Work Text:
Louis is a smart guy. He graduated from uni with honours, recycles properly, and – contrary to popular belief, Niall, – can cook decent food without burning down the flat.
Louis is, usually, a smart guy. So it’s completely baffling that he decided to go to Ikea on a Saturday at midday.
There are people everywhere, literally everywhere, and Louis doesn’t know where to look. There are people spilling out from the elevator, teens littering the stairs, families looking at a map of the store like it’ll help, a couple arguing over whether using one provided bag or two is better, a little girl screaming her head off because the “balls in the play area are scary”… Louis can relate.
Louis weaves his way through the throngs of people and snatches a white card and pats his jeans to make sure he brought a pen with him. He steels himself for even more crowds and takes the stairs two at a time before coming to a halt, eyes squinting past everyone into the bright lights of the bedroom setups.
The thing is, Louis needs a lot of stuff. He’s just moved into his own flat partially because he now has an “Adult Job” as his mum calls it, and partially because Niall kicked him out.
“I’m not kicking you out,” Niall had groaned as he shoved Louis’ clothes into a suitcase haphazardly. “Babs and I are engaged now, we need to live together. It’s not about you.”
“So why don’t you buy a one room flat and let me find another roommate then?” Louis had pointed out, crossing his legs at the ankles from his perch on his desk. If Niall was going to kick him out, he was going to have to do all of Louis’ packing. Or at least some of it.
“She works from home,” Niall had explained, throwing Louis a half-hearted glare. “You know that.” He pauses, staring down at a pair of Louis’ pants. “Also we’re adults – ”
“I reject that,” Louis quips, waving a hand.
“Tommo,” Niall said seriously, causing Louis to stick his tongue out. Niall only calls him Tommo now when he wants to remind Louis how old he is. “You’re twenty-nine. You have a real, awesome job. You need your own flat.”
Louis didn’t reply because he might be twenty-nine but he’s still just as immature as he was when he met Niall at eighteen.
“You know you’ll always be my favourite,” Niall whispered, grinning at him.
“Thanks, babe,” Barbara had said, sweeping into the room and handing Louis a list of things he was going to need for his new flat. Not really sure if it was helpful or a little insulting, he had just smiled at her, kissed her cheek, and left for Ikea.
And now he’s wishing he had gone somewhere less… busy. But the grandeur and splendour of Ikea had haunted him since he was a child and hated passing up the excuse to go, seeing as how few and far in between trips were.
In a display of shocking proportions, Louis had already found a flat. It was near the tube so his commute to work was cut down about ten to fifteen minutes, it had a great view of a lush park, and – most importantly – had a great coffee shop right across the street. His new friend Zayn, the other Senior Marketing Assistant, has an older sister that lives in the building and heard there was an opening. Zayn was able to hook Louis up with the landlord’s phone number and when they met they hit it off instantly. She was a middle aged mum of two whose husband is a teacher and who “had such bad landlords in the past, I wanted to be someone’s good one”. Louis can’t argue with that. His landlord in uni tried to sell him coke once.
So Louis is moving into his new flat in six days and all he has is what he brought from uni to his shared flat with Niall. He has all his things, of course, completely useless and random things, but his all the same. He has a bedroom set, thankfully, and a single brightly coloured embroidered pillow, but other than that he has absolutely no furniture.
Louis’ list includes but is definitely not limited to: couch (at least three cushions), a “comfy chair that makes you never want to get up” (he has a lot of friends and family that visit him, okay?), two bar stools for the island in his kitchen – why waste money on a dining room set? His guests can just eat on the comfy couches – , coffee table, desk, a decent sized bookshelf, and a vase.
Louis should’ve known the vase was going to cause him the most trouble.
Accenting a home was never his strongest trait. He was able to tack photos and posters up on a wall perfectly fine and that’s what he stuck to. His mum, on the other hand, was incredibly talented at making a house feel like a home. “It’s just not just about décor,” she had said when Louis was fifteen and complaining about shopping for boring things. He tried to understand what she meant once he had his place with Niall, but with work and his promotion from Junior to Senior Marketing Assistant and trying very hard to ignore Niall’s instance that he “knows a great bloke I could introduce you to”, all previous decorating information slipped his mind.
So now he’s standing in the home décor section staring at a wall of shelves filled with vases. There are tall and short vases, bright and dull vases, fat and skinny vases, fancy and cheap looking vases, pretty vases and ugly vases… It’s a lot of vases.
