There's a pounding in Louis' head like the beating of a jungle drum, constant and echoing, reverberating between his temples as though the sound is trying to find a way out of his skull. He feels weighed down and weightless at the same time; bones made of lead, ears buzzing, stomach rolling like he's at sea, the waves lifting and dropping him... Waves, water, river, drowning...
He gasps for breath as the memories rush to the forefront of his mind, blurred images painted behind his eyelids. His arms fling out at his sides, hands grappling to find purchase as the fear overtakes him. But he's met not with his watery coffin. Instead, his fingers grip soft material. He forces his eyes open, squinting in the low light as his surroundings come into soft focus.
Above him, a wood panelled ceiling appears, licked in golden firelight. He turns his head to find the source of the light, his senses returning slowly as if needing to trigger one another; feeling the heat once he sees the flames, hearing the crackle of the fire once the warmth touches his skin.
He's inside a cabin he thinks, brain still slow on the uptake, and he can hear the storm raging away outside. There's a stone fireplace set into a wall of rounded logs, curtained windows to either side, a slab of polished ringed wood for a coffee table beside him, an armchair with a crocheted throw draped over the back. He cranes his neck to see more but is met with increased thumping in his head and protests from his back and chest. Fuck. Everything hurts.
A wave of nausea hits him, dizzying in its intensity. Using all the energy he can muster he rolls onto his side, finding a yellow plastic bucket on the floor beside the couch he now registers he's laying on. His stomach clenches and he tastes bile, activating his saliva glands. He heaves into the bucket, straining, groaning, sucking in air between spasms until he's spent, empty, and falls onto his back once again.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and blinks the tears from his eyes, musing that at least that little episode has awoken him fully. He pushes himself into a half-seated position, swinging his legs out from under the blanket laid over him and sitting up properly.
Louis scrubs his hands through his hair and down his face, then looking around to try and work out where the hell he is. The cabin isn't big, not by any means, but it's homely and warm, and it dawns on him that he's likely not alone. Someone has to have brought him here.
There's a scent in the air, woody and earthy from his environs with the dampness of the storm seeping in, but there's something else too, something fragrant and heavy, almost sweet like vanilla or cinnamon.
Panic settles quickly and he twists around to his left to see if he can find the occupant, or perhaps occupants, god, he has no idea where he is or who he's even with. The sound of footsteps to his right startle him and he grabs the blanket, pulling it up to his chest defensively which he now realises is bare and, even more terrifying, he's naked except for his pink satin and lace panties. Oh fuck .
He should run, he should get out of here, but there's no way his body would cooperate with such a request.
Resigned to his fate, he turns back to his right and shrieks. A tall, broad man approaches, shoulders hunched and a wary expression on his face. He's an alpha, Louis can easily tell, his strong, earthy scent potent enough to already be making its way up Louis' nostrils.
His fear triples in an instant.
Alone, practically naked, in some cabin with an alpha who could do anything to him, may have already done things to him. He's clearly undressed him and Louis feels his stomach lurch again. What has he seen? What has he touched?
"P-please. Don't hurt me," Louis croaks out, voice rough and raspy, timidity clear in his tone as he curls in on himself protectively.
"M'not gonna hurt you. Don't be scared," the alpha says, voice deep and rumbling as he holds up one hand in a placating gesture, the other showing him the glass of water he's holding.
Louis watches as the stranger sets the glass down on the edge of the coffee table just within Louis' reach and then backs away, retreating to a dining table across the other side of the space and sitting on a chair that's already pulled out. The man leans his elbow on the table and raises his chin, motioning toward the glass he's set down for Louis.
Louis picks it up and smells it surreptitiously before taking a sip, the cool liquid quenching his thirst and washing away the taste of his sick. "Thank you," Louis says and the man nods. "I'm Louis," he ventures, attempting to bridge the gap between them.
"Harry," he supplies, but no other words are forthcoming, a tense silence settling over the room as they regard each other cautiously.
Harry is staring at him with such intensity, the hairs standing up on the back of Louis' neck at having such a level of focus on him, and from a strange alpha no less. It's uncomfortable and he desperately wants to be anywhere else but here, the crack of thunder that rings out reminding him that he's not going anywhere.
Louis eventually breaks the stare, looking around in the hope of seeing his clothes so he can at least cover himself properly, but they're nowhere in view. He racks his brain, trying to remember what happened and how he ended up here. He remembers driving, the rain, the river, the water flooding the car, the smashing of the glass...
