; adjective; inspiring great affection.

"Harder, Harry."

"Louis, I can't."

"Yes you can. Just push harder. Open your mouth wider and relax your throat."

Louis imitates the high note Elsa hits when she sings, "Here I stand," and looks at Harry expectantly. He couldn't believe the curly headed lad couldn't hit the note. It was so easy.

Though in Harry's defense, Louis wasn't really hitting the note either. His voice was too deep and raspy. It kept cracking at random moments but it was adorable to watch him sing along to the Disney movie.

"Here I sta--" Harry begins but it's a weak attempt. The note is intended for a female (Or a tiny human bean with a high pitch voice), not the baritone hipster.

Louis silences Harry with a look of disappointment and reaches over the taller lad to grab the TV remote. After waking up from their hour long nap and having nothing else planned for the day, Louis decided that they should watch Frozen. Harry had seen the movie a countless amount of times while babysitting his neighbor's granddaughter. And Louis... Louis just loves Disney movies.

"And to think I sang "Love Is An Open Door" with you."

The movie resumes and Louis slides away from Harry with his arms crossed over his chest. His neck is craned up an awkward angle so he could continue to watch the movie but he'd much rather be laid on top of Harry.

But he can't hit the high note, his brain argues.

But he makes my heart hit a high note.

Good one, Louis.

Louis snickers at his own thoughts and Harry's eyes snap over to the little boy, "What's so funny?"

The giggling stops, "Sorry. I can't associate with non high-note-hitters," Louis juts his chin out.

"Louis..." Harry turns his body to face the younger boy. He sneaks his arm under the fluffy duvet to grab at Louis' elbow, "All my life has been a series of doors in my face. And then suddenly I bump into you."

By now Anna is in the sleigh with Kristoff and they're racing through the forest. Louis' trying to keep his breathing calm as Harry's fingers force their way between his. It's hard to do when his heart is trying to escape his chest and crawl into Harry's arms.

Be strong and don't sing along.

"C'mon, Lou. I know you know the words."

His fingers are now slightly pulling on Louis' arm, effectively uncrossing them. The color pink is sneaking up Louis' neck, crawling onto his cheeks and onto the tips of his tiny ears. He's got his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he thinks about anything but the fingerprints Harry's leaving across his arm.

Why do they call it a reckless driver? Why not reckful driver? Obviously if the person is driving crazy enough then it should be reckful. Full of reck. Not reckless. Without reck. Gosh, some people just don't know how to properly use suffixes.

"I was thinking the same thing! 'Cause like I've been searching my whole life to find my own place. And maybe it's the party talking or the chocolate dip."

"Harry!" Bingo, Harry thinks with triumph, biting back a smile, "It's chocolate fondue! Not dip. Fond--due!"

Louis can't believe the nerve of this curly headed, hippie looking, long tan and handsome man laying beside him. How could he possibly mess up the lyrics. What even is chocolate dip?

The annoyed, fairy-looking boy rolls over and fits himself between Harry's arms, muttering something along the lines of, "You're lucky you're cute because I would've turned the movie off back at "Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?"

It's silent for awhile. Louis' anticipating "In Summer" and Harry is anticipating Louis (Again, it makes no sense but it sounds poetic in Harry's mind).

"Hey Lewis."

"Yes, Harold?"

"I'm very fondue of you."

Louis makes a promise to suffocate Harry when the movie is over, scarlet red high in his cheeks, and Harry says that Joan, the shark stuffy, will avenge his death. Louis rolls his eyes despite his mental agreement that Joan would be the one stuffy to betray him and after that, all is well.

Until Harry fails to hit the high note at the end of "In Summer."

At first (second and third) glance, Louis seems to be the type of person to have a purse puppy. A fluffy, white purebred that he could shove in his purse and carry around. One with a little, pink bow and probably a knitted pink sweater to match (A sweater Louis would most likely knit himself).

Or a cat. Louis could own a sneaky, little cat. One that would curl up in your lap while you're watching "Friends" reruns or knock your bowl of cereal off the counter because you weren't paying enough attention to it (Or maybe that's just Dusty, he's a unique cat).

Whatever, the point is Harry did not, under any circumstances, peg Louis as the type of person to own a foot long bearded dragon.

"Say hi, Floyd," Louis' rubbing the cheek of the reptile, trying to coax her to greet Harry. She doesn't have a pink bow. No pink sweater. Just scary looking, green scales. She makes Princess Fiona, the ogre, look like a model.

"Don't be shy. Harry, this is Floyd."

Harry half-waves from where he's sitting across from Louis. He doesn't know how to feel, to be honest. Louis' got a twelve inch reptile laying across his arm, its tail wrapped around his elbow. His Frozen t-shirt ("Harry, you can't watch a movie without wearing the right apparel. It helps you get into it.") is hanging off his shoulder, the dark blue contrasting with his milky white collar bones. His glasses are hanging off his nose and there's dried snot caked above his top lip. Should he feel endeared or disgusted by this exquisite creature?

The answer: Obviously endeared.

"Sorry, Haz. She gets a bit shy around new people. At least she didn't bite you like she did to Zayn when they met. Not yet, of course."

Correction: He should be scared.

The neckline of his shirt (An identical Frozen themed shirt that Louis let him borrow from Zayn to get him in the mood... For a cartoon with a talking snowman) grows damp with sweat as he watches Louis interact with the dragon, unable to wipe the smile off of his face, "How old is... Is Floyd?"

"She's five. Will be six in a few months though. October 31st," Harry really wants to reach out and brush Louis' hair out of his face but he doesn't, continues with the questions instead.

"Oh. So, do you take her Trick Or Treating or celebrate from home?"

"We celebrate at home," Louis smiles, big and wide at Harry. The taller lad just craves running his thumbs over the little wrinkles in the corners of Louis' eyes until the melodious voice gets softer, "Last time I went Trick Or Treating, I was egged. Two boys tripped me up, threw eggs at me, then stole my candy. Told me Neverland was a place for... Faggots."

First, Harry decides that he never wants to hear the word faggot or any other disgusting, degrading word come out of Louis' mouth again. Second, Peter fucking Pan. Of course, he'd be Peter Pan for Halloween. The boy who never grew up. And some kids egged him? For what? Carrying out his childhood? Harry's knuckles turn white as his fists unintentionally clench. He's close to seeing red when a quiet sniffle brings him out of his own unhappy thoughts.

"Hey..." he whispers, reaching out and tilting Louis' chin up. Floyd makes this clicking sound in the back of her throat, as if she feels Harry's same anger, "Hey now. It's alright, Lou. I bet they were jealous because you had vowed never to grow up when they had to."

"You really think so?" His eyes are rimmed red, but they sparkle so bright.

"I know so. I bet they got cavities from eating your candy too." Harry bops Louis' nose, causing him to giggle, his nose scrunching up.

"Harry, that's rude."

"So is stealing someone else's candy. Besides, you were probably the best dressed out of everyone on your block."

Louis blushes and nods his head, "I was an even prettier Tinker Bell than Natalya who lived across the street."

Well, fuck.