[hiiiiii. never, never, NEVER again will you have to wait that long. Ever. Anyways here some fluff.]
There should be something said about mornings.
It was the first thing Louis thought as he sat up in his wrinkled den, gray light filtering through the blue and white curtains. The duvets were wrapped around his waist, clinging to his limbs like vines, cascading down over the queen bed's frame in threaded ripples. The smell of black coffee, metallic rain, and city exhaust wafted through the cracked open windowsill, as it did every morning. 'A smell worn and brandished by every morning commuter in London,' Zayn always said.
Louis sighed and idly scratched the stubble that he had been too lazy to shave. He scrubbed his gritty eyes and blinked, taking in the stillness around him. A chipped tea cup and a cracked open book were perched on the chest of drawers on the other side of the bed (read: Harry's side of the bed), a pair of ruby-red house slippers were strewn on the carpet, and the closet's door was open just a tad, revealing a few bare hangers and unraveling winter coats. Cece was resting on the end of the bed, acting like a space heater for Louis' bare feet.
He looked down at the rumpled pillow beside his and glanced at the clock glowing on his nightstand. Harry had been gone for nearly two hours now. He had woken Louis earlier, whispering softly in his ear with dawn's pink rays on his back, that he had to run a few errands and would be back in one or two hours. Louis had simply nodded into his pillow and replied with what any sane person would give at the bumcrack of dawn, “Ngh.”
The angel had been acting strange ever since he had arrived back from Ed's. He had been a little quieter, only giving vague responses and thinking hard about something Louis didn't know what about. They had both stayed on the couch cuddling most of the night, even after their quiet dinner on the kitchen table. Louis had caught Harry staring at him on more than a few occasions, though he's not sure the angel realized he was doing it. Harry had been looking at him like as if he was something fleeting, like he thought Louis would just turn into dissolved air and float away.
He had also had been very clingy throughout the night, not leaving Louis' side most of the time. Yes, they were already like that with each other, reaching out to brush a thigh here and have a nice cuddle there, but last night had been different. There had been something different, something pleading and desperate underneath his touch. When he had wrapped his arms around Louis' waist on the couch, Louis had felt the sharp dig of the angel's fingers in his flesh, almost if Harry was trying to grasp something. Anything, to keep Louis anchored right there with him.
When Louis had flicked off the TV and had yawned a “good night” to Harry, the angel had shook his head and wordlessly slipped into bed with him, instead of slipping into his own in the other room (with Louis' more frequent nightmares, he had been spending more time in Louis' bed, but still). As soon as Louis had wriggled himself under the covers, Harry had snaked a hand around his waist and gotten rid of the space between their bodies. He didn't say much after that, except for a quiet “'night, Lou.” Louis had drifted to sleep like that, with Harry's chest rising and falling steadily against his back, arms hung over his hips, and nose buried in his hair. Needless to say, it had been the first night in a while that Louis didn't have any nightmares.
Beside the cup and book on Harry's nightstand was a notebook scribbled with a short grocery list (milk, baking powder, ramen noodles, detergent, and the bread Lou likes.. the one with nuts??), along with a few lines to a Ray LaMontagne song jotted in the margin. Louis idly traced the familiar, loopy penmanship with the tips of his fingers, thinking of the long, gracious hands that had done its work.
He loved Harry's hands. They were large and calloused, but so gentle and careful. He loved how they caressed the fragile spine of a book, wary of how delicate and ancient its bound pages were. He loved to watch them skim over the stacks of vinyls lining the walls, ghosting over the specks of dust settled there. He was amazed with the way they could span the bottom of a tray of paper-cups filled with coffee and wrap around three bottlenecks of Heineken's simultaneously. What he loved most about them, however, was the fact that every time they folded around his, they seemed to say, 'I'm here and I'm not going anywhere', even though he wasn't too sure he believed it.
He was about to drift back to sleep, lulled by the distant traffic noises five-stories below and the groaning thermostat bedded underneath the walls, when he heard the shut of the flat's door. Heeled-boots scraped against the floor paneling in the foyer and keys clinked into the bottom of the pottery bowl beside the door, followed by muffled footsteps retreating into the living room.
Louis contemplated lying in bed a little longer in favor of joining Harry on the couch, but he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep even if he wanted to and decided with the latter. It was still chilly in the mornings, so he lied there for a few minutes longer, hoping to soak up the last of the warmth that rested in his little den. Reluctantly, he eased himself out of bed, still cocooned in a duvet with more holes in it than Charlie Brown's Halloween costume.
