Chapter Text
may, 2022
Harry doesn’t know what came over him.
One second, he’s watching the blood drain from Louis’ body, and the next, Louis is pressing their lips together, and Harry is kissing back.
He never thought he’d break himself like this. He forbade it three years ago. And not even four months into being attached to civilization, he’s caved, cracked his own oath clean through, and there’s no solace in being alone, no comfort in being with people.
The problem isn’t that Z has imprinted too heavily on his heart and Harry can’t let him go.
The problem is he is letting him go. And Z’s imprint is being replaced with Louis.
Louis’ lips, his eyes, his words, his careful hands around the grip of a gun, his grit, his anger, his rebellion. His Rebellion , that he’s in charge of.
Harry is falling dangerously quickly.
But he’s not going down without a fight.
So he fights it.
*
...And just as he thinks he’s let Louis go, he finds out that Louis has lied to him.
All this time, in which Harry thought his secret was out, and that he was safe, he wasn’t. He’d gotten too comfortable, too content with himself, enough for a possible slip up.
He’s so stupid. He should never have trusted Louis; he should have been watching his back this whole time.
He doesn’t sleep properly for a while, because he’s too busy trying to recall every single careless, feminine thing he’s done in the past few months. Anything that could’ve given him away, given Ben a hint. This is what happens when he lets his guard down. And now he can’t trust himself, either.
He feels like his own worst enemy.
june, 2022
He’s naked, and he’s in Louis’ bed.
Harry’s in so deep he can’t even see the surface. There are memories flooding his head of the last time he felt something like this. The physical feeling of being close to someone, intimate with someone. The truth is, he thought it’d be too similar to the assaults, to strange mens’ hands, to Z’s hands, to everything wrong about his sexuality and himself. But it’s different. It’s right . And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Harry can wash off germs and grime and blood, but he can’t wash off what feels right. And Louis...Louis is what feels right.
So why had all those other men felt so wrong?
For starters, Harry knows that what they did to him was bad, and probably morally wrong as well, but there’s still a part of him that wonders if that’s what his sexuality means. That that’s what being with men was supposed to feel like, and maybe...maybe he’s been wrong about himself all along. Maybe he doesn’t really like boys in the way he thought he did. Maybe he only likes the attention, or being treated gently.
But then he thinks about Z, and Louis, and the only distinction he can make are feelings.
Blind adoration for Z. Something else for Louis. He can’t figure out what it is yet, but Louis had been so gentle with him last night, and he can’t get it out of his head.
Of course, he doesn’t know what he feels for Louis...just that it’s right. And when he looks in the mirror after his shower, with his strawberry scented hair and Louis’ smell all around the room...he sees a human being. Not a damaged survivor. So he kisses Louis back before they go to work.
Anyway, Harry would be stupid to not indulge himself a little bit, wouldn’t he?
august, 2022
Sex.
The room smells like sex. And not in a good way, if a good way exists, because the smell of sex isn’t a good one in Harry’s memory.
Louis looks so damn sorry. And that’s why Harry starts crying--because no one has ever looked sorry before. And Louis hasn’t even hurt him.
Guilt clogging all of his senses, Harry curls up as small as he can. He wishes he wasn’t so tall. The more space he takes up, the easier it is for someone to grab him…
But Louis would never do that. Of course he wouldn’t! His hand is close to Harry’s wrist, and he could take a hold of it if he wanted to, but Louis wouldn’t . He’s not going to put his hand around Harry’s throat. He’s not going to pin Harry to the mattress, and even if he did, Harry’s strong enough to fight him off. He hadn’t been strong enough at seventeen, but at twenty-two, and with experience, he could definitely do it.
He looks over at Louis. Louis is watching him, face pinched with worry and sorrow, and Harry realizes he’s recoiled to the corner of the bed, and he’s flinching each time Louis moves. He feels so dirty. Like he’s covered in grime and blood again.
