𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓻 [ MULTIPLE]

eighty-six

“harry?” he hums quietly, stirring his tea, not looking back to louis. she lifts her head from the magazine she’s reading, brow furrowing in mirthful curiosity, corner of her lips curving into a smile when the older man looks back at, with an extremely shocked expression.

“did you just add sugar to your tea?” she shakes with held back laughter. he sounds so offended that she almost doesn’t think of how truly disgusting tea with sugar is. one thing she’d learned when she’d finally started drinking tea – as an adult, already close to twenty, so obviously, not that long ago (only something like five years) – was that she utterly despised sugary tea. but the absolute dismay was far too much for her. “well, yes.” harry sounds so unsure that the squawk that louis releases only makes it much funnier.

“blasphemy, fucking blasphemy.” louis shakes his head as he reaches for his own sugar-free tea and pulls the chair next to her at the table, sitting down. “and you, darling, what are you reading?” she puts the magazine down, catching eyes with harry, who she catches making a face at his own tea, right before pouring it down the drain. [louis scoffs, nudging her leg with his knee]

“oh, you know, the usual. this particular article is on trump and the middle east. the previous one was on human rights. i can leave it on the coffee table if you want to read it after, babe?” he peeks at it. they’d recently started exchanging books and articles between them – louis was quite fond of psychology-related articles and books, harry more interested in modern literature and nature and her of politics and ancient history. they’d often leave them out when they particularly enjoyed them.

“yes please, actually. i would probably read the one on human rights.” harry smiles as he watches on. the sunlight is beaming through the window to his left, framing his face perfectly. he looks absolutely handsome. she lays her head in louis’ shoulder, occasionally turning her head to lightly press a kiss to it, and to receive in turn one at the top of her head, as a hand runs up and down her back. with a newly brewed tea in hand, harry too, sits at the table, legs tangling with hers, as she leans back to louis.

frankly, it feels like peace. her hands itch for a pen and paper, for the keys of her piano. it feels like even in a crowded room, it would still only be the three of them.

☁️☁️☁️☁️

a.n.: honestly this chapter is ten times more domestic than I'd set it out to be.