SOLITUDE

Chapter Eight

Louis placed the wooden toolbox to the side, smirking at the door that was now securely in place after the prior day's events. He did it all himself - well, nearly, since all he actually did was stand and hold the tools out to Niall who did most the work, but it's the thought that counts.

"What you smirking at, Tomlinson?" Niall mumbled, cracking his knuckles, making Louis flinch uncomfortably at the sound of bones cracking.

"Please don't do that," Louis scowled.

They stayed seated on the wooden floor, staring at the wooden door, until they both heard a cry from the kitchen, making them jump, followed by a swear and a clatter of something made out of glass as it smashed against the hard tiles on the ground.

Louis glanced at Niall who just shrugged, before he stepped into the kitchen, taking in the sight in front of him; Harry was standing miserably in the middle, curls falling onto his forehead, a frown on his face, and the glass shattered all over the floor of the kitchen. 

"Don't you dare move," Louis said simply, stepping over the glass, over to where Harry was standing, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Louis, I- I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to smash it, I'm useless at this! See... I- it just slipped out of my hand!" He cried out, his face pressing into the crook of Louis' neck, who looked rather doubtful but still gave the younger boy small reassuring nod. "Seriously, I'm so sorry," He added after a few minutes.

"That's perfectly alright, babe, no worries," Louis mumbled, before taking two steps back, kicking some of the glass away with the tip of his shoe, before turning back to Harry. "Up," He commanded, and Harry lifted his arms to wrap around Louis' neck, sighing a little as he lifted his legs to wrap around his thin waist.

"I could handle this myself, you know?" He muttered, and Louis laughed because no, really, Harry couldn't.

They stumbled over to the sofa, Louis gasping at Harry's weight, because he seemed lighter than what he was, but without complaining more than twice, he dropped him down on the soft material of the settee, making the curly haired boy grunt in protest, pushing himself off the material, before he felt it sink a little next to him, and a pair of arms wrapped around him, pushing him back down.

"What are you talking about, hm? You're not useless, I hope you know that, you twat." Louis hummed in Harry's ear, making a shiver run down his spine, before nodding. He felt under pressure when Louis was so close to him, yet it felt so perfect.

Harry's eyes snapped between Louis' face and his own lap, finally adjusting his eyes to stare at his own fingers. "I just think-"

"Don't think," Louis said, and Harry realised he'd said it before, quite a few times.

"Okay," Harry replied simply, when he felt something on his chin and he realised it was a finger, two fingers actually, both belonging to noone else but Louis.

He lifted his chin gently, their eyes meeting. "I mean it, sweetheart. Why do think so bad about yourself?"

Harry chuckled darkly, shaking his head, the curls bouncing a little. "I'm homeless, Louis. I was kicked out of my own house, by my own father, and I was abused. I don't think I could get any more useless than this,"

"I don't think you're useless," Louis replied, looking straight into Harry's eyes, his fingers pushing hard on his chin. "Actually, I think you're perfect,"

Harry felt his breatch clutch in his throat, and he tried to look away, but it was physically impossible, the only thing in his sight being Louis' face, with his soft blue eyes and long eyelashes curling beautifully, his tanned skin and his pink lips, and Harry felt himself blushing.

"You have long legs - such long legs, Harry, and you're so tall," Louis said, his hand brushing against Harry's knee, but this time he didn't tense under the touch. "Your torso is practically endless," He added, before his hand slowly travelled up to his shoulder and then his face.

"I think you have flawless skin," Louis continued, his hand gently reaching out to stroke the porcelain pale skin, and he smiled at the contrast between his own tanned fingers and Harry's pale cheek. "You have wonderful curls, so lovely," He said, his fingers gently dipping into the boy's chocolate curls, not daring to do anything else, as his fingers brushed against the soft hair. "Your eyes, such a pretty green, you know? Can't stop staring into them, Haz," 

Harry felt the burn at his cheeks, a shade of pink colouring his face, as he stared back at Louis and leaned into the touch of his hand gently stroking his temple. "Lovely little nose," Louis said after a few moments with a little giggle, his fingers brushing against the bridge of his nose, the corners of Harry's lips curling into a genuine smile, making Louis' gaze snap down to them. "And your lips, Harry," He breathed, leaning in closer, his nose brushing against Harry's skin, his warm breath hitting the immaculate skin. "Your lips are so pretty when you smile," He whispered, and before he got to say anything else, he couldn't fight the tempation anymore. "Can I kiss you?"

Harry barely had the chance to nod, before Louis was pressing their lips together, Louis' resting a little to the right, his breath brushing against Harry's. He moved his head to the right, their lips fitting together perfectly.

The kiss was slow and tender, much like the first one, however it was different in one way. Harry's eyes fluttered shut. They were closer, closer emotionally. Louis gently tilted his head to the left, only breaking their lips apart for a second, making Harry whine at the back of his throat at the loss of contact. He reattatched their lips together, his fingers dipping into Harry's curls, finding the courage to twirl the silky strands around them, and pull them gently, pulling their faces together. Harry felt the tension leave his bones, as he leaned against Louis' warm body. Their lips were parted, not pressed tight together as before. Louis pulled away, before replacing his lips back on Harry's, changing position ever so slightly. And Harry seemed to gain confidence as he copied Louis' movements, before they pulled away altogether and leaned against each other, breathing in the smell of tea and roses and perhaps burnt toast, most probably left over from the morning.

And then Niall skipped into the room, burnt toast in his hand.

"That's why you guys should cook for me," He stated, before sitting down between the two boys, unaware of what just happened between them, making them both flush red because they nearly got cought.

"Making toast isn't exactly classified as cooking," Louis pointed out, glancing at Harry, who smiled at him.

"Mmm," He hummed in agreement.

"Cooking is cooking, man. Food is food. This is food," Niall replied, taking a bite of his toast, the crumbs falling onto his shirt.

They stared at the television screen for hours, watching every show that came on, no words exchanged between them, but it somehow felt oddly comfortable, with Niall's head resting on Louis' lap and his legs thrown across Harry's lap. Louis looked at Harry, his hand searched through the blankets, finally grabbing hold of Harry's long fingers, and so they fell asleep, Niall between them, their enterwined hands hiding in the blanket.

It was that moment when Louis realised that he was hopelessly in love with the homeless boy off the street, who with a little luck, Louis found stumbling into his life more and more everyday.

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