, his eyes wide. He suddenly feels very small, insignificant. Kid is suddenly highly appropriate. “Wow.”
"Never been any good at maths."
"Don't suppose it's a skill you need for the circus."
Louis laughs softly, “Nah. It’s not.” He coughs, pushing his fringe up off his face, “We’ve talked about me all week, Haz, tell me about you.”
“I thought you knew everything?” Harry’s not bitter about that anymore. It was stupid to be in the first place, really.
“Of course I do. But I want to hear it from you,” he leans forward and taps at Harry’s bottom lip with the pad of his finger. “Come on, tell me all about Harry Styles.”
There’s not much to tell. Harry tries anyway. “I’m studying English at uni. I don’t know what I want to do with my life - I bet you do.” Louis cants his head, not confirming or denying it. “Uh - I have a sister called Gemma who’s studying to be a nurse, and my best friend is called Liam and he’s a lot like a puppy. I have some tattoos?”
“You forgot your favourite ice cream flavour,” Louis tuts. “People need to know these things.”
“It’s --”
“Vanilla,” they both say at the same time. Harry grabs Louis and pulls him into a headlock, twisting his arm so he can hold Louis’s neck without pressing too tight.
“You said you would let me say,” he growls, flexing his arm. Ash from Louis’s fag flutters to the ground.
Louis giggles breathlessly, his cheeks pinking. “You’re so dull, Hazza. I mean, vanilla? How boring. How completely and utterly mundane.”
Harry gets hold of his hand and jerks it up behind his back making Louis squawk and try to wriggle free. “Sorry we can’t all be beautiful, immortal know-it-alls like you.”
Louis slides a hand down Harry’s side, dipping into the top of his shorts and stroking the warm skin there. It sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, making him feel hot all over, and gives Louis the chance to slide out of his grip. As Harry recovers from the minor shock Louis sorts his hair, carding his fingers through it to coax his fringe back into place.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Sure. I’m not blind,” Harry shrugs, winking. It's easy to flirt with Louis, to link their fingers and pass compliments back and forth, and it's just as easy to not flirt with him, too, to sit and talk about everything and nothing, like he's a best friend he's had his whole life.
"Such a charmer," Louis shakes his head. "Bet you say that to all the girls."
"Never. None of them are immortal."
That makes Louis laugh, hopping up to sit on the fence, tugging Harry over by his belt loops so he fits between his legs. "You're very pretty, too, Harry, can't let that ego slip can we?"
"No we can't," Harry agrees, sliding an arm round Louis's waist. Louis blows smoke into his face making him splutter. "Hey! Say more nice things about me, then."
"Let's see..." Louis taps his ash off so it falls on Harry's foot. The kick to get it off makes the fence shudder and Louis grasps at Harry's arm for a split second. "Your eyes are very green. But sometimes they're very blue. It's odd. Are you a magician like Niall?"
"Yes."
"Curiouser and curiouser. I like your hair. Nice and curly, and you’re tall, so, you’re sort of like a tree."
"Gee, thanks."
"That’s a compliment, don’t worry. Hmm. What else can I say about you, Harry Styles?" His eyes keep flicking to Harry's lips and back again. Harry follows the movement, drawing in a breath, because this angle with their heads tilted towards each other and Harry’s hands on Louis’s waist and Louis looking at him like that, it’s the perfect opportunity to lean in and see how soft Louis’s lips really are, what he tastes like.
“I should be getting back,” Louis breathes, not moving. “Those fortunes don’t tell themselves.”
"Can Niall not do that?”
Louis shakes his head slowly, looking dazed. “No. No, he can’t.” And then he nudges Harry away and jumps down from the fence, resting against Harry’s chest for a moment. Harry notes how perfectly they fit together, Louis’s head fitting into the dip of Harry’s collarbones, his hair brushing Harry’s chin.
They hear a shout from out in the common ground, shattering the quiet, and making Louis step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Harry says long after Louis’s disappeared into his tent, back to work.
He makes his afternoon lecture for the first time all week, but he might as well not be there, filling his notepad with circus tops and flying elephants, pretty girls with sharp teeth and pretty boys with sparkly eyes.
--
On the fourth day Louis’s waiting for Harry outside the tent again, the sign already in place. He's got checked shorts on and bare feet. Harry finds it unexpectedly endearing.
Louis pulls Harry behind the back of the tents with a giggle, pushing him up against one of the beams used to keep the tent steady. Keeping his hand fisted in Harry's t-shirt, Louis leans up and catches Harry's upper lip between his own, kissing him more softly than Harry was expecting.
