Larry Stylinson
The Gravity of a Dimpled Smile
Harry Styles did not walk into his house; he floated. He closed the front door behind him with a softness that bordered on reverent, as if a loud noise might shatter the fragile, golden bubble he was currently residing in. His mother was already asleep, the house quiet save for the low hum of the refrigerator, but Harry felt like he was radiating enough energy to power the entire street. He took the stairs two at a time, his heart performing a rhythmic, joyous tap-dance against his ribs, and practically scrambled into his bedroom.
Once the door was shut and the lock clicked into place, Harry threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow to stifle a triumphant, giddy shout. He felt like he was vibrating. The ghost of Louis’s lips was still burned into his own, and the weight of Louis’s small, ring-adorned hand in his was a phantom sensation he never wanted to lose.
He rolled onto his back, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars he’d stuck to his ceiling years ago. They seemed brighter tonight. Everything did. With trembling fingers, he pulled his phone from his pocket. He didn't even hesitate. He hit the group call icon for Liam and Zayn, his thumb hovering over the screen for a split second before pressing down with a decisive grin.
The call was picked up almost instantly. It was as if they had been sitting by their phones, waiting for the signal.
"Styles, it is nearly midnight on a school night," Zayn’s voice crackled through the speaker, though there was a clear undercurrent of amusement. "This better be a 'I’ve been kidnapped' call or a 'I finally grew a pair' call. There is no in-between."
"Harry?" Liam’s voice joined in, sounding concerned and sleepy. "Are you okay? You’re breathing really loudly. Are you having an asthma attack? Do you need your inhaler?"
Harry let out a wet, breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling until they were just slits of bright green. "I'm... guys, I'm okay. I’m more than okay. I think I’m actually dying of happiness."
There was a sharp intake of breath from both ends of the line.
"Oh, shut up," Zayn gasped, his voice rising an octave. "No way. Did you do it? Did you actually say the words?"
"Harry, speak!" Liam urged, and Harry could hear the rustle of sheets as Liam presumably sat up in bed. "What happened at the spot? Did you tell him?"
Harry covered his face with his free hand, his dimples carving deep, permanent-looking lines into his cheeks. "I didn't even have to. Well, I did, but he beat me to it. We were just sitting there, watching the sunset, and he was wearing that vintage leather jacket—the one with all the zips—and he just... he looked at me and told me he was in love with me."
A sound erupted from Liam that could only be described as a wounded, high-pitched whimper, something halfway between a sob and a teakettle whistle. "Oh, my heart. Harry, my chest hurts. I think I need a doctor."
"I KNEW IT!" Zayn screamed, his voice a jagged explosion of triumph. "I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU, LIAM! I TOLD YOU THE NERD HAD TASTE! I KNEW HE WAS GONE FOR HIM!"
"Zayn, shut up, you’re going to give me a migraine," Liam groaned, though he sounded like he was vibrating with excitement. "Harry, continue. What did you do? Please tell me you didn't just stand there like a statue. You have a tendency to glitch when you’re overwhelmed."
Harry bit his lip, his face flushing a deep, Victorian red. "I did glitch, actually. I froze. I was so shocked that he actually felt the same way that I couldn't move. He thought I was rejecting him, guys. He started crying and tried to run away down the hill."
"Harry Edward Styles!" Liam barked, sounding genuinely scandalized. "You did not let that precious boy walk away crying! I will come over there and kick your shins!"
"I didn't!" Harry defended himself, his voice soft and full of wonder. "I ran after him. I caught him and I just... I kissed him. I didn't even think about it. I just needed him to know. And then he kissed me back, and he was shaking, and I was holding his waist, and it was... it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me."
Zayn let out a long, low whistle. "Finally. The tension in that Physics lab was starting to affect the local weather patterns. So, are you guys... is it official? Are we buying wedding suits?"
"He's my boyfriend," Harry whispered, the word feeling like silk on his tongue. "I asked him, and he said yes. He’s my boyfriend, Zayn. Louis Tomlinson is my boyfriend."
"I KNEW IT!" they both yelled in unison, a chaotic symphony of "I told you so" and "About time" that made Harry pull the phone an inch away from his ear.
"I’ve been watching you stare at the back of his head for three years, H," Zayn said, his voice dropping into a tone of genuine affection. "I’ve had to listen to you talk about his 'sweater paws' and his 'sky-blue eyes' until I wanted to jump out of a moving vehicle. I am so incredibly happy for you, man. Truly."
"He's just so sweet," Harry murmured, rolling onto his side and hugging a pillow to his chest. "He fell asleep in my lap after we talked. He looked so small and peaceful, and he was wearing those rings, and I just... I’ve never wanted to protect anything so much in my life. He told me he’s been in love with me since we were kids. Can you believe that? Me!"
Liam let out another one of those pained, medical-emergency noises. "Harry, stop. You’re killing me with the cuteness. I’m actually clutching a pillow. My eyes are leaking. This is a problem."
"He's so funny, too," Harry continued, his voice dreamy and distant. "Even when he was sleepy, he was sassing me. He told me he’s moving onto the hill and becoming a forager just so he doesn't have to leave me. And he called me a 'human jukebox' because I offered to sing to him."
"He’s a menace," Zayn chuckled. "He’s going to have you wrapped around his little finger within a week. Not that you aren't already."
"I am," Harry admitted freely, a helpless, happy smile plastered on his face. "I really am. I told him he could have all my clothes. I’m wearing the blue hoodie tomorrow because he said it matches my eyes. I’m going to look like a total sap, aren't I?"
"You already look like a total sap," Liam pointed out. "I can practically hear the dimples through the phone. But listen, H, I’m serious. Louis is a good one. He’s got a heart of absolute gold, just like you. You guys make sense. You always have."
"Thanks, Li," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "I just... I can't wait for tomorrow. I want to walk into school and just be with him. I don't care who sees. I just want to hold his hand."
"The school is going to melt," Zayn predicted. "The popular jock and the vintage-wearing nerd? It’s like a movie script. People are going to be talking about this until graduation."
"Let them talk," Harry said firmly. "As long as I get to be the one who takes him home, they can say whatever they want."
"Look at you, being all protective and romantic," Zayn teased. "Go to sleep, Romeo. You have a boyfriend to impress in the morning. And don't forget the blue hoodie, or I’ll never let you live it down."
"I won't forget," Harry promised. "Goodnight, guys. And thanks for... you know. Listening to me pine for three years."
"Anytime, Styles," Liam said softly. "Sleep well."
Harry hung up the phone and stared at the dark screen for a moment, his heart feeling like it had expanded three sizes. He thought about the way Louis’s hair felt between his fingers, and the way Louis’s glasses always slipped down his nose just a little bit when he laughed. He thought about the "sweetheart" he’d whispered and the way Louis had blushed a shade of pink that was more beautiful than any sunset.
He got up and walked over to his closet, pulling out the soft, faded blue hoodie. He laid it out on his chair, smoothing the fabric with a tender hand. Tomorrow wasn't just another day of high school. It was the first day of the rest of his life. And as he finally crawled under his covers and closed his eyes, the last thing he saw was the image of a boy in a vintage sweater, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world who mattered.
Harry Styles fell asleep with a smile on his face, and for the first time in a very long time, his dreams couldn't even compete with his reality.