"Harry bets Louis that Louis won't do the dishes in the sink by tomorrow morning."
"Louis bets Harry that Harry can't do a cartwheel in the lounge room."
•••
"Harry bets Louis that Louis wouldn't kiss Harry if Harry had asked."
•••
Louis walks up t...
"I know. But what do you want to do today?" he answered, asking the question that Harry just had.
"Well, we're leaving tomorrow at seven, and our flight is at nine, so we should probably pack now, because we're checking out so early."
"But... I don't want to get up," Louis murmured. He was much too comfortable having Harry in his arms.
"I know. What time is it?"
Louis looked over at the clock that lay on the nightstand. "It's 10:32," he said.
"At night?" Harry asked.
"Yes. It is ten at night, we slept through the whole day! That's why it's sunny out," Louis rolled his eyes.
"I was just trying to be funny," he pouted.
Louis mentally slapped himself with a shovel for being sarcastic with this little fucking flower. This boy is a frog, baby lion, and a literal flower. He cries when someone steps on an ant. He blushes and giggles when he receives compliments, and he bites on his straw and it looks so adorable and Louis is so, totally, completely in love with him. Wait... what?! No, he isn't. Yes, he is.
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"Aw, Hazzy, don't worry, you were funny. You are funny. I'm just grouchy because it's really early and I'm tired," Louis soothed.
Louis doesn't really know what's going on in his mind, because normally, he is sassy and rude and aggressive. But for some reason, whenever he's with Harry, this tiny little delicate dandelion, he turns on full soft. He would take a bullet for Harry, honestly. He would do anything to protect this little baby from the cruel world that lay ahead them. And he doesn't fucking know why.
Meanwhile, in Harry's head, there's a lot of freaking out going on. Because he knows Louis, and he knows that this is not normal for him. Louis is sassy, and he will take any chance he gets to make a snappy comeback. So why, why the hell, is he being so nice? Now that he's thinking about it, it makes sense. Louis' always been kinder, gentler, nicer with Harry. And he doesn't fucking know why.
"Yay," Harry whispered.
Louis swooned. And choked. And died. He said "yay". The baby flower said "yay". What kind of twenty-one year old man does that? Harry, that's who.
Harry is a delicate flower who must not be exposed to the real world. He loves strawberry milk, because it is pink. He wears flowy shirts with flowers on them, his favorite color is pink, he cries when someone steps on a flower, and he giggles at his own jokes. He giggles. He cries when he gets tattoos and he blushes when someone compliments him.
Louis is a whole other story. His favorite color is dark red, but black is a close second. He laughs when someone falls (as long as they aren't really hurt), he gets tattoos so he can feel the needle pierce his skin, and he loves rock bands. He wears all black and band tees, he loves the look of blood, and he will never miss the opportunity to snap at someone. He is not a soft person... except with Harry.
