Drawin' hearts on my skin, with our initials in it
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“Five more minutes, Louis Tomlinson, you’ve got five more minutes.” He mutters to himself, standing to his full height for a second just to give his toes a break from holding all of his weight. He squats back down, pulls his jacket tighter around himself and takes another look around.
Three minutes later, the headlights of a car Harry knows far too well shine into his face. “About fucking time,” He seethes quietly, standing up and walking around the fence to the car. “About fucking time!” He yells to the person in the car, sitting alone behind the wheel.
Louis leans the top half of his body out of his car window. “Shut the fuck up,” He whisper-yells, beckoning Harry over to the passenger seat. “You dick, why are you shouting?” Louis asks as Harry settles himself in the seat.
“What? Afraid someone is gonna be out here now?”
Or, Louis and Harry have been secretly messing around with each other for almost a year. With a healthy dose of crying, an argument for character development and a box full of memories to help sway a stubborn Harry Styles.
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Not much has changed in the month he’s been able to just walk in rather than use the window. Harry still has all the same things on his walls, his bed is pristinely made and his pyjamas are folded at the end of the bed.
The only noticeable difference is the presence of Louis and their relationship. There’s a framed picture of Louis kissing Harry’s cheek on his shelf, a few of Louis’ clothes are dotted about, and next to Harry’s pyjamas is a bundled up hoodie, one Louis knows is his.
Or, after a year full of messy feelings, Louis and Harry have finally got it right. And with prom around the corner, Louis manages to push his fear aside and ask his boyfriend to be his date.
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