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Harry sat at his tiny desk, shoes barely brushing the floor, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his spelling book.
Mrs. Gray smiled at the class, all twenty-odd first graders buzzing with energy. “Alright, everyone,” she said brightly. “Let’s all share something we love!”
It was harmless enough, until it was Harry’s turn.
He stood up, heart thudding like a drum in his chest, curls falling into his eyes. “I love flowers,” he said, voice small but sure.
Mrs. Gray smiled encouragingly. “That’s lovely, Harry. Why do you love flowers?”
Harry bit his lip, thinking hard. “’Cause…” he started slowly, his little fingers twisting the hem of his jumper. “They smell nice. And they come in lots of colours.”
A few kids giggled, but Harry kept going, determined now that he’d started. “And they make people happy. When my mum’s sad, she buys them and puts them in a vase, and then she smiles again. Sometimes I pick ones from the park for her too. Not the ones with bees, though,” he added seriously, before his eyes had gone all dreamy.
“I like that they grow from tiny seeds,” he said, holding his fingers close together to show just how small. “They don’t look like anything at first, but then they turn into something really pretty. And that’s kind of magic… isn’t it?”
For just a second, there was silence. Then came the snickers. Giggles and whispers at first, but the sound quickly spread, mean little ripples of laughter that made Harry’s face burn red.
Mrs. Gray shushed them gently, but it didn’t help much. Harry stared down at his shoes, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.
But then he looked up.
A boy was sitting cross-legged on his chair in the second row, crystal blue eyes fixed on him like he’d just said something important. He wasn’t laughing at all, he was smiling, looking absolutely enchanted.
And somehow, that made all the difference.
•••
— Fourteen Years Later —
Harry hadn’t expected to be moving again halfway through the semester. Apparently, the university was doing “accommodation restructuring” which was just a fancy way of saying the plumbing in your old dorm exploded and flooded three rooms.
So here he was, hauling two heavy bags down the narrow hall of a building that smelled faintly like coffee and too many nights spent cramming for exams.
The new room was bigger, at least. Two single beds, two desks, one window that looked out over the courtyard where students smoked and laughed like they didn’t have essays due. Harry set his bags down beside the bed on the left, rubbing at the back of his neck.
He sat for a moment, just breathing and taking in his new surroundings. It felt strange, starting over midyear. He let his gaze wander across the room, bare walls, empty shelves, that new-room echo that made everything sound a bit too loud.
He was halfway through unzipping his suitcase when the door swung open and another boy stepped in, lugging two duffel bags and a backpack.
His hair was a mess of brown and his eyes a magnetic shade of blue. He dropped his bags as he said, “Oh, shit… hi. I’m Louis.”
Harry blinked, caught a bit off guard by the sudden burst of energy in the doorway. He stood up quickly, brushing his hands on his jeans before offering one. “Harry,” he said with a small smile.
Louis shook it, his grip warm and firm. But then he froze and really looked at him. The frown that followed was small but puzzled, like his brain had just brushed against something familiar.
“Uh… hey,” Louis said slowly, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Did you go to St. Peter’s Primary? In Manchester?”
Harry’s brows shot up. “Yeah, I did,” he said, surprised. “Did you go there too?”
Louis laughed, this little burst of disbelief. “Yeah, I did… hang on.” He tilted his head, squinting. “Are you Harry Styles?”
Harry’s smile turned sheepish. “Uh. Yeah?”
Louis’s face broke into a grin, that kind of grin that carried fourteen years of sudden recognition. “Knew it. We were in the same class for a bit, Year one or two, I think.”
Harry blinked. “Oh, wow. That’s mad. Gosh, small world.”
Louis nodded, smiling in that quiet, thoughtful way that made his dimples appear for half a second before he ducked his head to start unpacking one of his bags.
Harry watched him for a beat longer than he probably should’ve. “You’ve got really pretty eyes,” he said suddenly, like the thought had slipped straight from his brain to his mouth without checking in first.
Louis froze mid-fold. He looked up, startled, and then a faint pink crept up his neck. “Oh,” he said, trying for casual but failing miserably. “Uh, thanks.”
Harry grinned, tucking a curl behind his ear. “You’re welcome.”
Louis coughed softly, busying himself with arranging his shirts like they desperately needed his attention. But there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, or the way his pulse picked up every time Harry looked his way.
•••
The next day, Harry came back from his afternoon lectures, bag slung lazily over his shoulder, brain buzzing with half-finished notes and caffeine. He pushed the dorm door open, expecting the faint hum of Louis’ music through his headphones, maybe, or the soft tap of his keyboard.
Instead, his steps faltered.