Those men have really fucked Harry up.
He blinks up at Louis apologetically. It’s the only thing he has the energy to do.
Progress. He thought he’d made progress. But now, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be clean.
*
Z is gone, but Harry’s been given a lot of new things.
Gemma. Olivia. Niall, Liam, the Rebellion. The Revolution.
Louis.
They’re all in his hands, as if some strand of fate has planted them there, and said, “It’s all yours now. Start fresh.”
Harry thinks he can try. The world is changing, after all.
september, 2022
Their hands graze up against each other in the cafeteria, and it’s an accident, but Harry doesn’t miss the way Louis’ eyes flit around anxiously, like he’s worried someone will see.
That’s really when it hits Harry; that Louis is kind of the same as him.
Louis is nervous. And he cares about what other people think of their relationship. Harry knows there’s a nagging in the back of his brain; a voice that’s telling him that he’s not worthy of public displays of affection, that they aren’t working hard enough, that they haven’t earned any validity.
It breaks Harry’s heart. Because Louis is never ashamed. Louis doesn’t care what anyone thinks of anything he does. Louis runs the Rebellion . But Harry can’t help the way he flinches away if Louis so much as moves too quickly, or panic when someone glances at them holding hands for a moment too long.
Louis deserves better. Louis deserves to be touched, and to have Harry’s love.
They’re both pretty fucked up. It’s not fair that the world had to be this cruel to them. But Harry doesn’t know how to fix it.
december, 2022
It feels impossible to function a lot of the time. Harry’s stuck in a weird headspace, where he feels like he’s trapped in a dream, and it gets so bad Louis has to coax him back down, with his gentle hand and soft words. Harry has really started to believe he’s a burden.
“You’re not a burden,” Louis says whenever Harry brings it up. “Never think that for a second. I love you; it doesn’t matter how you feel, or how you act. It doesn’t matter how broken you think you are. I love you, and I’ll always be here to put you back together.”
Harry always says I love you back, even though the phrase confuses him. Love is more than this; love is touch, and intimacy. Love is things that Harry can’t give Louis. Sometimes Harry’s not even sure he knows what love is.
It’s eating him alive, so on New Year’s Eve, he tells Louis he wants to have sex.
They’re in Louis’ bathtub, Harry’s chest against Louis’ back, skin pruning in the hot water. Harry thinks he could fall asleep like this, wrapped up in Louis’ arms; it’s times like now Harry wonders why it’s so hard to love Louis the way Louis wants to love Harry.
“What brought this on?” Louis asks gently, and Harry crosses their ankles together, not saying anything for a while.
“I want you to be the only person I remember when you touch me,” Harry settles on, and Louis kisses the top of his head.
“I want what you want,” Louis replies.
Harry doesn’t know when Louis plans on initiating the whole sex thing, but he jerks Harry off underneath the lavender scented water, while Harry whimpers into his collarbone, chest tight with Louis’ attention and Louis whispering I love you into his hair.
*
They ring in 2023 with a public kiss, while Rebels shout their happiness at living through another year, and confetti is thrown into the air with great reckless abandon for tomorrow’s cleanup.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just Gemma and Olivia dancing together, Niall snogging Leigh in the corner, Greg and Perrie ushering the children to bed, Jack and Liam drunkenly shouting the chorus of Sweet Caroline.
“Happy New Year,” Louis laughs into Harry’s mouth. “I love you.”
Fuck, Harry loves him so much. He didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much.
“I love you,” Harry murmurs, and kisses him again. “I love you so much.”
He’s never felt so alive.
january, 2023
Harry tries.
He tries so fucking hard to not freak out. But his skin is crawling, and Louis’ hands are clean but Harry still feels dirty, and Louis can tell. He can tell right away that Harry’s going to throw up, so he shoves a trash can under his chin and rubs his back while Harry dry heaves.
