Harry opened a new iMessage and typed.
Cafe or one of our places tomorrow?
He put his phone down on his bed and stared at the screen. He counted, "Three, two, one." His phone rang. They had only worked together a couple of weeks, but Louis' preference to call over texting whenever possible was one of his favourite new tidbits about the mystery writer. He picked it up. "Hey."
"I dunno, I'm kind of getting sick of smelling like the cafe when we leave every day."
Louis also had the habit of forgoing a greeting and preferred to jump into conversation as if they had been already talking for an hour. Another detail.
"Yeah, I get it." Harry looked around his flat and bit his bottom lip. His gaze fell on a lonely mop that was gathering a layer of dust propped between his refrigerator and the wall. "Um, so one of our places? Which one?"
"Wanna come to mine? Based on your unique ensemble today, I'm going to guess your flat isn't guest ready."
"Excuse me, my velvet trousers are the most comfortable I own." Harry grinned as he heard Louis snickering through the phone. "My place is fine. I just have to straighten up. And I have the couch."
"True. Done. See you tomorrow."
. . .
The next day, Louis stood outside Harry's door. He lifted his fist, but paused before knocking. He heard music. Was it their ever growing Christmas mix that both had been using while writing in the cafe? He leaned closer and put his ear on the door. A smile stretched across his face.
Harry's voice was quiet but it carried clearly over the sound of his delicate piano playing. Each chord was soft as he played with the casual ease of someone with complete control over their instrument. Harry had mentioned that he had an idea for a Christmas song that sounded almost like a church hymn, simple and easy to remember. From what he heard through the door, Harry's song sounded like a hybrid of Silent Night and It Came Upon A Midnight Clear. Gentle, tender, and bright.
The music stopped suddenly and his tune was replaced by the high wail of a kettle. He heard Harry running across the apartment, then stepped back from the door and knocked.
"S'open," Harry called.
Louis stepped inside and locked the door. "Hey."
"Hey." Harry leaned over the breakfast bar, already smiling wide enough for his dimples to show. "Make yourself comfortable. Tea is almost ready."
"Nice."
Louis moved to the living room, which was becoming more and more like a quicksand pit every time he came to Harry's flat. The couch was just so comfortable with so many seating possibilities and so many cozy blankets. He never wanted to leave when they were settled in. What more could he want in the world than writing, blankets, and Harry?
Louis bumped into the arm of the sofa and dropped his bag when the last item snuck onto his mental list. The bag clattered to the floor, and he hurried to bend over to pick up his collection of colourful pens.
"What are you doing?" Harry chuckled.
"Nothing." Louis hauled his laptop out of its bag while still on his knees, blowing his hair off his forehead. "I'm good." He sat on his regular side of the couch and placed his laptop on his thighs. "Did you bake cookies?"
"Yeah. Chocolate chip. I forgot I froze dough at Christmas. I think it'll still taste okay."
"Smells really good."
Harry walked between Louis' shins and the upholstered coffee table to grab his phone from the couch. He bent over and the simple motion set off a symphony of images that slowed Louis' typing as he watched. Harry's white tee puffed up to reveal the curve of his lower back. The front of his shirt hitched enough to see his lower stomach, flat and with definition but soft enough for small crinkles to form over his abs. His pale blue jeans hung off his rounded hips, and a hint of black boxer briefs peeked out the top. The delicate black tattoos on his forearms shifted with the tiny motions each muscle made while he composed a text. Louis curled his fingers into fists as he pressed his wrists to the edge of his laptop. Harry dropped his phone, then rounded the coffee table.
