Louis' POV:

Juan Luis had slept peacefully through the night, meaning that I didn't need to deal with him getting sick or throwing up, which was a relief. He's thrown up in the past after we go out, and it's never a nice wake-up call at 1:30 am when I'm sleeping over and he does so.

Speaking from personal experience, trying to get a rather large hungover and half-asleep man to wash the vomit off of himself in a shower takes quite the effort.

By the time morning comes, Juan Luis is in better spirits than I would have expected based on the number of drinks he had. But, as expected, he remembers next to nothing about the previous night. He tells me he recalls "a really cute blonde named Niall" and asks me all about him, to which I recap everything he told me in the car.

It doesn't take long before he's filling in the gaps of my story, smiling and blushing as he begins to remember. As I make him french toast for breakfast, he makes me promise to get Niall's phone number from Harry the next time I see him. So when I inform him that I have plans with Harry, he practically jumps up and down. That doesn't last long though, because it's still a hangover and that jumping surely didn't help to alleviate the headache.

✰ ✰ ✰

After leaving his house, I stop by my flat to get changed and ready for Harry's house. Naturally, in typical Juan Luis fashion, he suggested I sweat pants that make my ass look big. It doesn't go unconsidered, but eventually, I opt for a comfortable pair of black joggers instead, with a heather gray sweater with a red heart on top to match.

I notice that Zayn and Liam left the place someone trashed, but they normally clean up after themselves so I don't stress over it. I can hear both of them snoring soundly from their bedroom since they both don't have work today, so I make an effort to keep quiet while I get changed and ready as to not wake them up.

Harry texted me his address last night, and before I know it I'm on my way to his house. Something about getting in the car and actually making my way to his place has increased my nerves considerably. I do my best to ignore the tremors in my hands and hope they'll stop shaking once I actually see him.

The GPS tells me to turn right and claims my destination will be on my left. I turn and find myself surrounded by obnoxiously large houses - mansions, more like. All of them have long driveways and are sat on large plots of land and I can't imagine anyone being able to afford this.

A black mailbox with little white numbers that read 2194 marks Harry's house and I turn into his driveway. The familiar black SUV is here, and I pull up next to it and park my car. Looking at the time on my phone, I've made it on time, which is rare for me.

I get out of my car and walk down a nicely paved path to his doorstep, self-conscious about my somewhat-muddy shoes on the perfectly clean slabs of stone. When I reach his front door, I ring the doorbell once and can hear the sound of the bell chimes coming from inside his house.

I find myself rocking back and forth on my heels at his doorstep, somewhat intimidated by the grandness and size of his lavish home. His house from the outside is wonderfully maintained. It has a perfectly cut yard of lush green grass, a cool stone wall with a little fountain coming out of it, and even those cute flowerbeds in some of the downstairs windows. He's so humble and I had no idea he had this type of money. It's hard to imagine anyone having this kind of money actually, besides super wealthy and famous people.

Who knows, maybe with Harry doing gigs like he does at the cafe, he'll become some world-famous musician in a few years. He's surely got the talent for it if my whipped heart and I have something to say about it.

My thoughts are interrupted by the front door opening in front of me. I'm greeted by Harry, who's sporting a shy smile when he sees me. He's wearing black skinnies, a yellow shirt with black writing on it, and a blue collared shirt with cars and flowers on it. It looks like something out of a Tommy Bahama catalog, but he pulls it off really well even though we're currently in the autumn season.

"Hi, Louis! I've been excited for that doorbell to ring all day. Come in," He grins and steps aside as I enter his literal mansion. It's huge.

"Me too, but it was a healthy mix of excitement and nerves," I admit, taking a hot second to look around the inside of his place. "Thanks for having me, by the way." I add, shoving my hands in my back pockets until they stop shaking.

The exterior of his house was white with wood and stone accents that rounded out the modern style. Huge windows let in an abundance of natural light to the interior and make the whole house seem bright and lively. The interior is beautifully decorated in a similar modern fashion, but it's tasteful and makes me feel at home.

So many big houses like this - based on what I've seen in movies - are so properly decorated that they look more like a showroom or a museum than a place that someone lives in. Almost as if they were a museum, where you'd be scared to touch a single thing in fear of shattering some priceless artifact. Thankfully, Harry's house isn't one of those. It had a comforting and homey atmosphere about it.

I slip off my black Vans and set them down neatly next to a pair of white shoes by the door. The white shoes have blue butterflies on them, and they're absolutely adorable.

I've seen a similar pair once when I went to this hometown diner back when I was in school. I went to the bathroom to try and wash the syrup off my hands after Liam spilled some on the table by accident. When I walked in, I could see a pair of butterfly shoes in one of the stalls almost identical to these. There was a second pair of shoes in the same stall, but I just minded my business and quickly washed my hands before leaving.

