Yours sincerely, Louis

Chapter 11

songs:
Silver Tongues - Louis Tomlinson                                                                                                                    
Happier - Olivia Rodrigo

Harry's POV

I blink awake, my mind fuzzy and disoriented. The room is bathed in a soft, early morning light that filters through the half-drawn curtains. As I start to shift, I freeze. There's a warm weight pressed against my back, an arm draped loosely around my waist. Louis. The events of last night come rushing back, and my heart rate picks up.

I lie there, barely daring to breathe, acutely aware of Louis's steady inhales and exhales tickling the nape of my neck. What do I do now? I can't just lie here forever, can I? But I don't want to wake him either. The warmth of his body is comforting, familiar, yet entirely new in this context.

After what feels like an eternity, I carefully extract myself from his embrace, holding my breath as I slide out of bed. Louis stirs slightly but doesn't wake. I stand there for a moment, looking down at his sleeping form, my emotions a tangled mess.

I need some air, some space to think. It's the weekend, so there's no rush. I quietly gather some clothes and slip out of the dorm room, heading for the showers. The cool water helps clear my head a bit, but I'm still at a loss about what to do next.

As I'm getting dressed, an idea strikes me. Food. I could go get some groceries for the week, maybe even make breakfast for Louis. It's a safe, neutral activity that gives me purpose and buys me some time to figure things out.

The shop is quiet this early on a weekend. I wander the aisles, tossing items into my basket almost on autopilot. Eggs, bread, bacon – Louis's favorites. I pause at the fruit section, picking up an avocado. I know Louis won't eat it, claiming it's "hipster nonsense," but I can't help myself. Maybe one day I'll convert him.

By the time I make it back to the dorm, my arms are laden with bags. I pause outside our door, taking a deep breath before entering. Louis is still asleep, his hair a mess against the pillow, one arm flung out across the space where I had been lying. My heart does a little flip at the sight.

Shaking myself, I set about unpacking the groceries as quietly as possible. Then, I start on breakfast. The familiar routine of cooking helps calm my nerves. The sizzle of bacon in the pan, the crack of eggs – it's all so normal, so everyday. Yet everything feels different now.

As I'm plating up, I hear movement from the bed. Louis is stirring, probably drawn by the smell of food. I freeze for a moment, spatula in hand, suddenly unsure. What do I say? How do I act?

But then Louis's sleepy voice calls out, "Haz? Are you making breakfast?" and I can't help but smile. Maybe we don't need to figure everything out right this second. Maybe, for now, we can just enjoy some good food and each other's company. The rest... well, we'll deal with that as it comes.
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I'm curled up on my bed, a book in my hands, but my mind keeps wandering. My fingers absently trace the edge of the page as I think back to Louis's sweater. It's funny how such a simple thing can mean so much. The soft fabric, the lingering scent of Louis's cologne - it all brought me a comfort I didn't even know I needed.

The memory of wearing it makes me feel safe, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth that's more than just physical. I find myself hoping that I'll get to wear more of Louis's clothes in the future. There's something intimate about it that I can't quite put into words.

A smile tugs at my lips as I think about how casual cheek kisses have become between us. It's a small gesture, but it feels significant. I could definitely get used to that level of affection. My mind drifts to the hickey incident, and I feel a blush creeping up my neck. I'm still shocked by how that conversation went, and if I'm being honest with myself, there's a part of me that wishes it had been true.