Louis has no idea which one to pick, but he knows he has to pick one. He can’t invite his mum over to visit (read: help unpack) without showing her that he’s really a real adult. It’s probably sad that it’s taken at least nineteen or so years to prove to his mother that he’s an adult, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been one.
Anyway.
He’s just reached out to pick up a medium sized bright yellow vase when there’s a small cough behind him. His first thought is that Professor Umbridge from Harry Potter is behind him, and his second thought is that he’s about to get murdered, in an Ikea. He’s not sure which thought is crazier.
Turning around, Louis is met with the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.
A bloke around his own age is staring at him apprehensively from huge slowly blinking doe eyes, a curtain of soft curls framing his face.
“Uh,” Louis says instead of saying “yes, excuse me, how may I help you, what do you want, please tell me your name,” etc.
“Sorry,” Doe Eyes laughs, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He’s wearing good boots, a nice worn leather Chelsea. Louis appreciates nice footwear. “Just, I saw you from the fake plants and I really needed to tell you… that vase is hideous.”
A startled laugh escapes Louis, nerves from talking to a cute boy melting away. He looks at the vase and then back at Doe Eyes, raising an eyebrow.
“What’s so hideous about it then?” he demands, grinning. “I think it would look perfectly nice in my kitchen.”
Doe Eyes shrugs and moves closer, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. He’s wearing very tight jeans, a bit worn in the knees. Louis can also appreciate good jeans.
“Sure,” he says easily, his voice a slow molasses. “What colour are your kitchen walls? And counter tops?”
Louis wonders if Doe Eyes is an interior decorator or is just pulling his leg. He’s quite cute though and Louis hasn’t ever passed up an opportunity to talk to cute boys.
“Beige,” Louis says, laughing. “It’s not the best colour, actually, but I just moved in and can’t find the time to paint it a better colour. And my counter tops are white marble.”
“Oooh,” Doe Eyes sings, “fancy.”
He points to a tall, navy vase a few vases away from where they’re standing. It’s a lot thinner than the one Louis picked up, and the colour is definitely easier on the eyes than the bright yellow.
“That’s…probably a better choice,” Louis says, placing the yellow vase back in its place and picking up the navy one. It’s a lot lighter than the previous one and hangs in his bag without much give.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling up at Doe Eyes. Doe Eyes grins and nods.
“No problem,” he says, “happy shopping!” He gives Louis a short wave and lopes back off to the fake plants and art area, leaving Louis a little confused.
“Well,” he mutters to himself, crossing VASE? off his list. “Maybe he is just an interior decorator.” Feeling a little sorry for himself – he was cute, okay? – Louis heads off towards the storage section.
//
Louis has crossed three things off his list: vase, bookshelf, desk storage (this was added after he saw the cutest little drawer thing that is made to sit on your desk and hold all your papers and utensils and stuff. It’s awesome). Louis practically skips towards the free-standing chair area; he’s doing such a great job. His mum, Niall and Barbara will be so happy with him.
Louis is checking out a white chair that is definitely too low for his island but is just too nice to pass up when a shadow passes over it.
Looking up, he’s met with Doe Eyes’ doe eyes.
“Hi,” he says, syrupy slow, smiling at Louis. Louis smiles back. “You’re on my radar.”
What?
“What?” Louis says, voice going flat. Is Doe Eyes just going for it? Louis is pretty impressed. He knows he’s an attractive man, and if he was in a club it would make perfect sense, but he’s just wearing normal jeans – not even his Arse Jeans – and a t-shirt; nobody has ever hit on him so fast.
“You’re on my radar,” Doe Eyes repeats, gesturing at the tag hanging from the top rung of the chair. REIDAR is printed neatly in block letters right underneath Chair: Indoor/Outdoor. Reidar.
“Reidar,” Louis says weakly, coughing and stepping back. He feels so… silly. Of course Doe Eyes isn’t hitting on him. He’s just making a joke, a pun, it’s nothing to write home about, Louis.
Doe Eyes must notice the look on Louis’ face because he winces and sticks a hand out.
“Sorry,” he says, “my name is Harry. That was my foolproof way of saying hi after basically stalking you throughout the store.”
What?
“Uh,” Louis says. He’s thoroughly confused, but he shakes Doe Eyes’ (Harry???) hand anyways.