When their lips touch an explosion occurs deep inside Harry, his insides fizzing and bubbling up and up until they seem to overflow, making his hands shake and clutch at Louis. It's not a fireworks cliche, it's something else entirely, something scary and special: an explosion of energy. When the initial rush is over Harry feels normal again, like he hasn't in days. He no longer needs to touch Louis but he still wants to just as much as before.
Harry focuses on the kiss, opening his mouth and slipping his tongue into Louis's mouth, deepening the kiss quickly. His hand slips into the pockets of Louis's jeans and he gropes his arse because he's not one to miss an opportunity.
Louis sighs quietly into Harry's mouth and pulls back, looking up at Harry with an expression Harry can't quite place. His eyes are dark with lust and he’s smiling but there’s an edge there; he’s not telling Harry something again.
But the look is gone as soon as it arrived, and Louis is kissing him again, harder and more intensely, his tongue delving into Harry's mouth, searching and tasting him. Harry's fingers play its the hem of Louis's t-shirt, nudging it up and up so he can feel the hot skin underneath, pressing lightly at his stomach.
"Should've done this the first day you came," Louis pants into Harry's mouth which should be disgusting, if you think about it, but Harry doesn't care, his tongue sliding alongside Louis's again, hot and wet.
"Mm," is all he can manage because Louis is a fucking phenomenal kisser, he hadn't expected anything less, to be honest, and so the rest of his reply is replaced with a moan.
"Can't --" Louis groans, biting at Harry's bottom lip, his teeth sharp. "Can't do this out here."
Harry's hands glide from up Louis's shirt to the bottom of his thighs, grasping tightly. "Hold on," he mutters into Louis's ear before lifting him, Louis locking his ankles at the bottom of his back, his arms curled securely round his neck.
"So big and strong," he teases, his voice slightly raspy which sends a shiver down Harry's back, automatically thinking of what else Louis can do to wreck his voice like that. "I feel like Jane."
They're inside the tent now, hidden from everyone and free to do what they want, which means they should be getting naked straight away but Harry has to ask, "Who?"
Louis giggles, surging forward to bite at Harry's neck, sucking a bruise onto the sweaty skin, "You know," he licks over the teeth marks, his tongue tracing the line of Harry's throat up to his chin and then his mouth, kissing him deeply and too quickly. Harry's knees wobble and he still doesn’t know who this fucking Jane is, not that it's incredibly important, especially at a time like this, but he has to know, okay, for his own piece of mind, "From Tarzan."
It wasn't worth the wait. Harry snaps his teeth. Louis giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Off," he demands, pulling at the bottom of Harry's top.
Harry's only too happy to oblige, yanking it up over his head and chucking it somewhere on the cluttered floor. It's fine, Louis will know where to find it later. Louis's eyes darken as more and more tattoos appear, his hand reaching out to touch. But before he does he looks up to Harry, asking permission which is cute and sort of odd and completely unnecessary.
"Yeah. Yeah." he nods quickly, and then Louis's tongue is on him, licking and biting at every single design, tracing them with his hand and then his mouth, a slick slide of his tongue over each place making Harry tip his head back against the bookcase, his fists clenched at his sides. He's already so hard.
When Louis reaches the might as well on his hip, Harry breaks, his hand moving to fist Louis's hair, pushing him closer to his body. His tattoos have always been sensitive but this, this is something else.
"Steady," Louis mumbles, biting his hip, quick and sharp. "Not even at the good part yet."
Harry doesn't have time to imagine Louis's mouth around his dick because two seconds later Louis is tugging down his shorts and boxers and it's actually happening, his hot, wet mouth covering his dick and it's so good Harry can't help but buck his hips.
Louis lifts a hand to steady him, placing it at his hip but only lightly, still letting Harry fuck his mouth gently, his small hand wrapping round the base, the other stroking his balls. His tongue swirls round the tip, dipping into the slit, before sliding all the way down down down until Harry thinks he can see stars. Jesus Christ.
"God. Lou." he whines, pulling at a strand of hair that was sticking up anyway. Louis hums around him, then pulls back so Harry can see how red his lips are, how much his pupils have blown. "So good at this -- so fucking good. I want you -- I want -- "
He's babbling, Louis's smirking, but then Louis is giving the head of his cock tiny licks, sucking it into his mouth again, and he really doesn't fucking care if he's babbling or not because Louis's mouth.
Louis's head bobs up and down a couple more times, his cheeks hollowing like they had round the cigarette the other day so his cheekbones stand out, and Harry thinks -- actually, he can't think at the moment.
"'M coming," he says a split second before he does which is as good a warning as Louis was ever going to get. His eyes squeeze shut -- or he blacks out for a moment, he wouldn't be surprised if he did -- and when he opens them Louis is leaning back onto his heels. He waits for Harry to make eye contact and then swallows, not wincing at all, running his tongue over his teeth to make sure all the come is gone.
