He watched Harry reach out and press the faded number three on the smudged, gilded panel. The movement gave Louis a chance to notice the delicate bones of Harry’s long arms rotate as his ulna shifted under the loose edge of his button up shirt. He had his shearling coat slung over his shoulder and his backpack resting between his legs at his feet. There was a grace to him that Louis found intriguing, for despite a long-limbed, awkward sort of clumsiness, he still managed to possess a subtlety to him. He was a puzzle. Soft edges and curls, contrasting with sharp angles and a clunky kind of boyishness made him a study of opposites.
It reminded Louis of a complex mathematical problem, teasing him from the periphery, begging to be solved.