No Strings Attached

Chapter Two

Louis woke up slowly the next morning, slipping in and out of consciousness before the lone shaft of light coming through his window became too difficult to ignore. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his fists, trying to recall whatever strange dream captivated his subconscious that night. He vaguely recalled a vegetable plate, a sailboat and Harry Styles.

His breath caught slightly when he remembered that the last part wasn’t a dream. Suddenly, the events of last night’s shift came rushing back to his head, only to end with impeccably vivid imagery of those bright green eyes that unnerved him so much. Seriously, what was his issue?

Realizing it wasn’t a question worth pursuing any longer, he rolled over and stretched, immediately feeling the tension pulled from his body in every direction. And when he remembered that he didn’t have work that day, a new kind of warmth settled within him. Finally, a day of rest.

He slipped out of bed and into a pair of slippers, grabbing his phone from the nightstand as he left. Walking out of his bedroom and into the one next door, he entered as quietly as he could so as not to wake Rosie. But it only took a few moments before he noticed her stirring from within her wooden crib by the closet. By the time a full minute had passed, the dark-haired toddler grabbed at the bars of her crib and pulled herself up into a wobbly stance. Louis watched as her sleepy, blue eyes wandered curiously around the room, no doubt looking for her father. And when she caught him standing by the front door, she beamed.

“Good morning, cuddlebug,” Louis cooed as he lifted her into his arms. He placed a wet kiss on her cheek, causing her to gurgle with laughter. 

“Borning, bug,” she repeated at him in her usual stuttering fashion. “Borning!”

“What are we doing today?” he asked in a high voice, placing her comfortably on his hip. “Better yet, what’ll we be having for breakfast?”

Rosie ran a hand through Louis’ hair, softly tugging at his light brown locks and flattening his fringe even more on his forehead. The little girl was constantly captivated by her father’s hair; even as an infant, Louis had distinct memories of her fat, baby fist grabbing onto the back of his head whenever he burped her or lulled her to sleep. He was thankful that this small act of hers hadn’t changed.

She must have noticed Louis’ awestruck expression as he watched her move, because she let go of his hair and playfully slapped his cheek before resting a hand there and patting it rhythmically. The wide smile on her face made Louis want to melt into a puddle right then and there. Honestly, how did he keep from getting tired of these small, insignificant things?

“Did you just slap me?” he asked in feign indignation. “Did you just slap your father?”

Rosie giggled, and Louis wondered if there was anything he could do that wouldn’t elicit the same reaction every time. When she couldn’t form her jumbled words, he carefully laid her on her on the carpet. When he leaned down to start poking her in her stomach and her sides, she kicked furiously in the midst of her high-pitched laughter. Louis was laughing as well, enjoying these occasional tickle fights he had with her. She would try to retaliate with pokes of her own, but his hands were simply so much bigger and more powerful that she would fail each time.

“That’ll teach you not to be naughty,” he said as he withdrew from his tickle attacks and sprawled across the floor. Rosie collapsed in a tiny heap beside him, breathless from laughing so hard. Then, after a few moments, Louis whispered, “How about we convince Uncle Zayn to bring us some donuts?”

“Donuts!” she affirmed loudly. Louis couldn’t help but smile at how she said the word, one of the only ones in her vocabulary with perfect articulation.