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Nights Are For

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 Nights are for the the lonely ones. Those who have all the love in the world to give but are not loved in return. It's not for the lovers who are fast asleep in each others arms, but for the ones wide awake and alone.


Nights are for the lonely ones.


That's what Louis thinks at least. When it gets dark is when it's most hardest on him. He doesn't have a particular reason to be depressed, he just is. Louis has a good job that he enjoys, but he just doesn't enjoy life like he thinks he should be. What is happiness when there is no one to share it with? He's heart achingly lonely.

So he wanders. He wanders around London (why he chose to move there, he'll never know). It's not that he can't sleep, he just doesn't sleep well so he stays out until his eyelids are far too heavy and then he'll slump his way back to his tiny flat (which is usually around three or four in the morning). Louis will sleep until he has to wake up for work around nine (he works at a small book store) and he goes about his day until the sun sets.

Rather than go out with his friends and have drinks until he can't think straight, Louis chooses to weave in and out of the crowds until the early morning hours. Anything is better than being in his flat alone.


Tonight it is warm. Louis likes that. He despises the cold months. It's mid-June, his favorite time of year. This is when the city really starts to come alive. At night there are musicians playing on the street and every so often there are fireworks at Hyde Park. Tonight, however, Louis decided he wanted to just sit and read. Now, he could do this at his home, but another thing he hated was the quiet. He needed the murmur of the hustle and bustle to drown out his own overwhelming thoughts. He'd chosen Jane Eyre. Cliché and he's read it a hundred times, but one more wouldn't hurt.

Louis plopped himself down on a stray bench and had just gotten to the part where Jane was told she was a deceitful child (bless her), when he saw a figure looming over him. He looked up at a tall boy studying him quizzically. His eyes were big, his lips pursed, and his hands were clasped behind him back.

“What are you reading?” He spoke slowly and deeply. Louis looked down at his book and back up at the stranger. “Oh, uh,” he lifted it, showing him the cover. He simply nodded, “Classic.” And before Louis knew what was happening, the boy was sitting down on the bench to face him with a smile. “M' Harry.” Louis was puzzled at the waywardness of the newly named character. “Louis,” was all he said in return. “Why are you sitting here reading so late? It's nearly one in the morning.” Why does it matter to you? He internally responded. Louis, however, just shrugged his shoulders, “Nothing else to do.” It was quiet for a few seconds as traffic slowly buzzed by. “What about you? Why are you out so late?” Harry stared at him blankly before a huge smile crept onto his face, revealing to Louis that he had dimples. Adorable. “I work at the pub down the street on the corner, you know?” Louis nodded to make it seem like he knew. “Yeah, anyways I help out, make drinks, whatever they need me for really.” Louis grimaced at the thought of a large group of people, drunk people, packed so tightly together doing what ever it is they do. “You like that?” he asked. Harry quickly nodded, “Absolutely love it. And during the day I usually sleep since I'm out so late.”

Louis envied Harry. He envied how naturally cheerful he seemed. How he had so much fun while Louis was desperately trying to distract himself from his ever present bitter sadness. “Shouldn't you be going back then?” he spat looking back at his book. “They'll be fine without me. It's a slow night. What do you do?” Louis really didn't want to talk about his life tonight, especially with someone who was so content with his. “I work at a bookstore,” he said shortly. “Sounds interesting. You get a discount?” “I get to borrow what ever I want.” “Even better! Have you read that John Green book? The one where these two kids have cancer or something?”

Louis smiled. The Fault In Our Stars. How could he forget? He remembers how highly anticipated that one was when it came out. He remembers how it had taken him all night to read it. He remembers how he cried like a baby at the end. He remembers how he absolutely loved it. “Yeah I've read it,” Louis' replied simply.

That's what starts it. Every night around the same time, the two boys meet and discuss literature. It's odd, yeah, but Louis honestly enjoys it so much he doesn't care. He has something to look forward to and finally the nights aren't so lonely anymore. Sure, Harry has a much more exciting life, but for close to an hour every night, Louis feels the unfamiliar ping of happiness in his stomach. Of course, when Louis gets sleepy and Harry has to return to the pub, Louis will dread going home alone, because he's grown so fond of the younger boy with the curls.


Louis is shelving some new books one morning when the bell on the front door rings. He doesn't think anything of it until he hears what sounds like someone running into the display table. “Shit,” the person says. Louis rounds the corner to see Harry bent over picking up some books that he'd knocked over. He stood straight and smiled. His hair was sticking out every which way, his coat was clearly too big for him, and his eyes were drooped lazily as they stared at Louis. He'd obviously just woken up.

“What are you doing,” Louis giggled as he straightened up the table undoubtedly kicked crooked by a sleepy stumbling Harry. “Looking for you,” he cooed and Louis felt his cheeks flush. “Come have breakfast with me.” “Harry, I'm working.” As much as he wanted to, Louis couldn't leave. He was the only one working until noon. “Looouuuu,” Harry whined, “There's no one here. Just come on.” “I can't.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Come back to my place when you get off, then.”

Louis was more shocked than anything. Harry had just suddenly invited him to his flat. For what? “Why?” he asked scratching at his neck. “We always hang out in the middle of the night like weirdos,” Harry shrugged. “Just thought we could watch a movie or something.”


Or something.


“Fuck,” Louis hissed as Harry deepthroated him. He hadn't planned for this to happen. Louis honestly thought they were going to watch movies. Innocent enough. But one thing led to another. Louis confessed that he was constantly sad. Harry had told him that he was beautiful and he shouldn't be sad. Louis said it wasn't that easy and that's when Harry kissed him. Now here they were, Louis sprawled out on the bed with Harry's head between his thighs.

Louis' mouth was slack and he couldn't get any words out. Harry hollowed his cheeks and sucked him off and Louis thought he might die from pleasure (if that is even possible). He came without warning, spurting off in Harry's mouth, which he happily swallowed. He lazily crawled up and scooped Louis into his arms, kissing his temple. “I've wanted you for so long,” he mumbled. Louis smiled into Harry's neck and just as he was getting comfortable, Harry removed himself from Louis' grip, leaving the bed. “Where are you going?” Louis asked, panic stricken through his voice. “Calm down, love,” Harry chuckled before walking into another room, “I'm calling in sick tonight. 'Wanna be with you.”


It had been one whole year since Louis had met Harry, and it was a year in which Louis was the happiest he'd ever been. Now, Harry didn't save him necessarily. He didn't believe a person could save someone else, no. Harry just reminded him. He reminded him of all the small things in life that give happiness. He reminded him not to over think things all the time. He reminded him that it's okay to laugh at yourself. Harry reminded Louis that love is unconditional, not earned.

The two boys lived together in their shitty little flat. Don't call it shitty in front of them though. They love it. Louis still works at the bookstore. Harry quit working at the pub after Louis encouraged him to pursue his dreams of writing childrens' books. It something he'd always wanted to do. Louis was so proud of Harry when his book sold out in the store he worked at in one weekend.


“I love you,” Louis whispered so quietly that Harry barely heard him. He just pulled him tighter and kissed him. “I love you,” he murmured in response against Louis' lips. And all Louis can think about is how perfect this is as he drifts off to sleep wrapped up in Harry and how he used to think the nights were for just the lonely.

Now he knows that the nights are for lovers as well. Nights are for stolen kisses while laying under the stars. Nights are for snuggles by a crackling camp fire. Nights are for making slow sweet love to the person you couldn't imagine your life without. Nights are for walking down the beach holding hands. Nights are when secrets and promises are shared. Nights are magical, Louis thinks, and he loves them.