Work Text:
The first time Harry realized flowers were something Louis enjoyed more than other people did was in the X-Factor house. For some reason, a vase of orange Gerbera daisies appeared on the coffee table in the living room one day. Normally the room was slightly messy and a bit drab, but the flowers became a conversation starter.
“What are the flowers for?” Louis asked the night the flowers appeared while the boys and a few other contestants were huddled up watching a sitcom.
“Dunno,” said Aidan passively. “Think one of the girls brought ‘em from the market to try and liven the place up a bit.”
Louis hummed noncommittally.
“Sort of a shit choice of flower,” said Niall. “Not really that interesting to look at, and they don’t smell very good.”
At that, Harry noticed Louis’ brow furrow from where he was sitting across the room.
“Don’t say that, Niall. You’ll hurt their feelings!” Louis said, his voice increasing in pitch because of his indignation. “They’re right lovely.”
Normally Harry was the one feeling empathetic toward inanimate objects, but Louis had just personified flowers, of all things. Harry gazed at the flowers long enough to zone out, apparently, because suddenly he had a lap full of boy blocking his view.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Louis asked with a grin.
I wonder if Louis likes buttercups, Harry thought. It would make sense because they’re small and bright, like Louis, and maybe he likes flowers he can relate to becau---
“Hellllooo? Anyone home?” Louis asked as he petulantly wiggled on Harry’s knees.
“Sorry, Lou. Uh, just sleepy,” Harry said. “Wanna head up?”
“Sure thing, sleepyhead,” Louis giggled. “You go to bed. I’ll be up in just a sec. Gotta grab something.”
Harry didn’t have time to ask him what he was up to before Louis was pulling him out of his chair and ushering him toward the stairs. He trudged to his bed slowly, hoping Lou would catch up quickly. However, he didn’t return until Harry was already in his pants and cuddled up in bed, trying not to think about if Louis liked roses or posies more.
He heard Louis lightly patter into the room, which was still lit up by Harry’s bedside lamp, and opened his yes. He watched Louis walk up to their nightstand and sit something down, but he couldn’t see what due to Louis’ bum blocking the view. A bum which was now only covered by tight blue pants.
Harry closed his eyes again.
After shedding what sounded like his shirt, Louis clicked off Harry’s lamp and climbed into his top bunk, which creaked as he tried to get comfortable. Only after Harry ascertained Louis was settled for the night did he reopen his eyes to try and see what Louis had put on the table.
There in the moonlight was an empty coke bottle filled with water that was apparently now home to two orange daisies. Tonight was too much for Harry to handle, so he finally let himself drift off to sleep. All he dreamt of was a field of wildflowers.
For the next week, the first thing Louis did every morning was say hello to the daisies. It was so softly endearing, and it made Harry’s heart flutter to hear Louis’ raspy sleep voice whisper that he hoped the flowers had a lovely day.
Eventually, though, the flowers had to die.
It happened on a rainy Saturday afternoon before rehearsal. Harry woke up from a nap and immediately noticed that there was a lack of brightness by his bedside. He got up to inspect the situation. There was no trace of the flowers anywhere in the room, so he went downstairs to see if he could find Louis.
Harry hopped into the kitchen to find Louis washing the vase from the living room.
“Where’d the daisies go, Lou?” Harry asked with genuine confusion.
With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Louis said, “They probably didn’t get enough sunlight. Most of the petals were gone.” He sighed softly.
“Where’d you put them?” Harry asked. Louis meticulously dried the vase and nodded toward the bin.
“Wish I could keep ‘em till we leave. Really made the place feel like home,” Louis said.
Harry simply nodded and watch Louis put the vase away. He then went upstairs, claiming he was going to get ready for rehearsal, but Harry knew he was just going to sulk. Practice wasn’t for a few hours and he was already dressed.
With a sudden jolt of confused inspiration, Harry went to the bin and opened the lid. He grabbed the two daisies with the most petals left, unsure of what to do with them. He’d come up with something, though.
So, it became a thing. Louis must always have flowers, Harry told himself.
After the Death of the Daisies, Harry had one of the older contestants drive him to the market in the rain just to buy Louis a bouquet of tulips. He left all but two in the living room vase. The remaining two were plopped back in the Coke bottle in the boys’ room. As Harry placed them there, Louis shuffled on his mattress, turning around to face Harry. His sleepy eyes contained just a hint of dismay, but Harry moved aside to show him the purple flowers and Louis gasped, sitting up and demanding to have the flowers in his hands. Harry obliged easily, smiling way too largely.
When Harry finally bucked up the nerve to ask Louis on a proper date, he bought him a half dozen red roses. Louis’ cheeks blushed to match them as he ducked his head.
When he and Louis moved into their posh London flat, Harry spent far too much money on vases and bouquets to have all around the house. There were even tiny vases full of baby’s breath in their bathrooms. No expense was too much to have the shine in Louis’ eyes that was only brought on by seeing soft petals in the room.
And the flowers just kept coming.
When they settled down into their private LA home, Louis took to keeping a patch of sunflowers and magnolias.
“Gardening helps me relax, Harold. Don’t laugh,” he’d say in defense when Harry would find him in his dirty overalls and gardening gloves, mulching one of his beds.
“Never, darling,” Harry would say with a small giggle anyway. It was only out of affection.
No matter where they were or what they were doing, Harry always made sure there were flowers in Louis’ line of sight. In their dressing room. Waiting for him in his hotel when Harry wasn’t there. In the car when he was getting picked up from the airport. Flowers were their thing that no one could take away from them, so much so that if suddenly flowers were brought up in any other context, Louis became sensitive.
When Zayn began receiving flowers for his “engagement” in interviews, Louis would try to take them for himself.
He’d come up to Harry once they were home to whisper, “wish they were giving us flowers for our engagement.”
Harry would hug him close and pet his head, promising to make it up to him. Louis’d shake his head and apologize for being silly.
“The only flowers I really need are from you,” Louis would say, giving Harry soft neck kisses.
It was way worse when the boys were interviewed by Ellen and Harry was asked if he sent 1,989 roses to Taylor Swift of all people. Louis nearly lost his cool on live tv about that one, internally scoffing. Buying her roses? Seriously? Harry probably did buy 1,989 flowers while he was in his arrangement with Taylor, but they were all for Louis. God, what a horrible time that was.
Harry was sending flowers everywhere for Louis. Every day, sometimes twice a day, flowers would appear at his doorstep or in his hotel room. Peonies, daffodils, aster, magnolias, marigolds, irises, etc., etc., etc. They were everywhere, and they were one of the only comforts Louis had during that trying time.
Harry thought they were past that jealousy, but the Ellen interview had really been the climax.
“Where the fuck would anyone even get the idea that you would do that for her!” Louis belted once they reached their car. “I mean, it’s been how long now? And you were together for two fucking months in their eyes? Bullshit. How pathetic do they think you are?”
“Lou, please. Don’t let this bother you,” Harry urged as he lightly grabbed for Louis’ hand.
Louis pulled away harshly.
“They’re taking our thing, Harry. Our thing! They’re bastardizing it and manipulating it and making it something cheesy and stupid and ridiculous and I wish people knew.”
Louis took a deep breath and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. His eyes were closed as he leaned his head on the cool window. He looked like a dying flame, hot and heading quickly toward the bomb, only to stop itself right before detonation.
“What do you wish they knew, love?” Harry asked softly.
Louis shifted his head into his hands and began to speak softly.
“I wish--I wish they knew that you bought me my first sunflower and now they’re my favorites because you said they reminded you of my smile. I wish they knew that you always put lilies in the bathroom upstairs because they match your pink towels,” he said through a shaky breath. “I wish they knew how you fucked me on the petals of 21 roses for my 21st birthday, you ridiculous fucker. And I wish they knew that you have two dried out orange daisies in a copy of your stupid Bukowski book on the middle shelf of the den wall because you knew those flowers meant everything to me at the time.”
Tears were definitely coming now, but Louis pushed his palms into his eyes to stop any obvious downpour. His flame was gone, and he was cold now. Harry unbuckled his seatbelt and slid over to Louis’ side, wrapping his arm over him. It took Louis a bit, but he softened under his touch, seeming to breathe more evenly with his boy close to him.
“Louis,” said Harry carefully. “There is nothing I want more than to be able to live in a time and a place where people can know those things. I would love it if we were comfortable telling the world our secrets,”
He stroked Louis’ arm as he spoke.
“I would love everyone to know you’re mine. But right now...right now, it’s just you and me, yeah? Maybe one day we’ll have the option, and maybe one day we’ll choose to take it. But I just need you to enjoy us like we are right now, okay? Ignore the bullshit. We’re all we need.”
Louis let Harry hold him all the way home, and the during their next available break Harry flew them to the middle of nowhere Kansas so he could show him the entire field of sunflowers he bought for him. Sometimes, Louis couldn’t believe how outrageous his boy was. Fuck.
So after all of this, it shouldn’t really surprise Louis when the flowers keep coming as Harry starts his tour. Every few days there’s a new bouquet waiting for him wherever he is in the world. A sappy note describing why Harry chose the flowers and how much he misses him is always attached, and Louis always smiles with crinkly eyes as he reads them. He still cherishes every single one.
The flowers will always be there, Louis knows. They’re there when Louis wins an award. They’re there the day his album is dropped and they’re there even more so when it goes platinum in the U.S. The flowers are there in abundance on their wedding day. They’re present when they bring their first child home and when they cook dinner for their family and when they fuck the second the grandparents take the kids for the night and they’re there until the very end. Harry always, always makes sure Louis has flowers.