we'll play hide and seek to turn this around (give me love like never before)

Chapter 8

They get an 'A' on their project, and obviously Louis doesn't really have a reason to keep talking to Harry. But all of a sudden he's spending every single day with him, and three days turns into three weeks, which turns into roughly three months. He even has his own drawer at Harry's place, filled with some sweats, t-shirts, and spare pants. Louis thinks the best part about it is that sometimes he'll find one of his shirts in Harry's laundry basket, one that he knows he didn't wear.

It makes his heart heave, oh boy, does it. The thought of Harry slipping on one of his t-shirts when he isn't around, the thought of him sleeping in one of them. Louis is extremely smug over the little fact, smitten too, but mostly smug.

Because the thing is, Harry is the definition of lovely. He is all soft curves and pretty edges, and Louis is hopelessly crushing on him. He is this flawlessly flawed human. He blushes too much, and he giggles like a child, and he stutters all over his words, and god, Louis has never met a boy like him before. Not just because he is a boy who paints his nails and likes soft things, but because he is just genuinely kind and sweet in his nature, and Louis likes that. He has only ever dated skater boys, potheads, or sarcastic twats like himself. And he just. He really, really likes Harry.

He likes the way he will giggle with strawberry milk moustaches, and he likes the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth to lick it away. He likes the way Harry will always call him over when he is testing out ingredients for his cooking courses for his honest opinion, and it's not because Louis likes food and is picky about flavour, no, it's because Harry trusts him. God, Louis just likes the way his nails are always painted such complementary colours, and how his skin is so smooth and milky, and the way it has its own sweet scent. The same scent that illuminates his rich curls and darling, oversized sweaters.

Louis finds him perfect in the way he likes lip balms, and shaving his legs, and sweet, smelling candles that Louis always blows out to make Harry give him that look, and then he is re-lighting them to get that other look from him. He's perfect in how he likes the stars as much as Louis, and in the way he's so soft spoken and gently put. He's beautiful in the way that when he smiles it ripples through his skin to his eyes, and in the way his safe place is the kitchen floor.

(Some days the birthmark on his wrist looks like a teardrop and other days it looks like hope.)

So Louis' probably pretty close to being in love, and he doesn't think he cares all that much because his mum always taught him to admire pretty things, and Harry isn't a thing, but goddamn is he so pretty.

Right now, they are walking to Harry's flat from a local shop that sells jars of strawberry milk and some lovely looking roses. Louis is carrying the grocery bags because he was very insistent on doing so, and he is also telling Harry about the speech he had to give Liam and Zayn about having sex on their kitchen table. Harry is just nodding along, laughing on cue, and giving him a few bewildered looks. Really, it's just all too cute, and Louis finds his heart melting as he rambles to the boy.

But then, in the midst of it all, Harry is stopping and bending down, and Louis doesn't notice for a moment, but then he does, and he turns to see Harry kneeling next to a little girl with long, curly blonde hair and light eyes. She has tears streaming down her face and is sitting right outside a small shop. "Are you a princess?" he hears Harry ask in a lilted voice, and Louis crosses his arms and bites at his lip to stop himself from smiling.

The girl looks up at him confused, and  she sniffles.

"You look just like one I use to know."

The girl's eyes widen as he she wipes at her crimson nose, "Really?"

"Yeah. Except," Harry leans in closer, scrunching his nose up, "you're much prettier than her."

Louis' entire body melts and he can't help the 'aw' that slips through his lips as the girl's eyes widen even more, her lips curving in a giant smile.

Harry smiles at the girl, and motions Louis over so he can pull out a rose for the girl, of course picking the thorns off before handing it to her, and she accepts it with a little squeak. "Every princess needs a flower," Harry says softly, "now where's your mummy, sweetie?"

The girl looks back in the shop. "She works in there."

"Well, don't you think it would be better if you stay in there with mum?"

The little girl huffs, petting at the rose petals. "I'm mad because I wanna get a gumball out of the machine but she won't give me a quarter."

Harry frowns at the girl. "Princess' aren't supposed to get mad at their mums for things like that."

The girl pouts and looks down, kicking at the ground. "I just want a gumball."

Harry smiles sympathetically. "If I give you a quarter, will you promise to be nice to mummy? Then you'll be the prettiest princess of all."

Louis smiles, watching as the girl nods fervently and Harry digs a quarter out of his jeans. "You be a nice princess, okay? Be good to mummy."

The girl nods happily and says thank you, before running back inside the little shop. Harry stands up with a small smile, blushing when he meets Louis' eyes.

"Harry Styles, what even are you." Louis says, gently wrapping his fingers around Harry's wrist and pulling him along.

Harry blushes a deeper red, smiling as he looks to the pavement. "What are you talking about?"

"What am I- Harry," Louis says, exasperated, "you're seriously the sweetest human being in the entire world, god."

"No m'not" he says bashfully.

"Honestly, Harry. That girl is probably in love with you now. Hell, everyone who meets you is probably in love with you," he mutters, pretending not to notice the way Harry looks to him too fast.

"Everyone?" he asks, almost urgently.

Louis bites his lip and squints his eyes, looking over Harry's face. He shakes his head and looks away. "Yeah, everyone."

(Harry's hand bumps his and Louis can feel his entire body flushing in a colour that he has never felt before. He isn't close to being in love, no, he knows he is already there.)