There's a bit at the corner of his mouth. Harry pushes himself off the bookcase and leans down, his legs still a bit wobbly, his hands still shaky as he thumbs it away, pushing it into Louis's mouth gently so he can swallow it with the rest.
"Fuck, Lou," he manages after a long moment, his voice not quite steady. He's had blowjobs before, loads some might say, but he's never truly understood the phrase having your brain sucked out through your dick until now.
"Speechless, eh," Louis giggles, rocking up onto his knees again so he can kiss Harry. Harry can taste himself on Louis's tongue and his dick twitches interestedly. But he can feel Louis hard against his thigh and that's higher on the list at the moment. "I'm flattered."
"Should be," Harry says into the kiss, pushing Louis back until his back meets the floor, sprawling on top of him. "Now let me rock your world."
"So cheesy," Louis says, shaking his head as Harry unbuttons his jeans, sliding the zip down so he fit his hand inside. He watches as the smirk on Louis's face turns slack. He's fat and full in Harry's hand, the tip leaking helping Harry slide his hand down, his wrist twisting just how he likes, the fuck, Haz telling him Louis does, too.
It only takes a few more strokes before Louis's breath turns shallow, his hand gripping Harry's neck to pull him up and join their mouths in a messy kiss too full of teeth and Louis's fuck, shit Harry's to really work. Harry breaks the kiss to watch, fascinated, as Louis comes apart, his eyes falling shut and his hips bucking into Harry’s hand.
"So," Harry says once they're both presentable again. Louis’s fringe is sticking to his forehead with sweat. Harry sorts it for him, styling it into a half-presentable quiff. "That was okay, I guess."
Louis pokes his side, "Shut up. I rocked your world," he giggles, ducking away from Harry's hand.
"I didn't mean it."
Harry spends the rest of the day wandering round the tents near Louis's, waiting for when it's quiet enough for a break. He likes the Big Cats tent and visits it several times, the girl, Taylor, smiling each time he comes back.
He brings back food for Louis: popping candy, and hot dogs, and Fanta. Whenever the line ends Louis yanks him in by the shirt, kissing him until they’re both stumbling and muffling each other’s laughs.
Harry’s drunk on blowjobs and Fanta, and the feel of Louis’s fingers wrapping around his wrist.
--
It's roasting the next day which means girls in tiny shorts and strapless tops and boys in no tops at all, ice cream everywhere and everyone smelling of suntan lotion. Harry weaves through everyone, sweating dripping down his back, until he reaches Louis’s tent where there’s a queue ten people long.
He settles down to wait on the grass, stretching out long, his arms stretched above his head. He’s almost asleep, the sounds of screaming children and poppy music somewhat a lullaby, when someone kicks at his foot.
“Look who it is.”
He cracks open an eye and there’s Zayn with his arm around Niall, both giggling and donned in tank tops and snapbacks.
“It’s me,” he drawls, tired.
“Yeah we can see that,” Niall laughs, joining Harry on the grass. He knocks the back of Zayn’s knees so he falls on top of them with an oof. “How’s it goin’?”
Harry doesn’t know how much to tell. He doesn’t know how much Louis’s already told. He settles for an indifferent shrug. “Alright. You? Still amazing people?”
“Of course,” Niall says, knocking back his hat to run a hand through his hair before pulling it back down again. “It’s what I do best. Isn’t that right, Z?”
Zayn hums his agreement, too busy sunbathing to pay much attention to the conversation. He’s got tattoos, too, a half sleeve on one arm and more dotted across his collarbones and chest. Harry wonders if Louis’s got any hidden away.
“You waiting for the Tommo, then?” Niall asks, pulling out a sandwich from somewhere. It’s chicken. Harry’s stomach rumbles loudly, reminding him that he skipped breakfast, and makes a mental note to drag Louis to the nearest food stall when he appears.
"Yeah. Is this the intention talk, then?"
Zayn snorts, bobbing his head as confirmation. “We’re not gonna threaten to kill you, don’t worry.”
“None of us can be arsed with that,” Niall says through a mouthful of sandwich. “You’re too big anyway, we’re not stupid. Most we could is set Eleanor on you.” Harry can see how she could be scary.
“I’m not going to hurt him,” he promises, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head so he can make eye contact. He had read somewhere that people are more likely to trust you if they can see your eyes and, well, it doesn’t hurt to try. “You’re only here for a few more days anyway.” His heart doesn’t hurt at that, like someone is holding it in their hand and squeezing too tight. No, not one bit.
He doesn’t miss the look Zayn and Niall exchange; full of eyebrows and frowns.
“What? You are going up to Scotland on Monday, aren’t you?”