There, on his desk, sat a vase. A proper glass vase, probably borrowed from the communal kitchen, filled with fresh flowers. Bright ones, too. Soft pinks and yellows, a few wild-looking ones with curled petals, all standing proudly in clear water.
Harry stopped dead. His chest went a little warm. “Oh,” he breathed.
He set his bag down slowly and walked over, fingers brushing the edge of the vase like it might disappear if he touched it too suddenly.
God, he loved flowers. He always had. Something about the way they were delicate but stubborn, how they reached for light no matter where they were put.
Harry leaned in, closed his eyes, and inhaled. The scent filled his lungs, sweet and earthy, like spring had wandered into their little dorm room.
His shoulders relaxed, lips curling into a soft, private smile. He reached out and brushed a petal with the tip of his finger, careful like it was something living he could hurt if he wasn’t gentle enough.
The door creaked open behind him and Louis stepped inside, balancing a takeaway coffee tray and his laptop bag, already mid-sentence. “You would not believe the line at…”
He stopped.
Harry was standing by his desk, head bowed slightly, curls catching the light from the window. The flowers framed him, pinks and yellows glowing soft against the dull dorm walls, and for a second Louis forgot what words even were.
His pulse did this stupid little skip and Harry opened his eyes, glancing over his shoulder with that same easy, heart-stopping smile. “Hey.”
Louis blinked, forcing his brain to catch up. “Uh. Hey.” He shut the door with his foot, trying to sound normal even though something warm was clawing up his chest. He took a sip of his coffee to buy time. “How were your classes?”
Harry turned fully, still smiling, like nothing about the world could possibly be bad right now. “Good, actually. Long, but good. We did this unit on colour theory, and my professor said something about how people gravitate to the colours they feel most like.” He paused, glancing back at the vase. “Think I might be yellow.”
Louis smiled faintly, setting his things down. “Yeah,” he said, softer than he meant to. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Harry hummed, content, turning back to the flowers. “These are lovely, aren’t they? Wonder who left them.”
Louis’s throat went dry but he forced a light laugh, kicking off his shoes. “Dunno. Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer.”
Harry looked over at him, grin playful. “Oh, I doubt that.”
Louis smiled, but didn’t answer. He just busied himself unpacking his laptop, pretending his pulse wasn’t still fluttering from the sight of Harry smiling at something he’d left there.
That evening, the dorm was soft-lit and the kind of warm quiet that came after a long day. Louis was stretched out on his bed, headphones in, pretending to read but mostly zoning out to some playlist that made everything feel slower.
The knock on the door startled them both. Harry jumped up, grin wide. “That’ll be Zayn.”
He swung the door open, and in stepped a tall, sharp-jawed boy with dark hair and a grin that screamed trouble. “H!” Zayn greeted, pulling him into a brief hug before glancing around the room. “Nice place you got here.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Harry said, shutting the door. “Bit of an upgrade from the flood zone.”
Zayn snorted. “You mean the fish tank you called a dorm? Yeah, no argument there.”
His eyes swept the room, landing almost immediately on the vase sitting proudly on Harry’s desk. “Ooh,” he said, voice teasing. “Alright, I see you. Who’re those from, then?”
Harry blinked, then laughed softly. “No idea, actually. They were here when I got back from class.” He walked over, brushing his fingertips along one of the petals like he couldn’t help himself. “They’re gorgeous, though, aren’t they?”
Zayn raised a brow, smirking. “They are. Bit romantic, though. Secret admirer?”
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Yeah, right. Probably just some random act of kindness.”
Across the room, Louis shifted slightly on his bed. His headphones were still on, but the music had long stopped. The book in his lap had been stuck on the same paragraph for ten minutes. He kept his gaze fixed on the page, but the corner of his mouth curled up in a quiet, private smile.
Zayn kept teasing, his tone all playful disbelief. “Random act of kindness my ass. You sure you didn’t charm someone in the library or some shit?”
Harry just laughed, voice soft. “Even if I did, nobody really knows I’ve switched dorms except you.”
Louis bit back a grin, eyes flicking to the vase. He turned a page in his book, even though he still hadn’t read the last one, and hid his smile behind the movement.
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, still admiring the flowers. “Whoever they’re from,” he murmured, “they’ve got really good taste.”
Louis didn’t look up, but his grin grew just a fraction wider.
•••
A few days later, Harry returned from class again, humming under his breath, his curls a little messy from the wind and his jumper dusted with chalk from the art room.
He was halfway through shrugging off his bag when he froze in the doorway. The vase on his desk, the one that had already been the highlight of his week, was different.
