Breaking Louis Tomlinson {Larry Stylinson AU}

Chapter Fourteen

a/n: ok hold up roll up sINCE WHEN DID WE HIT 20.8K AND ALMOST 1.1K VOTES WHAT ARE THESE HOT STICKY THINGS ON MY FACE

(why does it say i have 15 likes on facebook what does that mean someone please help does that mean my friends can see this story i will literally run to china sOMEONE PLEASE ANSWER)

ya kind've a sad theme but i love the quotes i used in this chapter sigh i had to

ps its 3:13 am i had a good a/n planned out i swear im just so tired wow

dedication goes to @imbadwithusernames cause hes cute i love him ok he makes me smile thanks ilysm youre the bomb

**FANART/FANMIXES ARE WELCOME I L O V E THEM OK**

The bedroom was swimming in the pale grey of the moon’s light when Louis woke up.

He was tangled in his bedsheets and sweating profusely. Louis’s breaths came fast and heavy; he was disoriented and feeling sick to his stomach. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as he sat up, wiping his brow and trying to figure out why he woke up so violently.

It took a few, long seconds before Louis realised he was tucked into bed with Harry, no less. In the shifty moonlight, Louis could just make out the long, lean shape of Harry’s body under the duvet. His breaths were slow and measured, and his body was completely still except for the rise of his chest.

It surprised Louis, how close they were. Harry’s left arm was draped around Louis’s waist—which was warm and oddly pleasing—and their legs were tangled together in the sheets. It occurred to him that Harry probably carried him all the way up here and laid him down without even waking him up.

but why was he here when the last thing he remembered was being—there?

Louis had a bad feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, and as the hazy cloud of sleep began to fade, he was beginning to recognise what it was. His whole body felt limp and heavy, like he was weighed down with lead in his bloodstream.

the scene kept playing again and again in his head. it was like a film caught on the loop button, and louis was the horrified audience.

He saw his mother’s wide smile, the happy tears flowing down her rosy cheeks, the ear-splintering squeals from his sisters, the proud, satisfied look on Harry’s face as he stood off to the side. Louis felt so right at that moment—he thought he’d made the best choice by coming to see them. They were happy to see him, and Louis was fucking overwhelmed by how much they cared for him.

in fact, it was all too much for Louis--all too soon.

He could relive that moment--with astounding clarity--as he lay in bed and stared up at the blank white ceiling.

Louis’s family had never seen him have an anxiety attack like that. When he was younger and he got them more frequently, he would excuse himself to the bathroom and focus on controlling his breathing. It was like a second nature to Louis; a practiced art that took loads of experience. He could sense when they would get to the extreme state, and prevent a full-out hyperventilation session. So why couldn’t he feel the attack coming? Why couldn’t he stop it? How could he let it get that out-of-hand?