After that, Harry cries for a few minutes into Louis’ shoulder. Louis is nothing but caring and loving, saying all the right things and tying Harry’s hair back for him, but they both know Harry’s right back where they started. It’ll take him another couple months before he can hold Louis’ hand in public again.
Harry has recurrent nightmares for about a week following New Year’s Day. Most of them feature Z, and in them, Harry touches him fleetingly, before he’s beaten into the ground to suffer the worst pain he’s ever felt. He always wakes up in the middle of a scream, and Louis is always awake when it happens, as if Harry’s been disturbing him for a while.
They’ll try again sometime. Harry will keep trying until he can give Louis this part of him.
In the meantime, he’ll just have to deal with the panic attacks.
march, 2023
Every Saturday and Sunday morning, Louis wakes Harry with a tray of breakfast for them to share. They shower together once a week, and Harry washes Louis’ hair for him. When Louis is working in his office, after Harry is done working out, he brings Louis lunch and holds his hand while they eat.
They kiss every opportunity they get, but only when they’re alone, or comfortable, and rarely in front of other people. For Harry, it’s enough. But he can tell it’s not for Louis.
It’s easy to get lost in the days. Harry’s turned twenty-three, and he’s been with the Rebellion for a year now. He’s watching Olivia and May grow up, and the Revolution is dragging on painstakingly, and he’s noticing his nightmares are less frequent and he’s not getting in his weird headspace as much anymore. So, in hindsight, things are better.
But Louis. Louis keeps getting fidgety, and it happens when they’re in public, all the times when Harry doesn’t hold his hand because he’s anxious, or Harry doesn’t sit too close to him because it’s too much like what he got beaten for at camp.
Harry’s scared that if it goes on like this, they’re going to lose each other.
He gets back from a run late at night, but not late enough for Louis to have retired to bed. He’s still in his office, sat over a pile of documents and squinting through his glasses, and sleepily, Harry sits down on the desk beside where he’s working, rubbing his eyes.
“You alright, baby?” Louis asks, touching his hand.
Harry hums, and then blurts out, “We should try again.”
Louis frowns at him, and takes his glasses off. “You mean…?”
“Yeah.”
With a sigh, Louis gets up and puts the stack of papers in his drawer, folding his glasses and uncuffing his sleeves. Harry watches his movements intently. This is going to fix things. Harry’s not going to panic. He loves Louis too much to put him through that again.
Louis walks up to Harry where he’s still perched on the desk, standing in between his parted knees and putting a hand on his cheek.
“You look exhausted,” Louis observes.
“I’m okay.”
Louis searches his face for a moment, and looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, so Harry kisses him.
They’re both pleasantly turned on when they part to breathe, but there’s a pit in Harry’s stomach...it’s steadily growing bigger, blossoming the more Louis puts his hands on Harry, and he feels sick with lack of control. Louis’ hand, gentle, moves up Harry’s back slowly, underneath his shirt, and...it’s good, but it’s not love. It doesn’t feel like love. Harry doesn’t have a clue what sex is supposed to feel like, so maybe it is supposed to be bad. Maybe he just has to brave the panic for Louis’ sake.
That is, until Louis pulls back completely. He takes Harry’s hand, and Harry realizes he’s been shaking this whole time. He thinks he might be sick.
“Why do you want this?” Louis asks him carefully. He’s so beautiful, and he deserves so much better than what Harry can give him.
Harry’s throat feels tight. “I...I want to show you how much I love you.”
Louis tilts his head. “You think I don’t already know how much you love me?”
Harry doesn’t have an answer. He averts his gaze to the floor.
“I don’t care,” Louis says, “How long it takes. I don’t care if we never have sex. All I want is your love.” Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Louis cuts him off. “Love isn’t in how much we get off with each other. It’s just you. It’s what you do for me. It’s your gorgeous eyes.” Harry’s face goes warm, and Louis’ mouth quirks up at the corner. “It’s your big heart. But it’s not something to be held back. You understand that you’re safe here, right? That no matter what we do in front of other people, no one is going to hurt you?”
