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Louis loves it when the sun shines on Harry’s curls.
They sparkle, not dissimilar to topaz, glittering under the sun whilst simultaneously rich like molasses. They swirl, and frame Harry’s face beautifully, whether that be his short hair from back when they met back when they were teenagers, or now, in their early adult life, where Harry’s hair has grown long, flowing down his neck and to his shoulders. They’re luscious, they’re perfect, and Louis spends more time than he’ll admit carding through them, running his fingers along the silky strands, untangling the little knots that’ll occasionally form, while Harry lies on his lap, blissfully unaware of the world around him.
They’re at a picnic today, surrounded by daisies, and Harry’s hair is doing the exact thing that Louis loves. There’s a slight breeze, ruffling Harry’s hair slightly as he sits, admiring the view. It’s such an ethereal thing to witness, and Louis can’t believe he gets to see this part of Harry; this unabashed, genuinely joyful part of him that the big crowds rarely get to lay their hands on. It's something Louis can’t help but feel incredibly thankful for every single day.
“Harry.”
“Hm?” Harry hums, turning towards him, and Louis feels his heart twist painfully at the gentle smile that has planted itself on Harry’s lips. Harry looks so delicate, so gentle, like the petals of a flower, and Louis wants to melt.
“C’mere,” Louis says softly, watching as Harry gets up, carefully avoiding the dishes stacked up in one corner from their finished picnic. They had finished the food a while ago, now they’re just here for the flowers.
There’s something about the way Harry just slides in fluidly onto Louis’ lap that makes his lungs constrict a bit. It’s something about the complete trust Harry has in him, full faith as he looks up at him, all innocent and pure and everything good in the world. Louis just wants to shield Harry from it all.
“Let me braid your hair, Curly,” Harry lets out a pleased noise at that, as he sits up and leans back a bit, giving Louis full access to his hair.
It’s just so amazing, how much Harry trusts Louis. And yeah, it’s only hair, and yes, they’ve done this before – Harry knows exactly how good Louis is with braiding hair, having been forced to learn it since he had five sisters – but the amount of confidence Harry always entrusts Louis with sometimes blows his mind. It’s insane, sometimes, even though Louis knows he believes in Harry just as much, if not more.
Regardless, Louis finds himself falling into a soothing rhythm as he dutch braids Harry’s hair, gently overlapping one hair strand over the next, and there’s just something so comforting about braiding hair, something so intimate as he feels Harry’s breath even, as he peers over and sees his eyelashes flutter close, as he ties off one braid, then the other with the hair ties Harry always has on his wrist for situations exactly like this.
Eventually, when he’s finished, he stares at his masterpiece. Harry looks gorgeous, dainty, almost, despite him being bigger than Louis. Two braids hang off his head, slightly messy, just the way Harry likes it. There are little baby hairs sticking out, making Harry look even more adorable, and Harry hasn’t even spun around yet to show Louis his face.
“It’s all d- wait, close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you to,” Louis interrupts his own sentence, as a brilliant idea flashes through his mind. Instructing Harry to stay still, he gets up, stretching out his slightly sore muscles, as he starts heading into the flower field.
The ground is covered in daisies, to the point you couldn’t even see the actual soil, and he walks around, finding the perfect daisies to stick into Harry’s hair. Not too big, not too small. Just perfect, like everything Harry is. There’s a multitude of different sizes and colour variations, and even some other flowers scattered in with the daisies, but it doesn’t matter. Louis is very particular this time around.
When he’s eventually satisfied with the flowers he’d picked, he stumbles back onto the picnic cloth he’d laid out for them hours ago and starts meticulously placing each and every flower into the crevice of Harry’s braids. He’s careful, every flower is lovingly placed and spaced out evenly. Despite what many think, he’s actually pretty damn good with hair, from practicing it with his sisters.
Towards the end, Harry starts to whine, begging Louis to let him open his eyes to see what he’s doing, but he just chuckled, before, “Keep your eyes closed, Harry. Or I won’t show you.”
“You’re so mean,” Louis can hear Harry’s pout, and he resists the urge to kiss it away.