New flowers. Fresh ones, and they were even more beautiful than before, tall stems and full blossoms in every shade of cream, pink, and violet, like someone had handpicked sunlight and dusk and arranged them together.
There was a sprig of lavender tucked near the middle, a pop of blue cornflower and even a few wild daisies curling toward the window toward the sun.
Harry’s mouth fell open a little. “Wow,” he whispered, breathless with delight.
He dropped his bag onto the floor without a second thought and crossed the room. His fingers grazed a petal, soft and perfect, and his chest filled with warmth. “Oh, they’re beautiful,” he said softly, almost reverently.
He leaned closer, nose brushing the petals, inhaling that soft, green scent. He loved that they could be gentle and bold all at once. Loved that someone, somewhere, had thought to bring them here… again.
Louis was perched at his desk, pretending to type an essay but mostly watching over the top of his screen. He’d timed it perfectly, early morning before his first class, a quick detour through the courtyard garden, and the smug little thrill of arranging them just right.
Now he watched Harry’s expression, the awe, the pure joy, and felt something twist sweetly in his chest. “Someone’s got a fan,” Louis said lightly, trying to keep his voice casual even though his pulse had spiked the second Harry walked in.
Harry glanced back, grinning. “If I do, they’ve seriously got impeccable taste.”
Louis smiled, ducking his head to hide it. “Yeah,” he murmured, pretending to type again. “Looks like it.”
Harry stood there grinning, phone already in his hand. He angled the shot just right, crouching a little to catch the light from the window spilling over the vase.
The shutter clicked once, twice, then he was typing furiously, thumbs moving at lightning speed, eyes sparkling with excitement.
From across the room, Louis frowned, trying not to stare too obviously. “What’re you doing over there?” he asked, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to nosy curiosity.
Harry looked up, curls falling into his eyes, smile bright and effortless. “Sending a photo to my mum,” he said, like it should have been the most obvious answer.
Louis arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm,” Harry hummed, glancing back at his phone. “She loves flowers too. Used to buy them every Sunday when I was a kid, so I always send her pictures when I see nice ones.” He paused, reading whatever reply had already popped up on his screen, and then laughed quietly. “She just sent about ten heart emojis and said, ‘whoever left those must know you well.’”
Louis’ stomach did a strange flip. “Smart woman,” he said, hiding behind the rim of his mug as he took a sip.
Harry smiled at his phone again, completely oblivious. “Yeah,” he murmured softly, gaze still lingering on the blooms.
Louis forced himself to look back at his laptop, but the smile tugging at his mouth wouldn’t quite disappear, not when Harry looked that happy.
He eventually closed his laptop with a quiet click, stretching his arms over his head. “Right,” he said, standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “I’m meeting some mates at the pub. You fancy coming?”
Harry looked up from where he was fussing with the flowers again, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Sure,” he said after a second. “Mind if I invite Zayn?”
Louis shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Course not. More the merrier.”
They headed out together, the evening cool and gold around them. The pub wasn’t far, a ten-minute walk through campus, past students laughing in clusters under the streetlights.
Louis walked with his hands in his pockets, glancing sideways every now and then, watching the way Harry’s curls glowed in the amber light.
When they reached the pub, the sound of chatter and clinking glasses spilled into the night. Louis spotted a familiar blond head near the bar and grinned. “Oi, Niall!”
Niall turned, face splitting into a smile. “Tommo!” He met him halfway, pulling him into a quick, tight hug. “You made it, ya legend.”
Louis laughed and clapped his back before turning slightly. “This is Harry, my new roommate. Harry, this is Niall.”
Harry smiled, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Niall shook it warmly, giving him a once-over and nodding. “Yeah, you too, mate. I’ve seen you around campus, I think, art building, yeah?”
Harry chuckled. “Yeah, that’s me. Always covered in paint or charcoal.”
Niall grinned. “You lot always look like you wrestle your assignments.”
Louis laughed, the sound easy and fond. “He’s not wrong.”
Harry rolled his eyes playfully, nudging Louis with his shoulder as they followed Niall toward a booth in the corner.
Louis couldn’t help but think, as Harry slid in beside him and the evening carried on with laughter and drinks, it felt absurdly natural, like this was how it was always meant to be.
An hour later, the pub had settled into that sweet spot, laughter rising above the hum of conversation, glasses clinking, the air warm with the smell of beer and fried chips.
Louis was leaning back in the booth, one arm slung along the backrest behind Harry, grinning at something Niall had said when Zayn appeared.
He looked like he’d run straight from the art studio, hair half-tied, hoodie splattered in streaks of deep blue and gold, fingers still smudged with paint.
“Bloody hell,” Niall said, laughing as Zayn dropped into the empty seat beside him. “Did the canvas win or what?”