"You- you saved me," Louis states as the memory filters in, his eyes snapping back to the alpha, brows raised, mouth hanging slightly open.
Harry simply nods in response as he wrings his hands together, long fingers twisting around each other. There's an imprint of a hat still present in his long curly hair which falls to just above his shoulders that are cloaked in a flannel shirt, over the top of worn but sturdy-looking brown work pants, socked feet with holes allowing both big toes to poke through. He's attractive, in a scary, lumberjack kind of way; muscular, but from manual labour rather than gym sessions, Louis suspects. His facial features are larger than average, any one of which one their own would be out of place, but together they somehow fit.
A log settling in the fireplace catches Louis' attention and he turns reflexively, watching as the embers spit and crackle before vanishing up the flue. He takes in the decor of the cabin more closely now. There's no television or other similar appliances to be found other than a tired looking fridge, everything else seeming to be handcrafted, beautifully so, unlike Louis' own home which is filled with mass produced modern furniture. He sucks in a sharp breath as more memories come flooding back. Vincent. The heartbreak. Driving off into the storm. The realization that the future he had imagined for himself was gone. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, unblinking as he stares at the fire, anger and hurt welling up inside, a lump forming in his throat, choking off his air.
"Pain?" Harry asks from across the room.
Louis shakes his head, the blanket slipping down to pool at his waist. He lifts it back up again, skin goosepimpling in the air and lets out a frustrated huff. "No. I'm alright."
His muscles do ache and his head still feels like it's caught in a vice, but otherwise he seems to be okay, physically anyway.
He hears Harry moving around and turns to see him walk down a short corridor off the kitchen. Louis looks around for his clothes once again, but they're still nowhere to be found.
Harry returns with an armful of clothes; some socks, a white t-shirt, a blue and black flannel shirt, and a pair of brown trousers just like the ones Harry is wearing himself. He sets them on the other end of the couch silently. Louis noticies that he has more clothes balled-up in his other big hand and he recognizes them as the ones he'd been wearing earlier.
Harry drags a drying rack out from behind the armchair and sets it up in front of the fire, leaning over to hang the dripping clothes over the rails. "You were wet and cold," Harry offers by way of an explanation, his back to Louis. "They'll be dry by the morning."
Louis takes the opportunity to grab the offered clothes off the couch while Harry isn't staring at him, hurriedly slipping on the t-shirt and flannel before pulling the trousers on under the blanket. "Thank you. W-what happened? How did I get here?" He asks as he puts on the socks, feeling far less exposed now that he is fully clothed. The scent he smelled earlier is even stronger on the clothes themselves; definitely vanilla and perhaps sandalwood and cloves now that he's getting a hit with every breath he takes.
Harry's movements still, his hands suspended in the air for a few beats before he continues, placing Louis' socks on the ends of the rail and adjusting the rack to be closer to the fire. He stands to full height and Louis' gaze follows as he turns and sits down on the edge of the nearby armchair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "I was out looking for one of my cows, she got stuck in the muddy riverbank. Bridge had washed away. Your car was sinking. Smashed the windshield and got you out. Carried you back here," Harry says, slow and monotone, cadence disjointed, like he's not used to speaking out loud. It's also the most words Harry has spoken since Louis woke up, so he feels it's at least some kind of progress.
Louis absorbs Harry's words, trying to think about how random and lucky he was that Harry happened upon him, "Thank you, again. I know I keep saying that, but I really appreciate you coming to my rescue," he says and Harry gives a single nod.
"Let the ranger know what happened too," Harry adds.
"Do you have a phone I could use to call someone to come and get me? Mine was in the car."
Harry shakes his head. "No signal out here," he says, pointing to a small desk with a radio set up, which Louis hadn't noticed before. There are two black boxes sat on top of each other, one with an illuminated digital screen display, and a black twirled cord attached to a hand-held mic like he's seen people use in those shows about life as a long-haul trucker. "The highway is about an hour in the other direction," Harry continues. "Bridge is out. Forest trail will be closed until things clear up. No way for anyone to get here for a while."
Louis' eyes go wide at the revelation. "Oh. Okay," he says quietly, trying to contain the nerves building in his gut. He thought he'd been heading to the highway when he left the cabin but he doesn't remember coming over a bridge on his way to meet Vincent, so it appears that he did take a wrong turn in his hysterical state. Now he's trapped, in the middle fuck knows where with a strange alpha. "I'm sorry," Louis offers, hoping to get Harry on side.
