Larry Stylinson One-Shots

Practicing French

"Tell me about you." Louis turned suddenly to the man sitting next to him in the maroon chair. He knew not who he was, but it was itching him to ask the posh, beautiful man about himself.

"I'm sorry?" The man's bright emerald eyes widened.

"Tell me about yourself." Louis repeated. His hands, which were previously in his lap, were now making wide gestures. "You seem intriguing and.... er, well, just really cool."

The man smiled but Louis knew this first impression was plummeting.

"Erm... Well, that's a little precarious since I know nothing about you."

He was right. Hm.

"O-oh. Well, I'm Louis. I'm n-nineteen and I'd like to talk to you." Louis stumbled a bit with his words, but the man smiled brightly nonetheless.

"Okay, Louis," the man emphasised his name, "I'm Harry."

"Hello Harry." Louis almost broke his face from how big he was smiling. The beautiful man finally had a name. "Tell me about you."

"Okay.... I'm twenty-two."

"And?"

"And... I think it's your turn to share."

Louis sighed, not really wanting to talk about himself, but wanting to talk about Harry with his long, curly hair.

"Okay..." Louis rolled his eyes, "I go to West Cheshire University where I study literature."

"Literature, huh? I study history."

Louis smiled for just about the six hundredth time whilst talking to Harry, "Tell me about that."

Harry laughed, "There's not much to share on that topic. Just infamous pogroms and....

While Harry talked about his history course, Louis couldn't stop looking at Harry's features. A jaw line that could slice a watermelon, piercing green eyes that could probably kill someone, and pink lips that looked like they felt like silk. And not to mention his hair, which was molded into wispy curls that bobbed every time Harry moved a muscle.

"Louis?" Harry snapped his abnormally large fingers in front of Louis' face, getting him back into reality, "Are you there?"

Louis shook his head but said the opposite, "Yes, yes, I'm here. You were saying something about how they used to get pinioned at pogroms for pilfering?"

Harry smiled, his dimples poking out of his stubbly cheeks, "Not quite, love."

"Oh." Louis got red in his cheeks, "Then can you tell me again?"

"No, no, it's way too boring for you. You seem like the kind of person who likes adventure and maybe history topics aren't your potable of tea." Harry shook his head, but the bright smile still remained.

"You use big words, Harold." Louis told him, his hands finding their way back onto his lap.

"Big words? What do you mean?"

"Potable? Pogroms? What's next? P—"

"How about polyglot?"

"What?" Louis scrunched his brows in confusion.

"It means 'using several languages'" Harry informed, "Which I can do."

"Oh really? You speak several languages?" Louis questioned. This man can literally do everything if he can speak more than one language.

"Oui, mon amour. J'ai appris quand j'étais très jeune."

Louis' eyes widened, "What does that mean?"

"It means 'Yes, my love. I learned when I was very young.' in French. I also know Spanish, if you'd like to hear." Harry wiggled his eyebrows and cast a mischievous smile.

"Of course I want to hear, you oaf." Louis joked.

"Bien bien. Aquí está mi español." Harry laughed, noticing Louis' confused expression once again. "It means 'Here is my Spanish.'"

Louis shook his head in awe, mainly because Harry is so intelligent. Louis can barely speak English correctly, much less French or Spanish, "How did you learn those?"

"I was taught when I was very young, like I said about learning French."

"Oh."

Harry looked away from Louis for a quick second, perhaps thinking, "Hey, uh, Louis?" He asked.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would you like to, uh, maybe come over to my place later? So I could teach you French?"

Louis' smile dropped. Not because he didn't want to, but because perhaps the most beautiful man on the planet just invited him over to his house.

"Uh... y-yeah, I'd love that."

Harry smiled, as did Louis.

They were going to practice French at Harry's house.