Harry grins, a faint blush igniting at the bottom of his cheeks, but his eyes remain bright, boring right into Louis’.
“First I saw you in the vases section, then in the bookshelf section, and now here… And I thought I should say hi.”
“Oh,” Louis says, smiling. His tight smile unfurls, a small warmth radiating from the middle of his chest. With the way Harry is looking at him, smiling at him, he just well might be flirting with him. “Well, hi Harry, my name is Louis.”
“Louis,” Harry says slowly, like he’s trying to taste the word, trying to see how it feels in his mouth.
Louis needs to stop himself immediately.
“Oh, look!” Harry exclaims joyfully, “a critter!” Louis whips his head around so fast it’s a bloody miracle it doesn’t topple off his head. Instead of seeing a critter scampering around Ikea, he sees two children playing tug-of-war with another child as the rope. What kind of people are allowed to be parents?
“A critter?” Louis says disbelievingly, “where?”
Harry points to a small chair for children.
KRITTER
Louis groans so loud one of the kids lets go of the other and they all go crashing to the ground. There’s a split second of silence before the other tugger starts wailing for his mum, clutching at the top of his knee which definitely did not hit anything. Not wanting to be around a crying child and what looks to be a scary mum, Louis grabs Harry’s arm and drags him to where the bar stools are lined up.
“No more puns,” Louis says as sternly as possible through a grin trying to break his face wide open. Harry stops giggling – giggling, a grown man – and nods firmly.
“Yes, Louis,” he says, winking. “No more puns.”
For some reason, Louis thinks Harry is definitely lying to him. For some reason, Louis doesn’t care.
“Oooh, Louis, look,” Harry says, pointing to a basket filled with wooden blocks.
“No more puns!” Louis exclaims. He can tell by Harry’s face that he’s got another, but Harry just presses his lips together and mimes zipping them.
“It’s alright,” Harry says serenely. Except…except he says it very strangely, and in an accent that he definitely does not have…
Louis looks at the basket of blocks to see RÖRT. A Rort. Alright.
“Stop,” Louis groans again, but he can’t keep from laughing. Before he knows what’s happening he and Harry are both cackling into their hands, causing families and employees alike to give them strange looks.
“Stop making puns and help me pick a bar stool set,” Louis says in between breaths of laughter, “also are you an interior decorator?”
“No,” Harry says, gesturing at a pair of bar stools that are definitely too high for Louis’ legs. “I played a lot of Sims in uni.”
“You’re joking,” Louis deadpans. “But your advice with the vase was so good!”
“Thank you,” Harry says modestly, “but I’m serious. I had a lot of free time in uni so I just… played a lot of Sims. Except I made their houses, killed them a few times, and moved on.”
Louis stares at him.
“That is the single creepiest thing I’ve ever heard,” he states, before pointing at another pair of stools. Harry shakes his head.
“No, those look too old. Your flat is probably modern looking, yeah?” Louis nods. “You’ll need cleaner lines, something minimalistic. Also everyone has killed their Sims families, don’t pretend you’re any better than the rest of us.”
“I am better than the rest of you,” Louis sniffs, walking towards the next set of stools that look “clean line-y” enough, making sure to walk properly so his arse moves in a way that definitely shows it off. He’s definitely regretting not wearing his Arse Jeans, though.
“So what did you go to uni for?” Louis says over his shoulder as he bends down to check the price of the most minimalistic stool he’s ever seen. There’s a pause behind him before Harry clears his throat and follows him, shaking his head at the stools. Louis pouts.
“You’re cute when you pout,” Harry says, and it’s absentminded like he’s not sure he’s even saying it, continuing to talk while Louis has a casual melt down beside him. “I went to school to be a teacher, but that’s not what I do.”
“What do you do?” Louis chokes out, covering up his rasp with a quick cough. He’s cool, he’s fine, and he can be totally normal after a cute stranger tells him he’s cute.
“I make candles,” Harry says, and Louis slows to a stop.
“You make candles?” Louis asks in disbelief. “That’s like, a real thing?”
“Yes, Louis,” Harry laughs, pointing at a stool. Louis shakes his head without looking at it; Harry rolls his eyes. “Where do you think candles come from? Do you think they just appear? Do elves make them?” he pauses for a second and then adds pensively, “I bet elves are great candle makers.”
