Bloom

Our Beginning

It's all so real and lovely. That is until he's coughing up sand and shanking it from his hair.

"Oi, oi!" a very loud voice yells, Harry jumps. The boy that the voice belongs to throws a ball back toward a group of other, just as loud, boys.

"What the hell?" Harry sits up and shakes out his hair one more time before he looks up to see who is screaming and standing too close to him.

"Sorry, mate," a tan, pretty boy about his age says and offers a hand. He's in short blue swim shorts with sunglasses resting on his nose.

Harry grumbles and swats his hand away. "I was sunbathing,"

"Looks like you've been out too long, love," the boy laughs easily.

Harry scrunches his nose and ignores the heat rising to his cheeks. "Excuse me?"

"You're quite red," he says. It's like he called Harry love as a reflex, like there's nothing to it. That is not something that's proper, not for one man to call another. Who does he think he is?

"I like it," Harry defends. He didn't mean to get sunburnt, but he's not going to admit that.

The boy runs his eyes up and down Harry's body, slowly and obviously. Harry's eyes widen and he flushes a deep red. "I do too,"

"I have to go," Harry packs his things quickly, trying to get away from this boy, whatever he is.

"Mate, look, I'm sorry," he laughs lightly. "I didn't mean to—I just assumed you might be—I'm sorry is all,"

"You assumed what?" Harry shoulders his bag and stands.

He doesn't tower over the boy, but he has a few inches on him. From his height, he can see his long eyelashes and the way they frame his pretty almond-shaped eyes. They're blue, a light shade much like his shorts. He knows he shouldn't be looking at things like that, but he is a very beautiful person, he can't be shamed for admiring. Can he?

The boy sighs. "Nothing, you'll figure it out," he sticks his hand out to Harry. "Louis,"

"Louis?" he questions. What an odd name, he thinks, still he shakes his hand and asks, "French?"

"No, Tomlinson, actually," Louis bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.

Harry rolls his eyes. "I meant your name. Is it French?"

"I don't know, my mum likes interesting names. My sister's called Lottie, the other Fizzy, it's just her," he says fondly. "And yours?"

"Mine?" Harry asks.

"Your name, love," Louis smiles, it's bright and it feels like the sunshine beating down on Harry's back.

"Harry," he says.

"That's quite an English name, innit?" Louis says. He's really laying it on thick.

"I suppose," Harry shrugs. "Louis Tomlinson,"

"Harry..." Louis waits.

Harry takes a moment to think. Should he walk away and pretend this interaction never happened? It'd leave him in less trouble, that's for sure. He's known Louis for less than five minutes and he just smells like trouble. Actually, he smells like honey, but still, he's trouble.

"Styles," Harry says eventually.

"Harry Styles?" Louis throws his head back and laughs. "Genuinely? That's your name?"

"Right then," Harry huffs and turns to walk away.

"Sorry, sorry," Louis grabs his hand and turns him back. Harry tries to shake the feeling of electricity shooting up his arm and through his body. "I just keep putting my foot in my mouth, don't I?"

Harry raises his eyebrow at Louis. The implication definitely there, Harry can tell by the red tint to his cheeks. "What are you on about?"

"Nothing," Louis puts his hands in the air. "I'm sorry,"

"Stop apologizing," Harry adjusts the strap on his shoulder, it's digging into his sunburn and it's getting irritating, much like Louis.

"Alright," he folds his hands behind his back. "Fancy a swim?"

"Can't. I have to get home for dinner with my sister," Harry says even though he wishes he could stay, just a little bit.

"I'll be here tomorrow if you'd like to come play footie with me and the lads," Louis points over his shoulder to the group of boys.

Harry nods. "I might, yeah,"

"Okay, Harry Styles, I'll see you then?" Louis looks straight into Harry's eyes. Usually, Harry can hold his own, but something about the way Louis is so sure of himself makes him want to back down like a child.

"Yeah," Harry starts backing up. "Tomorrow... Louis Tomlinson,"