Baby Soft || l.s

One

//Present Day//

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"Tell me, Mr. Styles, why did you do it?"

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Harry didn't really know why these insignificant people couldn't wrap their thick heads around it. He's been over this countless times before. But, he didn't mind. He loved telling his love story. It made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

"Well," Harry sighs, sitting back, settling down; getting comfortable. "I remember, exactly, that it was January fifteenth, of 2010, when I met him. It was quite chilly, and it had just started snowing..."
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Harry sips on his coffee, humming as he walks along to the office, a hand settled comfortably in his pocket, the other holding his drink. He had a bag slung haphazardly on one of his shoulders, and with each long stride he felt it slipping just the slightest bit more.

He smiles brightly as he stops at the receptionist's desk, setting his cup down with another hum.

Harry liked to hum; it made the voices go to sleep.

"Hi, Harry. Late again, sweetheart?" The petite blonde lady says with a light smile, glancing up at the green-eyed boy before tapping away at her keyboard again.

"Yes, Miss Taylor. On the way here, though, I fantasized about you. I imagined what it would be like to slide my knife across your throat, watch the blood spurt out and run down your body. I imagined how it would feel to have your blood all over my hands, Miss Taylor. It would be quite warm, huh? Lovely."

"That's nice, dearie," Taylor hums, scribbling on a slip of pink paper, then handing it to Harry with another smile.

Harry hadn't actually said that, of course. He'd thought it, but would never dare say it. Instead, he'd mumbled something about how he'd slept in because of his late visit with his mum.

That was socially acceptable.

Harry was socially accepted.

Mumbling a halfhearted thanks, the boy stares down at the ugly carpeting as he walks the hallway to get to first lesson, coffee cup back in his hand.

Suddenly, the weak cup is crushed between two chests, the hot liquid spilling down and seeping into Harry's shirt, his skin. "Motherfu-" he begins in an angry hiss, before looking up and going quiet.

There stood the most beautiful person he'd ever seen.

The doll had a pretty heart shaped face, lips thin and pink and soft-looking. His eyes were wide and a striking blue, and the lens of his glasses only made his eyes look even bigger. When Harry looks down to examine the rest of him, he's met with a small, soft body, the tiniest little tummy pressing against his tight white top.

He was so beautiful.

"-so sorry, will never happen again, I'll buy you a new one, damn it, I'm so sorry-" the boy is rambling.

Harry just smiles.

He probably looks insane, but that doesn't matter.

This boy, this idiotic, rambling, blushing, soft boy-Harry didn't have thoughts about him. Not the sadistic ones. He wanted to make the boy calm, see him smile. Not watch him die.

The boy was special.

"I'm Harry," the taller (and older) boy says in that deep, raspy, slow voice.

"Louis," the other squeaks out.

"Louis," Harry repeats, even slower.

He likes how that name rolls off his tongue.
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//Yo x//