Niall nods, his expression carefully happy again. It’s unsettling. “Yeah. Harry, just -- be careful, okay? Louis’s the best person I know -- you know what he’s like. But he’s not so good at things like this, he’s different. Special. So when it gets too much just let him down gently.”
“What makes you think I’ll want to let him down?” Harry says, defensive.
“You’re different,” Zayn says like he’s on Harry’s side in whatever’s going on. “Why else do you think we all knew your name? You’re what he needs and you need him, whether you’ve realised that or not. Remember that when things get too intense.”
Niall’s finished his sandwich and he’s standing, brushing himself down. “Break’s up, Z. Look: I like you, Harry. You seem great. I’m only --”
“Being protective,” Harry finishes, getting to his feet as well. “I get it. Thanks for this.”
“I’m taking that as sarcasm,” Niall says, laughing. “See ya later, Styles.”
He pulls Zayn over to the hotdog stand, slipping to the front of the queue and making the line of customers chuckle instead of grumble. When Harry turns again Louis is at his side.
“Hey,” his lips twitch up into a smile. Harry leans down to kiss him hello, smiling too.
“Hi,” he replies when they pull away. “Busy today?”
Louis nods, slotting their fingers together. “You would think people would want to spend as much time in the sun as they can instead of inside a dark gloomy tent.”
“They obviously came to see the charming fortune teller,” Harry teases, leading them over to the hotdog stand.
“Obviously,” Louis agrees once they’ve been served, licking ketchup off his palm. Harry can’t take his eyes off him and while yesterday that was expected today it’s unnerving. He’s scared to look away in case Louis does something amazing, something beautiful, and he misses it. He doesn’t understand how he managed nineteen and a half years without Louis.
The thing is: Louis does the exact same. They’re so settled, so comfortable after five days. And the buzzing, the overflow of energy that had burst out of Harry almost painfully when they first kissed is nothing he’s ever experienced before. Harry should probably question it but he finds he doesn’t want to.
Instead he follows Louis to the Ice Garden, marvelling the delicateness of the roses and tulips, the spindly trees that could snap if Harry sneezed in their direction. He holds his breath as they move around the tent, only letting it go when Louis looks up at him, his eyebrow quirked, then elbows him in the side. He mouths idiot at him, dancing ahead under the archway of frozen baby's breath.
After the Ice Garden they make their way back over to Louis’s tent, going round behind it instead of inside so as “not to waste the sunshine” -- Louis’s words, not Harry’s.
Harry ducks his head to kiss Louis, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip, Louis's mouth falling open. They kiss lazily for a while, Louis breaking away every so often to lick a stripe down Harry's neck or cheek or ear. It's peaceful, here in the quiet.
"I love you," Louis says softly into the crook of Harry's neck, and then freezes. And suddenly it's not so peaceful, not so calm.
Part of Harry is screaming it's only been five days five days but another part thinks i love you, too and that makes no sense because five days but the buzzing has stopped, he doesn't feel as on edge any more so maybe the second voice is right as crazy as it sounds.
He tenses, disentangling himself from Louis and stepping back, feeling completely out of his depth yet right at home. Bloody circuses screwing with his head.
Louis looks terrified, chewing his lip and looking anywhere but Harry. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."
"You say that to all the boys?" Harry doesn't know why he's making jokes now but Louis gives a shaky laugh.
"Of course. No. Look, Harry. There's something you need to know --" he breaks off to chew his nail some more, pulling hard so it bleeds. Harry just stares. "Do you believe in soulmates?"
“Fuck off.”
Louis flinches. Instantly, Harry feels guilty.
"Sorry. Don’t -- I mean --" Harry grips his hair, groans. "You're joking, right?"
"Nope," Louis rocks back onto his heels, his head tilted to stare at Harry. "We've all got one. Some people never find theirs, some don't want to keep theirs when they find it, but we all have one. And --"
"And you're mine," Harry finishes. He takes a step back from Louis, suddenly terrified because he's only nineteen he shouldn't be finding soulmates when he's nineteen; he should be having one night stands and first dates and meeting the parents and horrible breakups with lots of beer and chocolate and Liam telling him stupid phrases like there’s plenty more fish in the sea but standing here with Louis in front of him he realise he doesn't want all that, he wants Louis and that scares him more than anything else.
"I shouldn't have told you," Louis says, his forehead creased. He's wringing his hands and looking so small that Harry just wants to wrap him up, tight, but he can't because this is all too weird.
He takes another step back, Louis looks even smaller, and shakes his head, "No, I'm glad you said."
Surely he's allowed to freak out about this. surely it wouldn't be classed as an overreaction. None of his friends have ever gone through this; he can't imagine Liam turning away a soul mate if he found it. He doesn't know how to take this information.