Zayn smirked, glancing down at his hands. “Oh, hello, I’m Zayn. And, uh, occupational hazard. Working on a piece for finals, supposed to represent chaos and rebirth, or some other pretentious nonsense.”
Harry’s eyes lit up. “You’re nearly done with that one?”
“Getting there,” Zayn said, taking a sip of the pint Louis slid toward him. “Another day or two and it should stop looking like a crime scene.”
Harry grinned, visibly excited. “I can’t wait to see it. You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”
Zayn raised a brow. “I might even let you have first look, if you’re lucky.” He nodded toward the bar. “Come grab another with me?”
“Yeah, course.” Harry got up, patting his pockets for cash. “Lou, you want a drink?”
Louis looked up, caught off guard by the question, and the casual ‘Lou’ that came with it, “Uh, yeah, cheers.”
Harry smiled and as he followed Zayn through the crowd, Louis found himself watching him go, the way he ducked his head to listen to whatever Zayn was saying, curls falling into his face, that soft laugh that somehow carried over the noise of the pub.
Across from him, Niall was smirking into his pint.
“What?” Louis asked, pulling his gaze back a beat too late.
Niall leaned forward on his elbows, grin sharp and teasing. “Just wondering what’s going on with you.”
Louis frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The flowers,” Niall said easily, taking another drink. “Saw you out picking some this morning near the courtyard garden. Didn’t peg you for a gardener, mate. You got a girlfriend you’re hiding from me or what?”
Louis nearly choked on his beer. “What? No! Jesus, I…” He caught himself, lowering his voice, eyes darting instinctively toward the bar where Harry stood, laughing at something Zayn had said. “It’s not… they’re not for—”
Niall’s grin widened, clearly enjoying this. “Not for a girl then?”
Louis groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Drop it.”
Niall leaned back with that infuriating knowing look and Louis just glared at him, cheeks warm.
•••
Later that week, Harry trudged up the hall with his sketchbook tucked under his arm, his brain fogged from a long day of classes. But the moment he pushed open the dorm door, the fatigue melted clean away.
The vase on his desk had changed again.
Fresh flowers, but this time, they were all yellow. Bright, cheerful and unapologetically sunny. Tulips, daisies, and what might’ve been buttercups, glowing in the late afternoon light like little drops of sunlight had taken root there.
Harry stopped in his tracks, his whole face lighting up. “Oh my god,” he breathed, voice full of wonder. “They’re yellow.”
He dropped his bag on the floor and crossed the room immediately, fingers hovering over the petals. They were perfect, warm and bright.
He couldn’t stop smiling. Something about the colour tugged at his chest. Joy, comfort and familiarity. Like whoever had left them somehow just knew.
He laughed softly to himself, pulling out his phone. The flowers filled the frame perfectly and he crouched, angling it just right, then snapped another picture for his mum.
The door swung open behind him just as Harry was crouching to get the perfect angle, his curls falling forward, dimples deep as he smiled at the vase.
Louis stepped in mid-laugh with Niall, a story half-finished on his tongue, until he saw Harry. He stopped dead, one foot still over the threshold.
Harry hadn’t noticed them yet. He was leaning close to the flowers, that soft grin blooming across his face, the kind of smile that made everything else in the room fade out.
He looked like sunlight, like the yellow itself was radiating from him instead of the petals and Louis’ chest gave an involuntary little lurch.
Niall blinked, glancing between them. “What’s with the flowers?”
Harry turned, bright-eyed and still beaming. “They just keep showing up when I’m out. I’ve no idea who’s leaving them, but they’re amazing.” He brushed his fingers along one of the petals again, almost reverently. “They make me so happy.”
Louis couldn’t move, he just stood there with his jacket half-off, watching the way Harry’s face glowed and his throat felt tight.
Niall’s gaze flicked from Harry’s delighted expression to Louis, who was now very clearly pretending to fiddle with his phone, cheeks going pink.
Slowly, Niall raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Oh yeah,” Niall said, feigning casual interest. “Weird, huh? Someone going out of their way to pick flowers for you.”
Harry just nodded, oblivious, still smiling at the vase like it held the secret to life.
Louis managed a small shrug, voice coming out steadier than he felt. “Yeah. Weird, that.”
But as Niall turned toward the mini fridge, Louis caught his smirk, sharp and knowing. And all Louis could do was roll his eyes, hiding the tiniest, helpless smile of his own.
•••
Days turned into weeks, and it became a rhythm.
Harry would leave for class in the morning, and by the time he came back, there might be new flowers waiting. Not every day, but often enough that he’d started to check the vase before dropping his bag, his heart giving that familiar, hopeful flutter each time.