"I made lunch for us," Harry tells me excitedly, "I'm not sure if you ate already, but if you'd like I have it ready in the kitchen."

We walk into his kitchen, which arguably looks like one of those studio kitchens on the cooking channel. He's cooked up two grilled cheese sandwiches and I can still see the steam rising from them, twirling around before dissipating into the air.

"Sorry, I'm not a good cook," He looks down at his feet briefly as he speaks, looking endearingly shy.

"Aw, Harry. I love grilled cheeses, and these look so good. You even have the really good bread!" I could hear my stomach grumbling on the drive here. The breakfast I made at Juan Luis' was only enough for him because I didn't want to be late, so a little food in my system is long overdue.

"My aunt used to make them every weekend for me, and she always said Brioche was the best bread for them," Harry explains as we sit down in front of two plates of grilled cheese at his kitchen island.

We quickly devour the sandwiches, and they taste even better than they looked. Even if grilled cheeses aren't the hardest thing in the world to make, Harry must have still been bluffing when he says he can't cook. Because trust me, I've had some rubbish grilled cheeses. I love Liam to death, but that man cannot cook. Unless we all want blackened and burnt food, either Zayn or I do the cooking.

"That was really good, thank you," I grin as I put my plate in his sink. I extend a hand and take his plate as well to wash, but he tells me not to worry about it.

"You have no idea how nervous I was to make your lunch," A small smile creeps onto his face, "I mean, you're a chef in an actual restaurant and I'm not, so it was a teeny weeny bit intimidating." He pinches his fingers together in the air to show me how 'teeny weeny' his anxiety was for added emphasis.

"Am I intimidating?" I jokingly raise an eyebrow and put my hands on my hips like the sassy bitch I am.

"Mmm, sometimes," He admits with a hum and leads me into another room. That's the last he says about it, but believe me for I will be bringing this up again sometime in the near future.

The room that we find ourselves in is nicely furnished with a pool table and a rack of cues. An overhead light near the pool table cast a warm light across the table and bounces off the dark red walls that surround us. The table looks much sturdier and better kept than the one at Duckies; the wooden table legs have detailed carvings of wave-like designs on them.

"If I'm so intimidating, are you scared to play me?" I challenge, and Harry just smirks. He grabs two pool cues and hands the significantly shorter one to me. "No, because I can beat you. At least for now, while you're still learning," He adds.

I roll my eyes, cracking a grin. "Cocky bastard, you are. I'll beat you. If not now, then soon once I practice more."

"You wish," He smirks at me and playfully crosses his arms. That's when I notice that Harry does indeed have tattoos on his arms - mainly his left arm - and they look really nice. Some would call them hot, but I'll keep that to myself for now, thank you very much.

Plus, who knows what's still to behold hidden beneath his clothing. My imagination will likely have a grand time with this one, but for now, I need to concentrate on beating Harry at his own game.

I quickly return my thoughts to the pool table, focusing on the game that's just started in front of me as Harry takes his first shot. Practicing at Duckies proves somewhat effective, for my technique and aim have both improved a considerable amount.

Harry is still worlds better than me, but something tells me he's going easy to give me a fighting chance. Our game ends about a half-hour later, with Harry securing another victory.

"Stupid balls," I huff and he snickers at this, muffling the laugh with his hand, "This game is rigged!"

"Puh-lease, I had the tech guy remove the remote-controlled pool balls and cheating system, years ago so don't come at me with rumors of a rigged game," The what now?

I stick out my tongue at him and he gives it right back and sticks out his own, scrunching his nose up in the process. I can't deny he looks super cute, like a little puppy where all you want to do is give the dog hugs and kisses and cuddles all the time. Someday.

"Oh, Louis," Harry says, snapping out of my little daydream of puppies.

"Yeah?" I ask as we walk into what looks like a living room. It has two huge black sofas, a big television on the wall, and some other seats - none of Harry sits down in. Instead, he continues walking towards a set of stairs.

"Do you want to go on the roof? I've got grass and some flowers up there, and even have some chairs and a fireplace for when it gets cold. I put it in after I moved into this house about eight or nine years ago, as sort of a way to be outside more without going into the crowded city."

"Woah, really? I didn't even know those were a thing. My roof suddenly feels very plain and boring," I laugh, nodding in agreeance at his proposal. "But, yeah, I'd love to!"

He smiles before leading me up two sets of stairs until we reach a white door. He opens it and we're immediately met by the cool air as we step onto the grass. There's a small stone path that leads to a circle of lawn chairs circling a fireplace, where the fire is currently coming out of a strip of polished stones.

It's a nice view of the city from here, and a good escape from all the pavement and cement of London. I admire my surroundings as we walk on the path and sit down in two chairs next to the fire.

