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Chapter 6 now posted.
“Of all the bloody—“ He cursed in frustration, tugging hard. Suddenly, a very crisp ripping sound echoed through his dark bedroom. He stared in horror at the gaping hole in his Arsenal bag, right where the seam of the zipper should be. He groaned pitifully, flopping backwards on his bed and rubbing his tired eyes.
This barely-a-kiss kiss—platonic and so light he could scarcely remember feeling it—was driving him half insane, the culprit sleeping soundly across the hall, completely unaware of the trouble he had caused with his dangerous, drowsy actions.
“Oh my god, he didn’t even mean it, Louis.” The footballer groaned aloud in the empty room, covering his face with his hands. “He was half asleep, for Christ’s sake.”
Just then, three gentle knocks sounded on the bedroom door causing Louis to jump five feet into the air.
“Louis?” Came Harry’s soft voice.
Louis clutched at his chest, trying his hardest to calm his heart’s frantic banging.
He didn’t hear you, he tried to convince himself inwardly.
“Come in,” he croaked, his heart still slamming against his ribcage.
His bedroom door creaked open, Harry padding through it in his thick black socks. His black jeans hung sinfully low, a pair of laurels peeking out below the hem of his thin Rolling Stones shirt, and Harry was definitely trying to kill him with these tattoos, Louis decided. Absolutely.