All the pretty girls can't measure to you

Chapter 9

  
“Hi Mum, how are you?” Harry sat in a window seat in the plane's first class section, with the phone tucked into his shoulder and his hands spread out carefully on the tray in front of him.

  “Hi Miss Styles!” Louis crowed.

  “She said hi Louis,” Harry tilted his chin to speak to Louis. “And ‘how many times has she told you to call her Mum?’”

  Louis smiled and focused his attention back on Harry’s nails, which he was painting a pale shade of aquamarine.

  “What are you and Gemma doing?” Harry asked into the phone. His face fell as Anne answered.

 “Oh. Me and Louis were gonna come see you, but we can stay somewhere else, it’s - oh ok, are you sure?” Harry’s smile returned. “Thanks Mum, can’t wait to see you. Love you too. Bye.”

  Louis took the phone from Harry’s shoulder and pressed the end button for him. “All good?” he asked Harry.

  “Yea. She’s visiting a friend of hers in Ireland and won’t be back for a couple days, but she said we can stay at the house anyway.”

  “Oh. Gemma with her?”

  “Yup.”

  “Soooo,” Louis looked up, grinning. “We’ll have the house to ourselves for a night or two.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Harry giggled and nodded, biting his lip. He inspected his painted nails. “You did a good job,” he told Louis.

  “Thanks! They look nice, yea?” Louis capped the polish and blew on Harry’s nails. 

  Harry held one hand up and admired the shiny polish. “I like it,” he admitted. “Still feel a little weird about it though.”

  “Oh pshh,” Louis hushed him. “‘s not weird. It’s pretty! You have pretty hands, so you should have pretty nails.” 

  “My hands aren’t pretty."

  Louis tilted his head. “You’re right, they’re not.”

  Harry’s head jerked up to frown at him.

  “They’re more beautiful than pretty,” Louis corrected. “Sexy, actually.” He ran his thumb over the back of Harry’s left hand. “There’s Tumblr blogs dedicated entirely to your hands, you know.”

  Harry blushed and opened his mouth to argue, but then realized what that implied. “Wait, how do you know that?”

  Louis’ eyes widened. He sat back quickly and rubbed his tummy. “Man, I am hungry! Are you hungry? Where is that flight attendant?”

  “So you’ve been looking at blogs about my hands?” Harry grinned.

  “Miss?” Louis leaned into the aisle, looking for the flight attendant. “It’s rude to yell, I’ll just go find her,” he blurted and scrambled out of his seat, leaving Harry staring at his hands with the biggest grin on his face.

  A few hours later, they were walking up to Harry’s mum’s house in Cheshire. Harry went into the flowerbed and lifted a blue and green mosaic stepping stone from under the closest rose bush.

  “Got it,” he held up a key and grinned at Louis.

  The two boys let themselves into the house and Harry took a deep breath, inhaling the undefinable smell of home. They toted their luggage to Harry’s old bedroom, which was exactly the way he’d left it the last time he was here. His old hoodies and trainers still sat in the closet. He held up a ratty purple shoe.