they fall in love in a field of squelchy mud, wilting tents and giddy strangers, drunk on vodka shots, shared blunts and the kind of music that leaves fingerpaint prints all over their gunpowder hearts.

("you're drunk," harry mumbles into louis' mouth and all louis' can do is laugh out loud. lick the lime sugar tang from harry's tongue.

"i am," louis says, "i'm drunk and high and here and alive and--" he looks at harry with fizzy blue electric eyes, "and i think i'm maybe in love with you.")

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