So surely running away and leaving Louis standing there is perfectly okay. It is.
(Guilt suffocates him that night, keeping him awake and haunting him whenever he manages to drift off long enough to dream. He decides none of this would have happened if he has stayed away from the circus so, unbeknownst to him, Liam gets the blame placed firmly on him.)
--
He doesn't go to the circus the next day. He stays in bed and watches Cameron Diaz films and doesn't feel jealous at all when she sorts out her life after a Vegas wedding and gets to keep Ashton Kutcher.
Liam comes over after his afternoon lecture, all concerned because the last time Harry stayed in bed all day was when his childhood cat, Sprinkles, died.
“Do you believe in soulmates, Liam?” Harry asks as soon as Liam’s finished making tea and has settled on the bed. Harry’s theory is that Liam is firmly Team Soulmate. He don't know yet if he wants Liam's support or not but everyone should have their say.
But instead of nodding and agreeing straightaway, Liam sits for a moment, drumming his fingers on Harry’s bedside table, and then shakes his head slowly, still thinking hard. “No. I don’t think there’s a certain person someone should be with. You can fall in love more than once, it doesn't have to mean more than it does. Why? Do you?”
Harry rubs at his eyes until he sees swirls and stars. He thinks for longer than he has to. “I didn’t... but someone mentioned it to me and it seems kinda nice, dunnit?”
Liam shrugs, then rolls over Harry to grab at the remote, muting Charlie’s Angels. “I hate Cameron Diaz,” he whines.
Harry shoves him off the bed. His head isn’t any clearer.
--
He goes out that night, gets pissed, and pulls at least five people. He doesn’t bring anyone home; that feels ridiculously like cheating, and that makes Harry sick to the stomach, even without the vodka sloshing around him.
When he stumbles home alone, and very drunk, he hauls his laptop onto his bed and searches soulmates because there has to be some answer out there, something telling him how to react to this. He would call it bullshit, that maybe Louis is crazy, but since Louis told him he loves him Harry has felt calmer, settled in himself in a way he’s never felt before, which makes it feel very real.
Urban dictionary’s definition is the most helpful: A person with whom you have an immediate connection the moment you meet -- a connection so strong that you are drawn to them in a way you have never experienced before. As this connection develops over time, you experience a love so deep, strong and complex, that you begin to doubt that you have ever truly loved anyone prior. Your soulmate understands and connects with you in every way and on every level, which brings a sense of peace, calmness and happiness when you are around them. And when you are not around them, you are all that much more aware of the harshness of life, and how bonding with another person in this way is the most significant and satisfying thing you will experience in your lifetime. You are also all that much aware of the beauty in life, because you have been given a great gift and will always be thankful.
And that’s what cements it for Harry because it describes exactly how he’s feeling, right down to the “harshness of life” -- he’s pretty sure the moon seemed duller on his way home and the music in the last pub he’d been in had been shit which makes life harsh in Harry’s eyes.
He ends up on a website explaining tarot card meanings for the hell of it; discovering that the magician is the master of the material world, that the lovers mean harmony and union but can also foresee deception. He finds a page on different branches from the original cards, following links until he finds the Lord of Love which symbolises affection, love and the beginnings of strong relationships. The card is pretty: two people facing one another, their hands outstretched so their palms are touching. Harry likes this card, a lot. If he ever sees Louis again he’s going to tell him how much he likes this card and that his job is pretty cool because Harry could never look at a picture of a sun and say that it means arrogance and relationship difficulties which doesn’t even make sense because Louis is the fucking sun and he's not arrogant at all.
He dreams of evil suns and gentle moons with hands, leading him into the zoo to feed him to the polar bears who haven’t found their soulmate yet and keep crying. He wakes with a start, drool drying on his face and dents from the keyboard all up his arms. His head is pounding and his mouth is fuzzy and it’s in moments like these that he vows never to drink again. The longest he’s stuck to this is six days which is an achievement Harry is really proud of.
Liam phones just after twelve and tells him to get some fresh air; he’ll feel better. Liam knows nothing about hangovers. Harry wants to curl up and die and fresh air will do nothing to help that.
But when you disobey Liam you feel guilty about it for days after so, after a lot of sighing, Harry gets out of bed, pulls some semblance of an outfit on, complete with sunglasses, and slips out his flat, aiming to be back in under ten minutes.
Instead he walks to the other side of town, lost in his own thoughts, and doesn't realise where he is until he walks into a mum and three children standing in the queue. He mumbles an apology and when he looks up they're gone, only Eleanor standing in her booth.
“Missed you yesterday, Styles,” she winks, laughing prettily when Harry holds up his hands in surrender. This circus has his fucking soul.
