17 Black (Part Two)

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WE ARE OFFICIALLY 20 WHOLE CHAPTERS INTO THIS FIC!!! EVERYONE CLAP AND CHEER AND CELEBRATE AND STUFF BECAUSE I HAVE COMMITMENT ISSUES SO THIS IS AN ACCOMPLISHMENT FOR ME!!

i would have given up by now if it wasn't for each and every one of you. truly, i love you all to the moon and back. (that being said, no, i'm not gonna abandon the story haha).

anyways enough abt me lmfao. i know this time of year can be difficult for some people, and especially with covid this year, so i wanted to tell you all that YOU ARE LOVED SO MUCH. you are important, you are beautiful, you are brilliant, and absolutely perfect, and i wouldn't change any of you for the world. i'm wishing you all a happy christmas, hanukkah (even though it might be over by the time i post this), kwanzaa, or whatever you celebrate!!

feel free to vote (if u want)

never hesitate to message me for anything!

love u sluts (in a nice way)

-raine <3
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The next few days heavily consist of doing absolutely nothing, and Louis may or may not be going stir crazy.

Harry had been very persistent with his asking of Louis to stay with him while he recovers, and the only way Louis could get him to shut up was to say yes. Harry took the rest of the week off work, claiming that he had a 'family emergency'.

Along with Harry's rather relentless pestering, Louis has also learned that Harry quite enjoys taking care of people.

Which would be great, if Louis' patience wasn't about to snap in half.

"Hazza, you're amazing, honest. But if you ask me if I want more soup even one more time, you'll be leaving me with no choice but to kill you," Louis sighs from the bed, running his hand through his shower-dampened hair, and looking up at his impossible boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Harry only smiles, though, beaming with his stupidly cute dimples, and leans down to kiss Louis' forehead.

"You need food. You haven't eaten much, and you're still sick."

"I've eaten plenty, quit worrying. And soup isn't food!" Louis exclaims, throwing his arms up. "All you do is drink it from a spoon." Harry frowns.

"I think I have to disagree. There are things in the soup that require you to eat. It's a food."

"I don't care if you disagree- you're wrong. And that's like calling a slushie a food." Louis explains. "You drink it, but you still have to chew the ice. If what makes me have to get to the eating part is just a bunch of liquid, it's not a food." Harry hums, leaning back down to slowly brush his lips over Louis'.

"I think you've had a bit too much time to think about that, Babe." He leans in the rest of the way, molding their lips together sweetly. There have been countless kisses for no reason shared between the two lately, and Louis doesn't think he'll ever get enough.

"Not my fault," Louis murmurs in between kisses. "You've practically been holding me captive for days, now. I can't remember the last time I've even seen the outside world, Harry. Soon enough I'll be dwelling around the flat, not even coherent enough to remember who I am." Harry breaks the kiss to laugh, resting his forehead against Louis'.

"That's a tad dramatic, yeah? You've been here for four days, not four years. And you were outside, like, an hour ago. It's not like you're a prisoner."

"Maybe it has been four years, and your perception of time is altered," Louis suggests. "My flat probably has tumbleweeds, like in the movies. I have rent to pay, bills to ignore, and homework to finish, and you're preventing me from doing so."

"Your ability to overplay a situation is extremely impressive," Harry says with a roll of his eyes. "Your flat can go a few days without you-I'm sure even inanimate objects need a break from you. You've also already done homework, so that's a bullshit excuse. I also know that you can't get tired of me, because I happen to be wonderful."

"Wonderfully irritating," Louis smiles innocently, pinching one of Harry's cheeks, his thumb pressing lightly into a dimple. Harry bats away Louis' hand, and turns to walk away, a slight scowl across his face.

Louis reaches out to catch his wrist before he starts, though, and pulls him gently so he's sitting next to Louis on the bed. He slings his arms around Harry, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

"I'm joking, lose the pout," he says quietly, smiling when he feels Harry shiver from his lips brushing his skin.

Harry suddenly grabs Louis' waist, easily lifting him off the bed, and onto his lap instead. Louis' legs instinctively wrap around Harry's waist, their torsos pressing against each other's. Harry quickly stands without warning, Louis almost falling onto the floor in the process, and moves so that they're at the head of the bed, Harry sitting against the headboard.

"M' not pouting," Harry says, wrapping his arms around Louis' body, pulling them even closer together. "You're just mean." Louis smiles brightly, trying hard to contain his laughter.

"Maybe you're just sensitive?" He suggests jokingly. Harry snorts, shaking his head.

"Yeah, that's definitely not it," he decides, playfully tugging the hairs on the nape of Louis' neck. Louis makes a noise of dismay, his eyes widening.

"Hey! Who's the mean one, now?" He retaliates, grabbing one of Harry's perfect curls and pulling lightly, not wanting to hurt him. Harry smiles and shrugs, closing his eyes as Louis repeatedly runs his fingers soothingly through his hair, gently detangling it. He plays with the curls for a few minutes, listening to the quite sounds of Harry's breathing.

"Can I braid your hair?" Louis asks, a little hesitantly. Harry opens his eyes, but doesn't say anything, and nods slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting a bit.

Louis brings his hand to the front of Harry's head, running his finger down the center to make a parting in his hair. He's all too aware of Harry's eyes on him as he begins a braid on the right side of his head, being sure to not make it too tight.

"How can you do that without looking?" Harry asks, voice barely above a whisper. Louis shrugs, reaching to the nightstand and grabbing two hair ties. He slips one around his wrist, and takes the other to tie around the end of the first braid.

"Practice, I guess? I used to do my sisters' hair for school," he says, starting off the second braid. Harry nods.

"Do you miss them?"

"Always," Louis responds immediately, trying to get a knot of out Harry's hair. Harry starts to play with the hem of Louis' shirt.

"When did you see them last?" He asks. It wasn't in a way that was accusing, just solely curious.

"August. For Lottie and Fizzy's birthdays," Louis says, trying his best to not be too sad at the thought.

"How old are they?" Harry asks, turning the conversation slightly to something less difficult to talk about.

"Lottie is fourteen, Fizz is eleven, and Phoebe and Daisy are six," Louis says, finishing off the last braid.

"Who's your favorite?" Harry asks with a smile. Louis laughs a little, lightly hitting Harry's shoulder.

"I don't have a favorite, you dolt, that's mean," he explains. "I always tell them Daisy's my favorite though, just so they'll quit asking." Harry laughs.

"Why Daisy?"

"She cried the least when she was a baby," Louis shrugs, loosening the braids a little. "I'm done." Harry smiles.

"How do I look?" He asks jokingly, flipping his hair around.

"Beautiful," Louis says fondly, and Harry laughs. Louis doesn't think Harry realizes that he was being serious.