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Summary
Louis plopped down beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. “So, do you always hang out on rooftops being mysterious and broody? Or is this, like, a special occasion?”
Harry shifted, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I like the quiet.”
Louis tilted her head. “You know, most people call that being antisocial. But, if I call it ‘broody rooftop poet girl,’ it sounds way cooler.”
Harry laughed under her breath. “You’re weird.”
“Thank you,” Louis said immediately, like it was a compliment. She leaned back on her palms, eyes flicking toward the sky. “Though, if you were secretly writing dark poems up here, I wouldn’t judge. I’d probably even ask for a signed copy.”
Harry tried not to stare, but Louis’ grin was annoyingly contagious. For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like the loneliest person in the world.
Or the one that Harry and Louis are battling their demons and found each other in process.