“He watches Harry making intricate patterns, using the last of the glitter. “Are you making it so we can never be found?” Louis laughs, and the bucket dangles from his slack fingers.

Harry’s smile falters immediately as he sprinkles the last of his handful.

“Something like that.” He brushes his hands off on his trousers, and just like that, he’s back to his stoic poetry. “You can be found, if you like. But I don’t want to be.”