Harry was sitting on the couch, clad in a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, a light jacket, and beanie. He was hovering over a map folded out over the coffee table, not paying attention to the old re-run of Power Rangers Louis had seen countless of times playing on the telly. When he finally took notice of Louis swaying slightly in the doorway, he smiled and stole Louis' ability to breathe. God, Louis was so gone for this boy.
The angel dropped into the couch and patted his lap, beckoning Louis over. Without being told twice, Louis padded over and plopped on Harry's slim thighs, leaning his head against the angel's broad chest and shutting his eyes.
Harry curled his hand around Louis' hip and dropped a kiss into Louis' tangled fringe. “Morning, Beautiful,” he chuckled.
Louis smacked him in the chest, but there was no heat behind it. “Don't be sarcastic, Harry,” he murmured sleepily.
“'m not,” Harry said lowly, resting his head momentarily on the back of the couch. He ran his hand up and down Louis' arm, causing him to shiver. The fucking bastard. “Do you want some tea, love?”
Louis nodded gratefully, his brain feeling like lead and his body like a sack of flour. His eyes were like weighted balls in their sockets and his body was screaming for the caffeine. “Please.”
There should be something said about mornings, Louis thought, not wanting to move from Harry's lap just yet. There should be something said about how the gray morning light broke through the windows and cast itself on the faded wallpaper, making the room brighter and softer around the edges. How everything was still and quiet around them, as if the lamp and the cup filled with pens and the shoes resting by the doorway were afraid that if something were to move a fraction out of place, it'd break the stillness settled in the room into tiny, unobtainable pieces.
There should be something said about mornings. How Harry was warm and solid underneath Louis' body. How he smelled like stale sheets and something minty – toothpaste, probably – and how Louis found it oddly comforting.
“Alright,” Harry said, tapping a couple of beats on Louis' hip with his thumb before dropping his hand. “Let's get you to the table and I'll get you your tea.”
Louis leisurely got to his feet and toddled over to the kitchen, shivering with each contact the pads at the bottom of his feet made with the cool tile. He sort of wished he had taken Harry's advice the night before about wearing socks. Like a doting mother that boy was.
The angel followed behind him with a hand on his lower back, as if to keep him from falling over in his dazed, groggy state. Louis was very, very grateful for that.
Louis scraped back his chair and plopped into the wooden seat, wrapping the duvet tighter around his shoulders. For once, he was grateful that he was short and the chair in which he sat was tall, leaving his bare toes dangling a couple of centimeters off the ground. Above the cold, cold ground.
There should be something said about mornings, Louis thought as he slumped his head onto the weathered table and watched the angel flit about the kitchen, looking at home surrounded by the clutter of pots and pans and the shelves of spices. There should be something said about the way morning slid itself into the ridges in the tile and the crooks in the walls, painting the counters with a watery palette of yellows and blues.
There should be something said about Harry in the mornings. How he moved just like how he talked – slow and languid, as if he had all the time in the world. How his hair was downy and soft, coppery at the ends whenever a stoke of sunlight reached out from behind the clouds and kissed it. How his lips were more pink than the breast of a hummingbird, pretty enough to make the slyest of vixens jealous.
There should be something said about how mornings were made for Harry. They were made to cast shadows over his face, so they could highlight the sharp cut of his nose and jawline and the little craters in his cheeks. They were made to swallow him up and bathe him in their serene light, so that one wouldn't miss the flecks of stardust in his eyes. A hundred songs about morning wouldn't be enough to describe Harry; how lovely and winsome and great he was.
But if you were to have handed Louis a pen and a piece of paper right there, he would've damn well tried.
Harry walked over then, placing Louis' cup of tea – black with a spoonful of pickle and absolutely no sugar – in the corner of the table and taking a seat in the opposite chair. The wood groaned underneath his weight but it stayed solid beneath him. Most of the furniture in the flat was secondhand, found in front of sidewalks and in those little thrift stores Harry liked to scavenged in, but they did their job.
Louis curled his hand around his cup and took a sip, feeling the fog of drowsiness lighten as the caffeine rushed in his system. He looked around the flat, watching the dust motes drift lazily in the air, burning like tiny blazed moths when the sun's long slivered rays caught them in its trap. The plastic alphabet magnets on the ice box spelled out haphazardly “harry loves cock”, on account Louis had been bored and a little mischievous the night before. When Harry had saw the caption, he had laughed and took out his juice box from the fridge. “You're the devil,” Harry had told him, shaking his head fondly.