“Shut up,” Louis laughs. “Where does one… make candles? Do you work in a factory?”
Suddenly, without Louis’ permission, his brain is inundated with images of Harry wearing one of those bright orange safety vests over his bare chest, cut off jean shorts, and work boots…
He barely registers Harry laughing and saying “no, I don’t work in a factory”, before he blinks out of his daydream.
“Sorry, what? What about a factory?” There’s a haze around Harry, a smoky blur that makes everything but him blurry. He’s ethereal, almost, the way he’s laughing at Louis, leaning to one side, making eye-contact with him like it’s the only thing he wants to do.
Louis has known Harry for less than an hour, but he already knows he wants to know him forever.
“Just get the Reidar chairs and a small table, it’s much cosier,” Harry says, casually grabbing a card and scribbling the item number and colour – white – on it. “What else is on your list?”
“Um,” Louis says, accepting the card from Harry. “A couch, a comfy chair, a desk, and a coffee table. And I guess now a dining room table.” The reason Louis is letting a stranger decide what type of dining room he should have is currently unknown.
“Perfect!” Harry crows, grabbing Louis’ hand and dragging him out of the free-standing chairs across the aisle into the living room chairs section. “I’m looking for a couch too, so we can do that next.”
“Sick,” Louis says, fighting to keep the grin on his face from becoming too big. A whole day of shopping with the cutest guy he’s ever seen? Don’t mind if he does.
//
Harry is… A lot.
He flits from item to item, sometimes touching things reverently like he’s never wanted to do anything more, sometimes he stays three feet away but stares at it with a weird serial killer type face.
Along with the items in Ikea, it’s also how he looks at Louis.
Sometimes Louis will be in the middle of a story, something irrelevant but funny enough to make Harry laugh, and he’ll look up to see Harry grinning at him from three feet away, his face contorted like some sort of fond frog. Sometimes he’s right beside Louis, knocking their elbows together or reaching across him – for no reason – to pick up some random object or another.
Louis definitely isn’t complaining, and he’s definitely flirting.
And Harry’s flirting back.
“Lou,” Harry whines, “we can come back for the desk and tables later, they’ll still be here. I’m hungry and want meatballs.”
Louis sighs dramatically and scribbles the item number of the coffee table they’ve been looking at for the last ten minutes.
“It’s fine, I like this one,” he says. “The last thing on my list is a dining room table.”
“Excellent,” Harry chirps. “Let’s go eat.”
Getting to the cafeteria is an adventure to say the least.
Harry seems to know a lot of people in Ikea. Most of the people he says hello to are either middle aged women or retired folks.
“Why do you know everyone here?” Louis asks after he and Harry finally escape an old man who “hasn’t see young Harry here for a few weeks, and when will he be coming back?”
“Well,” Harry says, plucking a berry smoothie from the refrigerated area and, after waiting for Louis to point, a bottle of water. “Most of the mums I know from my candle business – ”
“What’s that called again?” Louis is asking purely because he’s nice, not at all because he might want to buy a candle and possibly see Harry again. Not at all.
“Sadie’s Candles,” Harry says, smiling. “I don’t know if I mentioned it earlier, but I work out of my house… It’s nice being home for stuff, and being able to nap once or twice or all day if I need to.”
“Do you even get any work done?” Louis asks, narrowing his eyes. “Is that why you don’t have any bags under your eyes? Because you nap and force elves make your candles?”
Harry shushes him before the words even leave his mouth, leaning closer and winking. “Don’t tell all these poor shoppers my secret, I haven’t even given out my business card yet.”
The thing is – he’s really close. He’s super close. Louis can count his eyelashes and the light freckles that line the crease of where his nose meets his cheeks. He can smell his cologne – Tom Ford? – and he can see how evenly Harry is breathing, like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something… or doing something –
“Next!”
Harry jolts away from Louis, Louis teetering a bit not realizing he was leaning into Harry so much.
“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says laughing to the cashier, who just smiles at them, while steadying Louis with a hand to his waist. A shock rockets straight up Louis’ spine, sending tingles from the pads of his fingers all the way down to his toes. He flexes his hands and takes a deep breath, following Harry up to the counter after he beckons him.
“What do you want?” Harry asks, pulling his wallet out. Louis shakes his head and takes his own wallet out.
“Nope,” he says warningly, “don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, fish and chips? Perfect!” Harry says loudly right over Louis, nudging him away with his hips. He has very strong hips which side tracks Louis so much that he doesn’t even notice Harry handing a tenner to the cashier with an “also an order of meatballs, please!”
Louis huffs and pinches Harry’s side, ignoring his squeak.
“I’ll get you back for that,” he says. Harry quirks an eyebrow at him on their way to wait for the food.
“Yeah? How?”
It sounds like a challenge, and whether or not it is, Louis takes it as one.
“I’ll pay for your meal next time we hang out,” he says, and he might’ve stuttered a bit with how quickly it comes out of his mouth.
Harry merely smiles and picks up the tray with their food – how did Harry know Louis wanted fish and chips? – looking at Louis over his shoulder as he walks towards an empty table.
“Deal.”
Louis is left to deal with that as he settles into the seat across from Harry. Before Louis can say anything Harry pushes some of his chips onto his own plate, grinning at him sweetly.
“Thanks, Lou,” he says, laughing at the look on Louis’ face before falling silent abruptly. “Sorry, was that – I definitely overstepped, ah, I’m sorry –”
“Harry,” Louis says, effectively cutting him off. His mouth snaps shut and he looks at Louis expectantly, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “You can have half my chips. I never finish them – and I want a few meatballs.”
Harry’s face breaks out into a smile so sweet that Louis can feel his pores cleanse themselves, can hear world hunger being solved, can see his future right before his very eyes.
They sit like that for what seems like an eternity, just laughing and getting to know each other. It’s the best non-date date that Louis’ ever been on. (He finds it unfair to call it a proper date when Harry probably isn’t calling it a date.)
Although.
At one point Harry hooks his ankle around Louis’ and stares down an older man who’s giving them disapproving looks, causing Louis’ stomach to erupt with butterflies.
He wasn’t sure a twenty-nine year old man could still get butterflies, but here he is.
Despite the old man glaring at them like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, Louis caught a little old lady smiling at them so happily and content that he doesn’t mind the glares. It’s the little things.
“So, Harold,” Louis starts, pointing his fork at Harry, “you still haven’t told me how you know all the retired people infiltrating Ikea.”
Harry leans forward and steals a bite of fish off of Louis’ fork. He should have seen that coming. Harry winks at him as he chews, his throat working to swallow…
Louis is snapped out of his daydream when Harry clears his throat, taking a drink of his smoothie.
“I teach Movement at the university every Sunday afternoon.”
Louis blinks at him.
“Excuse me?” he laughs. “You teach what?”
“Movement,” Harry says, smiling serenely.
“And what…is Movement?” Louis asks. He’s not sure if he wants to take the piss out of Harry or if he’s genuinely interested. He’s already in too deep.
“I help people connect their auras with their True chakras,” Harry says in a light and airy voice.
There’s a beat of silence before Harry laughs, Louis’ breath whooshing out of him as he starts laughing too.
“You’re the worst,” Louis moans, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, what is it really?”
Harry grins at him and piles their empty plates onto the tray, brushing some crumbs off of the table.
“It’s just a casual exercise class,” he explains. “Through simple movements people can really improve their health or brain functionality. It’s movements that help and promote coordination, flexibility, and strength and agility, and it all helps people be the best “them” they can be.”
“Huh,” Louis says thoughtfully. “That’s pretty interesting actually. Does it actually work?”
“Yep!” Harry exclaims, “within two or three classes I’ve had people tell me they find they can read a bit faster, or are able to remember things better, if they’re a bit older. That’s all that matters to me, really. That I can help someone improve their life in any way possible.”
“That’s sweet, Haz,” Louis says, knocking his hip into Harry’s as they make their way back into the store. “So is it open to everyone?”
“Why?” Harry smirks. “You wanna come?”
Louis doesn’t say anything and instead leads the way back to the dining room tables.
“It’s so fun, Lou,” Harry says, catching up to him easily, “you’d enjoy it. It’s open to everyone, yes. Mostly it’s older people who see the listing up on the community centre corkboard, but students tend to come by a lot when it’s essay season, and especially around finals.”
“Maybe I’ll check it out,” Louis says aloofly. He’s definitely going to check it out.
“We meet every Sunday at half past one on the west side of the river,” Harry rattles off. “I’m so excited, you’re gonna be great!”
Louis is just about to ask if Harry would be up for meeting before the class for some coffee or tea or something, when Harry’s mobile rings.