Sometimes they were wildflowers, untamed and colourful like a field bottled up and brought inside.
Sometimes they were soft, delicate things that looked too perfect to be real.
But every time, they were more beautiful than the last, fresh, vibrant and arranged with ridiculous care. And every time, Harry smiled like it was the first.
He’d still take photos for his mum, dozens of them now, his messages full of petals and stems and captions like “look how stunning these ones are!” or “they smell amazing, wish you could see them in person.”
One afternoon, as he leaned against his desk, brushing a fingertip along a daisy’s white edge, Harry sighed softly to himself. “I think I might actually be in love with whoever’s leaving these.”
Louis, sitting at his desk pretending to read but actually doing nothing of the sort, felt his heart trip over itself.
Harry continued, voice soft and dreamy. “They never leave a note or anything. I just… wish I could thank them, you know?”
Louis didn’t look up. He couldn’t. His throat was tight, his stomach fluttering with something that felt suspiciously like panic wrapped in fondness, “Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on a blank paragraph in his book. “Yeah, I bet they’d love to hear that.”
Harry smiled at the vase, oblivious, and whispered, “I really hope they know how happy they make me.”
Louis did know. And it was both the best and worst thing in the world.
•••
Louis came back from a particularly late class that turned into a couple of pints with the lads, the air outside crisp and still smelling faintly of rain.
His shoulders ached from the cold and the walk back from the pub, and he was already halfway through tugging off his jacket when he noticed Harry.
He was sprawled across his bed, the glow from his laptop casting soft light over his curls. Some old film was playing, black and white, the dialogue slow and dreamy.
The moment he saw Louis, his face lit up like the opening of a curtain to sunshine. “Hey, you’re back,” he said, sitting up a little and patting the empty space beside him. “Come watch this with me.”
Louis smiled before he could help it, dropping his bag by his desk. “You sure? Don’t wanna crash your movie night.”
Harry grinned, scooting over and tapping the mattress again. “Come sit.”
So Louis did.
He sat down beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and Harry’s thigh brushed against his. The sound of the film filled the quiet between them with crackly dialogue and soft music, but Louis barely heard any of it.
Harry’s attention was fixed on the screen, eyes wide and bright, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth every now and then. His curls glowed amber in the lamplight, framing his face like they used to when he was just a boy talking about flowers in front of their class. He still looked the same in so many ways, soft and unguarded.
Louis tried not to stare, but god, it was impossible.
His gaze drifted from those curls to the curve of his jaw, to his long lashes fluttering when the light changed on the screen. Then lower, to his mouth. Pink lips, parted slightly as he sighed or smiled at something on-screen.
Louis swallowed hard, trying to drag his eyes away, but they kept falling back.
Harry laughed at something in the movie, low and easy, the sound curling around Louis’ ribs, and leaned slightly closer, his arm brushing Louis’ where they sat.
Louis smiled down at the screen just to have something else to look at, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the dialogue completely.
He was supposed to be watching the movie.
But all he could see was him.
At some point during the movie, between the soft hum of dialogue and the flicker of light across the walls, Harry’s head slowly tipped sideways.
Louis didn’t notice it right away, he was too busy pretending to be invested in the plot, his eyes darting anywhere but toward the boy sitting next to him. But then there was the faint brush of warmth against his arm, and before he could even process it, Harry’s head was there, resting gently against his shoulder.
Every muscle in his body went rigid while his heart took off like it had just remembered it was in a race. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, unsure whether to breathe or pass out.
Harry didn’t even seem to notice. His breathing stayed steady, slow and soft. A quiet sigh slipped out of him, curls tickling Louis’ jaw as he shifted slightly closer, eyes still on the movie.
Louis swallowed hard. The world had narrowed to a single point of contact, Harry’s head against his shoulder, the weight of it light but unbearably real. He could feel the warmth through his shirt, the faint scent of shampoo and something that was just… Harry.
He risked a glance down to see Harry’s lashes rested against his cheeks, his mouth parted slightly, that faint, peaceful expression still painted across his face. He was asleep.
Louis almost had a heart attack right then and there. His chest ached in that soft, dizzying way that made him want to laugh and hide at the same time. He wanted to freeze this exact second, keep it pressed between pages like one of Harry’s flowers.
He didn’t dare move, not to adjust, not to breathe too deeply, not to ruin it. So he just sat there, motionless, heart thrumming wild under his ribs while the movie played on.
The film ended, the room fell into quiet, and Harry stayed where he was, head resting lightly against his shoulder, breathing even and slow.
