98.6% Chance of Love at First Sight (l.s.)

The thing is, Harry didn't really mean to miss his flight. It's just-

his alarm didn't go off

Dusty wouldn't get off of his feet

he got mobbed by a couple of teenage girls on his way to the airport

And Harry really, really didn't want to go.

Nevertheless, he was sprinting with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and sunglasses over his face and suitcase trailing behind, and then suddenly Harry wasn't because the attendant was closing the big door, and he could see his plane shifting slowly in the distance, taking everyone he was supposed to accompany along with it.

The help desk was met with a very pissed off, very tired Harry. Some woman at the desk with the name Mary smiled all-too-fakely at him, and normally Harry would put more effort into responding politely, but it was like he was so done with the world that it would be impossible to even attempt being happy. Harry managed a smile that resembled a grimace more than anything else before he grumbled a request for the next flight to Los Angeles. Of course, he wouldn't be refunded for all the money he spent on first class, and there was only an empty seat left in Economy. However, Harry hadn't always had free-flowing cash and used to fly Economy all the time, so he figured he could deal.

One of the only positives about being late for his first flight was that Harry was now a solid three hours early for his second. The negative in that was that he had no idea what he was supposed to do for three hours in an airport that was void of people. After a quick assessment of his physical state, Harry figured a cup of tea would be the best place to start. And so, he awkwardly began a shuffle around the airport with his little pink suitcase rolling behind him and his necklaces clinking against his chest as he walked.

Eventually, after a few mindless laps around the small space, Harry stumbled across what looked to be the world's smallest cafe. There was a skater dude waiting in line in front of him, and maybe two booths in the whole place. Regardless, Harry prayed the coffee was decent and grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket. While he was hunting down the bills for a £7 cup of coffee (ridiculous airport prices) in his wallet, skater dude grabbed his cup, and it all went relatively quickly after that. Harry was looking down, skater boy was turning quickly, and suddenly hot liquid was all down the front of his Rolling Stones tee shirt.

"Fucking shit," a thick Yorkshire accent said, and Harry looked up to see the most beautiful face he thinks he had ever witnessed in his life. See, when most people say that, they don't really mean it. Plenty of people are beautiful, and that kind of thing tends to just be said, but Harry was 98.6% positive this skater from Yorkshire had the prettiest face in all of mankind. There were these little eyelashes surrounding bright blue eyes and skin that was somehow tan, and lips that looked like they were made to be kissed. And then there were tons of little tattoos all over one side of his arm, and then the boy was just so cute and small. Harry's mind was a blur of cutecutecute and excessive italicisation before he realised he'd been staring at pretty skater boy for far beyond the social norm.

"Look, mate, I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to, like I can pa-"

"No, no, it's fine," He found himself saying, pointlessly attempting to brush off a coffee stain on one of his favourite and now soiled tee shirts. The tiny lad in front of him bit his lip out of some kind of nervous habit, Harry guessed, and he was struck with such a wave of something like lust and utter adoration that Harry thought he might need to sit down for a moment.

"I'm Louis," the boy said after a few seconds of what may have been considered awkward for the rest of the human population (but not Harry?), "it's weird and French and there's a pointless 's' in there." Harry smiled, and stuck his hand out.