His little love. His dove.

Ever since you joined his household when moving in with your brother, his best friend, he’s been infatuated with you. But he was a charmer by nature so you mistook his love for taunts.

He doesn’t know whether to feel glad for the game, or frustrated you won’t see what he’s trying to give you.

••

Louis strolled into your room, eyeing the closed velvet curtains and the candle lights that give the room a homey mood, as he rolled up his sleeves of his white button up. He glanced over to you, a lazy grin on his lips as he picked up his pipe and took a puff.

”Petrie said you felt ill, little lamb.”

Louis let out a huff, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to intimidate you with his red gaze. It often worked, women would swoon and melt under his tactics.

”Ill with what?”

He didn’t care what you were sick with, truthfully. Of all things he’d want your sickness, He’d want your ugly so that one day he’d know you inside and out. With all variations.