the color yellow // l.s.

16.

Monday approached and Harry was determined. He was motivated, even, to help find Louis the best of the best to decorate his house with. Louis, of course, dreaded the mere thought of having to spend an evening in the cold bouncing from shop to shop, but Harry was excited. And, again, extremely determined. He was going to try and make it fun for Louis, and hopefully spark some excitement within him as well if they discover a theme of sorts to go with.

Harry won't admit that he was reading through his mum's magazine's about what was "in" lately to educate himself on the things Louis was sure to need. He wanted to be smart about this, so he did his research. And maybe he pestered Louis a bit too much, because after the fourth time ringing him in the same day, Louis stopped picking up his calls. It was rude, is what it was. Even if Harry was asking too many questions. He just wanted to do right by him.

"At least look like you're happy to see me," Harry sourly says when Louis emerges from his car. Harry had walked to the square. It was only a block from the school, and he'd rather not wait around and waste anymore time.

Louis plasters a very wide—very fake—grin on his mouth and wipes it away only seconds later. "Let's get this over with, yeah? I hate shopping."

"But this will be fun!" Harry enthusiastically says. "Trust me."

Louis grumbled unhappily (like a grandpa) and stuffs a hand in his pocket. Harry doesn't move a muscle; he stands in his spot, as if waiting for a confirmation to go forward with their evening. Louis looks at him, rolls his eyes, and flicks his head toward a shop.

"After you?"

Harry smiles, nods once, and makes his way to the first shop on his agenda. It was a small furniture store, and he thinks he could find Louis some nice end tables for his living room. If he wasn't into the idea, though, he wouldn't worry about them. He also wasn't sure of Louis' budget, and if he was willing to splurge or not. Harry had inspected things out of curiosity and had taken note of the price they held before dragging Louis around. Like he said, he did his research.

"Harry!" An older lady says, arms stretched out to take hold of his shoulders. He embarrassingly smiles when matured lips press to his cheeks.

"Hi, Mrs. Deaton," he mumbles. He wipes his cheek when she pulls away, her bright eyes sparkling at him.

Damn these small towns. He's barely spoken to Mrs. Deaton in his eighteen years of living, yet here she is, planting a big one on his cheek in front of Louis. He turns with heated cheeks and finds Louis absolutely beaming at him. He shakes his head with an unamused look on his face.

"What brings you here, love? Oh, and how's your dear mother? Absolutely tragic thing that's happened. You know, I told her about Del when she got with him. I told her he was too smug of a man! He was a handsome lad, he was! But a man as handsome as he is sure to have a twisted heart. I've always said go for the ugly ones, you know. They've got the pure hearts. Oh, but you, Harry! You're even more handsome than your father was! But your heart is just so pure and kind! So don't listen to any of this rubbish I'm talking about, I suppose. Just an old lass with her cats nowadays—Oh, who's this! You're Louis, aren't you?"

Harry blinks twice and tries to process her rambles, but only focuses on the end of it. Louis looks shocked and confused, but Harry happily pats his shoulder. "Yes, this is Louis Tomlinson! He's fairly new to town still. I'm helping decorate his home."

"How lovely! See, that pure heart!" Her gray hair curls around her wrinkly face, glasses slipping down her nose, and her dress which is layered with crocheted cardigans sways around her. "I've got anything and everything, Louis. You look like a man with taste, and that's what you'll find here. Have a look around and let me know if you see anything you like." She grins widely and reaches out to pinch Louis' cheek. "You are just as handsome as they come! Those blue eyes!"