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Abandoned and embarrassed, Louis ought it to be a splendid idea to walk home alone. The full moon has settled over London, bright and shining. The streets are illuminated by the florescent street lights. Louis dugs his hands in his pockets at the bus station. No one is around, it's freezing and the bus hasn't come in 15 minutes. It's not unusual for the busses to be late or magically disappear and not come at all. The alcohol is making him woozy and disoriented. He feels his stomach turning again already. If he smells even the faint dust of a tequila shot, he might jump from a building.
He pushes himself off the red bench and looks into the distance. The street is empty and fogged. Across the street is a small supermarket. The flashing broken light of the sign blinks rhythmically.
Louis tumbles up and down the bus stop. He looks up to see if he's at the right stop. He is. Of course he is. From the corner of his eyes, he detects movement. His heart rate fastens in an uncomfortable way. He's already having cold sweat tear down his face. He doesn't need a heart attack next. His hand clings to his card. He's going to get robbed. He glances up to the sky, hidden behind clouds.
The man comes closer. His hood is covering his hair, the sunglasses, his eyes, and the darkness of the night cover his body. He doesn't smile or say a thing. He sits down and stares at Louis' hand.
Louis hugs his arms around his middle. His hoodie isn't warm enough to even remotely shield him from the biting wind. He looks up from the dirty pavement, right into the lights of an approaching red double-decker bus. Louis tiredly holds his arm out. The bus comes to a stop. Louis gets on and sits down right at the front, near the driver. He leans his head against the cool window. The bus drives over bumps, down the rocky street, then it turns left. Louis glances out. He sees in the reflection of the window. The man with his hood up stares at him, or maybe Louis is paranoid.
The speaker cracks two times before it announces Louis' street. He gets off the bus and stumbles up the stairs. He looks over his shoulder. An icy shower erupts over his body as he sees the man disappear in the dark. He clicks the key in the lock. He turns it and, to his surprise, the is locked. He turns the key again and gets inside, locking the door behind himself. He closes all three door locks to be sure. He turns all the lights on and dissappears in the bathroom to puke. He wonders for a second where Harry is. He should be home. He surely must've been at work. Usually, he sleeps after he works through a morning shift.
Louis cleans his teeth and applies some of Harry's moisturizer. He switches the lights off and tumbles into his bed. He pulls the cold blanket over his shivering body and rubs his cheek against his soft pillow. A waft of Harry's perfume meets his nostrils. He takes a deep breath and moves his thick pillow into his arms to curl his body around it. The alcohol is starting to wear off, but his tiredness is now really starting to kick in. Still, his heart is beating like a racing car. His head is wide awake, but his body isn't. He turns over onto his back and stares up.
Louis listens carefully to the silence. He believes the door creaks for a very short second. Probably Niall. He's not ready for the moral speech, so he closes his eyes and lies still like a dead fish.
He could cry. He moves his toes around under the blanket, feeling around while he waits for the bedroom door to open. He sighs, might as well get it over with. "Niall?" He calls out, not moving his stone like body.
Two big eyes stare at him through the slightly ajar door. The eyes are forest green and adored by long lashes. "Not quite." Harry says, "Can I come in?"
Louis huffs. It's not like he waited all day for a simple text. "Sure."
Harry tip toes inside barefoot. His sweatpants are grey and a little too long, and his hoodie is a soft blue. He's holding Cliff like a baby in his arms. He cradles him gently while he walks over to Louis' bed and sits down by his side. The bed shifts, and the godly smell of Harry's perfume gets even more prominent.
"Are you feeling better?" Harry asks, feeling Louis' forehead with his large cold hand.
"Niall told you?"
Harry presses his lips together, surpressing a small smile. "He called a few minutes ago."
"Fuck that's so embarrassing." Louis moans, covering his face in his pillow.
"It's okay." Harry cards his fingers through Louis' hair. "But I don't understand why you indirectly told him that I'm a drunk."
His tone is considerate and soft. He probably wouldn't yell, he doesn't seem like he even can get mad out of his mind.
"I'm sorry." Louis mumbles, "It's stupid and you're going to disown me."
Harry laughs, "I'm not mad, just curious."
Louis moves his drunken head near Harry's leg, and sighs heavily. His eyes catch onto a dark bruise on Harry's arm. He wonders if one of the dogs bit him by accident. He always wonders and never gets an answer.
"I felt like you were mad at me and then I got mad and the first thing that came to my mind was the alcohol I found under your bed when I cleaned Clowns shit off the carpet." He confesses.
Harry nods, "Alright. Thank you for your honesty."
"So?" Louis pokes Harry's thigh, "Why do you keep liquor under your bed?"
Harry chuckles. He lets Cliff snuggle up against Louis and drops his arms to his lap. Louis notices the nervous mannerism that takes over Harry. He twists his rings, the skin under the metal reddened. "Look I-" he starts but cuts himself off, "Sometimes, I get a bit in my head about things I'm not ready to tell you yet. Then I can get quite dull. The simplest task, like throwing bottles out, gets unbereable. So, yeah, well." Harry chuckles dryly.
Louis feels terrible. He doesn't think when he grabs Harry's hand. "I'm so sorry." He admits sincerely, "I'll talk to Niall again and I promise, if you ever need help, I will obviously help you clean." He rambles, squeezing Harry's hand.
"No really, it's alright." Harry assures him quickly. He shifts a little on the bed. "Would you mind if I slept here again?" He keeps his eyes down, focused on turning his rings around.
"Not at all." Louis lifts his blanket up for Harry to get under. Harry kicks his sweatpants off, which leaves him in a pair of striped boxershorts, and snuggles under Louis' blanket. He sighs quietly.
Louis' heart is racing, he's afraid he might ruin this before Harry gets the chance to do it.
