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Sometimes Louis can’t help but kiss Harry Styles.
He can’t help it; Harry is right there, in front of him, looking so perfect. Harry looks like the world, the moon, the stars, and the entire fucking galaxy. Harry looks like rainbows, rays of sunshine, and all the sappy shit Louis can’t believe spews out of his mouth.
It’s a strange thing, really, being so undeniably whipped for someone, to the point he lacks self-control. He wants to do nothing but snuggle up with the boy all day and watch the shitty reality tv trash Harry immerses himself in. He wants to take him on stupid dates everywhere, whether that’s eating out at a restaurant or having a picnic in their backyard.
Sometimes Louis really can’t believe it. He really can’t believe that he managed to find someone who’s so perfect for him, so in sync with one another, someone who knows every inch of his skin. Someone who supports him through thick and thin, who’s gone through hell with him, and has come out of the other side with his fair share of scars, but. They’re together. They’re happy.
And the best part is Harry feels the exact same way.
Louis can’t help but see the expression on Harry’s face sometimes, the looks he gives to Louis when he thinks he can’t see them. He looks ethereal, but Harry looks at Louis like he hung the sun himself, sometimes. Louis can’t fathom how much this boy means to him.
He’s in front of him right now, back faced towards him as he decorates some cookies. His curly hair is hastily tied up into a bun, and he’s wearing fluffy socks; they’re dorky and adorable, just like him. He’s murmuring something under his breath, almost unintelligible – though Louis has heard the tune enough times to know it’s a new song he’s working on – as he occasionally sways along. The sight makes Louis go so incredibly soft, melting just that bit more every time his heel hits the wooden cabinets behind it.
They’re making midnight snacks, right now. Well, Harry is; Louis is content to watch him. His eyes peer curiously over his shoulder as Harry attempts to decorate the fucking cookies he made earlier. The shapes are nice – of course they are, his husband made them – and on the occasion he does turn out to grin at him, his eyes are alight with joy. He’s right in his element.
Louis sighs, and it’s so sickening how in love he is. Even his sigh is lovesick. He quite literally adores Harry, and it’s impossible to believe he’ll ever stop. Hell, even the thought of makes the sea in his heart rumble in discontentment.
Eventually, when Louis’ back starts to grow numb from sitting on the counter, he hops down and snuggles into Harry’s side. Harry’s incredibly warm, and Louis can see his little tongue poking out his pink lips as he works, brows furrowing in concentration. The moonlight from the window casts a shadow across his features, making him look downright angelic, as he hums, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Harry can see it curve upwards slightly.
God. He is so kissable.
It’s deathly quiet, but so comfortable. Neither of them has spoken a word since Harry’s started decorating cookies, the atmosphere so peaceful it felt wrong to shatter. Not even the crickets chirped, it’s like the whole world understands the fragility of the moment.
Something buzzes under Louis’ skin, the urge again to kiss Harry silly. Louis never really knows how to stop himself from looking away from Harry when he’s like this, completely at peace, cherishing the world. He’s so majestic, so gut-wrenching. He makes Louis’ lungs constrict and his soul ache. Louis’ never felt something like this before him, ever.
So without a word, Louis kisses him senseless.
Harry’s a little surprised, as Louis grabs him down, but he kisses him right back immediately, and the universe drowns in fond. Every hair on Louis’ body feels like on fire, and Harry’s so warm, covering him in molasses. There’s nothing to say, nothing needed to be said, as Harry and Louis stand there, messily dressed in pyjamas, doing nothing but dazedly kissing each other.
Finally, Harry pulls back, laughing a little dopily, still high from it all. His laugh is like pure, viscous syrup, voice a little rusted from the lack of use, but so Harry. Everything screams Harry at this moment, including Louis. He belongs with Harry, their spirits seem to be intertwined together, in every way possible.
God, Louis doesn’t know how he managed to get this lucky.
“You are, so unbelievably breathtaking right now.”
It’s breathless and so quiet. It slips from Louis’ lips without his permission, echoing in the air. And maybe it’s because of the kiss, or maybe the delicacy of the atmosphere has dimmed, but it doesn’t feel as wrong for breaking the silence, not at all, especially after he sees Harry’s face break out in a large grin.
“God, Lou,” Harry sighs, and it’s a downright sin how enamoured he sounded, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“I could be asking the same question,” he whispers, as he leans in for another brief kiss, this time on Harry’s nose, letting out a smile himself as Harry giggles.
“I love you so, so much,” Harry whispers, voice on the verge of tipping into infatuated tears, eyes glossy, and everything is so much, yet not enough. Never enough. Louis can never seem to get close enough to Harry.
“I love you more,” Louis replies, “I love you so much more.”
“Not possible.”
“Very much so, Curly,” he grins, though he doesn’t know if the smile ever left his face, “It’s physically impossible to love someone as much as I love you.”
Harry turns, dipping a finger into some spare icing that didn’t fit in the piping bag, before proceeding to plop it on Louis’ nose. Louis squawks in indignation.
“Hey!”
“Payback,” Harry giggles again, as Louis furiously tries to wipe the icing off his nose, before turning back around, “Lemme finish decorating.”
Louis reluctantly complies, though it isn’t long until his hands find himself snaked around Harry’s waists, tiptoeing to see over Harry’s shoulders at the cookies. They look quite good, honestly. Little designs that are so endearingly Harry Louis couldn’t help but smile. He leans over and snatches a cookie.
“Lou!”
“Fuck off, I want a cookie.”
Harry laughs, a little incredulous, as he watches Louis inhale the cookie as if his life depended on it. It tastes bloody amazing, as it always does, – since it’s his husband’s cooking – but it never fails to make him want to exclaim to the world how amazing Harry is.
“Harry, these are fucking amazing,” Louis squeezes out between bites, “I should’ve gotten some milk.”
“Thank you,” Harry replies dryly, before turning back around, “Milk’s literally in the fridge, go get it.”
“I live here too, you know.”
“Fuck off, let me decorate these damn cookies!” Harry laughs, humour evident in the curves of his face and his eyes, as Louis beams before grabbing the milk.
(“Hey,” Louis mumbles, later that night, lips pressed against the shell of Harry’s ear. They’re both dozing off, under the cozy duvet of their bed, as Harry sleepily grunts back. He’s finally finished decorating the cookies, it’s three a.m., and both he and Louis are exhausted as fuck, “I adore you.”
Something akin to a sleepy smile makes his way onto Harry’s face, as he turns slowly. Their legs are twisted together, so interlaced with each other one couldn’t find or spot where one begins and another ends. Harry’s eyes are so close to his, and when they flutter open, Louis can count every eyelash and see the way his pupils expand, even in the darkness.
“I adore you more,” and yeah, maybe Louis can’t help but kiss Harry again, but it’s everything he could’ve ever dreamed of and more.)