Gods & Monsters

Chapter 8 (Part 3)

At the words, something warm licks dangerously up the center of Louis' chest, and maybe it's the haze of the night or the exhaustion in his bones that makes him respond so very easily, so very forward and unbound without a moment's consideration.

"With you? Maybe," he admits calmly, not even bothering to adopt a posed expression or a carefully timed flick of the hair. Just natural. He's tired. "I blame it on that smile and the unyielding kindness behind it, though." He doesn't know where the words originate. Maybe a book, or something. Doesn't know how his mouth forms them. "And that little sense of humor of yours. And your smart little brain with your pleasant little words. Your pretty hands and that laugh, god. Quite a number, you got, Harry Styles." He speaks without one ounce of self-awareness, and only after he's finished his embarrassing-as-fuck monologue does he realize just what exactly he let spill through the air.

Jesus. Shit. Damn.

That was... Soppy. And aggressively, inappropriately affectionate. And just, overall, way too over the top.

God. He wants to hide inside of a sewer. Maybe become a ninja turtle. Just eat pizza and fight crime and hide from Harry Styles and society. God. He might be blushing. Definitely going to find a sewer, then.

In an attempt to keep his skin from shriveling off, Louis smiles, hoping that his strange streak of sudden shyness stays firmly away from his lips and instead hides somewhere far away, where nobody can find it.

However.

Harry seems equally as shy, the cushion of his bottom lip caught beneath a gate of white teeth. He's having trouble maintaining eye contact with Louis (which is fine, to be honest, eyes are overrated and Louis would much rather inspect the carpet right now) and he's nervously tucking hair behind his ears, his dimple oddly pronounced and shadowed.

"I'm not... Those things," he stutters, flushing incredibly, and his voice is wavering the smallest amount. He seems almost overwhelmed. Oddly, it calms Louis a bit. "Definitely not 'unyieldingly kind' or whatever you said." He laughs self-consciously, very short, and doesn't lift his gaze which is pointedly stuck on the register. But there's...

There's almost certainly a quiet curiosity in the line of his shoulders. And his ears, Louis swears, are perked like a dog's, and it's enough to press Louis forward, once again blacking out from reason.

"To me, you are," Louis counters, staring hard at Harry's profile. "In the month I've known you, you've shown me more undeserved kindness than I've received in my entire life thus far, and that says something. To me, at least. I'm not nice, Harry. And yet you're always providing niceness in return." He shrugs with his hands before dropping them. They bump against his thighs. "Sounds like unyielding kindness to me."

Jesus.

He must be out of his fucking mind. What the fuck is he saying? The words come easy, though, probably due to the exhaustion and the slackness of his jaw. Probably also due to the way Harry's eyes flutter at them, now staring at Louis in this really awful, bashful way that scrapes the backs of his eyelids.

There's a pulse of silence, punctured by Louis' thick heartbeat, before Harry finally speaks.

"Sometimes you allude to things that make me sad," he says quietly, soft enough to be mistaken for the shuffle of paper. "Like, things that I wish I could change for you."

And suddenly the atmosphere feel oddly heavier, in a way Louis hadn't been anticipating, the attention now focused on him. Part of him wants to steer the conversation clear away. Immediately.

But he listens instead, all of the hairs on his arms standing to attention, arching up to listen because he's human and he's curious and he isn't used to any of this, doesn't know what to expect.