the color yellow // l.s.

6.

Harry never was never up to much on Saturdays. His mum and another lady she employed, Jennifer, would take over the bakery for the day, so he usually did homework or hung out with Niall and Liam. Today, he has no plans. So, that will lead to listening to his records and cleaning his deep cleaning his room.

He was in the middle of sorting through what could be dirty clothes, when his sister shouts his name out throughout the house, saying someone was ringing him.

"Harry!" She shouts once more, frustration evident in her tone.

He runs out of his room and down the stairs, a little breathless by the time he reaches the phone, but still relieves it from Gemma.

"Hello," he huffs out.

"Young Harry!" Excitement is laced in Louis' voice, which makes a smile form to his lips. "I've got a question. One: why are you breathing so hard, and two: what are you doing?"

"Um," Harry starts, inhaling deeply, trying to gather his thoughts and breath before replying, "Just ran down the stairs, and currently, I am cleaning. What are you doing? And did my mum give you our number? I think she's a bit obsessed with you."

Louis laughs, which makes Harry's smile widen. "Stop cleaning and come to mine. I wanna show you your photos. And yes, your mum did give me your house number. She's a lovely woman."

"She is," Harry agrees. "All right, I'll come over. Have you looked at the photographs? Do I look like a complete spaz?"

Louis chuckles again. "You are a spaz, but I doubt it'll show on film."

Harry laughs at his words and mindlessly untangles the wiring on the phone. "I'll bike over. Don't laugh, because I'll be on my sister's bicycle!"

"Why can't I just pick you up?" Louis questions.

Harry declines the offer and says he needs the exercise anyway. Louis tries to argue with him, but Harry says goodbye and hangs up the phone before he could say anything else. It was nothing against Louis—he just liked being out in the cold weather. He likes the numbingly cold wind on a cloudy day. It may sound a bit depressing, but he's always enjoyed chilly evenings.

He then runs upstairs and to his room to throw on a jumper and some shoes before heading outside and riding the uncomfortable bicycle to Louis' house. He's aware he may be spending more time with Louis than he does his own mates, but he's just nice to be around. Different. He can't help himself, especially when Louis rings him up and asks to come over. And it's not entirely his fault—he's just awfully interested to see how the photos have turned out.

Obviously.

He bikes through fallen leaves and welcomes the cold wind like an old friend, allowing the harsh chill to numb the tip of his noise and cheeks with a warm smile on his face. This time of year has always been his favorite; it makes him thankful for small things. Like: warm blankets, hot tea, and the warmth when entering a shop from the cool outside. The sun is never too warm for this weather, so he can actually bear stepping into its rays with a jacket and pants on without wanting to sweat to death. It's the weather for short days so the nights can be longer, which he adores. But he's always been a bit odd. And maybe it was too cold to bike in the cloudy weather comfortably, but he'll live.

When he finally reaches Louis' home, he pedals up the drive and hops off the bike, shaking his head at the small fountain perched in the grass. It somehow looks like a three-tiered white cake, with water running down the sides and into the tiny pool below it filled with water. He knows it isn't a cake, but he's never seen anything like it before so he doesn't know what else to compare it to. And it's ridiculous to have something like that in the front yard; he begins to wonder why Louis has a house this grand. It doesn't really suit him, if he's being honest. He's too cheeky and relaxed to be someone on the rich side. Harry's used to rich people believing they're entitled to anything and everything, with no personality, and finding life's worth consisting of only material things and keeping up appearances. Louis didn't seem like the fountain-in-the-front-yard type.