Harry furrows his brows. "What for?"
"For causing you trouble. For getting stuck here."
Harry just gives him that intense stare again, the one that makes Louis' skin prickle. "Don't get many visitors out here," Harry drawls, licking his lips, his expression morphing into something more hungry and a bolt of panic strikes at Louis' core.
Louis waits for Harry to continue, but he doesn't say anything else, just turns to look at the fire and goes back to wringing his hands as the wind whistles through the trees, branches lashing at the roof.
Louis wonders how long it will be before he's missed. How long before someone realises something untoward has happened. At least the ranger has been notified, if Harry is to be believed, but it's not like Vincent will come looking for him, or anyone else for that matter. Once Vincent returns to the house he'll probably just assume Louis has gone off somewhere after their breakup. A shiver runs down Louis' spine at the thought of being forgotten, trapped here with this alpha stranger.
He glances down at the bucket of his sick, mostly fluid thankfully. "Can I use the bathroom?"
Harry nods and points in the direction of the corridor, his hair shining in the firelight, the little wisps of curls around his face glowing and framing his frown.
Louis picks up the bucket and stands, the cabin seeming even smaller with his new perspective. It's really quite lovely though, everything warm and inviting and laid out perfectly for one person. But there's a distinct absence of personal touches; no photographs or artwork of any kind, no throw cushions, no decorative bowls, everything in its place, everything with a practical purpose.
He moves through the space, the extra length of Harry's trousers wedging under his feet as he goes. The air cools the further he gets away from the fireplace and enters the dimly lit corridor, only a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, no shade to cast a pattern on the wood paneled walls. There's a single door on each side, both ajar, the linoleum floor indicating which one is the bathroom, the other presumably leading to Harry's bedroom. It's compact but has all the necessary facilities; a curtain pulled back to reveal a shower on one side and a toilet on the other, the basin under a four-paned window at the end. The light above isn't bright, not that there's a mirror large enough to require it, just a small round one for shaving on the windowsill.
He closes the door and tips the bucket into the toilet, rinsing it under the shower, the water icy cold. He lets it run for a bit to see if it warms at all, thinking ahead to a morning freshen-up. It sputters and does eventually begin to heat, so he shuts it off quickly, unsure of Harry's setup and not wanting to waste whatever power is being used to heat the water. He takes a piss and washes his hands, leaning forward to stare at his reflection in the small mirror. He's looked worse, he muses, but not much. His skin has a pallour to it, drained and ghostly, although it could just be the lighting and there's a bump on his forehead from where he remembers hitting it, no cut, just a reddish-purple bruise. The flannel shirt drops off one shoulder, his breadth not enough to hold it in place and the waistband of the trousers sits away from his stomach, his arse thankfully ample enough to keep them up. He tucks everything in properly and does up the rest of the buttons on the shirt, rolling the ends of the trousers up and smoothing his hair down, making himself as presentable as he can under the circumstances.
The door creaks as he pulls it open, the murmur of Harry's deep voice coming from the living area drawing him towards it. He's sitting at the radio, the sound of static mostly masking the person on the other end. Harry turns as Louis comes up behind the couch. "The ranger. He wants to talk to you," Harry says as he sets down the mic and gets to his feet. Louis pads over tentatively, Harry gesturing for him to sit. "Press the side to talk," he instructs and moves over to sit on the arm of the couch.
Louis picks it up and presses the button. "H-Hello?" He ventures and lets go of the button again.
"Is that Louis?" A man asks, voice crackling.
"Yes. This is Louis Tomlinson," he says, slightly reassured to hear another person's voice and receive confirmation that someone knows he's stuck here.
"I'm Ranger Horan, but you can call me Niall. I hear you've had a rough night, mate."
Louis lets out a shuddery laugh, a wave of relief suddenly washing over him. "Yeah. A bit. But Harry has been wonderful. He saved me from my sinking car and then brought me to his cabin. He's been very kind."
"And everything is okay?"
There's a wariness in Niall's voice that Louis doesn't like the sound of, but he barrels on, not wanting to give his host an indication that anything is amiss. "Oh, yes. Everything is absolutely fine."
"I take it you're not from around here. What were you doing out in the storm?"
