LOUIS
There's a note in mine and Zayn's message container every morning. Zayn created it our second year at university and put it on our door to see what might occur. We expected notes and messages and occasionally received presents or phone-numbers instead. It was and seems to remains a success.
I've received 92 notes in a row, every morning since January. They're amusing and cheer me up even on my worst mornings. Today it says, LOUIS. HOW DO YOU STOP SQUIRRELS FROM PLAYING FOOTBALL IN YOUR GARDEN? The back says, YOU HIDE THE BALLS. IT DRIVES THEM NUTS. H.
I snort in response, grinning as I write a "92" on it and put it in my mug containing previous notes. I suspect Harry is behind my continuous amusement. We rarely ever speak as we're not roaming in circles that associate much, but his room is near mine and we're not that many queer guys in our room complex.
"How many now?"
"92."
He hums, considering something. "Do you never see it as creepy?"
I snort again. "Your notes are creepy. Someone mentioned you were sexy and someone outright claimed you. Harry's are amusing at most. Some aren't even that creative."
"Yet you never stop grinning."
"It's not nearly as creepy as your you're-sexy notes."
"I suppose knowing you're note-giver is sweet is..."
Zayn agrees with my suspicion, mainly because Harry stares at me and goes crimson whenever I catch him watching me. Zayn noticed prior to me. Which wasn't necessarily surprising, since I'm not one to notice someone watching me.
"His initial gives it away," I say. "He's not secretive in any regard."
"He's never gonna approach you."
"I'm aware."
"It's on you."
"I'm sure it is."
"Are you interested?"
"Very. I'm just worried my notes are gonna stop coming if we're not quiet anymore."
"Do you want notes or sex?"
It occurs to me sex wasn't crossing my mind very much prior to Zayn's comment. Harry is so sweet it seems nearly wrong even wondering. I was concentrating more on innocent matters. I want something sweet and captivating, warmth and security in someone I can come to in my worst moments and receive snuggles in response. I want soft kisses and quiet words whispered into my ear. I want conversations and giggles and curious, yet innocent fingertips tracing my palm and wrist, someone to ease my mind.
"I want..."
I want sex. I want someone to press me into my mattress, or up against a wall, someone to rough me up on my stomach, or stare into my eyes on my back. I want to go on top, use my mouth, get caught up in moments when we can't stop ourselves. I want a hand wrapped around my throat, a tongue in my mouth beneath warm water. I want to gasp and moan and come apart in ways I've never experienced. I want more, something I've never previously had. I want someone permanent.
"Sex, I assume?"
"It wasn't even occurring to me."
"It wasn't?"
"I suppose more innocent matters were on my mind."
He snorts. "You're smitten."
"Devastatingly so."
He grins. "History is starting soon."
I groan. I put on my vans, grinning as squirrels wearing football uniforms appear in my mind. I groan again as soon as we step out of our room and someone crashes into me. Hands land on my waist to steady me, eyes meeting green ones as Harry catches my gaze. His scent is heavenly.
