for angels to fly | lwt + hes.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

When Louis woke up on Tuesday morning he was momentarily disconcerted – the light streaming into the flat didn’t feel right, he couldn’t hear the usual muffled noises made by the people who lived above him as they shuffled around their flat in the morning, and his sheets didn’t smell all flowery from washing powder he usually used. His momentary panic only lasted a split second before Louis opened his eyes and discovered that his vision was obscured by dark curls and pale skin and long, black lashes. He realised that the intense warmth burning through him was emanating from the boy in his arms and he relaxed completely into the mattress. He’d never had such a beautiful sight to draw him into consciousness before.

The flat was silent, interrupted only by the faint sounds of the traffic outside and Harry’s soft breathing in his ear. Louis let out a slow, steady breath, turning his head slightly to be able to see the younger boy’s face properly. He let his gaze trail over every inch of it, taking in the unusually gaunt cheekbones and the way a soft smile curved his pink lips, even in sleep. The desperate, needy pain that had been constricting in Louis’ chest for the last few weeks slowly receded the longer he watched Harry. It was kind of exhilarating in a way to be lying there and watching the other boy sleep, knowing that he loved him. It prompted something light and happy to curl up in his chest instead, warming him from the inside out. He loved him. Louis wasn’t surprised to discover how much more intense what he felt for Harry was, even after three weeks apart, because now he could put a name to what he was feeling. He knew exactly how he felt and it was reassuring, comforting even, to be able to bathe in that warm glow for a few minutes. It felt so good to just hold him after what felt like months apart.

Of course then the creeping doubt began to settle in and Louis hesitated. Did it mean something that he had been the one Harry had called the night before? He had called him when he was at his most vulnerable, which must have meant that he trusted Louis. And he had cuddled up to him so easily and effortlessly, like it was completely natural. 

Louis knew what he was feeling, but Harry was hard to figure out. Despite how much his big green eyes often reflected his ever-changing emotions, who knew if that was how he truly felt? He had wrapped himself up in so many layers; he could go from playful and immature to sexy and intimidating in mere seconds, and Louis found it hard to unravel the mystery of who Harry Styles truly was. He wanted the younger boy to just be, to know that he didn’t have to put on a show for Louis or be anything other than human. Louis felt like he was more free to be himself around Harry, and he wanted to be that person for him in return. 

He brushed his fingers through Harry’s curls once, gently, carefully, before an idea occurred to him. It was a ridiculous sort of thought, but he realised that throughout all the times Harry had made him breakfast he’d never once returned the favour; there was no point, not while the younger boy’s omelettes were pretty much the greatest things in existence. 

Louis wriggled out from underneath the covers and stood up as carefully and quietly as he could, eyes trained on Harry’s face the entire time to ensure that he didn’t show any signs of stirring. Once he was sure that the younger boy was still fast asleep he smiled a little, looking down at him fondly, before tugging his ugg boots back on and tip-toeing out of the flat, making sure to leave the door unlocked behind him so that he’d be able to get back in.

Obviously he wasn’t going to attempt to actually cook something; Louis and cooking just didn’t mix well. 

There was a small and dingy café just opposite the bus stop Louis usually got off at, and it was here that he headed for. It was a cold day, and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, excited by the prospect of strong coffee and the sugariest pastry he could find. He was exhausted; it was just past eight thirty and that meant that he hadn’t even gotten five hours sleep. But despite this, Louis made record timing walking to and from the café; he didn’t much like the possibility that Harry would wake up when Louis was gone and think that he had left without saying goodbye. That just wasn’t a good way to woo someone.