“I’m hooked, El. What can I tell ya?” It’s easy to pretend here, see, because the whole thing is built on pretense and illusion and so if they can pretend to be normal then Harry can get away with being fine with being linked to Louis for all of eternity. Everyone's a winner.
Something like sympathy flashes over Eleanor’s face, making Harry’s stomach clench painfully. It’s gone as soon as it appeared, her wide smile back in place. “Go cheer Lou up, will you? He’s upset about something and his mood is affecting the rest of us,” Danielle comes by at this point, wrapping her arms round Eleanor’s neck and smushing her face into her neck making Eleanor squirm, squeaking as she bats at Danielle, pulling her closer simultaneously.
"Yeah, give him some lovin', Haz," Danielle giggles.
"Shut up, Dani," Eleanor says, turning her face to kiss Danielle, a quick peck on the lips.
Harry flushes, images bursting into his head: Louis up against a wall, Louis's mouth around his dick, Louis spread out and open for him, Louis Louis Louis. The girls notice, tearing their attention away from each other long enough to raise their eyebrows at him, scarily in sync.
"Right, well then. I'll be off," he manages to get out, waving a hand in salute. Danielle's whoop of encouragement is hurriedly shushed by Eleanor.
When Harry passes the big wheel he spots Niall and Zayn, Niall plastered to Zayn's back. They whoop and cat-call when they see Harry and that makes him glad he came back, sorry he ever left. Everyone's in pairs here, he realises. There's Zayn and Niall, Eleanor and Danielle, and maybe, hopefully, Louis and Harry.
The curtain to the tent is pulled back which means no one's in getting a reading so Harry ducks in, avoiding Starky who hoots at him reproachfully like he knows what he did. Louis is sat at the table, his head on his folded arms with his cards fanned out in front of him. He could be sleeping, Harry's not sure if he wants him to be or not so he can run away without saying anything at all, but then he's sitting up and staring at Harry like he can't believe he's here.
For a moment Louis looks at Harry with his emotions laid on the table just like his cards but, like his cards, Harry can't read them. He stands back and watches as Louis's expression hardens until it's blank, couldn't care less if Harry turned and walked right back out.
"You can't just spring that on someone, Lou," Harry says weakly.
Louis tugs at his t-shirt, pulling it away from his body and twisting it between his fingers. "I know, I know. I got caught up in the moment. I understand if you don't want to have anything to do with me."
"Hang on, now. I didn't say that," Harry pushes himself off the bookcase and strides towards Louis, feeling braver with every step. This is what he should be doing, this feels right. He stops right in front of Louis, their chests just shy of touching. Louis is looking up at him, his expression blank, guarded, but all Harry can see is soulmate soulmate soulmate. "I guess being your soulmate isn't the worst thing in the world."
It takes a moment to sink in, Harry watching as it does; as Louis's eyes brighten till they sparkle, his mouth slowly curving into a smile and then a full blown grin. "I haven't scared you off?"
"Nah," Harry shakes his head and curves a hand round Louis's neck, his fingers slipping through the soft hair there, and tilting Louis's head up. "Takes a lot more than declarations of love to scare me off," and then he kisses him, soft and gentle yet still so intense he might burst from the thrumming in his body. Louis opens his mouth, keening and pushing up onto his tiptoes when Harry's tongue swipes his bottom lip.
The kiss gets so intense Harry has to pull away after a bit. Louis is everywhere: his hands on Harry's shoulder and waist and arm, his mouth on his cheek and then his neck and then his mouth again and as great as it, it really really is great, Harry needs to breathe.
He slows the kiss down so it becomes chaste, their lips sliding together gently. He smiles at the huff from Louis when he realises what Harry is doing, but his lips curve against Harry's, telling him he can do what he wants, really.
Harry looks down to see Louis's eyes still closed, his eyelashes brushing his dusty pink cheeks. He's absurdly pretty, Harry thinks. It's sort of disgusting. He's smiling, a lopsided I can't believe what just happened sort of smile that makes Harry's heart hurt because someone loves him this much and how could he have found that scary before.
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Harry," Louis whispers like he doesn't want to say it at all. "I get that this is insane and overwhelming and -"
Harry presses his hand over Louis's mouth, noting that it's so big it seems to cover half of Louis's face. "Shut up. I really want this, I do. I know I freaked yesterday but it was just a lot to handle and now -- well, you're not so bad."
He can't say the love thing yet. He knows he does, as crazy as that is because six days, it is what it is, but he can't say the words out loud yet, he can't put them out there already, that just makes it too real. But Louis's eyes go soft above Harry's pinky and Harry knows he gets it.
