Pride {l.s.}

2- Hold My Hand

"That was a very pretty boy who was in here earlier for his painting. You two took quite some time in the back," Zayn comments. We sit behind the counter and chat a little bit as the day just begins. We sip on our coffee to wake our senses.

"He's the most talkative person I've had to paint. He's constantly asking questions, cracking jokes, and telling random stories. He's quite the character," I comment nonchalantly as I watch people walk past the window.

"He pulled you out of your shell a little bit. I could hear you laughing from up here," Zayn says with a laugh.

"It's hard not to laugh at him. He has this big smile, and he makes you forget a lot of things that bother you. Easy to talk to."

"You seem quite taken by him."

"I am not."

"You walked out of that room yesterday with blush on your cheeks."

Zayn lets out a laugh as I start blushing again. "So what if I was blushing? People blush all the time."

Zayn shakes his head at this and finally takes the attention off of me. We fall into a comfortable silence as he sketches a new idea for a painting. He does a lot of abstract, where I am really good at painting portraits and landscapes. Together we cover a lot of art.

I hear the cheering in the streets from our studio. I know that this party will go all the way until morning, and I don't really mind. I like seeing people happy. I especially like seeing people being happy because they are proud of who they are. People run past the window of the studio with colorful waves of flags following behind them. I hear the music blaring and the shouting.

"Louis."

I look up to see Zayn talking to me. "Yeah?"

"You should go join the party."

"You should go. You're the one who is bi," I say to Zayn bluntly.

"Parties like that aren't my thing. You should go."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

I roll my eyes. "It's a pride parade, and I'm not apart of the LGBT community. I mean I support them, but I'm not a member. It's like showing up at a mosque when I'm not even Muslim."

"I'm not dumb, Louis."

"I never said you were."

"What I'm trying to say is that we've been best friends since freshmen year of college," Zayn explains as if he is speaking to a child. "I know you really well, Louis. We've worked side by side for a couple months now. You haven't dated a girl at all. We've gone to clubs, and you don't look at them."

"What are you trying to say?" I say accusingly as I glare at him.

Zayn lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

I look away from Zayn before I say something that I could regret. I've learned to hold this all in, and I'm not letting it out now.

I hear the door open, and I look up to see someone familiar walk in. It's not familiar as in like we met last week. It's more familiar like I've seen that walk before and that smile on her face looks like one I've seen before.

"I'm here to pick up a painting that my brother made me come get for my birthday," the girl says with a sweet smile on her face that I swear I know.

"Sure. What name is it under?" I ask as I look at the computer to see what paintings are here for pickup.

"Harry Styles. I'm Gemma Styles, his sister," she explains, and it finally all hits me.