Louis' house

3. headache

Harry looks up from his book as Francis comes barging down the stairs. He's curled up with a blanket around him like a cocoon, a book in his lap and a mug of steaming tea in his hand.

After a week of Louis living next to him, Harry finally managed to not think about how weird that is for a few minutes. He woke up early this morning, and went downstairs into the living room, sitting down in his favourite armchair right by the window, the rain splattering against it and coldness radiating off of the glass.

Harry is warm though, and was absorbed in the story for the last hour, before Francis pulled him out of it. Harry meets his eyes as he looks up, and watches the man fastening his tie around his neck while he walks down the stairs hastily.

"Good morning" Harry smiles at him, but Francis doesn't smile back. His eyes flicker between Harry and the kitchen, and he furrows his brows.

"Did you make breakfast?"

Harry's lips part, and he closes the book in his lap. "No, I thought since it's Saturday, we could go out for brunch together? Like, a date-"

"Harry" Francis says, exasperated. He runs a hand through his hair, which isn't styled up heavily like it normally is when he's wearing suits. Right. He's wearing a suit. Fuck. "I have a meeting in twenty minutes, and I really need breakfast before that" He sighs and actually rolls his eyes, turning away and probably thinking Harry can't see it. But he does.

Harry's face hardens and he sets the mug down, slowly untangling himself from the mess of blankets. "I didn't know"

"I told you yesterday, but you were probably" Francis scoffs, "Too distracted by your stupid books"

"Excuse me?"

"Forget it" Francis waves it off. "Can you just make me breakfast? Quickly?"

Harry stands up at his full height, almost as tall as Francis. "No"

"What?"

"I said no"

"Harry, I really don't have time for-"

"You'll have enough time to make your own breakfast" Harry says, jaw set. All he wanted was to have a nice morning reading his book and drinking his tea, then going out for breakfast with the man he loves. "If you want to apologise, I'll be outside, reading my stupid book"

Francis watches as Harry turns around, grabs his book and slides the door open, sitting down on the step that leads from the terrace onto the lawn.

His eyes involuntarily glance at Louis' house, but all the doors are closed. After a few seconds, though, there is a curtain moving behind a window, and Harry looks up at it, seeing Louis who opens the window. He sits down on the windowsill, one leg dangling down, and Harry would be concerned, but it's a thing Louis has always been doing, in Harry's room and his own.

He's shirtless, and Harry silently watches as he lights up a cigarette. He doesn't look down at him, and Harry thinks he hasn't noticed him. For a few minutes, he just looks at Louis, somehow entranced by him smoking. His legs dangles slightly, bare feet and grey sweatpants, rolled up at his ankles. Harry feels like time isn't passing anymore while he watches Louis, so peaceful in the weak beams of morning sun that fight through the heavy wall of clouds, the rain has stopped by now. This is probably his bedroom, then. Up there, with the window that gives a view on the garden.

Eventually, Louis stubs out his cigarette and swings his leg back inside, closing the window behind himself. The curtain stays open, but his figure retreats and Harry doesn't see him anymore. He adverts his eyes back onto his book, and somehow thinks Louis will come out into the garden now, to fix stuff on his porch again, whatever he's been doing the other day, but he doesn't.