Dim Lights and Butterflies

Four

Louis wakes up an hour before his alarm. It's not a typical thing for him to do, but he guesses it's not too bad, because it means he will have some time to himself, some time to reflect and just be without anyone telling him otherwise. 

Louis wanders downstairs before the children have even gotten up, deciding to get a cup of tea in the quiet before it gets overthrown from the hustle and bustle of the little whirlwinds. But upon entering the kitchen, Louis is met with laughter from Krystal and... Harry.

Louis is sure he's dreaming, or having a nightmare, he's not sure which to be honest, because, well, this is Harry he's talking about. 

But there they are, Krystal at the stove making breakfast for them all- some scrambled eggs and bacon, a special treat to have on a Saturday-  and Harry is standing at the head of the island, his large hands outspread across the marble, head just slightly flung back with a laugh. His bunny teeth are on show, glinting in the artificial lights of the kitchen whilst the sun is still trying to wake up, poking its head just above its treetop blanket. He has dimples caving in like deep crevices either side of his cheeks. 

Louis never even knew he had fucking dimples, but on him, it makes sense. Or does it? Because he always saw dimples to be cute, something that an innocent would have to show their golden type demeanour. Harry isn't in that sense, someone who would be all sunshine and rainbows. It really shouldn't suit him, it really shouldn't, because he isn't someone that is a pure bundle of energy like a golden retriever. He's more of a storm cloud, not a cloudless summer sky. But the thing is, it does suit him. It makes him look even more beautiful than he normally does. 

And nope, no. He didn't just think that. He. Did. Not. 

He knew from the moment he woke up, today would be an off day. He didn't sleep so well, he was restless after the way Harry had been crying the night before and stormed out on him. It replayed in his mind all night, and it kept his thoughts whirring on what it could mean. 

So maybe this is all to do with his fucked up night, bringing fucked up thoughts into his fucked up brain. 

And his laugh isn't something he'd ever hear, ever. And here it is, out in the open for all to know. It's a sound that Louis could get used to if he allowed himself to, but he won't, because he simply cannot. He won't, he shan't. This isn't something for him to dwindle on. This is his boss for Christ's sake, he shouldn't think anything more than him being as such. 

Krystal spots Louis first, her smile easy on her face. "Morning, love!" she greets lightly. She goes over and gives him a hug. He reciprocates it, running his thumb up and down her shoulder, cheek pressed against her temple. 

"Morning, darling," he replies, kissing her temple.  "What's got you guys all chipper this morning?"

She pulls back, grabbing her spatula to turn the bacon. 

Louis takes a glance toward Harry who has lost his laughter instantly. The smile may have just been a figment of Louis' imagination after all, because the cold hard demeanour is back on his face and it looks like thunder. 

"Just Harry and I having a well earned catch up! Do you like your eggs scrambled or fried, Lou?" Krys replies.

Louis looks back toward her. "Oh, um, fried, I guess. Thanks." He scratches his hair, stifles a yawn and stretches, feeling his back pop with it. His shirt rides up ever so slightly, and he should've probably put a better pair of joggers on instead of the ones he wears to bed, because these ones are baggy and practically hangs off his waist. The waistband of his boxer shorts exposes itself. He pulls down his shirt once he's stretched. "I didn't know anyone would be down here this early," he converses truthfully.