Paint Me A Story ➳ Larry & Zouis

epilogue: extra credit

"Saturday, five o'clock.  Wear something comfortable."

Harry stood in front of his full-length mirror, the glass coated with smudges and fingerprints.  He fumbled with the tiny buttons of his floral-patterned blouse.  He couldn't decide if he wanted to button up to the collar or leave it undone halfway, exposing his perky nipples.  He decided with the latter. 

He flattened his hands down his thighs to smooth out the wrinkles in his skinny jeans.  He turned his waist a bit, happy to see that the dark denim tightened around his small yet plump arse.  His jeans scrunched around the tops of his golden boots.  The sunlight from his window made them sparkle. 

He stared at his reflection for a few more seconds.  This was really happening. He was going on a date with Louis, his twenty-six-year-old art professor.  Or rather, former professor.  Harry felt like he could barely breathe.  Louis had said that he wanted to plan out the entire date by himself, that it would be a surprise.

Frankly, Harry hated surprises, but he appreciated Louis's attempts at being spontaneous.

Thanks to the cold December air, Harry's reddened lips were chapped and swollen.  He wet them with his tongue.  He looked like a complete mess, with blushing cheeks and bitten lips and pimples dotting his forehead.  Fuck.

"You look lovely," Gemma insisted, leaning against his doorframe. 

Harry met her eyes through the mirror.  "I look like a nervous wreck," he chuckled.

She smiled.  " 's normal to have some nerves before a date."

Date, Harry thought.  Fuck.

"Still can't believe you're dating someone even older than me," Gemma continued, watching as Harry rolled up his cuffs.

Harry blinked silently.  He could sense the hesitation in her voice.  "You can trust Louis.  He's a good guy, Gems," he reassured.

She hummed.  "Are you ever gonna tell me where you two met, anyway?"

Harry bit his lip.  No, he'd save that conversation for another day.

"Just somewhere," Harry said obscurely.  He fiddled with the chain of his cross necklace.

"Somewhere?" Gemma pressed, brow raised.

"Yes."

"Please.  You're overwhelming me with details," she teased and rolled her eyes.

Harry huffed.  "Listen.  Have you got any chapstick?  Louis'll be here any minute."

She nodded.  "Yeah, 've got some in my room, I think.  Be right back."

She left Harry's bedroom for a moment.  Meanwhile, Harry toyed with his hair.  It was straighter than usual, for some reason— probably because he let it air dry without fluffing it first.  He just wanted to look perfect.  He knew Louis wouldn't care, because he wasn't superficial like that, but still.  He felt sort of inferior to Louis, given their seven year age gap, like he wasn't mature enough to date someone as lovely as Mr. Tomlinson.

And, fuck, Harry really needed to stop with the whole 'mister' thing.

"Didn't have any chapstick," Gemma said, returning to Harry's bedroom.  "But I've got lip gloss."

Harry turned around, frowning.  "Lip gloss?"

"Yes.  Don't give me any of that gender roles bullshit.  It'll moisturize your lips, just like chapstick," she promised.  She placed the glitter-filled pink tube in Harry's awaiting hand.