𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚜𝚒𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

Nothing wakes you up like waking up alone. That's Louis' first thought when his eyes blink open the next morning. He immediately scrambles for his phone, which he'd left in the pocket of his jeans, but which are mercifully close to the side of the bed. He manages not to fall on the floor in his search for it, which he thinks is a pretty solid achievement.

However, when he clicks it on, it's at 1%. He also takes note of the time: 11:47 am. Louis quickly navigates to his notes app and types in the line, and he thinks he probably has time to check his texts, so he does. He has two unread messages from Zayn.

The first is a picture. Louis dares to click on it, and it turns out it's a low-quality, dark photo of Harry's bed, with both Louis and Harry in it. Worst of all, they're spooning. (Louis is the big spoon, obviously. It doesn't really make it any better.)

Zayn must've taken the picture when he came to collect his phone from Harry's room last night. Bastard.

Under the picture, Zayn has written him a text, sent at 9:17 am this morning. Why Zayn was up that early after a party, Louis will never know.

The text says: Rekindling an old flame? How Casablanca of you, and Louis really wants to punch Zayn. Or hug him. He's currently leaning towards both.

What he's currently not leaning towards is getting out of bed, because that means running into Harry. Oh god. What if his mum and sister are staying at his house? What has Louis gotten himself into?

His phone dies as he continues to overthink, and now he has nothing to distract him. He might as well just bite the bullet and get it over with.

As if preparing for the walk of shame after a one-night stand, Louis sluggishly tugs on his jeans and shoves his useless phone back into the pocket of them, grabbing his jacket but not putting it on. Even though it's February, Harry's house has very effective central heating.

With nothing left to do in Harry's room, Louis reluctantly opens the door and walks down the hall to the staircase, making his way downstairs. As soon as he turns the corner into the kitchen, he stops cold.

It's just so much at once. Harry's singing, for one, humming and occasionally singing words to himself as he makes tea. That's another thing; he's making two cups of tea, one in a white mug with a rainbow on it, and the other in a grey mug with a daisy on the front.

Louis half-heartedly hopes the daisy one isn't for him, but he knows Harry will want the rainbow. He sets the thought aside.

Instead, he focuses on yet another piece of this overwhelming puzzle: Harry's outfit. He's still proudly in his boxers, but he's thrown an oversized knitted jumper over them. It hangs over his hands, leaving only the tips of his fingers visible, and it looks so soft that Louis has the inexplicable urge to walk over and snuggle himself against Harry's back.

He's pretty sure that wouldn't be a very welcome gesture, though, so he doesn't do it.

He clears his throat, catching Harry's attention.

Harry jumps, feet almost literally leaving the floor. He looks up from the cups of tea, meeting Louis' eyes for a second and then immediately looking away.

"Hi," he says softly, so quiet Louis almost misses it.

He doesn't, though. "Hi."

Harry finishes up the tea, and shuffles forward with a mug in each hand, handing Louis the daisy one. Called it.

Louis takes the mug, inhaling the hot air coming off of the top while he waits for it to cool slightly.

Harry's fidgeting with his own mug, and the way he's turned it now shows Louis the other side, where there are words written. It says: