Lovers' hearts || Larry Stylinson || English translation || OS

LOVERS' HEARTS

"So you're good with your hands." Harry smiled smugly, at that point.
Louis didn't even try to hold back a smirk while answering "Very."
"Good." the curly boy commented, amused "Tell me more about you."
Or: Louis can finally go back home for Christmas break and on the train he meets a curly, clumsy boy. And he thinks that, sometimes, two hearts recognize each other without us doing nothing.

THIS STORY ISN'T MINE, IT'S JUST AN ENGLISH TRANSLATION. ALL THE CREDITS GO TO THE LOVELY @mysoftlouis , WHO GAVE ME THE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE HER STORY FROM ITALIAN TO ENGLISH.

LINK TO HER PROFILE: https://my.w.tt/rdzuqnoon1

LINK TO THE ORIGINAL STORY: https://my.w.tt/vXhc4Wqon1

«Train approaching platform three. Please, remain behind yellow line.»
Louis snorted while the grating, recorded voice repeated the same message a couple of times, always with its mechanical and unnatural cadence.
Honestly, his love-hate relationship for passing trains was based on the season: he adored them on summer days, when they moved quickly through the station, taking a pleasant breath of fresh air with them that wiped out the heat for at least a moment. He hated them, instead, during winter, when they created an unbearable swirl of frost that seemed capable of dragging with it even the smallest remnant of heat laboriously scraped.
And in that moment his hate had reached its maximum peaks, considering that it was a cold night of December and he had been out there for ages, sincehis train was fifty minutes late.
Fifty! It would have been quicker to ask Santa for a ride, at that point.

And as if that wasn't enough, the inside of the train station had been left without heating, so waiting in there would have been just as bad. May as well be out in the open.
Louis snorted again – his breath turning into very light, tiny clouds as soon as it left his lips – and he rubbed his arms with his hands, covered by warm wool gloves.
Despite his jacket, his beanie and the scarf that wrapped him up almost to his ears, he was freezing. He would be soon turning into a Louis-popsicle, on display in a museum to be observed by future generations. But at least he would be in a warm place.
«Train approaching platform three. Please, remain behind yellow line.»
«I get it, I get it.» snorted Louis, trying to get some shelter behind one the columns that supported the canopy, hoping to protect himself at least a little from the incoming wind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the regular rhythm of the train on the rails in the distance, but he suddenly opened them when the train sped very fast right behind him, fully hitting him with a gust of wind that easily moved him half a meter, freezing him to the bones.
At that point Louis felt the irrepressible urge to slap himself: he had indeed sought shelter behind a column, but on the wrong side of it, and instead of sheltering himself he had been totally exposed.
Idiot, he mentally insulted himself, moving to the other side and frowning, annoyed by the noise made by the train.
Judging by how stunned his intellectual capacity was, he really needed Christmas break.

Louis distractedly observed the empty train station, only illuminated by yellowish lampposts, mentally thanking whoever invented the Christmas holiday. He wouldn't have lasted one more day at the clinic, otherwise. That was sure.
Awakened from his thoughts by a detail he hadn't noticed before, Louis straightened a little and sharpened his gaze: about twenty meters away from him, there was a guy. And he was also pretty cute, for what Louis could see despite the warm jacket and the oversized scarf wrapping him up.
He was quite tall and had soft, dark brown hair, his cheeks were red because of the cold and his eyes were focused on the direction in which the train for Doncaster was supposed to appear.

The last cars of the freight train passed through the station and quickly moved away, while Louis adjusted the beanie on his hair and tried to find a random topic to start chatting up he stranger. At that point he would have talked even to the benches rather than having his mind stuck on how cold he felt. And a cute guy was certainly better than a bench, so he took a deep breath and started moving to approach him. Actually, he didn't approach him at all, though, because the "cute guy" had just dropped a huge and disgusting spit on the rails.
«Ew,» Louis whispered, disgusted, turning to the other side.
After all, maybe the benches were better. He didn't have desire to talk to the llama-boy, thank you very much.