"Oh, uhm... I was staying at a cabin, Greystone Retreat, I think it's called. But I left, and it seems as though I took a wrong turn and headed away from the highway," Louis says, not wanting to share too much and dredge up the situation with Vincent.
"Right. Well, it's probably going to be a while before you'll be able to get out of there. The bridge has washed away, as you probably noticed."
"Yeah, I did. A little bit too late, of course."
Niall chuckles. "Just a bit. And the forest trail is going to be too dangerous to use for a few days, maybe longer depending on when this storm eases up. Can I get word to anyone for you? A partner? Family?"
"Uhm... yeah," Louis says, trying to think of who to tell of his predicament. He feels more than sees Harry shift, his presence like a heavy weight even from a distance. "Liam Payne, my friend," he finally says.
As with all his friends, he'd met him through Vincent, but he feels that Liam, above everyone else, might stay his friend in this new and strange post-Vincent world Louis has found himself in. It's who he was going to call after he'd collected his things from the house in the hope that he could stay with him for a while.
"Okay," Niall says. "Do you have his number?"
"Shit. Uhm. I don't- all my contacts were in my phone. I don't remember the number. I can't-" Louis stammers, cutting himself off to hold back the emotion welling up inside. He feels Harry stand and come closer, a wave of that vanilla scent drifting over him, strong, so strong. He breathes it in and a calm settles in his bones.
"That's alright, mate," Niall says, bringing Louis back to himself. "I can speak to the authorities in the morning and locate him. Anyone else?"
"No. That's all. Thank you."
"Okay. Well, stay safe and I'll check in with you both tomorrow," Niall finishes and Louis sets the mic down, the room falling silent once again.
Louis glances over to Harry who has retreated to the armchair once more. "Seems like you're going to be stuck with me for a bit."
"Mmmm..." Harry hums and fixes Louis with another one of those intense stares that go on for longer than is comfortable.
A yawn sneaks up on him and he presses the back of his hand against his mouth. "Sorry."
"Sleep," Harry states and pushes off the armrest to reveal a perfectly made bed on the couch that he must've arranged while Louis was in the bathroom; a pillow at one end, tightly tucked sheets with a soft looking blanket covering the cushions. "It's cold without the fire. More logs," he says and points to a stack of neatly chopped wood piled high in the corner.
"Thank you. That's very kind."
Harry gives him a look that Louis can't quite interpret, slightly confused and almost like he's offended at Louis' inference that he would be anything other than hospitable with the way his eyebrows are drawn together. Louis hopes he hasn't said something that could damage this tenuous accord they seem to have established.
Harry seems like he wants to say something more but then changes his mind. "Goodnight, Louis."
"Goodnight, Harry," he says and Harry nods, walking over to turn the light out before heading off down the corridor, just the fire left to illuminate the room.
Louis hears the gentle thud of Harry's bedroom door closing and he lets out a long breath, the tension seeping out his muscles, shoulders relaxing for the first time since he awoke and found himself in the alpha's cabin.
Now that he's by himself, his emotions rampage through his head; anger at Vincent, sadness at the future he has lost, fear from the crash, anxiety at being trapped in close quarters with an alpha for an indeterminate period of time. It's all so overwhelming and he can't think straight, but perhaps his mind will be clearer after he's slept.
He puts another log on the fire and strips off his trousers and flannel shirt, leaving him in just Harry's t-shirt and socks, and his own satin panties. He scoffs at himself for having worn them at all, thinking that tonight would be special, that he'd be in the arms of the man he loves... well, loved. He crawls into the perfectly made bed and wonders whether it's possible to fall out of love with someone that fast. He lays there thinking over everything that's transpired and he realises that it's more the future he's sad about losing, not the man, which gives him a moment's pause, but maybe that will change once he's had time to process everything properly. For now he just needs to rest.
He rubs his face on the soft pillow and breathes in deeply, the cotton cover coated in Harry's scent like it's one he sleeps with every night. Perhaps it is. Harry himself had said he doesn't get many visitors and he hopes Harry hasn't gone without his own bedding for Louis' sake, though he's grateful for the gesture nonetheless.
As he drifts off, flashes of his traumatic night dart behind his eyelids and he instinctively burrows further into the pillow, inhaling deeply, that same calmness from earlier soothing his racing mind until all the stress leaves his body and he succumbs to his slumber.