“Just a little longer, Curly,” he murmurs, as he finally places the last daisy into his hair, “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
Harry opens his eyes excitedly, then frowns, “What did you do to my hair? I can’t see.”
Louis has to hold in the urge to just cuddle him and hide him from the world, as he whips out his phone to take a photo of his handiwork, letting the camera focus before snapping a photo and showing it to Harry.
“Lou,” Harry breathes, and Louis goes to smile before realising he’s already fucking grinning, as he sees Harry’s eyes well up in happy tears, “I look, so, pretty.”
“More than pretty, Curly,” Louis murmurs, as he leans in closer, “You’re fucking elegant, and graceful, and every other damn adjective in this fucking universe.”
“Lou,” He’s pretty sure Harry’s close to tears, as a hug comes barreling towards him, a chaste kiss being pressed insistently against his lips, thankful and glowing. Louis feels their fucking souls intertwining, and he isn’t even surprised. Harry has the power to do this shit to him.
“Wait, Lou!” Harry grins, after they’ve pulled back, all bubbly and excited, and Louis swears that added years to his life from just looking at him, “Don’t look. It’s my turn now. Go on your phone or something.”
“Curly, what the fuck are you going to d-”
“Shut the fuck up let me do something!”
“Fine!”
Louis grumbles, but it’s all in good nature. He scrolls mindlessly through social media, waiting impatiently as Harry scurried about. He doesn’t know what the fuck Harry’s doing, but eventually, he does settle down, almost going completely silent, lest for a couple of swears and a few hums.
“I think I’m done- but don’t turn around, and put your phone away,” Harry mumbles from behind him, as he hears him shuffle closer to him. As instructed, he puts his phone away, though he couldn’t help but let curiosity pique his interest. Sure, he’d done the same to Harry, but at least he had some idea of what it was, Louis has none. Then something get’s nestled into his hair, and Louis very nearly flinches, but Harry’s gentle hands are styling his hair around it, and his hot breath is fanning across Louis’ neck. It’s close and familiar and everything Louis could ever want.
“Okay, I’m done now,” Harry singsongs after fumbling with his hair a bit and stepping back (he’s ninety-nine percent sure Harry tripped on himself and almost fell from the way the scrambling and muffled curses sounded), “you can look.”
Louis immediately pulls out his phone, swipes the camera app open and–
Oh, my god.
On his head, sits a fucking flower crown.
Delicately crafted, made from purely the perfect daisies Harry must’ve hand-picked while he told Louis to stay put. It doesn’t look clumsy either; each daisy was intricately weaved into one another, forming a perfect circle. It looks perfect, it looks like Harry had done this many times before.
“When did you learn-”
“Gemma and I used to,” Harry says, blushing, “When we were little kids, Mum taught us,” his hand softly touches one of his braids, as he flicks one over his shoulder gently to look at the daisies without knocking any of them off his hair, “I didn’t think I’d shown you that I could, before, so. I thought we could match.”
“Harry,” Louis struggles for words, slightly, as his hand comes to touch the flower crown, which sits on his head like expensive jewellery, “This is wonderful, thank you so much.”
“It’s just a flower crown,” Harry mutters, but his ears are pink, and Louis sets a personal reminder to learn how to make flower crowns later to make one for Harry, “It’s nothing big.”
“No,” Louis says insistently, pressing another kiss onto Harry’s lips, watching as he squirms, “It’s everything. I love it. We can really match, now. I’m never taking it off.”
“I’ll never unbraid my hair, too, if you’ll leave the flower crown on, forever,” Harry says, clumsily patting the top of his head as he feels for his braids, his lips curved upwards in a what seemed to be, permanent smiles.
“I guess you never will,” Louis sighs, and how did everything get so perfect? How did he end up like this? He doesn’t know.
And maybe Louis doesn’t keep the crown forever. Maybe his heart wilts alongside the flowers when they begin to shrivel up a week later. And maybe Harry had to take his braids out the next day, alongside the daisies, which ended with rapid disappointment from both ends. But the daisies will live on, in their memories, and maybe a small daisy was picked that day to be pressed and kept in their memory scrapbook for later.