sometimes, late at night, sunflower bruises blossom where louis steps and he can feel his tattoos trying to pull off his skin, painting ink through the shadows to where a tall boy sleeps, snagging like they'd rather be on harry's skin instead.

(because they may be falling apart right now, but they’ll always find their way back to each others eyes.)

{spent my days with doctors
and my nights with crooks
and all of them would sell me for a song
so i'm here
safe, dear
a fiction in your arms}

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