for angels to fly | lwt + hes.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Louis was completely fine.

Really.

He went to bed at ten o’clock on weeknights and midnight on the weekend, woke up at 8 am on the dot every morning, went for regular runs around the block, ate three meals a day and hung out with Zayn and a few of his mates from uni in between.

He didn’t think about sad green eyes or pale skin or curly, dark hair. Sometimes he could remember flashes of it from his dreams, but he ignored them, favouring his hesitant construction of normalcy. 

It had been a week and three days since Louis had last seen Harry Styles, but he didn’t give that, or the constant ache in his chest, much consideration.

No, he preferred to bury himself in essays and job interviews and alcohol. Like a normal person would. There was no point in dwelling on something that had no real bearing on his future. 

Louis continued in this vein of thinking until one fateful Saturday morning when everything he had decided was completely turned on its axis. His Friday had been completely ordinary; he had gotten up, gone to class, had lunch, gone for a run, bought a new shirt at the shopping centre, and had gone to the pub for a few beers with Zayn before returning home and heading to bed. A completely normal, predictable, and mildly enjoyable start to the weekend.  

All the lights in his apartment were turned off and Louis lay in bed, gazing unseeingly up at the ceiling. He wasn’t really thinking about much of anything, just idly listing the groceries he had to buy when he woke up in his head, hoping the repetition would lull him to sleep. 

That was when a knock on Louis’ front door sounded throughout the flat and he sprung upright. The numbers on the digital clock beside his bed told him that it was three o’clock in the morning, and he sighed. There was no one apart from Zayn who could possibly be knocking on his door at that hour.

So he reluctantly clambered out of bed and crossed his living room to the door, turning on lights as he went and squinting at the sudden, blinding brightness. Just as he reached it another knock sounded.

‘Zayn, shut the fuck up! I’m opening it you impatient twat!’  Louis exclaimed as he turned the lock and the door swung open. But Zayn’s drunken form did not greet him; instead, green eyes met his sleepy ones and he almost took a step back, completely bewildered. 

Harry stood on his doorstep, looking utterly, devastatingly, gorgeous in skinny jeans and a frayed white singlet, far from appropriate clothing for the weather, sheepish smile turning his the corners of his mouth and a purple-blue bruise blooming across his left cheek. There were a few scratches marring his face; a particularly deep one on his eyebrow was still dripping bright red blood. His top lip was split and swollen.

Louis was completely speechless for a moment, his roaming eyes taking in the sight of the state Harry was in; the bruise stood out in sharp contrast against his pale skin, and there was a hint of exhaustion in the corners of his eyes. He followed the slow course of a drop of blood down the boy’s temple in mute horror. Louis was struck by how young he looked in that moment, young and so, sofragile. He’d never noticed how skinny the boy was before. 

Louis’ silence continued, and Harry cleared his throat, somewhat awkwardly. ‘Hey,’ he croaked. 

At the utter exhaustion in his voice Louis sprang into action. ‘What the fuck happened to you?’ He asked, panic rising up in his chest. ‘What’s wrong with your face?’ He reached out and grabbed Harry by the arm to drag him inside; his skin was icy cold.

Louis swore softly and kicked the door shut behind them as he steered Harry toward the couch. The slam reverberated throughout the flat but it barely registered; all that was repeating in his mind was a litany of ‘harryharryharry’ and he felt sick at the thought of what could have caused the bruising on the boy’s cheek.