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Summary
He knows that voice.
It's the voice that told him "I love you" so many times, the one that could leave him blushing and glowing and enchanted with just a few simple words. It's Louis fucking Tomlinson, standing there in a white dress shirt with a black stripe on the collar and a disheveled bowtie and a pair of Vans, hair done into a perfect sexy swoop, eyes brighter than any star Harry's ever seen, with a smirk on his pretty face.