The glow from the laptop cast soft shadows across his face, and Louis just sat there, trying to memorize every single detail like an idiot.
He should’ve stood up, he should’ve nudged Harry awake or laughed it off or something, but instead, he just sat there, heart full to the brim, thinking about yellow flowers and dimples and the way Harry said things like “they make me so happy” in that low, gentle voice of his.
And that was it. That was the moment Louis realised he couldn’t just keep hiding behind petals and colours. He was already too far gone.
He looked down at Harry, his long lashes, the faint pink of his lips, that ridiculous little smile even in sleep, and felt something shift in his chest, final and certain. “Christ,” he whispered to himself, dragging a hand down his face.
By the time Harry stirred and blinked up at him sleepily, Louis had already made the decision.
He was going to leave a note.
He knew it was stupid. He knew it was reckless and transparent and that he’d probably get found out within minutes, but for once, he didn’t care.
He’d spent weeks watching Harry light up over every bunch he left, weeks pretending it wasn’t him, pretending he didn’t feel his chest pull tighter every time Harry smiled. He couldn’t stand the pretending anymore.
So that night, when Harry finally went to bed, Louis stayed up, sitting at his desk with a pen in his hand and a scrap of notepaper in front of him. He stared at it for ages, tapping the pen against the wood, his heart pounding harder than it had any right to.
Then he bent his head and started to write.
•••
Louis didn’t have classes that morning, but he woke early anyway. He told himself he just needed some air, a walk, maybe coffee, but his feet knew exactly where they were going before his brain caught up.
The little florist near campus was already open, warm light spilling onto the pavement. The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. He lingered longer than he needed to, choosing carefully, deliberately, before walking out with the kind of flowers that meant something without having to say it outright.
Back at the dorm, he texted first, just to be sure.
Louis: hey, what time are your classes today? wanna hit the pub later?
Harry: hey, all day but I’ll be home around 4pm. and yeah, sounds good x
Perfect.
Louis set to work, clearing the vase, trimming the stems and arranging them meticulously until they looked exactly right. Then he pulled the small folded note from his desk drawer, read it once more, heart hammering, and propped it against the base of the vase.
When Harry came home that afternoon, the door had barely clicked open before he froze, his eyes landed on the desk. “No fucking way,” he whispered.
His bag slid off his shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thump, notebooks scattering, but he didn’t care. He was already moving, crossing the room in quick, excited steps until he was standing over the vase. “Oh my god,” he breathed, voice trembling with joy. “Roses!”
The petals were deep red and impossibly perfect, catching the last of the afternoon light. But what made his heart stutter wasn’t the flowers, but the small folded note that was leaning beside them.
“Oh my god, there’s a note!” he said, spinning toward Louis, who was attempting, again, to read on his bed. “Louis, look, they finally left a note!”
Louis looked up, managing what he hoped was a neutral smile. “Yeah? What’s it say?”
Harry sat down at his desk, hands shaking as he opened it. The handwriting was neat, a little slanted, the kind of script that looked almost shy.
There’s something about you that feels like sunlight after rain. Quiet, steady and impossible to ignore.
– L x
Harry just stared at the note for a long moment, breath catching in his throat. His cheeks flushed pink, his dimples deepening as he smiled, wide and soft and stunned.
Louis looked away, pretending to turn a page in his book, his heart pounding like mad. Because Harry looked so happy. And Louis had never been more terrified, or more certain of how he felt.
After about half an hour of Harry cooing over the roses, smelling them, rearranging them and grinning down at the note like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him, Louis finally managed to get him out of the room.
The pub was already busy when they arrived. Niall was at their usual booth, waving them over, and Zayn was there too, perched beside a new face, a guy with neat hair and a careful smile, “This is Liam,” Zayn said, when Louis and Harry slid into the booth. “He’s in my course.”
“Hey,” Liam greeted, offering a polite nod.
Harry smiled, warm and easy. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
It didn’t take a genius to notice the quiet, charged air between Zayn and Liam. The way their knees brushed under the table. The way Zayn’s hand lingered on Liam’s glass when he passed it over, but no one said anything.
Harry did make eyes at Zayn, though, just a teasing look over the rim of his glass that said, ‘I see you’ and Zayn flushed instantly, which only made Harry’s grin widen.
“Alright, what’s with you then?” Niall asked, nudging Harry’s knee. “You’ve been smiling since we sat down.”
Harry’s eyes lit up again. “Oh! Right. The flowers. You’ll never believe it. There were roses waiting for me when I got back today. Actual red roses. And there was a note this time.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled it out, the paper already a little crinkled from being reread so many times. He handed it to Niall like it was a sacred artifact. “Look,” Harry said, dimples deep and proud. “They signed it L. Who could that be?”
