Tiny, Darling.

Prologue

The blinding morning sun shone in through white plastic blinds that were hung up over the windows; windows that looked out into the awakening city of London and onto the beginning of what will be a bustling road below. Harry already knew this. He knew that around 9:10 am, the truck that delivered fresh produce to the corner store across the street would arrive. That at 9:45 am, his regular customer named Ethan would stop in to Harry's floral shop to pick up one white rose and one red rose for his wife every Monday. It was a busy, happy routine in the quiet corner of Harry's world, and he didn't mind at all.

Harry was the type of person that stayed in on Friday nights and added to his literary collection that the world would never see, but at the same time he was the kind soul whose first instinct when he met someone's eyes was to smile. Part of his cheeky aurora, he supposed.

"What do you think, Timbo?" Harry hums, sat at his kitchen table while carefully slicing into his pancakes. He hated that unnecessary squealing sound that some people carelessly made with their fork and plate.

The small black cat sat perched up on the chair next to Harry's. Harry's chair wore marks that symbolized its regular use. It was the only chair out of the four that was ever used.

Timbo blinked up at Harry, not saying anything yet his yellow eyes seemed to study the strange creature in front of him that he loved. His little mouth peeked open and shut just as quickly, a movement that made a deep rumble of laughter emit from Harry.

"Agreed. Time to open the shop," he hummed, standing and making his way downstairs. Timbo followed.

Harry slipped the key into the worn out lock below the door handle and opened up the door to allow fresh air into the little space. It smelt heavily of flowers and soil. Harry swore that it was the smell of love, but his friends begged to differ.

Harry spend the next three hours caring for the different species of flowers and plants, greeting his customers with a friendly smile and warm conversations all the while Timbo laid in a spot on the floor where the rays of sun reached.

"No, Jonathan, I do not want cotton. I want rayon. Something with texture," a rather high sounding voice echoes throughout the small shop.

Harry turned and beamed happily at the man, taking no time to judge who he was. He just wanted to be friendly, "Hello! I'm Harry, owner and manager."

The mans eyes wandered up and down Harry's body, as if he was taking in his appearance and developing whatever insults and flaws he could find. Harry silently thanked the gods that whatever the man had thought wasn't spoken out loud. That would be awkward.

"Mhm. Louis," he hums, reaching a hand out to shake. He took Harry's hand cautiously and stared at it like he could catch some type of disease from Harry.

"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Harry smiles, taking his hand back to brush it through his long strands of hair. He had been meaning to get it cut, but never got around to it.

"Yes, I need something suiting for a special occasion."

"Well what type of occasion are you specializing for?"

Louis rolled his eyes at the obvious joke that the younger boy had tried to make sound cool, which it wasn't, "Meeting Pierre Bergé at a runway in Paris."

Harry stopped what he was doing and set down his bag of soil, "Pierre Bergé?" He repeated, looking down at Louis with a smile, "Like, co-founder of Yves Saint Laurent?"

"Uhm, yes?" Louis questioned, squinting his eyes a little bit as if he was surprised that Harry knew who he was talking about.

"What, am I living under a rock? I live for YSL," Harry laughs and makes his way over to where he began to cut particular flowers to gather into a bouquet.

"You buy from Saint Laurent?"

"I said I loved them, not that I could afford them."

"Of course."

"Of course."

**
AU NOTE:
I'm really excited to write this story, and I can't wait for you to read it. I hope it's decent enough that you'll continue to read on, and let me know your thoughts. x