“Ah, shit,” he says, tugging his phone from his pocket, “one sec, sorry. Hello?”
Louis doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he can’t help it. It’s not like Harry moved away to answer the phone, and he didn’t turn his back on him, so they’re just staring at each other as someone talks to Harry.
“What do you mean – yeah, babe, hi. You okay?”
Babe? The butterflies in Louis’ stomach that have taken residence there for the last few hours start to slow their wings.
“Slow down, darling,” Harry says, his eyebrows pinched together as he stares off into space somewhere around Louis’ right hip. “I’ll be home soon, yeah? We can talk about it then, baby, okay?”
Louis has heard enough. He mutters something along the lines of “hey look at the time”, turns on his heel, and flees from the section without picking a dining room table, and without getting Harry’s number.
Just as well, though. It would have definitely been embarrassing to ask Harry for his number just for him to say “sorry, I’m already in a relationship”.
(But why was he flirting?)
Louis casts all thoughts from his mind and hands his order form over to the Ikea employee near the exit. He glances over his shoulder – Harry didn’t follow him. The remaining butterflies in his stomach stutter to a halt and die.
“Sorry, sir, this couch isn’t in stock currently. We should be getting a shipment soon, we’ll call you when it’s come in.”
“Alright,” Louis sighs. He leaves his contact information and, along with help from some employees, loads his car with all his purchases. Except the dining room table.
“Who needs a dining room table anyway,” Louis mutters to himself as he shuts the boot of his car.
“We have some lovely tables, sir,” an employee chirps up. “I could show you where they are, if you have some extra time?”
“Nope, no time,” Louis lies, smiling. “Thanks so much for your help.”
He gets in his car before any of the employees can offer him even more help, or worse, Harry comes out of the store.
//
The week drags.
Louis goes back to his flat with Niall and slowly packs up all his belongings while wistfully looking into the distance, imagining Harry appearing and professing his undying love for him.
It’s a bit dramatic, Louis supposes, but Harry was really cute. Super cute. He’s half upset he didn’t give Harry his number, and half upset Harry didn’t ask for it.
Because he’s in a relationship. Probably.
The thing is, Louis is kind of a scaredy cat. He’s been in enough relationships that he knows what he wants and what he doesn’t want. And what is wants is Harry. Even in the few hours that they spent together, Louis could tell that they would’ve been great together, even as friends; they just hit it off so well.
So Louis spends a week packing and moping about Harry.
The week drags.
//
Louis gets a phone call from Ikea Saturday morning when he’s wiping down the island in preparation of his mum and sister, Lottie, coming to visit the next day for a few days. He’s even filled his new vase with freshly cut flowers from the farmer’s market. A Real Adult.
“Hi, Mr. Tomlinson,” a friendly sounding girl says from the other end, “the couch you ordered – NORSBORG three seat sofa, in Gräsbo dark blue – has arrived in store! So if you’d like to come by at your earliest convenience, we’ll finalize the purchase.”
“Great!” Louis exclaims, snatching his keys out of the bowl by the door – he’s an Adult – and toeing his Vans on. “I’ll be there today.”
“Splendid,” the girl chirps, “just bring your receipt! See you soon!”
Louis says goodbye and hangs up, a skip in his step as he makes his way to his car.
Ikea is just as busy as it was the previous week, which still irritates Louis. He bypasses all the shoppers and goes straight to the receiving area, slipping into one of the many lines of people waiting for their purchases.
There’s a commotion to his left a few minutes into his wait, and glancing over he sees a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, with crossed arms glaring at her dad. Her dad who looks a lot like Harry…
It is Harry, and he looks beautiful. He’s wearing some sort of slim track pants, those fancy Nike ones that taper towards the ankle, and a simple white t-shirt. He has a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and his hair is up in a bun, some casual tendrils falling out. He looks beautiful.
“Sadie, please,” Harry says, sighing. “We’re almost to the front, we’ll get our brand new couch, and then we can go pick up Oliver.”
“But I miss him,” the little girl – Sadie – says, pouting. It’s been a whole week, daddy, he’s lonely.”
Louis is possibly dying.
“He’s with all the other animals, sweetheart,” Harry says, scrubbing a hand over his face before glancing quickly at his watch. “I’m sure he had a great time! He was sick and now he’s not! And he probably made a lot of new friends, I don’t think he’s lonely.”