"It's colder up here than I expected," Harry observes, and rubs his arms with his hands in an attempt to stay warm. We simultaneously lean into the warmth of the fire, scooching up a smidge up to sit on the edge of our chairs.

"Here, I'll give you my sweater," I don't hesitate and take off my grey jumper, handing it to him. I've got a long-sleeved shirt underneath so I'm not worried about getting chilly, and he looks like he needs it more than I do. He slips it on and thanks me, his cheeks a rosy pink color. It could be from the cold, I'm not sure, but I'd like to think he's blushing.

"It's just polyester, but it should do the trick. It looks better on you than it does on me anyway," I say as the cool breeze washes over us. It's a bit small on him but that's what he gets for being so damn big and tall.

"It smells good," He whispers timidly, holding one of the sleeves against his nose for a second. His chest rises and falls as he inhales and exhales. Yup, he's definitely blushing, but so am I. "It's like a mix between a hint of cologne, fresh linens, and flowers," he observes.

"Are you telling me I smell like flowers?" I jokingly bat my eyelashes, pretending to swoon. "Am I the prettiest rose in the garden?" I allude to his flower garden, biting my lip so I don't laugh at my joke.

"Yeah," He grins widely. "But like in a really good way. You could make a candle out of it and I bet they'd be off the shelves in minutes,"

I smile at this. I could've sworn I heard Harry whisper right afterward that he'd buy all the candles himself, which just makes my cheeks flush pink even more. Part of me now wants to know what he smells like - probably like warm vanilla and freshly baked cookies, if I had to guess.

He stands up from his seat after a few minutes of us enjoying the fire. Harry walks towards the edge of his lawn before glancing back in my direction. "Want to look over the edge? Since I live on a big hill, we're much higher than the city and the view is great,"

I get up and hesitantly walk towards him, but I'm careful not to get too close to the edge. My feet stick to the ground like glue, just like Juan Luis' when he saw Niall at the bar. "I'm scared of heights," I admit sheepishly. "Like, really scared."

Harry doesn't miss a beat. "I promise you won't fall. I'll make sure of it if you'd like," he holds out a hand for me to take, and I do. Only an idiot would refuse that offer.

I walk closer to him and I'm less than a meter away from the edge. He releases my hand when I reach his side only to wrap a strong arm around my waist. It makes me feel safe and secure, enough that I take a chance and peer over the edge with him.

First I look straight down because the sick thing about having a fear of heights is feeling the necessity to look down just to know how scared you should be. Secondly, once I've got that out of the way, I look out at the London landscape. He wasn't lying when he said the view was even better from up here. It's amazing.

"I used to be scared of heights," Harry admits, "My mum would always hold my waist or my shoulders when we were high up because I was convinced I would fall off the edge, or something would happen if she wasn't holding on tight,"

"Apparently I never grew out of the fear," I sigh, but feel less scared with his arm around me. Would it be appropriate to request that we just stand like this for the next eternity? Maybe. Maybe not.

"I mean, I know I'm not about to plummet to my death or anything." I clarify, trying to make sure I don't sound like a total wuss. Irrational fears are irrational for a reason. "It's just all the little what if's that can really psych me out," I explain.

He nods in understanding as we step back from the ledge. He keeps his arm around me anyway, and I'm not complaining in the slightest. I can feel his fingers gripping onto my side softly as we talk. I can even feel the cold of his metal rings through my shirt, causing me to smile.

"I didn't grow out of the fear for a long time, and I'm not sure when or even if you will," He smiles, "But until then, I'll make sure you won't fall. Over the edge, I mean. Other than that, it's up in the air," He shrugs, his wounds lingering in the air and up for interpretation.

I can feel my cheeks flush at the kind gesture, and his cheeks blush a pretty shade of pink too. My head is swirling with what he's trying to get at. However, I don't have much time to think before a stronger breeze rushes by us, blowing around our hair.

I shiver and find myself leaning into Harry's touch because he's warm. I can confirm, he smells of sugar cookies and a touch of rather intoxicating cologne. It's like that stuff that Matt Damon uses in the Oceans 13 movie - The Gilroy - that makes any girl weak in the knees. Except only now, Harry is Matt Damon and I'm the girl, respectively.

"Want to go back inside?" He asks, loosening his grip around my waist and instead of placing his hand on the small of my back.

"I hate to leave because despite it being a little cold because it's so nice up here. Maybe when we're properly dressed for the cold or when it gets warmer, can we come back up here sometime?" I feel shy asking, but it's a nice change of pace to have grass under my feet and a beautiful view of London.

"You're welcome back up here any time you'd like," He hums, an evident sparkle in his deep, evergreen eyes.

***

i love grilled cheese :D

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