“Do you want to go on an adventure?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had filmed over the kitchen. Louis looked over at him, noticing the purple bruises nesting underneath his eyes and the way his teeth anxiously toyed with his bottom lip.
“What?” Louis croaked, voice raspy from the lack of use.
“Do you want to go an adventure, Lou?”
Louis blinked one, two, three times. This boy's odd fascination with riddles, really. “An adventure? Haz, what on earth are you talking about?”
“You. Me. Leeds Fest,” Harry said.
Louis' thoughts wandered back to the map laid out over the table. “Is that what that map on the table was for?”
“Yes.”
He looked through the window, up at the sky and the little patch of blue surrounded on all sides by an ocean of steely gray clouds. The sidewalks below were glittered with rainwater and gray-haired businessman dressed in black and gray coats walked in a brisk pace, clutching black satchels and cups of coffee as they hurried to their offices. Louis watched the same faces take the same path to work everyday from his flat's window, taking pity on how monotone their lives must be. 'Live in the moment' was something he lived by. He didn't understand why others didn't either.
He looked back at the apprehensive angel sitting across from him, draped in the sun's liquid gold, looking like a god of mornings. He knew then that he'd follow Harry anywhere. “Okay.”
Harry visibly perked at that, letting out a huge breath Louis didn't know he had been holding. “Okay?”
Louis nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Harry leaped up from his chair, sending it tumbling over and yanked Louis up into his arms. “Thanks, Lou.”
“No problem, Curly,” Louis chuckled against his collarbone. He pulled back a little to look up at the lad. “So should we go get packed? Leeds is a 5-hour from London innit?”
Harry bit his lip. “Erm, I might've packed everything already?”
“What?” Louis asked incredulously.
“Yeah, I was really hoping you wouldn't say no so I went ahead and got everything this morning,” Harry said. “It would've sucked if you did.”
“Just how long have you been planning this, Hazhead?” Louis asked, amused.
“Since last night,” the angel answered sheepishly.
“You've got everything then?”
“I went to the sports store this morning and pulled up the website so I could make sure I got everything we'll need. I got us sleeping bags, a tent, and some camping gear. I've also got us a map, money for food and tickets, and I made sure to fill up the car's gas tank for the trip.”
Louis poked him in the stomach, “Well aren't you quite the scout.”
Harry pouted, placing a hand over the spot Louis' finger had assaulted. “Heeeey.”
“No need to fret Harold, you know I'm right. So all I have to do is get changed, yeah?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. I've already packed about four days’ worth of clothes for us. 's in the trunk with the rest of the stuff.”
Louis shook his head and turned, traipsing to the bedroom. “You're such a boy scout.”
“Slip into something warm, Lou, and don't forget to pull on your wellies!”
When Louis got to the bedroom, he grabbed the ivory sweater dangling on the door's brass knob and pulled it over, yanked on a pair of jeans, and quickly ran his hands through his fringe, going for the I-just-got-out-of-bed-but-still-managed-to-look-hot look. He looked in the mirror, and sighed. Maybe it only worked for Zayn.
When he stepped back into the living room, Harry was already dressed, wearing skinny jeans with the rips in the knees, a plaid shirt, and a green parka.
“Lou, did you wear something..?” Harry looked up at his presence and froze.
Louis blushed and looked down at himself. “What? Am I overdressed or something?”
“No, uh...” Harry said huskily, eyes flitting over the way the sweater's neckline dipped to show-off the knobs of Louis' collarbones, trailing a line of fire down his skin. “...You're wearing my sweater.”
“Oh. I just grabbed something; I didn't realize it was yours. I can take it off if you'd like...” Louis said, beginning to pull at the hem.
“No!” Harry shouted, making Louis freeze. “No, erm, it's alright. It's just it looks really good on you, Lou. Looks nice.”
“I, um, thank you?” Louis squeaked, feeling hot and flustered underneath the angel's praise. He cleared his throat, “Okay, so are we ready to go?”
“Got your wellies and a jacket on?” Harry asked, reaching into the bowl to pull out the keys.
“I'll go grab it,” Louis said, running into his bedroom to grab his coat before thinking twice and taking his Polaroid camera as well.
“I'm ready,” he announced, waving the camera in front of the angel.
Harry smiled down at him, all teeth and dimples and full on sunshine. There should be something said about Harry in the morning. How he simply stole Louis' ability to breathe every time he gazed down at him with a look as soft as the light around them.