"What do you performers do at night, then?" Harry murmurs, sliding his hand from Louis's mouth to cup his cheek.
"Everyone else fucks and I --"
"Watch?" Harry leers, thinking of Eleanor and Danielle.
Louis sighs, long-suffering. "I usually read, or go out and explore whatever town we're in, actually. I have class. Unlike some people I could mention." he sniffs.
"Hmm."
"Stop thinking about Dani and El," Louis punches his arm lightly, pouting. "If you're that turned on by girls Zayn bought me lingerie as a joke one Christmas and I -"
"Yes," Harry finishes for him. "God, please, Lou. Yes." His brain short circuits at Louis in blue, no, red knickers, his thighs tanned and thick beneath them. He swallows thickly.
"Head out of the gutter, Styles," Louis leans up and slants their mouths together, licking into Harry's mouth and making him moan. "Get back to asking me out."
"So forward. I like it," Harry grins, carding his fingers through Louis's hair, coaxing it out of the quiff and into the tousled fringe he'd had when Harry first met him. "You know, it's like we're meant to be together or something."
Louis rolls his eyes, "Funny that."
And then they're kissing again and the buzzing has stopped so all Harry can feel is louislouislouis which is so much better.
--
It's after closing time. The circus is quiet without its customers, eerily so. The main area is empty, tents flutter in the breeze that's picked up after the heat during the day, the ice cream carts and hotdog stands closed for another day.
Harry exhales. He watches the smoke curl up up up. When he reaches a hand to catch the smoke rings it drops, too heavy, onto Louis's thigh. He squeezes, hard enough for Louis to huff a laugh and then lean up to kiss him.
"Oi," Niall shouts, throwing a peanut at Harry's head. "No kissing around others. There's rules; catch up, new kid."
“Be nice to him,” Louis says, finding the nut in Harry’s curls and chucking it back. “He’s here to stay, alright?”
“Can you keep up with us circus folk, Harry?” Eleanor says, taking a hit from the joint then passing it to Danielle.
Harry smirks. They’re all the same here, even if Harry is a few decades younger than the rest. “I reckon so.”
“You’re special aren’t you, babes?” Louis shifts so he’s in Harry’s lap, elbows and knees everywhere. “My little cynical ray of sunshine.”
That makes Zayn laugh, alerting everyone that’s he’s actually awake from where he’s slumped against Niall. Niall hooks an arm round his neck, pulling him closer. They fit together, too, just like Louis and Harry.
“Is everyone here soulmates, then?”
Niall blinks, his eyes droopy from the weed. “Well, no offence, mate, but I’m not tied to you in any way. Not yet, anyway, eh?” He does that dirty laugh again, the one that makes Harry laugh, too, and Louis giggle into his shoulder.
“To answer your question like a proper adult, Harry,” Danielle pipes up. “Yeah, we are. When you first met Louis did you get that longing for him? Like a buzzing under your skin which meant you had to touch him, all the time, and it was painful when you didn’t?”
“Why would anyone ever feel that way towards Louis?” Zayn asks, cracking open one eye to watch Louis’s indignant reaction. Satisfied with the pout and the crossing of his arms, his eye slides shut again.
“Yeah I did,” Harry replies, “What was that?”
Louis sits up straighter, tilting his head so he can look at Harry properly. “Energy. An intense, overwhelming rush of energy that strengthened whenever our bodies touched but weren’t committed. It’s your body’s way of telling you that this is the right person for you, this is who you should be with, and don’t fuck it up.”
“Wow,” is all Harry can possibly say to that. “So when you commit to your soul mate that’s it? Forever?” The thought of being with Louis forever doesn’t scare Harry at all which is a huge turnaround from yesterday.
“Basically,” Louis nods, his eyes wary, waiting for Harry to run again.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lou,” he promises, “Hey how about we go out later? Show you Manchester’s wild club scene.”
“I can’t decide if that sounds like heaven or hell,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s t-shirt. “But okay, Styles. Make it worth it.”
--
Louis doesn't really fit into the Manchester night scene. Yeah, he looks the part with his tight black t-shirt and skinny jeans and hair sprayed quiff, but there's an aura about him that screams he doesn't belong. Harry thinks he's too special, but he's biased.
Harry doesn't say any of this, though, he pulls Louis against his side, throwing an arm over his shoulder and walks them away from the busy streets to the alleys and hideouts that have stories and secrets from Harry's childhood.
He's halfway through telling Louis about that time Liam's jeans had ripped and Harry had given him his own, meaning he had to run through Manchester in his shirt and boxers on the night police were cracking down on petty crimes. He had charmed his way out of that fine for indecent exposure, even made the lady officer laugh. Louis isn't laughing, though, just gazing at Harry, his lips parted.
