Our Lovely Misfortune {Larry Stylinson AU}

chapter vi: louis

a/n: i sweeeeear the larry parts are coming up soon just wait

last sad chapter pls

okay i know ive been shit at updating but here she is 

thanks for the 2k you guys make me feel like glittering dreams 

idk what im saying pce

Christmas can, in fact, be the worst time of year.

 

When you’re alone in an empty flat with no heat and no food, Christmas can be synonymous with unbearable. Louis was a true testament to that—he was the living proof.

 

He spends his birthday drunk out of his mind. Maybe he cries somewhere in the darkness, but the shadows mask his tears and the city drowns out his quiet sobs. So yeah, maybe he does break down, but no one has to know because Louis doesn’t think anyone deserves to know, really. He’s alone and no one is thinking about him wasting away in his bed because no one cares.

 

Christmas morning dawned grey and cold and empty.

 

Louis woke up feeling like utter shit both mentally and physically. He blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes and reached out for that warmth on his left side—where a long, lean body could usually be found—and instead was met with empty sheets. He sighed into his pillow and tried to ignore the growing lump in his throat.

 

Louis spent his day curled on the cracked linoleum floor of their bathroom. He threw up and cried and dozed and stared into blank space for hours on end, wishing, whispering, whimpering for one thing, one name, one person who didn’t want him.

 

His stomach clawed in protest; he hadn’t eaten for a full day. His mouth was irrevocably dry and his achy limbs cried for a drop of water, but Louis didn’t listen. He was so consumed by this paralyzing sadness that he could do little except rearrange his position so his cramped muscles could get a break.

 

It was hard to judge how much time passed, locked in the tiny bathroom, but it must’ve been well into the night before Louis heard the first noise. He was half asleep, body slumped against the cold tile of a dirty floor, his shirt stained with sick and his hair matted. Louis stirred at the sound of the door opening, but he didn’t make an effort to move.

 

He knew it was Harry before the door opened because Louis had listened to Harry coming home for years, and it was a noise he learned to recognize. There was just a certain way about how he dragged his overly-large feet through the carpeted halls, or how he breathed through his noise instead of his mouth—little things that took Louis years to perceive.

 

Harry’s figure was a mere outline, cloaked in shadows of the dark hallway. Louis didn’t raise his gaze.

 

There wasn’t a word exchanged between the two, but they both felt something. Not a sentence fell from their lips, yet raw emotions were palpable in the air. Nothing had to be said for them both to understand how messed up this whole situation was.