Louis hates the beach.

He hates the sand that sticks to his skin, the salt that dries out his hair, the heavy sweat that no amount of air washes off, the gritty dirt under his nails— but he comes to the beach anyway.

He hates California.

But he always comes to California and drives them to the beach, feet buried under the smooth sand, watching Harry wet his curls in the salty waves, squealing in joy as wave after wave crashes over his painted toes, the early sun leaving him tinged with hazy gold.

Before meeting Harry, he wanted the whole world in his hands, he longed for riches, and control, and other things that were more materialistic luxes than anything else— but now when Harry runs to him with sea shells in his cold hands and gently puts them in his hands, face split into a wide grin, dimples digging into his milky cheeks— there is nothing the world could offer him that will replace this amount of contentment and happiness that swells from the pits of his stomach.

“Lou, come take a dip with me!” Harry shouts, arms raised, upper body bare, ink dark against his creamy pale skin.

Louis shakes his head in fond denial. “It’s fucking November, babe!”

Harry runs towards him, already having taking a soak in the water, goosebumps risen along his limbs. He plops down heavily on him, familiar weight trapping him down, gazes heated and bodies cold.

“Hi,” he says, eyes glittering like the frothy waves under moonlight, mouth warm and pressed against his cheek.

He tangles his fingers in his wet curls and tugs. “Hi, love.”

“Come swim with me,” he whines, arching his neck, softly pleading.

Louis chuckles, it rattles between their rib cages, chests vibrating. “‘S too cold for me.”

“I’ll warm you up plenty,” he wags his eyebrows, giggles barely hidden in his throat, far too lovely for Louis to deny.

He gives in and Harry smiles brightly, it blinds him for a minute. His boy is fucking sunshine and warmth.

“Harry, you fucking tit, the water is freezing!” Louis screeches, still splashing around.

Fuck Harry and his persuasion.

They shiver as they run to his car.

Louis grumbles about it only a little.

|||

Harry does keep him warm as promised. That’s only partially true.

He ushers him into the shower, the initial spray of water cold on his already freezing skin.

“Haz, what the fuck,” he splutters out, teeth one minute away from clacking due to the cold.

“Just a minute,” he grunts in reply and sure enough the water starts to heat up, steam curling up from their shoulders, fuzzy and soft.

Louis presses his cold nose into his neck. “Retaliation,” he says, pressing a kiss there.

“I hate you,” he replies, shit eating grin on his face, rivulets of water dripping down his nose.

Their soapy bodies touch, hips, calves, shoulder to clavicle.

It’s wonderful and so fucking warm.

He watches Harry prance around the room, dressed in nothing but a pair of bright red boxers, the colour standing stark against his pale skin.

“Babe, you’ll catch a cold.”

“Then cuddle me and save me from catching a cold,” he retorts, continuing to flit around in his boxers.

He rifles through their closet, more of a mess than anything, looking for that one jumper Harry loves to death.

It’s an ugly mustard coloured jumper, a bit drab, a bit too worn, ends of the sleeves frayed but it always smells like home as put by Harry and Louis doesn’t have the heart to throw it out.

“Catch!” He aims it right at his nose.

Knowing Harry he might as well be inhaling the wool like a creep.

He loves him despite all the questionable stuff he gets up to.

They sit on the couch, lights from the telly illuminating their faces, washing them in a blue glow, all their fumbling hands outlined in it, delicate wrists revealed, sleeves of oversized well worn jumpers pushed high, patterned thick socks and toes wriggling under it, faces turning away from the screen to each other.

Louis knows this process so well.

They start off by kissing, soft, whispering shy declarations into each others mouths, speaking the same love, sharing the same home.

After that inches of skin is revealed, all golden and smooth, the leftover tan from summer spread out on them.

The last ray of sun before night descends on them.

During those times, wrapped in their own afterglow, they don’t speak much. There is not enough air for them both, not enough words to say, so they let the silence guide their limbs, mercurial rays and cerulean shadows glowing on their skin.

They become a galaxy, birthed from stardust and stars, burnt out planets of the universe, the bits of moon chipped away, the very earth they are made of.

They are untouchable in that minute. So invincible and everlasting, just like their love.

“I think my heart beats only as a reply to yours,” he sleepily mumbles, mouth wet on his neck, sucking lazy bruises.

Louis’ heart almost bursts out of his chest, the red muscle beating wildly in the cage it is bound in, threatening to break through the calcium and muscle, an avalanche of emotions assault him, they wrap around his being and dunk him in a pool of love.

Thump, thump, thump.

His own heartbeat pulses in his wrist, neck, groin.

It’s a reply and a promise to Harry’s own.

_____________

for -loubeau. happiest birthday to the absolute love of my life, my soul sister and my best friend!!! it’s been a bit over a year since we’ve met and i’m so thankful for you today and every single day. you are kind, caring, brave, beautiful inside and out. i love you with everything i have and more. i hope you have the time of your life even with everything going on. you are my ray of sunshine. feliz cumpleaños mi bebé