Lets Cross The Lines We Lost {L.S} (Not My Work)

Chapter 2

**

“What’d you do last night?” Louis hears Zayn ask as he walks into the kitchen.

It’s seven o’clock and Louis has been sitting up at the breakfast bar the entire morning since he had gotten in from next door, his third cup of tea resting in his hands. It’s gone cold, like they all seemed to before he remembered to drink them. But he doesn’t really care.

Zayn was in his room when Louis had gotten back after that happened. Whatever that was. And Louis was extremely grateful for that because his body was still full of adrenaline with a pinch of utter disdain, and there was definitely no way he could hide that from Zayn. Zayn knows him, he knows when things are bad or weird or different, but he also knows when Louis doesn’t want to talk, and right now, he really doesn’t want to talk.

“What do you mean?” he asks, completely nonchalant.

“It was, like, dead quiet after you got back. Jesus – did you threaten someone?” Zayn asks, already sounding disappointed.

Louis tries to look offended. “What? No, why do you always assume the worst?”

Zayn shrugs as he pours himself a bowl of cereal. “I’m usually right. So what happened? Did you run into Harry––“

Louis coughs, almost choking on his tea and earns himself a confused glance from Zayn. “Oh– um. Well, yeah he was the only one that wasn’t completely wasted so I just asked politely… then said I wouldn’t leave if he didn’t turn it down. Seems that was a terrible alternative for him,” and then we fucked. Okay. Maybe he’ll leave that part out.

Zayn nods casually. “Well, nice one,” he says, seeming convinced, and heads back upstairs.

And okay. Cool. That’s that.

Louis tips his cold tea into the sink and thinks he might steer clear of Zayn for the next few hours, in case he blurts out something incriminating. He’s sort of betting that Harrys in same boat.

Harry. Shit.

He –– he just fucked Harry. The sixteen year old boy from Cheshire with dimples and reeking of innocence– no. No, not him. It’s Harry, the boy who spent a year travelling and is now some hippie sex god or whatever. Louis is putting everything on Harry keeping this to himself as well. No one needs to know. He never has to think of it again if no one knows.

He’s frustrated at himself more than anything. Stupid urges. If anything, he probably hates Harry even more now for making him feel this way. And okay, it’s wasn’t terrible sex, it’s not like he wasted any of his life while he was there –– but it was sex with Harry. Which makes this whole situation incredibly fucking disturbing.

It’s not the gay thing, that’s not what he finds disturbing. He’s been happily out since he was fourteen. It’s everything else, it’s why he even started hating Harry in the first place, and it comes back in floods and moments, rushing to the forefront of his mind from the dark corners where Louis left everything and it’s all too much. So if he wants to survive this, he’s not going to let himself dwell on it any further.

It was a one time thing. He’s going to let it go.

. . . 

In the next few days that pass, Louis unfortunately discovers that letting it go is easier said than done, because Harry, being his neighbour, is always fucking there.

Whenever Louis steps out of his house, Harry is sitting on his porch with Niall playing some dull indie song on their guitars. Or he’s planting his stupid flower garden (which, he might add, has attracted a lot of bees. Louis has several marks on his arms from where he’s been stung). Or he’s walking past him with his stupid long legs to go to class, with no acknowledgement aside form a sideways sneer and the odd annoyed gaze, which Louis never fails to meet with the same hostility.