Play the Odds

4 - February

February

Louis scrambles into the kitchen, yanking his backpack straps onto his shoulders. He’s got a beanie jammed haphazardly on his head, and one shoe all the way on while the other flaps against the sole of his foot.

He steals the toast out of Harry’s hand, yells, “I’m late!” as though Harry doesn’t know how to read a clock, and then continues his hobbled sprint to the door, leaving a bemused silence in his wake.

Harry sips at his tea and goes back to his own leisurely breakfast (sans toast), but he’s hardly taken another bite when he hears a distinctive ka-thunk, ka-thunk of someone running with only one shoe properly on. Louis reappears in the doorway again, breathing heavily, and then takes two (lopsided) steps across the room to Harry. He takes Harry by the cheeks and kisses him, a loud, long smack of lips, and then calls, “Can you mark that one down for me?” before disappearing once more.

(Harry doesn’t add it to the tally. But, to be fair, he doesn’t add his own he gets in return, either.)

723 - 722

__________________

“Don’t forget, essays are due next week!” the tutor calls as she dismissed the class, most of the students already standing and stuffing their notes and laptops into their bags.

“That was a dull one, wasn’t it?” Isaiah asks, yawning. He holds out a hand to help Harry to his feet, as always.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Though while she was talking about Dickens, I did come up with a truly fantastic idea for the name of a cookbook for all the food Dickens mentions in his stories.”

“No you didn’t,” Isaiah laughs. “Go on, then, let’s hear it.”

“Okay,” Harry grins. “It’s called- Lou!”

“S’not very funny,” Harry hears Isaiah mutter behind him, but Louis is there shoving a cup of coffee into Harry’s hand and beaming like he’s made of sunlight.

“You brought me coffee,” Harry says, nudging Louis.

“Yeah, well, you made me breakfast,” Louis nudges him back, eyes crinkling.

“I always make you breakfast.”

“Well then, suppose I ought to always bring you coffee.”

“Suppose so,” Harry grins. “Hey, Lou, what would Charles Dickens call his cookbook?”

“Oh no,” Louis says, but he’s already smiling. “What would he call it, then?”

“ The Best of Thymes, The Worst of Thymes.”

Louis bursts out laughing, nearly spilling his own drink. “Oh, Harry, that’s terrible.”

“You laughed, it can’t be that bad.”

“It can, and it was-”

“Hey, Harry, I better go,” Isaiah cuts in.

“Oh, alright,” Harry says, lifting his arm automatically so Louis can fit against his hip. “Have a good day.”

As he walks away, Louis mumbles, “I still don’t like him,” and Harry smiles as he kisses Louis’ hair.

735 - 738

_______________

“Shouldn’t’ve… shouldn’t’ve had wine with dinner,” Louis says slowly, then laughs, his head dropping back to look at the ceiling.

“Wine with dinner is fine if you don’t refuse to share the bottle,” Harry points out bemusedly. He — like Niall and Liam — had a perfectly refined one glass with his takeaway pizza. Louis, clearly, did not stop there. His face is flushed, his eyelids heavy, and he looks half-asleep already where he’s curled up in his chair. “C’mon, Lou, let’s get you to bed.”