Little Dandelion ➳ Larry

- PART SIXTEEN -

.: PART SIXTEEN :.

The warm scent of freshly-baked pastries swirled through the air.  A gentle breeze rolled through the half-opened window, sending a shiver down Louis's spine.  Outside, brown leaves rustled on the ground and trembled on skeletal trees.  White, puffy clouds decorated the blue sky like cotton balls. 

Louis tucked his hands in the sleeves of his knitted jumper.  He grasped his steaming tea and sipped slowly.  The warmth soothed his scratchy throat.  His feet tapped on the floor as he stole a glance at the café's clock.  The ticking and tocking rattled in Louis's brain.

He couldn't believe he was actually meeting up with Harry.  It still felt like a dream— a sick, twisted dream.  After being apart for so long, he felt like they barely knew one another.  And perhaps they didn't.  Perhaps they became strangers over five years of distance.  Perhaps that they couldn't reconstruct their friendship, that it was far too broken.

Feeling anxious, Louis picked at his thumbnail, scratching the nail polish residue near his cuticle.  His palms felt dry from the autumn weather, and if he squinted, he could see little scales on the back of his hand.  He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles in an attempt to hide his inner-exhaustion.  He barely slept at all the night before— just cried silently, trying not to disturb Zayn's slumber. 

Needless to say, he wasn't too happy at ten o'clock in the morning.  10:07, to be exact.  So much for punctuality.

Louis sighed at length and took another gulp of his peppermint tea.

He glanced around the café impatiently.  In the corner, a university student typed at her laptop, drinking her coffee like it was her lifeline.  A young couple sat at the table against the wall, holding hands and kissing.  Louis wrinkled his nose and looked away.  He gave up on romance long ago.

The bell chimed over the door.  Louis's head shot towards the café entrance.  Harry stepped inside with a cold breeze following his path.  He looked rather cuddly, dressed in skinny jeans, a hoodie, and some brown boots that looked worn-out from overuse.  His rucksack slung over his shoulder, overflowing with books and folders.

He brushed his fringe out of his eyes before meeting Louis's gaze.  They only connected for a split second before Harry blinked away.

Ouch, Louis thought.  That hurt.

Harry pulled back the chair across from Louis's.  Its legs screeched along the tiled floors.  As he sat down, Louis noticed the flush of his cheeks.  He wondered if it was from shyness, the cold weather, or a bit of both.

"Hi," Louis blurted out, wanting to break the silence. 

He sounded bubbly.  Too bubbly, if you asked Harry.

"Hey," he replied, hanging the strap of his bag on the chair. 

Louis could hear his heart thudding in his chest.  "You're late," he teased.

Harry didn't laugh or smile or react in any way.  He just stared and blinked.  Louis wished the floor would swallow him whole.  He wanted to disappear because, for fuck's sake, this was unbearably awkward.

"I, um, I'm sorry.  This is weird," Louis rambled, standing up.  He thumbed over his shoulder towards the door.  "I'll just go—"

A cold hand clamped on his wrist.  He looked down to see Harry's hand over his own, keeping him still.  An array of rings covered his long, bony fingers.  A surge of electricity pulsed through Louis's veins because, holy shit, Harry was touching his hand.  Nostalgia tugged at his heart as he thought back to his childhood, how they used to hold hands and kiss and cuddle in Harry's twin-sized bed.