omg. 22, girl whoever you want
22. …in a rush of adrenaline.
let’s go with girl!HL because they’re my most familiar pairing.
The sound of their feet slapping against the pavement is almost as loud as Harry’s heart pounding against her ribcage. They’re racing down the street and Harry keeps staring at the back of Louis’ neck, her fine hairs, her snapback, the white of her t-shirt. “We-” she gasps as they come to a halt and she can’t believe this just happened. A manic giggle escapes her. “We did that,” she wheezes in between breaths and Louis laughs, too.
They might be drunk but it’s still summer and it doesn’t count when the asphalt is still warm from the day, and Louis’ skin is freckled. They’ve outgrown this town years and years ago but for one night, for one glorious night, they will be sixteen again. “Fucking hell.” Louis clutches Harry’s hands as she tries to regain her breath. They kissed here once. Under the streetlight outside of Harry’s mum’s house. Louis’ feet are still in dirty sneakers. Harry’s hair has grown longer. And they just bloody broke into Mr. Albercott’s pool. “I’m still not even sure it was him,” Harry manages to say when they’ve calmed down and her toes tingle. “You think he saw us?” Louis shrugs, and Harry wants to kiss her. “Done it all now. Can go back to being proper adults now.” Harry’s heart is still racing. She shivers when a breeze brushes over her still damp skin. Her bikini top has soaked through her t-shirt.
“Maybe.” Louis’ face softens. Her hair is still wet, and she smells like chlorine. Like summer and chlorine and wine.
“Fuck it.” Harry surges forward and presses her lips against Louis’, hands cupping her face. For a brilliant, horrid second, there is no reaction. Then, Louis rolls up on her feet and wraps her arms around Harry’s neck and kisses her back. Louis tastes like mouth and tongue, and she feels warm in Harry’s arms and solid and real and then she tugs at Harry’s hair and-
“I’m wet,” she announces a few moments later. Harry’s mouth feels dry and Louis laughs. They’re both red faced and thank god Anne isn’t home. “I meant my shirt,” Louis mumbles as Harry drags her inside. “Shut up.” Harry kisses her. In the doorway, in the kitchen, in her old room. Until the sun comes up.