“Alright, let's go.”
Four hours and twenty-two minutes later, they were driving past white-wood picket fences with oak and ash trees and tiny village houses. The dew drops winked in the grass, but only when the sun wasn't slinking behind the canopy of dark clouds in the horizon. The windows were rolled down, letting the crisp morning air whip the boys' hair around and numb their faces. Louis shivered in his jacket, but he didn't mind too much since the sharp air helped him shed off what was left of his morning drowsiness.
They had passed through Micklefield just a few minutes ago, now driving down a little country road Louis didn't know the name of. Cows grazed in pastures and the English countryside rolled with hills and patches of various green color. He could recall how much he liked the countryside when he was smaller, spending time at his grandparents' house just a short drive outside of Doncaster. They had acres of wheat-fields and a small farmhouse on the lot, housing a few noisy chickens and one mean rooster who liked to chase Louis whenever he went to go help his gran get the eggs. He had always wanted to live a simple life when he was younger, but London was his home now.
The radio was humming lowly in the background, tuned onto some Indie station Harry had randomly selected. There were crumpled up bags of takeaway littered on the car floor and polariods of Harry driving and Louis taking dumb selfies and English countryside splayed over the console. “You’re very photogenic,” Louis had said, when Harry had questioned the number of pictures of him that were in the pile.
Currently, Louis was snap-chatting with Niall in the passenger seat, the blonde offering to go by their apartment (Harry had loaned him a spare key) and check up on Cece while they were away. He chuckled when Harry's phone buzzed, a picture of Niall taking a selfie with Cece popping up. Unlike the Irish boy making a face at the camera, the ginger cat did not look amused.
For most of the car ride, Louis and Harry been quiet, only making small talk for a few minutes before slipping back to a comfortable silence. Harry had decided to make Louis in charge of the map, abiding to the directions that were highlighted in the sea of paper lines and drawn circles. It was blanketed over his lap, rumpled from constant use and tattooed with a big, black star drawn in the space northeast of Leeds and south of Wetherby.
The angel's hand, the one that wasn't on the steering wheel, rested on the car's joystick. It looked large and warm and a bit rough in some areas, and Louis wanted to touch it. He reached out and flipped it in his hand, grabbing a pen from the dash and decided to doodle on the soft skin there. He drew a stick figure of himself, writing out Louis underneath the drawing.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked from the driver’s seat, sparing a glance at the Louis-figure before flicking his eyes back to the road.
“Drawing on you,” Louis said, giving the stick man a huge smile. “Now you have a little me on your wrist.”
Harry smiled. “Getting antsy already, Lou?”
“Just bored,” Louis answered noncommittally, adding a few finishing touches to the stick man’s hair. “How long ‘til we get to Braham Park, Haz? My bum is sore and I really need to get off of it. Like, I think it might deflate or something.”
Harry chuckled, his profile a black silhouette against the sky. “My only concern is your bum, Louis. I think it will be okay.”
Louis blushed, bringing his hand back and resting it in his own lap. “Your concern should be in your girlfriend’s bum, Harry, not mine,” he said ruefully.
“What?! What do you mean ‘girlfriend’, Louis?!” Harry said indignantly, veering the car to the right slightly.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Harry. I heard you when you said you were in love at Ed’s,” Louis said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “It’s alright with me if you have one.”
Harry sighed, “Lou, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“But what about-?”
Harry shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean, like, I’m with someone. What I meant was like I have a crush.”
“A crush?” Louis said, feeling the dread lift off his chest slightly. A crush.
In the distance, breaking from the cluster of trees, Louis saw the yellow and blue striped tents propped up for the venues, the flags raised above them whipping in the wind. Louis looked up at the sun that had been running ahead of them throughout the whole trip, letting its warmth slide over his skin, letting it settle in his bones and beneath his eyelids.
A crush. He could handle a crush.
He spoke up finally, as the Leeds grounds came into view. “Do I know this crush?”
Harry tugged the sleeve of his jacket over the stick figure of Louis on his wrist, hiding it from view. He looked over at Louis and said, “More than you know.”
[so let’s pretend for the sake of this story that Leeds takes place in March okay. Also, this was supposed to be longer BUT I decided to make the Leeds part a separate chapter because a lot happens there. I can’t wait for you all to read it, but for now, enjoy this chapter. Chapter 14 will be updated by the end of the week. Yay! Vote, comment, fan, whatever! I just hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you for 100k reads! I love you all.]