tangled up in you ~ l.s

IV.

"What are you doing?" Harry mumbles sleepily, his face smushed into Louis' hair. There's something slightly wet pressing on his skin, moving in little shapes on his arm. It's a familiar feeling, but Harry can't seem to place it.

It abruptly stills. "Drawing," Louis says, brightly.

Drawing? Harry pulls his face away from Louis' hair and pushes himself up on his elbow, trying to take a peek. "What are you drawing?"

Louis uses his hands to cover the spot he's been working on. "Nothing," he says, looking over his shoulder to give Harry a beaming smile. He's apparently really drawing—he's got a sharpie in between his fingers, one he probably picked up from Harry's night table.

Harry frowns, pulls his arm away lightly, but Louis grabs his arm and pulls it back towards him. "You can't be drawing nothing."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine, it is something," he says, "but you're not allowed to see it yet."

"Why not?"

"It's a surprise," Louis says innocently, and that sets warning bells off in Harry's head. Louis' surprises are never really innocent.

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you writing mean things about me?"

Louis scoffs. "For me to write mean things about you, I have to actually be thinking about you," he says. He jabs the back of the sharpie against Harry's hand lightly. "You have to stop being so egotistical."

Okay, Harry is not egotistical. It's just that he's finding it a bit hard to believe that Louis isn't thinking about him just a little bit right now. "You're saying you're here in my house, in my bed, drawing on my arm and being cuddled by me, and you're not thinking about me at all?"

"Yep," Louis answers, popping the 'p'. "You're not special, Harry Styles. I get cuddled by a lot of people too, you know."

Harry gasps mockingly. "You mean there are more people out there who can stand you?"

The sharpie jab comes much harder, this time. "Shut up," Louis says. "Just for that, I'm going to start writing mean things about you."

Harry waits for Louis to resume his drawing, just so he can take a peek at what he's working on, but Louis just stays put, keeping his hands over his drawing. It's a few minutes of waiting, before Louis is looking around, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not gonna start if you keep looking over my shoulder like this."

"It's my arm, I have the right to know what you're drawing on it."

"Yeah, well," Louis says. "No. It's not finished yet."

Harry rolls his eyes. "C'mon, it's not like it's the next Mona Lisa or something."

"It could be," Louis says. "Have you ever seen me draw, Harry Styles?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then you don't have the right to comment about my artistic ability," Louis finishes smugly. "I'll have you know my roommate is an extremely talented artist, so some of his talent must has rubbed off on me somehow."

"I don't think it works like that."

"It does," Louis insists. "Don't argue with me, because unlike you, I actually finished college." Harry watches as Louis shifts so that only one hand is covering the drawing, and uses his other hand to write TWAT on the back of Harry's hand.

Harry resists the urge to steal the sharpie and write on him. Instead he just shakes his head, lies back down. "Make sure it's something I can get off in about a day," he warns, before closing his eyes. "I'm filming a music video in a couple of days."