Where We Belong

Chapter 19

He makes it to Friday by the skin of his teeth. After Zayn went home Thursday evening, he's been calling and texting every third hour, but aside from that Louis' been alone. All alone. Sitting on the couch, constantly staring at his phone instead of the telly that he's got on just to feel less, well— alone. He's been waiting for Harry to contact him, if nothing else then just to say hello. But he hasn't. He hasn't so much as sent a text since Wednesday.

And Louis knows that it won't help him at all, but the only way he gets through the day is telling himself, every time he checks his phone and there aren't any new messages from anyone he actually cares about getting a message from right now - Harry, only Harry - that this is temporary. This is only temporary, like when Louis stayed with Eleanor for a night. Harry might not think so yet, but he will, eventually, when he comes to his senses.

They always come back to each other. They belong together. Louis can't imagine a life for himself where they don't.

This is temporary.

Meanwhile, Eleanor decides that sitting at home, staring at his phone, waiting for 'temporary' to be done with, isn't any good either. Saturday, she invites Louis to tag along with her to some semi-famous fashion-bloggers birthday party/promotional event, threatening to show up at his doorstep unannounced any time, any day, if he doesn't.

He takes one look at the state of himself, and the room around him, and then tells her all right.

Hours later, room still looks like shit, but Louis himself looks, well— he's wearing trousers and his hair-do could be excused as effortless bedhead-sexy if he plays his cards right. And if the place the party's being held at hasn't got very bright lighting.

Eleanor's already parked out front when he comes outside. He hopes she can't tell that he hasn't left the flat since Friday noon, after getting sent home early for lookin' like something the cat puked up.

"You look pale," she says as the first thing when he slides into the passenger's seat.

"Cheers. You look like shit too," he says, hardly bothering to make it sound sarcastic.

Which it is, obviously. She looks gorgeous. She always looks gorgeous. But he's in a mood and if she takes it the wrong way it might just satisfy the bitter take-everything-out-on-every-innocent-person-in-sight-thing he's got going on at the moment.

She just huffs and pulls off the curb and mutters, "knickers. Untwist them, please."

"No thanks, I think I'm all right," Louis says, pressing his face to the cool window, "I quite like them twisted. Irritates my arsehole. I revel in the pain. Deep down, I think I deserve it. Probably stems from my childhood. The other kids used to make me eat sand and—"

She slaps him on the thigh with a chuckle. "Shut the fuck up, would you?"

"Why?"

"Cause you're just— you're trying to waste the entire drive talking shit so you don't risk me asking about you're feeling," she says, "reallyfeeling."

He sighs. It feels like his entire chest deflates in on itself. "You do always know how to pump a guy up for a party, gotta give you that, El."

"Yeah, right, fuck me for giving a shit. How are you feeling about everything? Come on." She nudges his leg. "Shit? Are you feeling shit? Cause if you are, we'll get you drunk to forget. Or are you feeling relieved? Cause if you are we'll get you drunk to celebrate." He can feel her glancing at the side of his face again. "Lou-is."

"Elean-err."

"We're there in a minute, just answer me already. - Or has he already come back and you're embarrassed to tell me or something, is that it? You don't need to worry about me judging, I'm with freakin' Idris still, for God's sake, if he's back home already, you can just—"