~*~ Harry ~*~
After Louis helps bring his thoughts back into a manageable place, Harry feels much better and is ready to continue the evening. He changes into light gray joggers that hang low on his hips and a loose white t shirt, while Louis pulls on black cotton shorts and an oversized black tank that appears to have once been a t shirt but now has the arms and most of the sides cut out.
“Grab the blanket. It gets cold in there,” Harry says. “I’ll take the pillows.”
He picks up four pillows as Louis takes the blanket off the end of the bed. Ushering Louis out the door in front of him, Harry lets his eyes fall over Louis’ body. Everything about Louis’ form is perfect. His arms, shoulders, and back are muscled and toned without being oppressively large. His thighs are thick and strong. And his arse… Harry could write sonnets about Louis’ arse, short stories even, perhaps even art in the form of photographs. Harry stares at the round, flawless bum, bouncing with every step, in front of him.
“Stop staring at my arse, Harold.”
Harry’s face reddens. When Louis turns his head to look at him over his shoulder and winks, Harry’s blush deepens, and he speeds up to walk beside Louis. He risks a quick glance to the side and sees Louis smirking. Looking quickly away and down, Harry feels completely and utterly embarrassed to have been caught. It takes Harry several steps to notice that Louis stopped walking. He doesn’t look up but stops and waits for Louis to catch up to him again.
Louis covers the distance between them and reaches out to lift Harry’s chin. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” His hand moves behind Harry’s head and into his long curls, pulling him down to meet him in a short brush of lips. “I like it. Don’t ever change that.” Several brief kisses later, they separate and continue to the theater room, Harry stealing quick peeks at Louis every time their hands brush against each other.
The room is filled with couches and tables, of various styles and colors. It is a hodgepodge of organized chaos and one of Harry’s favorite rooms in the house. Harry is hesitant when they enter, afraid of what his sister and Ella will say about what happened earlier, but to his relief, no one says anything or acts any different. Maybe Louis was right and no one saw. The lack of response provides a normalcy that has Harry breathing steady again.
Gemma is bouncing on her feet in excitement when they arrive. “Finally! We’re watching The Last Song, first.”
“Really, Gems? Do we have to?” Harry whines. He always cries during that movie, and he’d really rather not do that in front of Louis. It’s not as if he hasn’t been embarrassed enough this weekend.
Gemma gives a knowing nod. “Yes, we do. You can pick next.”
“Fine,” Harry concedes and moves to his favorite fluffy couch. He tosses the pillows down just as his dad comes barreling into the room.
“Harry, my office. Now,” his dad commands, tone brooking no argument.
Harry tenses but immediately turns to follow his dad from the room without argument. Louis grabs his hand and stops him. “Are you going to be alright?” he murmurs quietly so only Harry can hear.
“I don’t know,” Harry answers under his breath.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
