"Babe, would you do that thing that you do that I like?" Harry's smile was warm and soft, the epitome Louis's favorite sleepy smile that he got to see almost every morning.
"You really have a way with words, love" Louis replied gently, his voice thick with sleep. He rubbed his fingers through Harry's hair, gently massaging his scalp and caressing the rough skin of his cheek. His hair was way too short now, and he had told him one too many times that he needed to grow it out again. He missed those long curly locks. He also noticed that Harry's cheeks were getting a little scruffy. Because he was growing up now. He wasn't 16 anymore. He tugged on the hairs and Harry batted his hand away.
"That hurts, you know." Harry muttered, but Louis ignored it with a smirk. He preferred to relish in the mornings with Harry instead of disrupting them with conversation. Because mornings with Harry smelled like soft leather and red wine, and they felt like sunshine and butterfly kisses. Louis smiled despite the pain in his temples, remembering the night before, how he had kissed the wine from Harry's lips and peeled the shirt off his back.
His smile quickly turned into a grimace when he cracked opened his eyes, the light from the kitchenette sent a spark of pain through his head and woke whatever it was that was pounding on his skull. He snapped his eyes shut again. Harry grunted when Louis stopped massaging his scalp, so Louis sank down into the comfort of the hotel bed. He wished they were in their own flat in London, and not in some hotel in Chicago. He would have been bitter if it wasn't for Harry. He was like the siphon that seeped all of Louis's bitterness away.
"Lou?" Harry asked, his voice bounced off the walls of his skull.
"Hm?" He hummed in response, silently hoping he would stop talking.
"Are you having one of those headaches again?" Louis peeled open one eye to see Harry's silhouette shadowing over him. Louis nestled his head into the soft cotton pillowcase.
"'S'alright, love. I think I'm just hungover." Louis mumbled. Because that was easier than making Harry worry. It was easier than facing the fact that he thought there was something wrong with him.
"We only had half a bottle." Harry said gently, pressing his palm to Louis's forehead. He realized that Harry must have been checking for a fever, and he couldn't help but smile to himself.
"'M tired." Louis grunted.
"I'll get you some Tylenol and something to eat." Harry replied. The bed shifted before Louis could get a response out, and then Harry's lips were touching his forehead before socked feet on carpet walked away. Louis sank into the soft mattress with Harry's absence, the white duvet engulfed him in a gentle white cloud as he waited for his beloved to return. The morning was warm and soft, it was almost too good to be true. But he had flown in so late from his own show that he was still so exhausted. He didn't want to move. The night before, Louis had arrived just after Harry's show ended, and they always stayed up with a good bottle of red until Harry's after show high wore off.
"You're too good to me." Louis said when Harry returned, taking the toast from his hand.
"Never, darling." Harry replied simply and flopped down on the bed. Louis's features contorted into a grimace when his head was knocked into the back of the headboard. He sat up and nibbled on the bread, lightly covered in butter and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. "What do you want to do today?"
"This." Louis replied around his toast.
"Eat toast? Don't think we have enough bread to eat toast all day." Harry replied, his voice muffled by the sheets. His head popped up in a swirl of dark brown curls and he propped his chin on his palm. He was looking at Louis with those soft green eyes again, god he hated when he looked at him like that.
