pretty please (with sugar on top) - larry stylinson

23

"Oh god, this is a disaster." Harry dug through his suitcase for the third time and still couldn't find anything suitable to wear. Everything was either too fancy or too casual, too sexy or too showy. He was on the verge of panicking, and the stupid, useless lingerie in his bag was taunting him.

"Hey, hey, whatever you wear will be fine," Louis comforted. "I guarantee you can go in whatever you want and you'll be the best dressed out of all of us. Also, look what I'm wearing. Not exactly high fashion, is it?"

He looked back at where Louis was leaning against the guest bed, dressed in a nice pair of black skinny jeans and a vintage t-shirt. He wondered what kind of business meeting this was, if that was what Louis was wearing. Not that he didn't look good, because he did. He really, really did, but Harry couldn't focus on how hot Louis was right now, because he was kind of freaking out over other things like what he was going to wear and how he was going to act.

"Do you have black jeans?"

He did, but they were more grunge than the pair Louis was wearing, the dye faded and with holes in the knees. He held them up and Louis shrugged.

"Those could work. What about those white ones, though? Seriously, love, it's no big deal."

Harry hesitated before reaching for his pair of white jeans. He bought them because they were the kind of jeans that resulted in everyone's eyes on him when he walked into a room. But he wasn't sure if he wanted that kind of attention tonight.

"You can look through my closet, if you want. You can borrow one of my shirts," he offered, and Harry smiled weakly at him because he knew Louis was remembering a few days ago when he complimented the alpha's extensive vintage t-shirt collection.

Harry ended up squeezing into the white jeans and choosing Louis' Pink Floyd world tour t-shirt, because he liked the rainbow on it and how it was printed in 1972. It was well-worn, well-loved, and it smelled clean like Louis' laundry detergent.

"Beautiful," Louis complimented once Harry stepped out of the bathroom, all dressed, to ask his opinion. "Not that it matters."

"What do you mean?"

Louis shrugged, focusing on collecting his phone and his wallet. "Just that you're not, like, obligated to look beautiful or anything. You don't owe it to anyone. You're allowed to just exist, you know."

It was a strangely sweet sentiment. Harry felt the sudden, deep urge to kiss him.

Instead he grabbed Louis' free hand and meaningfully squeezed. They walked out to the car where Nick was waiting for them.