next to you ❀ l.s.

twenty seven - stan-ding up for myself

The next morning, everything went to shit.

By the time Louis woke up, the sun was already shining through Harry's bedroom window. He squinted against the bright light, then hid his face in the back of Harry's neck, nuzzling his nose lightly against the younger boy's curls. Harry's warm back was still pressed tightly against his front, and Louis had one arm securely wrapped around Harry's stomach.

He smiled to himself. He shifted subtly, holding Harry a bit closer to him. For the first time in a string of six long days, he felt completely certain that there was no place he would rather be.

The bedroom door creaked open suddenly, making Louis tense in surprise. Harry groaned softly at the abrupt sound and movement, but Louis just shushed him, rubbing his hip reassuringly as he lifted his head to scold Niall for rudely intruding.

It wasn't Niall.

"Liam let me in," Stan explained, jerking his thumb somewhat apologetically back toward the living room. "Can we talk?"

"Be quiet. You'll wake him," Louis hissed. Carefully, he disentangled his body from Harry's, fighting hard to ignore the breathy whine of protest and the tiny pout that crossed Harry's lips.

He leaned down over the bed before he left, his lips ghosting over Harry's forehead. Even the feather-light contact made Harry sigh in his sleep, curling back into his nest of blankets. Louis made sure the covers were tucked securely around the younger boy's body before he turned away, padding as quietly as possible toward the door.

"Rough night," he explained vaguely as he caught his friend's confused expression. He could only hope that Stan would think that he was comforting Harry, not the other way around.

In reality, maybe they were comforting each other.

Stan only nodded. "You're a good friend," he said. The statement felt accusatory somehow, as harsh and blinding as an interrogation spotlight.

Louis didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. Liam and Niall were still passed out in the living room, so he ushered Stan out into the chilly morning, shutting the door softly behind him.

"I brought my bags and stuff," Stan told him, making small talk. "My flight leaves tonight."

"Yeah, I remember. I'll drive you to the airport later," Louis promised. He leaned back against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, leaving Stan to stand awkwardly in the middle of the hallway.

"So, um, about last night," the other boy said eventually. "You seemed upset when you left."

Louis only shrugged. "Not really. Just didn't want to be there anymore," he said honestly. After years, his desire for Stan to like him had disappeared overnight.

"Okay. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." A stretch of silence sprawled out between them, making Louis's heart pound heavily in his chest. "Listen," he continued finally. "I don't know what you were expecting from this trip. I mean, I don't even know what I was expecting."

Stan looked lost. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from side to side. "Yeah, I just thought --"

Louis cut him off. "I want us to be friends," he said, not sure if he really meant it. "But nothing more. Whatever used to be between us, it just . . . it doesn't feel the same."

"Yeah, I mean, I didn't want to get back together or anything," Stan agreed bluntly, although Louis didn't miss the moment of surprise that flashed across his face. "That's not why I came. I just want to be in your life, you know, in any capacity you're comfortable with."