Work Text:
my tea’s gone cold
i’m wondering why
i got out of
bed at all
The cold plastic bar stool Louis was sat upon was too hard and too crappy to sit on this early in the morning and drink mug after mug of cold tea. Maybe Louis hated them because they make a vexatious squeak every time you move your hips merely an inch. Or maybe Louis hated them because Harry chose them.
Nothing seemed to matter to Louis anymore, not even the dull ache swallowing his body whole from the copious amounts of alcohol from the previous night. He tells himself the same thing every evening - it’s not because of him, it’s my choice- bullshit. Everything’s numb; it feels like the earth has stopped spinning and good god, if it was the end of the world Louis would walk straight into the war-zone face first without even having a second thought about it.
The emotionless boy continued to absent-mindedly stir his coco-pops around in the milk, staring at nothing in particular and not really focusing on anything - except him.
He abruptly dropped his spoon into the bowl, subconsciously rolled his eyes at himself and forced himself out of the shitty bar stool and the shitty kitchen that just screamed Harry and trudged his way up to his bedroom to at least attempt to make himself look half decent, because he’s fine. Everythings fine.
the morning rain clouds
up my window
and i can’t see at all
and even if i could
it’ll all be grey
He knows he needs to shower, he really needs to shower, but who has he got to impress? So instead he heads directly towards the floor-length curtains and hauls them open, revealing the common British drizzle littered over the distance and it’s just so hilariously spiteful that the weather represents his mental state more than any words could ever come close to. Louis does appreciate it, really, he does. I mean it’s better to feel (mentally and physically) like a pile of wank whilst the weather is absolutely miserable compared to when everythings rainbows and lollipops and Louis wants to murder everything in his plain sight.
Silence seems to stretch over hours and hours and theres a tiny bit of hope left in the lonely boy that he’ll hear the front door open and keys being slung onto the kitchen counter and everything will be back to normal, back to the way it used to be, and that makes his stomach churn and knot because he’s so naive and foolish and he can’t seem to grasp that life’s not a Disney movie.
but your picture on my wall
it reminds me that
it’s not so bad
it’s not so bad
His aqua blue eyes flicker up to the corkboard above the set of drawers and a combination of guilt and longing and fucking love washes over him like the bitter air does early on a winters morning. There’s endless polaroids and printed pictures tacked onto the board of treasured memories that Louis can’t help but to smile at. He continues to vow to himself that things will eventually get better, this isn’t the end and a wave of relief seems to flow effortlessly through his veins. There’s not one single cell in his body that will ever let go of him and strangely enough, he’s okay with that.
Louis knows they need to talk. Harry knows they need to talk. Both of them know that they need to work this out together.
i drank too much last night
got bills to pay
my head just feels
in pain
Every feeling of hope and promise that was etched into his mind and into his heart swiftly vanished as the echo of Harry’s words rippled through his blood,
“I’m sorry, Lou”
There’s many untold accounts of the multiple times Louis’ drunken fingers manage to stumble across Harry’s contact and type out endless messages, varying from lustful to lonely, forgiving to furious.
To Harry: “I need you xxxxxx”
To Harry: “You left me for dead, you’re such a fucking coward and I hate you !”
To Harry: “When are you coming home? :( x”
Not one single message manages to be delivered because Louis’ fingers tremble and it feels like both fear and love is drowning him. There’s something in the back of his mind telling him it’s for the best.
It’s a never-ending circle.
i missed the bus and
there’ll be hell today
i’m late for work again
Louis could not give a single shit about work anymore. Like, yeah he needs the money to pay the bills but it just drags on and on and it’s just the same thing over and over again. Designing shoes, getting turned down and Zayn’s designs being chosen instead. Louis doesn’t mind either way, he still gets paid so it’s whatever.
He glances at his phone, 7:47. The bus comes at 7:50 and it’s at least a 10 minute walk from his flat to the bus stop. But still, he slips on his shoes and decides to catch the next one.
For once he decides to actually sit down in the grungy bus shelter because he’s not up for standing for another 20 minutes until the bus comes. So he plugs his earphones into his phone and he starts playing his morning playlist full blast.
Louis just minds his own business as the vibrations of the music travel through his ears, until a couple of loathsome looking teenage girls decide to sit next to him, giggling and obnoxiously chewing gum so loud, Louis can hear it through the Coldplay song he’s listening to. After about 5 minutes of listening to their annoying tones, he (not so subtly) slides across to a seat further away and just prays that the bus will turn up soon.
And it does.
and even if i’m there
they’ll all imply that
i might not last the day
Louis eventually turns up at the office, only an hour late (it would’ve only been 45 minutes but if you’re already late you might as well grab a coffee from costa Louis always says).
“Afternoon, Louis” Zayn greets him, spinning around in his office chair to face him with papers in his hand, riddled with cartoon designs. It’s not unusual for Louis to be late anymore, everyone got used to it after the first week.
“I think you’ll find it’s still the morning, Zayn” Louis retorts, heading to his desk with his coffee in his hand. Zayn just chuckles lightly and returns to his computer.
Louis tries to at least design something, but there’s just so many thoughts in his head at once that he’s unable to do anything. He resorts to tapping his pencil against the desk, building up a beat and eventually his foot’s tapping and he’s beatboxing in the background.
“Louis”
He snaps back to reality, dropping his pencil.
“Hm?”
“You’re not gonna do anything while you’re here are you?” Louis looks down sheepishly.
“Zayn, I’m -”
“Just go home Lou, relax, do whatever. You won’t miss out on much not being here. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you were sick. Do it for me, babe?” Zayn entreated. Louis didn’t know if he wanted to pay him or kiss him.
“Thankyou, Zayn.” Louis smiled as he started packing his stuff away.
and then you call me and
it’s not so bad
it’s not so bad
Louis unlocks his front door and immediately kicks off his shoes and flops down onto the couch, breathing in a sigh of relief. His phone starts ringing in his pocket and he assumes it’s just Zayn telling him he’s left something in the office, but he checks anyway. It’s the last person he thought of.
It takes him what feels like forever to decide whether to answer or ignore the call. Luckily, he grows the balls the answer his call before it cuts off.
“Harry?” Louis breathes, confused. On the other end of the line, all he could hear was sniffles and heavy breathing.
“I can’t do this, Lou” Harry blubbers.
“Wha-”
“These two weeks have been awful and cruel and straight up terrifying, I can’t even begin to explain how fucking angry I am with myself for just leaving you without a good reason, without any reason” He inhales deeply.
“I’m a coward, Louis. We both know it”
“Harry-”
“No, Lou, I thought you were gonna leave me and I couldn’t let that happen, I just couldn’t. I know it’s dumb for me to call you like this but I’ve been a mess and I needed to hear your voice and I needed to talk to you and I needed-”
“Harry calm down” Louis interrupted sharply. He heard Harry take deep breaths through the phone.
“I love you” He blurted out. Louis froze.
“I love you too” Louis admitted almost too fast. “Come home?” He asked hesitantly.
There was sniffle and a mumbled “yeah” through the phone.
“Are you crying again, love?” Louis consoled.
“M’fine, I’m coming home, Lou”
It’s not so bad.