flower crowns // l.s.

❁11❁

Louis didn't come in to work the next day. Harry didn't think much about it (okay, maybe he did . . . just a tad) and just tried to continue with his job. Maybe Louis was sick.

As the day went on, Harry had thought and thought all day about where Louis could be. And instead of going inside and asking, he just assumed he was sick. And he believes it, actually. So as the day was coming to an end, he had worked up a bouquet of flowers with white, pink and red carnations. Carnations mean get well soon so Harry just chose the prettiest and healthiest ones he had, to give to Louis. Now just ten more minutes until he can officially close up and then be on his way to Louis'.

The rest of the time seemed to both go by slow and fast at the same time. Harry may have closed up a few minutes before he was supposed to, but he didn't really care. All he could think was LouisLouisLouis—the way his eyes just always showed such a bright, pretty blue that made it seem like there's just a touch of innocence there. He didn't know why he thought that, but Louis is just a private person and when Harry looks at his eyes he feels like he could read anything he's feeling, even when he's being cold towards him.

Harry just walked to Louis' house, deciding against taking a cab, and then sending a quick text to Liam that said he would be home just a few minutes later than planned. As Harry reached Lou's apartment, he looked for the apartment number and then pressed the little button.

"Who is it?"

Harry made a face, suddenly, because Louis didn't sound happy at all. He sounded snappy and Harry had the urge to just turn around and make a run for it. "Um, it's—it's Harry," he stuttered out, looking down at the flowers with a tight grip. But then there was a buzz after a long silence; Harry's brows furrowed because he honestly believed Louis would've sent him away. So he walked over to the front door happily and swung it open, his feet carrying him over to the staircase (because taking the stairs is better for your health, obviously) and walked up the two stories it took to reach Louis' floor. And then he's nervous again, hands becoming clammy. He made sure to take his time walking to the door, only three doors down from the staircase.

"Oh, gosh," Harry muttered with a lick of his lips, becoming much more nervous than he should. But he knocked anyway, three times, precisely.

He held his breath when he heard footsteps getting closer to the door. And then there he is, in a black tank-top and a pair of gray sweatpants clinging onto his hips. Their eyes met soon, and Harry read confusion in those beautiful eyes of his. He then realized that Lou's eyes were glued to the flowers.

"I brought you some . . ." His voice trailed off when Louis turned and headed back into his apartment without another word. Harry's brows furrowed, but he followed him inside and shut the door quietly. "Are you okay? You didn't come into work so I assumed you were sick."

"Eh," Louis shrugged, pouring a alcohol into his mug of coffee. Vodka, it looked like. Harry's lips turned downward in disgust because surely, that's not good. "Wanted to take a day off for myself."

"Oh," Harry said with a nod, taking steps closer to the bar and placing the flowers down on top of it gently.

"Did you bring me flowers, H?"

Harry sat down on the bar stool and looked at Louis on the other side of the counter, trying to keep a straight face as he shrugged, but he broke out in a smile and quickly nodded. "I did! Thought you were sick so I brought you some, like, 'get well' flowers."

Louis' forearms pressed onto the counter, making the distance between them shrink. A look washed over his features, suddenly. He did look sour and grumpy with his hair all stuck up in random places, but now they're much softer and less harsh. "And these say that, right?" His thin lips raised at the corners.