Someone you won't talk about (l.s)

Saturday

Louis has been up for hours—staring into the grains of wood that make up the end table and ignoring the sounds of life downstairs.

Images of last night flash through his brain and he wonders if Harry can still feel the imprints of his fingers against his waist, because he hasn't been able to stop.

He stares at the time—10:46am. No one has come knocking on his door and for that he's grateful, especially considering he's not yet willing to replay the events of last night to Niall or Liam. He's sure Harry feels the same way.

Still, he can't stop thinking about the way it all played out. The way it felt having Harrys lips on his again, the way his hands made him feel so small, the feel of his breath against his neck—and then the absolute crushing feeling of those last moments. The way Harry made him feel so stupid—so cheap. He wonders if he regretted it, if the second it was over Harry realized why he cheated on him in the first place. Louis tries to avoid those thoughts but it's nearly impossible because he didn't regret it. He could lie to himself—tell himself it was fueled by pure lust, but no amount of convincing would make it true. No amount of brainwashing could ever make him deny the way it felt being in Harrys arms again, being kissed by him again.

The undeniable, unavoidable truth was staring him in the face the second he saw him on that first day—he still loved him, and he wasn't sure that was ever going to change. In fact, he knew it wasn't—but he also knew that no matter what they did this week, no matter what happens between them in the next few day, nothing would change. Nothing could fix what Harry broke. Nothing he did could make Harry see him the way he used to—that had been made abundantly clear. So the question still remained—what were they gonna do? Louis didn't think it was possible to go about this next week pretending it never happened, pretending there wasn't a part of him that yearned for it to happened again.

He realizes that no amount of worrying would give him answers, so he decides to pull himself from bed and just face the day for what it'll be—even if he didn't know what that was.

As he trudges downstair he's immediately met with the smell of something sweet. He turns the corner to see Niall sprawled on the couch, hugging a Gatorade to his chest. Liam is scrolling on his phone mindlessly, ignoring the commercials playing on the tv in front of him—and Harry is standing at the counter, having just pulled a tray of fresh blueberry muffins out from the oven.

"Morning, lads." Louis says, receiving a grunt from Niall, who looks about as hungover as he felt yesterday.

"Morning." Liam yawns, looking nearly as worse as Niall which has Louis laughing because Liam rarely lets himself be hungover.

"Rough night?" Louis chuckles in their direction.

"Niall threw up on my new pants." Liam groans and grimaces when Louis stifles a laugh. "It's not funny!"

"I warned you I was going to puke." Niall mumbles into the couch.

"Sounds like the drink balancing didn't work out for you, huh?" Louis snorts, walking over to the breakfast bar to sit on one of the stools. Harry is busy pulling another batch out of the oven and Louis resist the urge to snag a muffin while he's turned around.

"I did...until I added vodka shots to the rotation..." Niall sighs and Liam makes a face of disgust at the mere thought of it. "Where did you get off too last night, hm?" Niall suddenly asks, his eyebrows wiggling in Louis' direction. His throat goes a little dry and he notices the stiffening of Harrys shoulders even from his peripheral.

"Had too much to drink meself...thought I'd turn in early." He says, clearing his throat as Harry carefully removes each fresh muffin from its tray.

"Right." Niall laughs. "You're telling me you didn't go home with mr. tall dark and handsome?" He suggests. Liam gives a noise of suggestion as well and Louis has to suppress his eye roll.