flower [book 2] ❊ l.s.

three - corruption

"There," Louis praised him. As soon as Harry put the car in park and exhaled a relieved breath, he reached across the center console to squeeze his thigh reassuringly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It was pretty bad."

"Oh, stop. You did so well. You'll be out on the road in no time."

Harry made a face. "I hope not."

Louis rolled his eyes. "You're too hard on yourself," he chided. "But switch. I'll drive us home."

"Can we stop and get some food on the way?"

"Of course. It'll be a reward for completing your second lesson. Any preferences?"

Harry smiled shyly as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I want a strawberry soda."

Louis's heart swelled and swelled and swelled until he thought it might burst, spilling his love for Harry all over his fancy leather seats.

/

The diner where they first met was the same, even if Harry just ran in to grab their food and ran back to the car. The bell on the door chimed obnoxiously, announcing his arrival, and his gaze instinctively wandered to that corner booth, the same table where Louis had sat down in his life out of nowhere and stayed.

He was smiling like an idiot as he grabbed their bag from the pickup counter. People probably thought he was crazy, but, well -- that was nothing new.

The diner was so peaceful. Even during the lunch rush, with a long line stretched out almost to the door, Harry felt completely calm. Maybe it was a result of spending all morning in the car with Louis; maybe it was the strong memory of Louis in this place, like some guardian angel deeming this restaurant their personal safe space.

As he dropped back into the passenger seat, Louis brought the car engine to life again. "Got everything?"

"Think so." Harry opened the paper bag, fishing around in it to check for all of their items. "I can't believe that you would rather have a sandwich than soup. It's honestly offensive."

Louis snorted. "Find yourself a new soulmate who loves soup as much as you do, then."

"Don't tempt me." He squeezed the bag between his legs and onto the floor, then reached over the center console.

Louis's hand was already held out and waiting for him.

They drove home and, after another round of playful banter about soup and sandwiches, settled onto the couch to eat. Louis put on an episode of Friends for them to watch, but he spent most of the time watching Harry instead. He had become an expert at knowing when Harry was engaged with the world around them and when he wasn't all there, caught up in his own head.

"You're still worrying about something," he observed partway through the episode, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Harry's ear. "Spill."

"I'm always worrying. It's nothing."

"Harry. Tell me."

Harry blew out a breath, still intently focused on the cup of soup in his hand. "I just feel . . . like, uneasy. It's the only way I can describe it." He paused for a second, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. "I don't think it's done, Louis. I keep thinking about what you said, about why I'm not reliving what already happened. It has to be because it isn't done. There's a loose end somewhere that we're -- that I'm -- not seeing."

"Petal," Louis said softly. He set his half-eaten sandwich down on the side table, then reached out to squeeze Harry's knee. "You're just overthinking it. I know that it's scary, and I know that you hate not knowing -- the uncertainty of it all. I know you hate that, but it's done. You're just working yourself up over it."