Our Lovely Misfortune {Larry Stylinson AU}

chapter vi: louis

 

Harry bent down and pulled Louis up gently, an unreadable look on his face. His green eyes were locked on Louis’ pale, hallowed face as his thumbs traced the dry tear tracks on his cheeks. Harry knew how significant that was—Louis hardly ever cried.

 

A soft, sad sigh escaped his lips.

 

And he folded Louis into his chest, ignoring his state of obvious filth. He pressed kisses into his hair feverishly, hoping Louis understood how much he needed him right now, right here. They were cracked at the foundation—the home that they had built together was slowly falling apart—but Harry knew they could fix it. They had to—there wasn’t any choice.

 

They stayed like that for a very long time.

 

Everything will be okay, yes. Everything will be fine.

 

***

Lottie wakes up sprawled next to Louis.

They’re on his bed, her head tucked underneath his chin and his arms wrapped around her shoulders protectively. It would be nice, Lottie supposes, if she knew exactly why she’s in her brother’s flat and reeks of alcholol.

Her mind is just one big bowl of mush. She can’t really remember anything past sneaking out of her bedroom window with her friends—and even that comes back to her in dicey pieces.  It’s a blur of thumping music and bitter alcohol and soaring adrenaline.

Lottie lets her head fall back against Louis’ chest and goes back to sleep. Too early to handle all of this.

 

She’s dozing again within a matter of minutes. Her warm breath against Louis’ neck makes him squirm in his sleep—he isn’t used to anyone being so close to him; it’s been a long time since he didn’t wake up alone—but sensation is oddly comforting. It wakes Louis up gently, like dandelions tickling his toes.

And when he finally does come about, it’s in a haze of morning light and blonde hair.

He’s disoriented; he doesn’t understand why Lottie is curled up against him like she used to when she was seven. The sight of her eyelashes casting shadows on her pink cheeks, the way her lips are parted slightly for her quiet exhales of air, the way her blonde hair falls around her in a halo of silk—it all makes Louis’ chest hurt with nostalgia. He hasn’t seen her like this in years.

 

And then he’s remembering last night and the party and the way Lottie was a crying mess and he feels sick.

He knows he’s going to have to step into that big brother role he hasn’t used in years—he’s going to have to act responsible and ask her what happened, then call mum and drive her home. But he’s also going to have to be understanding; he can’t judge Lottie for what she did, or else he’ll lose her trust. Whatever relationship they have right now is fragile as it is—Lottie doesn’t know who he is anymore, and Louis doesn’t even recognize his sister.