you're cold and I burn (on hold)

his head. About ten minutes later the two previous cups have hit <strong>and</strong> he's floating on a caffeine
buzz, walking around the flat using his (now) empty mug as a microphone, because who the fuck
cares, it’s beautiful outside <strong>and</strong> his head is swimming in a hazelnut induced haze. He’s not the best
singer, his pitch is all over the place <strong>and</strong> he’s sure that if he tried hard enough he could rupture
someone’s ear drum, he’s got talent like that.
“Then the door was open <strong>and</strong> the wind appeared, the c<strong>and</strong>les blew <strong>and</strong> then disappeared..” Louis
sang, smile causing his cheeks to hurt <strong>and</strong> this third cup was not a good idea. It’s a combination of
two shitty nights of no sleep <strong>and</strong> too much damn caffeine but he’s on cloud nine <strong>and</strong> he’s kind of
having a blast. It hit him out of nowhere <strong>and</strong> will probably disappear just as quickly, so might as
well enjoy it while it lasts.
“..The curtains flew <strong>and</strong> then he appeared, saying don’t be afraid..”
“Are you singing Blue Oyster Cult right now?” A deep voice croaked, causing Louis to fling his
mug, sending it crashing to the floor <strong>and</strong> erupting into shards. He’s going to have a heart attack
he’s sure of it, <strong>and</strong> his eyes are so wide they just might pop right out of his head, because Harry’s
st<strong>and</strong>ing there, full view, brow cocked <strong>and</strong> laughing his ass off. Where the hell did he even come
from, did he just teleport his way here?
“Do you ever fucking sleep?” Louis screeched, the shock making his voice a full octave higher
than normal, his h<strong>and</strong> placed over his heart, feeling the heavy thud. “And did you just float in here
or what? I didn’t even hear your footsteps.”
Harry’s laughing so hard tears are pricking at his eyes, bent over in hysterics, the sound bounces
off the walls. His mug is in a hundred pieces all over the floor, <strong>and</strong> his heart is cracked in half, one
side sinking completely. He loved that mug-slash-microphone. He got it on vacation, it even said
his name. It takes more than a full sixty seconds before Harry is composed enough to finally
speak, wiping the wet from his cheeks with the back of his h<strong>and</strong>. The tattooed arm is in full
display, <strong>and</strong> it’s surely covered, barely any skin showing through the designs. He’s inked in even
the most painful of places, the underpart of his arm, just under his bicep, that must’ve hurt like a
bitch. It looks like a realistic heart, <strong>and</strong> it’s drawn quite beautifully.
Harry stares for one brief moment, “Come on, baby, <strong>and</strong> she had no fear.” He sings, his smile so
wide its obscuring the words. The shattered glass at his feet doesn't seem to detour his mood, at
all.
“I hate you.” Louis squints, trying not to pout while he searches for the broom. Harry just laughs
again, making it a point to lean against the wall on his shoulder, folding his arms across his chest.
“By the way, I do sleep. But why would I? Especially when I have a view like this.”
“What view?” Louis asks, whipping his head around. He catches Harry’s eyes, doing a slow <strong>and</strong>
sure scan of Louis from head to toe, his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyelashes are fanned
across tanned cheeks, hair messily falling across his forehead. He looks focused <strong>and</strong> intrigued.
And then the air felt <strong>cold</strong>. Because it’s everywhere. Because Louis' only wearing briefs. Why the
fuck is he always getting caught wearing the most inappropriate articles of clothing he owns?
His face blooms a bight red, heat flooding <strong>and</strong> trailing over the bridge of his nose, pooling on both
of his cheeks. His h<strong>and</strong>s shoot to his body, trying to cover any skin that he possibly can. Harry lets
out a breathy laugh from between parted lips, bringing his eyes to meet directly with Louis’ in one
sharp movement. Why the hell is his breathing so labored? Oh, right, because he’s about to die of
embarrassment. His stare is so deep <strong>and</strong> concentrated, but so light <strong>and</strong> easy, controlled. Harry
holds the eye contact without hesitation, jade green <strong>burn</strong>ing like it’s ignited, he blinks once before
cocking his head slightly to the side, “You’re shy, very cute.”