build me a lego house.
harry is his moon, and he feels out of orbit without him, like he’s trying to build a lego house without all of the pieces.
ed seemed to get harry. he’d sit with him and watch morning television when his mind was still blurry and hungover from the night before, from sleep, and not say a word, just let him sit there and recover. let him blink his eyes against the foggy sun streaming through the windows, watch it set his hair on fire, cast him aglow. and harry would tell him so, about his hair looking like it was on fire, and he would just smile and shake his head and take another sip from the cup he was holding gingerly in his hands.
“shuddup, potter. do you want some toast?” he’d say, getting up and setting his cup down on the coffee table, casting a glance over at the boy curled up on the couch, wrapped in fuzzy blankets that smelled like laundry detergent and ed. he’d nod underneath the covers and smile languidly, and as he padded by him towards the kitchen he’d ruffle his curls and laugh lowly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
because it was, for them. their world was consisted of tea and foggy mornings, kisses on cheeks, battles with legos, building forts with pillows and blankets and wrestling until it fell down around them, on top of their tangled limbs.
they were safe and secure and warm and everything was okay, because they had each other.
he told ed that he wanted to try smoking sometime, flicking his thumb at his chin, giggling softly at the feel of the little hairs growing there. ed hadn’t shaved because of this, to see harry laugh, to see him happy. he told him he wanted to because he had seen him do so, told him he looked sexy with it between his fingers, the smoke passing his lips. ed raised an eyebrow and harry just laughed again, cheeks a bit flushed, and ed couldn’t help but smile because he didn’t think he could get anymore adorable. he pressed a kiss to his already swollen lips from earlier, turning his cheeks a darker pink and making him forget about the smoking, the fags burning from their pack settled in his back pocket.
he mentioned it again, a couple days later, as he sat on the couch with dusty and nuzzled his cheek against hers, curls smushing against her fur. ed just shook his head, like he always did, but picked his lighter up from his jeans the day before and motioned for harry to follow him outside on the balcony.
he did, padding out in his socks and watching his breath swirl in front of him from the cold, felt a shiver run through him, making him move closer to ed for warmth. maybe it was his hair, but he seemed to radiate warmth like the sun, thought he might as well be, since he was the center of his little world.
ed chuckled and tugged his sweater down around his hands as he pulled a fag from the back pocket of his sweats, switched the lighter a few times until it caught a flame. it sparked and harry watched in awe, the shadow of the flame reflecting in his eyes, wide and interested and green.
“it looks like your hair.” harry said, laughing, and ed rolled his eyes and lit the cigarette, handed it to him. he took a hesitant breath before bringing it to his lips, and maybe, ed thought, it did look sexy. harry breathed in, held for a moment, let it go and started a coughing fit that last for five minutes.
ed didn’t let him try again no matter how much he begged, because maybe, he just did it wrong. but now he had just one more excuse to tell his boyfriend he was sexy, another excuse to tell him that his voice was pretty and he didn’t need anything keeping him from opening his mouth and singing the world to sleep, in a trance. just like he did to ed when they first met. and harry would giggle a bit and ed would shake his head, because they didn’t really do much else, and they’d go inside to make tea and build a fort and make lego houses for dusty.
because ed was harry’s sun and harry was ed’s moon and they both revolved around each other in a small world that was just their own.
harry brought louis over to ed’s one time with him, and maybe that’s when the pillows began to fall, their shelter that they had built around their heads carefully. they were young and he had fringe falling into his eyes that harry swore were as blue as the icing on the birthday cake ed had made him a year before, like the sky or the wildflowers that used to grow in his front yard. he would throw his head back and laugh when he thought something was especially funny, look you in the eye and grin cheekily, make you feel like just for a moment, you had a connection with him that was so secret and private. he made you feel special, like with little touches brushing your shoulder or a swipe on your thigh, your knee, when you didn’t expect it.
louis was like a puzzle, and with each piece you happened to fit in, it just exposed another part that you had to finish, to complete, to find. it was addicting and fascinating and harry was drawn into him much too easily, looking into his eyes like he used to with ed.
so maybe when harry fit his lips against his like it would solve things, because for a moment, ed didn’t exist, he wasn’t in the room, more pillows fell and their fort collapsed because ed watched with jealous eyes, a clenched fist at his side.
he hated louis tomlinson because he was perfect and he had harry’s heart, the piece that ed had taken and kept inside of him ripped out, leaving an open wound and a raging fire just like his hair in the sunlight.
harry spent less time with ed, as his career exploded and there was something about one direction, because he refused to turn on the television, go on the internet, too many chances to see him, so he just sat and fit lego pieces together like he could build an answer to his problems. he wrote songs, scrawled on useless loose-leaf paper, feelings poured out on paper as thin as his bones, and then crumbled it up, make it look like how his heart felt. it didn’t make him feel any better like he thought it would.
just made it hurt more, like when he would call harry’s voicemail just to hear how he sounded, so he wouldn’t forget.
he woke up one morning to a box on his doorstep, and inside was a small square cake and a card. inside there was a ‘sorry’ and a poorly drawn cat, labeled dusty, signed with harry and a kiss and ed fell to his knees, just trying to find the air to take in, to breathe. he’d seen a picture of them together in the newspaper, prior to this, kissing in public, blatantly announcing their love, and he couldn’t take it. he still had a hole where his heart should be and he didn’t think a cake and a card could begin to mend it.
harry showed up on his doorstep the next time. it was late, the skies dark, showcasing the stars that sat and sparkled, glimmering wishes that he didn’t really care to take.
“hi.” he said, and his voice was lower than when he last talked to him, nothing like his voicemail.
“hey.” ed replied, praying his voice wouldn’t crack, hoping his throat wouldn’t close up, keep him from being able to speak to account for the tears gathering in his eyes. maybe he did need those wishes.
harry slid inside and closed the door behind him without asking, he didn’t need to, no matter what he did he could always come home.
he pressed ed against the wall, looked into his eyes as a tear slid down his cheek, because he couldn’t hold it in anymore. harry was here and he was enveloped in how he smelled, the familiar scent of his shampoo, like apples, some of his cologne. the color of his eyes, green, capturing his in a burning stare and he didn’t know what it contained, love, lust, disgust. he couldn’t read him anymore and it scared him, because fuck, how long had it been.
his hands were on either side of him, trapping him in, even though he wanted to run, fly, crawl, anywhere but here. his breath was warm on his lips, tempting, but ed couldn’t take that leap, instead, more clear trails fell from his cloudy eyes, blurring his vision.
harry kissed them away and ed choked, maybe on air but he wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore.
“im sorry.” harry said, his voice low and husky and fuck, why him, why.
“i just want my heart back.” he managed, and it didn’t sound coherent, but it’s what he really wanted. he wanted foggy mornings and tea and forts and lego houses. harry watched him, and a smile quirked up on the edges of his pink lips, as his tongue darted out to wet them. ed watched, confused, moving his eyes back up to the green ones that were just green, green, green. like the ivy growing up the side of his mum’s cottage and the fresh grass growing back in patches at the park they just built down the street.
“you’ve always had it, weasely. and a piece of mine. always.” he said, before leaning forward, pressing his forehead to his, letting their lips connect, and the pieces fell together and the fort was built back carefully around their heads.
and everything was okay now, because ed was harry’s sun and harry was ed’s moon and they were back in orbit, circling around each other and never really touching, because love is different but bright like harry’s eyes, like ed’s hair in the sunlight, like fire.