“You know,” Harry starts, and Louis lifts his head up from the book he’s reading. He turns his attention to where Harry’s making dinner at the stove, apron tied around his waist and his curls pulled back. “You’ve never told me.”
Louis blinks, head still in a different world, a different universe with different characters. Harry’s like an anchor though, pulling Louis back down into this story, this world. “Haven’t told you what?”
Harry sighs. He’s got sauce on his cheek, more splattered on his apron. “Your favorite book,” he says. “I know you’ve got one, you just don’t want to say.”
Louis stares up at Harry, the little bow of his lips, the lines by his eyes, the dimple hidden away in his cheek. “Is it awfully cheesy of me to say you?” Louis asks him.
“Unbearably cheesy,” Harry says, but he’s smiling, trying to hide it but Louis can see it in his eyes too. “I think you’re trying to tease me.”
“I’m not,” Louis tells him. “I don’t care, you’re my favorite. I could read you for hours, you know.” He walks over to Harry, puts his hands on his skinny waist, fingers digging in there. “I think,” he says, “there is a universe hiding inside you. There is a world behind your awful, green eyes, you know. I can see it when you smile.”
“You can’t,” Harry tells him.
“I can,” Louis argues. “You’re my favorite book to read.”
“Really cheesy,” Harry says.
“I don’t care,” Louis replies. “You are my favorite story.”
Maybe that’s Harry’s flaw, Louis realizes. He’s a book. He’s a flawed, imperfect universe, like all books are. Like all the books stacked neatly on the shelves in Louis’ shop, used and worn and wise. That’s what makes them real.
That’s what makes them loved.
Harry is a book that Louis won’t ever finish reading. They are two characters in one universe, building their own story from the ground up.
The End
YOU ARE READING
A House Built Out of Stone
FanfictionLouis has a used bookshop and Harry has a habit of claiming things that don't belong to him.
