All That You Are Is All I'll Ever Need

21

There’s more:

“He didn't like me baking, stopped letting me make desserts and pastries. He told me baking isn't a proper fucking job, he told me I was getting too fat. I'm not fat, am I Lou? Am I?”

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(He bakes Harry a cake.)

It’s out of the box- chocolate- and it’s nothing too extravagant, but it’s a fucking cake. He fucks up cutting it in half when it is done baking, so after he spoons on the cream cheese frosting for the filling in the middle, and puts the top half back on, it is lumpy and crumbling. He puts on chocolate frosting, and then more chocolate frosting, and he keeps adding more fucking frosting in hopes it will make it look better. Then he tries to draw a heart with whip cream on top of it, because honestly, all it can do is make it look a little shittier than it already looks.

He steps back, swipes his hand over his forehead where his fringe is sticking because it is so fucking hot out, and starts crying. Because the cake is sodding awful and literally looks like a piece of shit, and he just wants to do this for Harry so bad. He wants to show him how beautiful he is, and how wrong that fucking douche that hurt him is, and wants to give him a bloody fucking cake.

Because Harry isn't fucking fat, and even if he was Louis wouldn't give a flying fuck. Harry is gorgeous and precious, and Louis has never loved anyone the way he loves his boy. His beautiful boy that can make a job out of baking, and be twice as successful as that fucking lowlife douchebag. Fuck.

So he throws on his shoes, stuffing the laces down the sides of them instead of tying them, and he dashes down the stairs and out of the complex. He sprints to the sweet shop down the street, tears still welling in his eyes.

He has this deep, anxious feeling floating in his stomach, choking him on the sweet scents that surround him as he enters the shop. He picks out the first cake he sees in the showcase, knowing that Harry is going to be home soon. It is chocolate fudge and buttercream, and he isn't going to deny that even his mouth is watering at the thought of how good it is going to taste. He grabs a pack of candles and lighter right at the check stand before paying, because this is a celebration, and goddamn it they are celebrating.

(Unfortunately, his rush is met dead, because Harry has his key in their flat door as soon as Louis makes it up the stairs. He curses under his breath as Harry looks up to him like he is crazy.)

“What is that?” he asks, smiling curiously.

Louis isn't though. He just pushes past him and inside the flat, walking to the kitchen to put it next to his disgrace of a cake. He bangs his head against the countertop as his next pathetic movement, letting out groans and whines and he doesn't know if it is the heat or the disappointment he feels that is making him want to start bawling.

He goes to hit his head against the counter again, but is met with something much softer. He nuzzles into it, smelling his favourite smell of all- Harry.

“What is all this?” Harry asks lightly.

Louis mumbles into his hand and Harry laughs.

“C’mon, seriously?"

Louis takes a deep breath and straightens out, “I wanted to make you a cake and it was going great, but then I fucked up, and kept fucking up, and so I started crying and went to buy you a cake and I got candles and fucking everything, a-a-and I can't believe anyone would ever call you fat, Harry. Jesus," Louis shoves his palm into his eyes to stop from crying, "you're perfect, and I just wanted to surprise you and-a- but then you were already here, so it’s not- and I- I d-” Louis’ ramble is cut off by Harry's lips gently pressing against his, and all the stress melts away at Harry's touch.