a guide to modern philosophy ⁽ᴸˢ⁾

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ xxɪᴠ

Louis closes the doors from his apartment, taking off his shoes. Harry doesn't bother; he walks straight to the huge couch and plops down. Of course, he is careful not to get his sneakers onto the white leather settee, he doesn't want to stain it in any way. He cuddles the huge white pillow next to him, closing his forest green eyes. The curly lad got really tired suddenly, the whole trip and being in the sun the whole day took a toll on him.

"Love, who raised you? Wild animals? Shoes off," Louis chuckles and approaches the sleepy boy, crouching down by his feet. The rich man starts to untie the sneaker's laces, carefully taking the shoes off from Harry's feet.

"You are the one to talk, trouble-man," Harry bites back.

"Oi, sassy much tonight?" Louis laughs and walks back to the entrance doors to put Harry's shoes next to his.

"I am actually pretty tired," Harry informs the rich man, his voice mushed because of the pillow that is squishing his right cheek.

"But Harry! We could stay at yours, then! We really went all the way here for you to say you are tired," Louis sits down next to the curly head, stroking the brown locks delicately. His thumb caresses Harry's cheek, the boy purring and silently asking for more attention.

"I'm sorry," the young lad whispers, ready to start snoring.

"Are we gonna watch something?" Louis offers.

"I wanna watch you," Harry answers, trying not to laugh at his joke.

"What?"

"Do me a show, c'mon Tomlinson," Harry teases, smiling widely with dimples and all.

"You are so obscene!" Louis exclaims shocked, "Isn't that what just women do?"

"Louis! No!" Harry suddenly feels alive, sitting up, "Of course not! Sometimes you sound so misogynistic."

"Miso-what?"

"I am here with the dumbest person in Italy, I swear to God," Harry rolls his eyes.

"Oh please. So dramatic. What do you want to eat?" Louis stands up, walking towards the kitchen island and picking up the hotel menu. He scrolls all the offers with his tired eyes and silently picks out some meatballs for himself.

"Pick whatever. Can I go to the shower?" Harry asks but stands up before Louis even gets a chance to say yes and starts to slowly approach the bathroom doors.

"Sure, darling," Louis shrugs and calls the hotel restaurant while watching Harry walk. 

Harry's body is slightly tanned, not burnt like Louis'. The sunscreen blocked most of the sunshine. Though, some of the sunbeams succeeded to kiss his milky velvet skin and it looks truly mesmerising. It makes Harry's green irises more vibrant, his pinky soft lips plumper and his tattoos more refined. Harry is truly a sight Louis loves to see.

 When Harry disappears in the bathroom, the kitchen worker picks up the phone, asking what Louis would like to order.

"Meatballs with the potato mash and pasta with mozzarella and vegetables. And I want it here quickly, do you understand?" the rich man says sternly, not really waiting for an answer. He flops down onto the couch, listening to the running water in the bathroom, thinking about how Harry is there naked and wet.

Louis would love to join Harry, he really would. But he still feels like it is not fully appropriate to just jump into the shower and fuck the curly boy against the wall. 

The time from the Island to the port, Harry mostly did his own things, which made Louis open the door of his own thoughts and enter the rooms he was so afraid to acknowledge. He realised how relevant Harry became in his life. Maybe it was just this place, this beautiful city that is making Louis suddenly so recklessly, undyingly falling for a dreamy man with a golden heart and a pure soul. It's just not fair.