“But I miss him,” Sadie says, her voice slipping into a growl, stomping her foot. “And I want him now.”
“Sadie Marie Styles,” Harry says sternly, “did you just stomp your foot at me?”
Instead of answering, Sadie takes a step back and runs a full circle around Harry. Louis has absolutely no reason why – he loves kids but will never understand them – all he knows is that Harry spins a full circle and locks eyes with him.
The second Harry sees him he stops spinning and stumbles a bit, causing Louis to dart towards him quickly, steadying him.
“Oops,” Harry says softly.
“Hi,” Louis says, dropping his hand from Harry’s waist before either he or Sadie noticed it there.
Speaking of.
“Who are you?” Sadie asks. She’s standing right beside Harry, pressed against his leg, staring up at Louis with such open curiosity that Louis’ heart melts. She’s just as beautiful with Harry, except a little different, a little bit of someone else. She’s darker than Harry, her hair much curlier than his and a shade or two darker. She has brown eyes instead of green, but they’re just as bright as her father’s.
“I’m Louis,” Louis says, smiling at her. “What’s your name?”
“Sadie Marie Styles,” she says promptly. She squints up at him for a second before gasping and looking at Harry. “Is this the same Louis you told me about last weekend, daddy?”
“Um,” Harry says, crossing his arms and rubbing a knuckle along his bicep awkwardly. “Maybe?”
“Does maybe mean yes right now, daddy?” Sadie says knowingly, smiling winningly up at him.
“Maybe,” Harry says in a perfect imitation of a seven year old. He even sticks his tongue out. Sadie returns the gesture and looks back at Louis.
“My daddy thinks you’re cute,” she says confidently.
“Sadie!” Harry exclaims, half-laughing, avoiding Louis’ eyes. He steps in front of her so he’s about half a foot away from Louis now, Sadie nowhere to be seen. “What was that? The wind? Wow, wind can talk now! Cool.”
Louis ignores him. No time like the present, he supposes.
“Hey, Sadie?” Sadie pokes her head out from behind Harry. “I think your dad’s pretty cute too.”
Harry’s head snaps up as Sadie lets out a whoop.
“Oh thank goodness!” she crows. “Daddy was so upset when he didn’t find out your last name – what’s your last name – and when we took Oliver to the vet he couldn’t stop talking about you cos you made him laugh lots he said – ”
“Alright, miss,” Harry says, placing a palm on her head to calm her down. “I think he gets the picture.” He looks at Louis a little shyly, throat working to say something.
Louis beats him to it.
“Can I have your number?” he asks, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. His burst of courage from earlier slips away and leaves lingering doubt. “Unless there’s, like, you know – ”
“No,” Harry says, smiling, his whole face lighting up. “There’s nobody. Pass me your phone.”
Louis ducks his head and fishes out his phone, handing it over to Harry. He squats down to talk to Sadie as Harry programs his number in and asks her what their plans are for tomorrow.
“Daddy has a Movement class,” she says, her face scrunching up. “Usually I see uncle Liam on Sunday’s when daddy’s busy but uncle Liam has a date, so I’m stuck goin’ to Movement class I ‘spose.”
“Excuse me, Sadie,” Harry says, crossing his eyes at her, “but Movement class is important and if you didn’t have a standing date with uncle Liam every Sunday you’d see and understand.”
She rolls her eyes at him and sticks out her tongue. Louis likes her more and more with each passing second.
“Well,” Louis says, standing back up and accepting his phone from Harry. “Me mum and sis are coming to visit tomorrow, and they’re the type to like weird hippie classes… Maybe we’ll see you there.”
“Weird hippie classes,” Harry mutters darkly, but Louis can see the grin trying to break through his scowl. Finding his courage, Louis reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Harry’s ear.
“Half past one on the west bank, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Harry confirms, smiling sweetly, a blush tinging the tips of his cheekbones. “See you then, Lou.”
Louis watches Harry and Sadie approve of their new couch - similar to Louis' - and head out towards their car. Harry ushers Sadie ahead of him before glancing over his shoulder. The exit doors slide open and he grins at Louis, raising his hand in farewell. The light from outside shines around him and makes him glow like nothing Louis has ever seen before. He raises a hand and smiles, and keeps smiling even when Harry’s disappeared.
Louis’ never been more excited for an exercise class in his life.