Niall unfolded it, reading it quickly before glancing up, eyes sparkling. “Yeah, who indeed,” he said slowly, then turned his gaze on Louis, one eyebrow cocked in pure mischief. “Got any ideas, Lou?”
Louis took a sip of his drink, desperately casual. “Nope. None. Could be anyone, really.”
Harry hummed thoughtfully, completely oblivious, smiling down at his drink. “Whoever it is, they’re amazing.”
Louis’ cheeks went pink and Niall bit back a laugh. Zayn caught Liam’s smirk across the table, the two of them silently exchanging a look that screamed ‘oh, this is going to be fun.’
The night carried on pretty easily, music humming from the jukebox, glasses clinking, laughter bouncing between friends.
At some point, Louis wandered off to grab another round. He leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender, rolling his empty pint glass between his palms.
Niall appeared at his side like a ghost, or more accurately, a smug little shit. “So,” he said casually, voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the crowd, “you fancy Harry then.”
Louis nearly dropped the glass. “What?”
Niall grinned, elbows on the bar. “Harry. With the curls, and the dimples and the flowers you’ve been secretly leaving him every few days. You’re into him, right?”
Louis turned toward him slowly, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck, no? What are you on about?”
“Oh, come off it,” Niall said, laughing, unbothered. “You’ve got that look, mate. It’s written all over your face.”
Louis scoffed, but his ears were going pink. “You’re insane. I don’t…” he waved his hand, exasperated. “I don’t fancy him. He’s just, he’s a good friend. And he’s sweet. That’s all.”
“Sweet,” Niall repeated, dragging the word out with an infuriating smirk. “Right. That why you’ve been sneaking off to get him flowers every week?”
Louis groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re delusional.”
Niall chuckled, leaning closer. “You sure? ‘Cause if you’re trying to keep it quiet, maybe don’t sign the fucking note with your initial, genius.”
Louis froze for half a heartbeat before scowling at him. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Niall just laughed harder, slapping him on the back as the bartender set down their drinks. “Right,” he said, still grinning. “Okay.”
Louis muttered something very impolite under his breath, handing over a few notes to pay for the drinks, and tried very hard not to look across the room, where Harry sat laughing with Zayn, cheeks flushed and head tilted back, looking like the most beautiful problem Louis had ever created.
Back at the dorm that night, the air was quiet again, soft lamplight, the faint hum of the radiator, the world winding down.
Harry had kicked his shoes off and was sitting cross-legged on his bed. The vase sat proudly on his desk, the red roses almost glowing in the dim light. He’d been staring at them for a while, chin propped in his hand, dreamy smile fixed on his face.
Louis was at his desk, pretending to scroll through something on his phone, but mostly he was just… listening.
Harry sighed, long and content. “I still can’t believe someone’s doing this,” he said, voice low and full of wonder. “Like… actually going out of their way to leave me flowers.”
Louis glanced up from his phone, heart thudding, careful to keep his face neutral. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “Bit mysterious, innit?”
Harry didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes were still on the roses. “I just… I wish I could meet them, you know?” He laughed softly to himself, a little embarrassed. “I don’t even care about the how. I just… I dunno. I’d like to say thank you.”
Louis swallowed. “Yeah?”
Harry nodded, eyes soft, unfocused. “They must be really thoughtful. Or romantic. Or both.” He smiled again, that small, crooked thing that killed Louis every single time. “It’s weird, but I feel like they see me. Like, properly.”
Louis forced out a laugh. “Bit dramatic.”
Harry chuckled, glancing over at him. “Maybe. But come on, it’s romantic, right? The note, the colours choices, the roses…” He sighed again, melting back into his pillow. “It’s like something out of a movie.”
Louis hummed noncommittally, but his chest was tight, painfully so, watching Harry moon over something that was both his secret and his undoing was pure torture.
Because Harry wasn’t wrong, it was romantic.
And Louis hadn’t started off meaning for it to be, but looking at him now, the soft glow in his eyes, the way his fingertips brushed the edge of a petal like it meant something, he couldn’t help but think that maybe it always had been.
•••
Weeks slipped by like that, quietly, gently and full of small routines that somehow became everything.
Louis kept up the flowers, each new arrangement chosen with ridiculous care. Every few days, he’d trade the old ones for fresh, the room filling again with colour and life.
Sometimes he left little notes tucked between the stems, tiny things written late at night when he couldn’t stop thinking about Harry.
You make the days softer just by being in them.
You deserve good things, always.
