Empty skies

Chapter 13

"Baby Blue?"

Harry groaned, burying his face in the pillow. His room was still dark and Louis' voice sounded tinny over the phone.

For a moment, Harry had considered not picking up, but when he had forced one eye open and had seen Louis' ID flash over the screen, he had answered the call. It could have been something really important after all.

He couldn't help but regret it -- Louis had actually just called to chat, apparently.

"It's five in the morning, Lou."

"Morning, though," Louis pointed out, sounding way too awake for Harry's likings. "Not night."

"Too early," Harry protested.

"I got your email," Louis stated. "A few days ago, actually, but I could only open the file you sent today."

"I figured." Rolling onto his back, Harry forced his eyes open. "You didn't have to call straight away, you know. A text would have been sufficient."

"You wrote a song about me and called it Baby Blue , Harry." Louis pronounced the title as if it would get his message across any more clearly.

Harry had no idea what the message was.

"And?"

"Baby Blue?!" Louis repeated, tone incredulous.

"You've got blue eyes," Harry told him, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. " And you're my baby."

"Fuck off. I'm not. You're my baby," Louis huffed.

"I think my song states otherwise." Harry smirked to himself, stretching lazily.

Louis was quiet for a moment and Harry expected him to come up with another argument. Instead, Louis' voice sounded a little doubtful when he spoke again.

"I thought you didn't write songs about me?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm not writing about you being a dick," he answered, fidgeting the duvet with his free hand. "I'm writing about what makes me happy -- and you just so happen to do exactly that."

"You're too much," Louis groaned, and Harry could hear it in his voice that Louis was blushing. "I can't handle you."

Laughing, Harry tilted his head back, closing his eyes. "You don't have to handle me. You're my baby, remember?"

Louis snorted. "You're bonkers."

"You know what rhymes with Baby Blue?"

"No," Louis answered, sounding confused. Then he gasped before Harry could answer. " No , Harry!"

"Baby Blue. Rululu," Harry sang happily, repeating it over and over.

"Stop it!" Louis laughed, shrieking a little at the other end of the line. "You're not gonna record a song like that."

"I totally am," Harry informed him. "My producers love it. Great sing-along potential."

"I'm not allowing that," Louis protested. "It's embarrassing."

"So is 'the sun turns your tears into pure gold', Louis," Harry argued. "And you weren't too embarrassed to write that ."

"I did not--"

"I read it in your little notebook." Harry looked at the pocket-sized leather book on his bedside table. "You forgot it."

"I did not allow you to read the stuff in there!" Louis actually growled.

Harry hummed. "You didn't tell me not to look inside, either. They're all sad," he added then, lowering his voice. "They made me sad."

"I'm not-- I didn't mean--" Louis stopped, and Harry heard him inhale. "They're pretty old."