"Oh, yeah, you already know all this don't you?" Harry keeps forgetting about Louis's special skills.
Louis's eyes widen when he realises he's been caught. "Uh, yeah, I do. Sorry," he winces, like it's somehow his fault. "I like it better when you tell it, though, much more interesting. Your mouth is fucking unbelievable."
Harry smiles but Louis knowing every single thing about Harry before Harry gets to tell it his own way isn't sitting right with Harry. "Is it possible - I mean, can you turn it off? Like, maybe, not know everything about me?"
Louis tilts his head, thinking. "I can do that, yeah, Sorry, it's a habit, I forget most people hate it. I’ve been doing it a lot with you this week, especially after the whole I love you incident. I thought it would be best if I didn’t know how your mind was thinking that one over. But yeah, I can totally do it more, if that makes you more comfortable."
"It just makes things a bit- - uneven," Harry explains, squeezing Louis's arm. "You know practically everything about me and I know nothing about you."
"So what do you wanna know?" Louis spreads his arms wide. They're in the park now, the park near Harry's flat. Louis is so close to his part of life, it would be so easy to take him there, take him home. But something holds him back.
"Anything," Harry says because quite honestly, all he knows is that Louis is 138 years old, he's from Doncaster, and he likes mint choc chip. It's not much to go on.
"Uhh... I wanted to be a primary teacher before I joined the circus."
It's a good fit, Harry decides. He can see Louis in front of a class, charming them all into wanting to learn the alphabet.
“Yeah? What else?”
“I really like Grease. Funny story: we almost met John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John when they were promoting the film in London. Their production team pulled them away before we got near enough to show them a magic trick. Wankers."
The fact that Louis has lived for over a hundred more years than Harry fascinates him to the point where he has to know everything.
"It wasn’t all that different, back then. Everyone had the same thoughts and ideas that we do now. They just hid them better: long skirts, courting, ballroom dancing instead of grinding in clubs. And then the century changed and everything else seemed to as well."
“Favourite era?”
“They’re all good for different reasons.”
“Bullshit,” Harry laughs, “Pick one.”
“Okay okay. Let me think...” Louis lets go of Harry to skip ahead, turning and walking backwards. “The twenties were good. The war was over, films were lifting off the ground, so many inventions and discoveries in technology and music were being made. It was a happy time.”
"I can't quite believe you're real," Harry says honestly. "You talk about all this like it's completely normal. Immortality. I mean, shit."
"It sounds amazing but you get used to it and it's not even anything special. So I never die, so what. I'm not saving anyone else's life; it's completely selfish, if you think about it.”
“Will you ever leave?”
“Not anytime soon.” Louis shakes his head quickly. “I love it too much. But maybe one day. One day, when the novelty of doing what I do finally wears off, I’ll leave and see what it’s like to be a grown up.”
Harry wants to say what about me? but he can’t find the words.
“I can see you worrying,” Louis says, dancing forward to hook his arm around Harry’s neck. Harry has to bend a bit because Louis’s smaller but it’s okay, it works. “We’re in this for the long haul right?”
“Soulmates sounds rather final, yeah.”
“So we’ll be fine. We’ll find a way to make this work,” It sounds like a promise and when Louis kisses him it tastes like one, too.
--
And it does work. Louis leaves the next day to travel up to Scotland, Harry’s world becomes devastatingly normal again and for a few hours it seems like it was all just a very long, detailed dream. He even finds ways to explain away the bruises on his neck and his hips. But then --
scotland smells funny xx
we just passed a highland cow. its face reminded me of you xoxoxox
niall and zayn are snogging and being obnoxious about it
harryyyyyy
And the world is suddenly not quite alright again but lighter than it was a few moments ago. Harry smiles at the texts, pushing Liam away when he tries to see and taps out a reply.
His phone buzzes again as he’s getting ready for bed.
miss you too, idiot xx
The smile on Harry’s face is so big it hurts.
--
(One night, when Harry has had way too much vodka he asks -- begs is more accurate, actually -- Louis to read his tarot cards. He’s given in, see, his boyfriend is a fucking psychic, Harry has to have his fortune told. It’s law. When Louis slowly turns over the first card Harry squeals because it’s the card: the Lord of Love. He picks it up and kisses it three times, pushing Louis away when he tries to grab it back. He steals it, even though Louis gets cross then annoyed then adoring when Harry slips it into the window of his wallet, beside the picture of the two of them on the big wheel.
“It’s us, see?” Harry points at the tiny faces, the ones completely in love with the world at their feet. And when Louis beams at him, his eyes crinkled at the corners, Harry’s glad he never gave up on circuses forever. Who would’ve guessed he’d find his fucking soul mate at one.)