I am Harry Edward Styles, and I am not a puppet.
Management, which they might call ‘Modest!’ can not tell me what to do, reporters can not tell me what they do, not even Simon.
Sending me out on errands will not make me any stronger, yet alone give me any more publicity than I already have. I never came to seek fame, I came to seek love, and love is what I found.
Louis is sleeping, sprawled out on the yellow-stained sofa in front of me. We have had this sofa for years, straight from the x factor bedrooms. On that sofa, people have come to visit, we’ve snuggled watching a movie or just simply sat down, stared at a wall and did absolutely nothing.
The fact that I’m with him is the whole thing.
Something cheesy is playing on the television, ‘The Apprentice’ or something along that line. It’s playing so loud, and sending sound waves to my ear so fast, I’m still pondering the fact that the boy’s able to sleep. Perhaps it’s the long hours we’ve spent, recording songs, writing lyrics, or at concerts that have worn him out. They’ve worn me out too.
I’m just so drawn by the expression sitting on his face; beautiful, as always will be, mouth curved into the shape of an unfinished smile. It’s felt like years since he’s truly smiled , all before he was forced to parade around with El. The last time he smiled was when he told me this morning how happy he was that we were able to be on break.
If only he knew that I’m happier.
I lean back in the couch, my long legs covering Louis’ legs in an instant. Just the smell of being home is enough to arouse my longing to go back to sleep....
- -
“Styles get up, this is ridiculous!” Louis is above me, all smiles as he tries to be disappointed at me. I don’t quite remember when I fell asleep, but his face is enough to get me going for now.
“Stop being an arse, I’m getting up,” I yell, dodging a pillow Louis chucked in my direction. It smashes against a wall, sending a mirror crashing to the ground. I literally just cleaned the house.
“Tommo! I just cleaned up the whole house!” I realize I might be coming off as whiny, but I guess this is a pretty good reason to be, considering earlier I had put my heart and soul in making sure every inch of the house was clean. Glass now scatters the floor at which the mirror had fallen, crystal pieces dashing the ground.
Louis jumps up, bouncing off the couch like he’s on one of those bouncy houses you can find at a child’s circus.
“I’ll clean the mess if you don’t want to!”
That might qualify as taking it a step too far. Louis cleaning is like sending a little boy to ride a bus: it’s better I just don’t let it happen. I pull him back, so that he’s sort-of sitting on my lap. Before I know it, our lips have crashed together, as if that was the only goal that we ever had from the beginning. He tastes like doritos and soda, a taste I find surprisingly attractive.
Everything about him is attractive.
Pulling back, arms around my neck Louis smiles.
“So, you want me to clean up the mess Mrs.Clean?”
I laugh, ripping off his arms playfully; that mess will need need some sweeping.
