clean » larry stylinson

[05]

crystal beads of frost edged their way up the front-screen of louis windshield, the layer thickening every few seconds only to be swept away by the blades of his car's wipers. the old heater, imbedded in the machine's system, struggled under the weight of time, but, after some careful fiddling; it's exhaust is directed up to louis face, providing the slightest hint of warmth. this means that while the rest of his body bares the chill of the particularly crisp january morning, his cheeks remain toasty and flushed.

with each stop sign passed, the dreary-eyed, rosy-cheeked boy's headache worsens. the time is barely past eight in the morning and he is making the painful journey back home.

this time with a surprisingly large quantity of alcohol in his system and fluffy bed-hair set from sleeping on zayn's lounge room floor.

none of this had been planned. in comparison with some of the others, last night, louis drank barely a whisper; however this presumably was still enough to pass out in a tangled mess of limbs with four more boys. either way, the events of the night before are still clouded and he certainly isn't looking forward to when the effects of the booze rubs off.

zayn was the only one he spoke too before he left. it was never his intention to stay longer than an hour, an hour and a half if his friend brought out the puppy dog eyes.

surprisingly there were no puppy dog eyes given, no bribery, and thankfully no death threats, and he made it willingly through the night.

unfortunately, this wondrous achievement did have the smallest of repercussions; hence why he was now scaling the unfamiliar icy roads in lead to his scheduled morning shift.

the mere thought of work sends louis hungover brain into a series of frantic disapprovals but he keeps his eyesight remained firmly planted ahead despite this. logic tells him that he shouldn't be driving, however he chooses to ignore this with the friendly reminder that he's required to serve lukewarm coffee for the next four hours.

the streets ahead of him slowly begin to turn familiar; his building emerging through the grey abyss of fog.

its with a lump in his chest and a wave of confusion that he notices the silver mercedes parked at an unfortunate angle in his regular place in the bay. ghosts of memories haunt the car ahead; visible through the clouds of frost and cold.

louis' foot slams downwards, aiming for the brakes but nearly missing in his moment of panic. he contemplates his options.

his mother is inside of his building;

granted on a regular day he would be able to grit his teeth and greet her in spite of his distaste for the woman, but the rather awkward fact remains that he has been spending the past few months trying his hardest to break all contact from his family.

an unusual turn of events compared to most 'recently-moved out nineteen year olds' who are remain dependent on donated meals and leftovers to survive.

louis runs through his options. the most obvious solution, he contemplates, is to fake amnesia. to simply keep on driving, in search of an apartment which doesn't exist, not stopping until every street, twist, turn and corner there is on any map, has been crossed.

just as this plan starts to sound rather exciting in his mind, a quick check to the petrol tank however deflates the idea before louis can even begin to take action. the arrow is hovering directly over the 'empty' indicator.

rather than being let down though, he can't help but allow a small smirk to arise; feeling awfully pleased with himself for making it all the way home without running out. trapped in the middle of no where, without transport or a jacket would not be louis definition of fun,