To You || l.s.

03.

    Harry doesn’t reply to the letter.

    He goes to work at the Bakery and he hangs out with his friends and he doesn’t even think about the letter.

    Until another one shows up on the doormat of his and Zayn’s apartment one week later and- as always- is titled ‘To You’.

    He is dressed in gray sweatpants and a ratty old Ramones shirt that has seen much better days, and a pair of trainers, getting ready to go jogging. He is fumbling around to lock the apartment door when he spots the envelope just laying there, staring up at him.

    It takes him a few minutes to decide whether or not to ignore it and go on his jog, or pick it up and read it. His stomach is churning as he picks it up and slides his fingers over the writing on the front.

    He opens it.

    “My name is Louis. Please do not ignore me.”

    His lungs suddenly feel restricted and he has to lean against the door to take a breath. His hands shake as he unlocks the door and walks back inside, pulling the beanie from his curls and shaking them out.

    After contemplating on whether or not to reply, Harry goes into his bedroom and slumps down in his desk chair. He can’t just not reply.

    It’d be unkind.

    “I would like to meet you, too, Louis. When and where?”

    His fingers tremble as he folds the letter, nice and neat, and places it in the envelope.

    Doing the same as one week earlier, he labels it ‘To You’ and tapes it to his front door.

    Harry doesn’t wait this time, though, since it’s probably pointless. He locks the door to the apartment, stuffs the brass key into the pocket of his sweatpants, and heads off for a jog.

    He spends as much time out to try and pass the time- jogging, stopping by Zayn’s work to give him a cupcake he bought from the Bakery he works at, sitting down to lunch at Tim’s Burrito Shack- until he can’t handle it anymore. He throws away his burrito wrapper and cardboard cup of coffee and runs all of the way back to the apartment.

    Whenever he arrives, out of breath and his stomach cramping (he blames the burrito, and running after basically inhaling the food), he sees his letter gone and another lying on the doormat. Wasting no time ripping it open, Harry unfolds the letter and scans his eyes over the paper.

    “On December 15th, I will meet you off of 9th and Parkway. 9 pm.”

    Harry doesn’t think he’ll be able to survive these next two weeks without going crazy.

    

    Or without a bit of crying in that time frame.