You Drive Me Crazy

8 : the first of many

Louis didn't go to sleep after Harry left. Instead, he set up his art station and began to paint.

He'd always painted abstract art, ever since he was younger. He felt that it got the point across more; whether the point was love or anger, or both.

He hit shuffle on his 'lazy day' playlist and mooched around the room at his own pace gathering resources and inspiration. He set the canvas up in the kitchen, like he always did, and perched on the edge of the breakfast bar stool.

Brush in hand, he began to paint. He never sketched the outline or did anything for preparation. He believed that his emotions would truly show through in the artwork if it was all recorded in the moment.

At first, Louis wasn't sure what he was going to paint. He'd had an idea but he wasn't sure if to use it or not. However, as soon as brush touched canvas, he knew he wanted to. He knew he had to.

Not having a picture to copy was a tough challenge since he'd have to memorise each feature for memory, but he'd done enough admiring for that to work out; despite enough never being enough.

Wisps of chocolate brown filled the top of the page, a slightly tanned colour at the bottom. A defined jaw line marked the canvas too, among arched brows and... and those emerald eyes.

Louis painted for the rest of the night, until he was finished. He was happy. Name signed at the bottom with a little heart over the 'i' - check. An A3 sized canvas ready to frame and hang upon a wall - check. Capture the beauty of this gorgeous human - almost check. That was sort of impossible.

Once completed, Louis' playlist still sounding from the speakers, he took a moment to just think. To sit and think.

He, Louis a Tomlinson, had met a wonderful man, Harry Styles, who warmed his heart at the thought of seeing him. He made Louis happy; not alone, not desperate, not scared. He comforted Louis. He cared for Louis. He wanted this.

But how would he get it? How on earth would Louis make what him and Harry had go further? For all Louis knew, Harry might've thought that they were simply just good friends, and Mitch was his boyfriend. Who. Knew.

Louis had finally charged his phone. He turned it on to be greeted with two new messages, both from the same unknown number. He read them, butterflies in his stomach. They were marked with a 'H' at the end; Harry. Iconic.

A tingly sensation ran through his whole body, making him smile exotically. No kisses though, unlike Mitch.

Louis typed back quickly:

Again, I'm so sorry about not replying! But the art exhibition sounds great. I'll make myself free for Wednesday. X

Louis added a kiss at the end; he hoped Mitch would see it. He wanted to lighten the conversation which he hoped would flourish between them over text.

Before Louis had chance to close the iMessage app, three tiny bubbling dots appeared in the bottom left corner. Shit. Louis thought. Sparks of adrenaline and joy ignited in his bones. Harry must be really bored at Mitch's.

Almost instantly, a text came through causing a car horn to sound.

Hiya Lou! What are you doing up? Go to sleep you big baby. Is Wednesday at 5pm ok then? See you Monday anyway. H. X

Louis almost screamed. A kiss. A kiss at the end. Harry had taken note and added his own kiss. In your face Mitch.

Before replying, Louis altered the unknown number to 'Harold' in his contacts. He wondered what his name was on Harry's phone; he'd love to know.