It's Just That It's Delicate
NOT MY STORY, FROM AO3
written by: acciocreativity (condescendingsmirk)
http://archiveofourown.org/works/658220?view_adult=true
NO COPYRIGHT INTENDED
“Harry?” Louis whispers into the darkness of the room, hanging his head over the side of his top bunk to peer down at the bed beneath him. He immediately misses the semi-warmth his body'd created under the covers and goosebumps prickle his exposed arms. “Hazza? You awake?”
A head of curls peeks out from under a mound of blankets. “No,” it says, voice hoarse with sleep. “S’too cold to be awake. I am definitely asleep.”
Louis grins. His teeth chatter. “I’m freezing my tits off, mate. You’d think Simon Cowell’d be able to afford to heat the bloody X-Factor house, wouldn’t you?”
Harry giggles sleepily and Louis’ heartstrings give a little tug. “Come snuggle, then?” he asks hopefully, blinking up at Louis slowly. He brings a hand up to rub at his tired eyes. “Body heat and all that.”
He shouldn’t. Louis knows he shouldn’t, because he’s not stupid and he recognizes the tight feeling in his chest every time Harry says his name or squeezes in between him and Zayn on the couch even though it’d be a lot easier to just take the empty armchair.
Because he's not stupid, and he can put a name to the fluttering in his stomach whenever he makes Harry giggle or blush, or when they have conversations with just their eyes across the table when Niall says something especially ridiculous, or when they grin at each other at rehearsals when Liam tells them all off for fucking around even though they all know he doesn’t really mean it.
But, because he’s not stupid, he also sees the way Harry looks at him hopefully after making a joke. The way he lights up when Louis laughs, how he always leans into his touch and how his eyes sparkle when they make eye contact on stage.
“Budge over, then,” he commands, swinging his legs over the side of the bed before sliding off and landing with a soft thud.
Harry smiles up at him and scoots in towards the wall, lifting up the covers for Louis invitingly.
“Y’know you might be warmer if you’d put some clothes on, Curly,” Louis says in amusement, shuffling in beside Harry.
Harry immediately cuddles up against him, resting his head on Louis’ chest and wrapping his arms around his waist, drawing him closer on the small bed. “I’m wearing boxers,” he protests, slipping a leg between Louis’ for good measure. “Besides, I have you to keep me warm, don’t I?” he adds quietly, looking up at Louis with mirth shining in his eyes even through the dark.
Louis wants to kiss him. Probably more than he’s ever wanted to kiss anybody else ever. “You ask so much of me.” He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Dunno why you couldn’t just snuggle with Niall, I’m sure he’s got more body heat than I do.”
Harry laughs into his chest and Niall gives a particularly loud snore as if in agreement. “Niall farts in his sleep,” Harry argues, before adding quietly, “Plus, you’re my favourite. You know that.”
Louis flushes, glad for the cover of the dark. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers. “I guess you’re not so bad yourself. I do miss Nicolo, though.”
Harry pinches his side and Louis squeals, quietly so as not to wake Niall. “I know I’m your favourite, too,” he says defiantly, shimmying up so he’s at eye level with Louis, resting his head on the same pillow. Close, but not close enough, never close enough. “Even if you can’t stay serious long enough to admit it.”