Louis is a lot better at reading Harry than he likes to think.
“I don’t know,” Harry whispers helplessly.
Calmly, slowly, Louis takes Harry’s hands in both of his, and touches their foreheads together so their noses are bumping.
“Put your trust in me, baby,” Louis murmurs. “You’re enough. We’re enough. Yeah?”
Harry lets out a big breath of air.
“Say it.”
He twists his hand in Harry’s hair, strokes a thumb over his eyebrow, and Harry forgets his past for a moment.
“We’re enough,” Harry echoes quietly, and Louis kisses him again.
He’s not sure he totally believes it yet.
But he thinks he will. One day.
june, 2023
It’s exhausting, being a Rebel.
There’s a lot to do, and all the time. Harry’s busy all day, every day, every week. When he’s not in the passenger side of a van, with a rifle tucked in between his knees, he’s in the Hub planning out their upcoming missions, or mapping something in Louis’ office. It feels good to be productive, but...he and Louis haven’t done anything in a while. Harry feels worn thin, like he’s being pulled in a million different directions, and Louis is only one of them.
The truth is, he misses the two of them. And it isn’t like it’s not dangerous and risky, what they do.
He wants to fill every bit of spare time with love.
And that’s what he tells Louis.
They’re in bed, Harry’s head on Louis’ chest, toying with their hands, which are curled into each other. They’re naked, too, the weather far too warm for extra clothes,
“I wanna try again,” Harry mumbles. It’s late. They should both be asleep.
“Baby, we talked about this--”
“I’m serious. There are probably other ways we can do it.” Harry yawns. Louis’ chest rising and falling is making him sleepy.
“Hm,” Louis says. And then, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Harry whispers back.
Every time they say these words to each other, Harry feels like a tiny part of him is healed. Louis had said he’d always be there to put Harry back together. Harry believes it more and more every day.
july, 2023
It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that Harry’s life is more than just being a Rebel. He gets lost in the missions, the gunfire and the planning and the Revolution, and Louis has to remind him that he’s Harry, not a nameless soldier.
Now, Harry hadn’t realized that being ‘on top’ was a thing, but Louis explains kindly that it is, and they can try it, if Harry really wants to, and as long as they go slow. Harry agrees, albeit a little anxiously, but without a doubt willing.
There’s not even a week until they fly to Glasgow. It’s just meetings, but they all know the long standing risk of going anywhere above ground these days, and, well, if anything were to happen to either of them, Harry couldn’t be content with not having given Louis this part of him.
It’s almost an accident, the night it happens. Almost. Harry is wearing a too-big hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, because it’s hot outside but he likes to feel warm lately, and Louis comes into the room looking like light itself. Harry just...loves him so much. Wants to do everything with him, for him. Wants to give him more love than he knows how to give.
“You look far too comfortable,” Louis teases, unbuttoning his shirt. His hair’s gotten long enough so that it curls at the end of his fringe, and it’s Harry’s favorite thing in the world. He’s a little scruffy, too, and he’s tired from the long day, but he’s gorgeous, and Harry’s in love with him. He feels it in his soul tonight. So he gets up from the bed, wraps Louis in a hug, and kisses him softly. And everything on the outside drifts away for a little bit.
“I wanna do it tonight,” Harry whispers, before Louis can say anything.
Louis’ eyes are blue, blue, blue, and his lips are a little swollen from being kissed, and Harry doesn’t feel quite so scared anymore.
“Alright, baby,” Louis answers, thumb brushing the corner of Harry’s mouth. “We can.”
He moves slow, getting things ready. Props the pillows up. Gets some things out of his drawer that Harry doesn’t dare look at or he’ll perish from embarrassment. And then Louis sits down in the middle of the bed, against the pillows, and wordlessly holds his arms out for Harry to enter.