— L x
Harry never stopped lighting up when he found them. Every time he came back from class, Louis would hear the telltale gasp from across the room, followed by a muffled, delighted, “Oh my god.” It quickly became Louis’ favourite sound.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, between the flowers, the notes, and the shared late-night laughs, they’d started to fit together, seamlessly.
Evenings turned into movie nights, shoulders brushing under the same blanket. Mornings meant brushing their teeth side by side in sleepy silence, Harry humming tunelessly, toothpaste foam on his lip, and Louis laughing as he wiped it away with his thumb.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a crush and started feeling like home. Then came the night Harry fell asleep in Louis’ bed.
They’d been watching some mindless film, both of them half-asleep already. Harry had crawled over to Louis’ bed without much thought, too tired and comfortable, and somewhere between the opening credits and the second act, his head had ended up in Louis’ lap.
Louis had gone still instantly, one hand frozen midair, the other gripping the blanket like a lifeline. Harry’s curls spilled over his thighs, his breath warm against Louis’ stomach, mouth parted slightly in sleep.
Louis couldn’t move, he couldn’t even breathe. His chest hurt with how badly he wanted to run his fingers through those curls, to trace the curve of his cheek, to finally admit it.
But he didn’t. He just sat there, staring at the faint rise and fall of Harry’s chest, and felt his heart press hard against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
He’d never felt so full and so empty at the same time.
•••
When Valentine’s Day dawned, sunlight slipped in through the blinds in long, golden stripes, soft and warm, dust motes dancing lazily in the air.
Harry stirred under his blanket, rubbing his eyes, the usual fog of sleep clinging to him. But then he saw it, the vase on his desk, fuller, brighter and more alive than it had ever been.
Sunflowers. Big, bold, stunning sunflowers that seemed to carry the whole morning inside them. Their yellow faces turned toward the light, petals unfurling like joy itself.
Harry’s eyes went huge. “Holy shit,” he whispered, voice still rough from sleep.
He pushed the blanket off and climbed out of bed, bare feet padding across the floor. The closer he got, the wider his grin grew, until it was huge and unstoppable, dimples carved deep, eyes shining like he couldn’t quite believe any of it was real.
Louis, still half-asleep on his own bed, cracked an eye open. And Jesus, that smile. He’d seen Harry smile before, sure, countless times, but never like this. Never with that kind of pure, unfiltered happiness that could’ve powered the entire building.
Harry bent close to read the little card tucked between the stems.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
– L x
He bit his lip, a tiny sound of disbelief escaping him, and that’s when he saw it, a small velvet bag hanging delicately from one of the stems, “Holy shit,” he said again, louder this time.
His fingers shook as he untied it, cradling it carefully in his palm. He loosened the drawstring and tipped it open, and a thin silver chain slid out, catching the sunlight. A small letter charm dangled from it: L.
Simple and perfect.
Harry’s breath caught as his thumb traced over the tiny pendant, like it might vanish if he wasn’t careful. Then, with trembling fingers, he lifted the delicate chain, slid it around his neck, and fastened it in place.
Across the room, Louis’ heart felt like it might burst straight through his ribs. He couldn’t look away, Harry standing there in the soft morning light, eyes glassy and bright, clutching the little silver chain against his chest like it was the most precious thing he’d ever had.
“Lou,” Harry whispered, voice trembling with awe, his smile shaky but radiant.
But before Louis could even think, Harry was crossing the room in quick, sure steps. He climbed onto Louis’ bed without hesitation, knees sinking into the mattress, and then, just like that, he leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first and Louis froze for half a heartbeat, eyes wide, the world tilting completely off its axis, until instinct took over and he melted into it completely.
His hands came up, threading into Harry’s long curls, tugging just enough to make him sigh against his mouth. Harry’s hands cupped his jaw, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, kissing him like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.
Louis exhaled shakily against his lips, the scent of sunflowers still clinging to Harry’s skin. It made him feel dizzy, like colour spilling outside the lines.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing hard, Harry rested his forehead against Louis’, their noses brushing. His voice came out quiet but certain. “You’re L, aren’t you?”
Louis swallowed, the truth sitting between them like a light, bright and impossible to hide as he nodded, “Yeah.”
Harry’s answering smile was blinding. His dimples carved deep, eyes shining. “I knew it,” he whispered, and then kissed him again, harder this time.
When he pulled back, his voice shook in the best way possible. “I love you.”
Louis’ chest ached with it, all the weeks of secrets and flowers and notes tumbling into one perfect moment. He smiled, brushing his thumb along Harry’s jaw. “I love you too.” he whispered, grinning. “So much.”
And then Harry kissed him again, sunlight pouring through the window, the sunflowers on the desk glowing bright as if the whole world already knew.