Harry does, with his legs on either side of Louis’ hips. He likes it like this, likes it when Louis’ hands slide up underneath his hoodie. The touch doesn’t leave Harry feeling dirty. And if Louis notices Harry turning back to make sure the door is locked, he chooses to ignore it.
“You’re beautiful,” Louis mumbles, and he hasn’t changed a bit since the first time he said it. That’s one thing that will always stay the same; that Harry will always be waiting to hear, at the best and at the worst of times.
“Say it again,” Harry says through another kiss, as he grinds his hips down.
“You’re beautiful,” Louis repeats, fingers toying with the waistband of Harry’s sweatpants.
Harry loses track of time, and loses track of himself with it. All he knows is that Louis makes him come once, and he takes off his hoodie at one point because he’s all sweaty, and Louis sucks more marks into his neck that he’ll able to cover up, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?
Each movement bleeds into the next, and it all feels right. Louis’ gentle touch under the fabric of his briefs, the smell of lust heavy in the air, and when Louis’ fingertip enters him, as if a question, it’s good. It’s perfect. It’s clean.
It’s also slow, and wet, and Harry’s breathless and a little confused and a lot overwhelmed, but only in the best ways.
And Harry feels human again.
When Louis is really inside him, in the most blatant sense of the phrase, the breath is knocked out of him. Louis is moaning, and Harry is keening with tears caught in his throat, but only because of how good it is. Every time Harry moves, he feels more, and their fingers are laced together on top of Harry’s bare thighs which just adds to the feeling of Louis being everywhere.
Harry’s back starts trembling with the strain of keeping himself upright, so Louis sits up higher, braces an arm around Harry’s shoulders, and takes very careful control.
And then it’s over, and Harry’s forgotten how it’s even begun. He’s kind of forgotten how to speak.
Sweat, and skin, and spit, and come, and Harry’s hair fallen over his eyes, and Louis’ eyes glittering in the dim light, and their palms pressed together over the covers, and the covers clinging uncomfortable to their backs, and love.
And Louis. Just Louis. No one else.
All Harry can think is, so that’s what that feels like.
When it’s done right, of course. And boy, has Louis done it right.
*
They’ll shower together later, and Harry will shyly suggest round two, to which Louis will splash him with water until they realize what time it is.
(It’s 4am. They’re to be up in three hours. That doesn’t really matter, either.)
the future
Harry gets better.
It doesn’t get easier, but it doesn’t get harder either. Harry still struggles with losing himself in the days and monotonous actions, but Louis helps him find his way again. Louis’ good at that.
There’s not even a mere estimate for how long their Revolution will go on for. Not just the Rebellion’s Revolution, but Harry and Louis’. Their Revolution is reconciliation with their pasts, and finding ways to make life not only worth living, but worth fighting for.
There are ways everywhere, and hidden in everything. In the way Olivia grows up, and Gemma laughs. In the way Liam’s smile falls more in his eyes than his mouth, and Niall treats his physical losses more like fresh starts. In the way the Rebellion celebrates each victory, and even when they aren’t victorious, how they rise from the ashes of their failures.
They’ll live aboveground one day, when all of this is over. Harry won’t have to think about what happened to him when he was seventeen, and he won’t have to wonder if he and Louis are enough. In the meantime, all he knows is that no one has ever lifted Harry up like Louis has, and Harry’s never wanted to make someone as happy as he wants to make Louis...and that must be love, right? Regardless of how they love, or touch, or what they show to other people, or what things lurk in Harry’s nightmares, or what secrets Louis isn’t ready to tell Harry yet about his life before the Rebellion.
He will, eventually. They’ll both tell each other everything. There’s time for that, and if Harry’s learned anything, it’s that life is right now .
So, for the sake of the life they have left, Harry decides to let himself love Louis, and love the world they’ve created for themselves. Not the one they will create, one day.
(Even though that’s pretty important too.)
(not) the end