with everything in me - l.s

chapter eleven

Louis is walking over to Harry Styles' flat. Taking time out of his evening to go suck up to the boy that has been making his Uni experience absolute hell. You only live once, and this is Louis' time to live.

Louis delivered himself in such a way that it was precisely unmatchable. He never let his head fall because he knew he'd cry, so he looked up at the stars. What a remarkable tragedy, plainly. He had watched so many romance movies read hundreds of novels with the genre being romance, but nothing even came near to correlating to the impressions that were tacit between Harry and Louis. They had a conflagration in their essences that steers them to be the best and they picked each other up when necessary.

Louis's fingernails were digging dips into the golden skin of his palms (surely, he's drawing blood) and his steps bolstered in distance. He wanted to admit everything to Harry while he had most of his sanity.

Soon, but not soon enough, Louis arrived on the doorstep of Harry's flat. It was a sight, truly. The gaudiest flat he's discovered in all his years of being on campus.

Literally, what the fuck is he doing?

With not as much as an inhale and recomposing himself, he brought himself to knock on the door. Now, Louis never knocks on the door of anyone's house but Zayn's, but all reasoning is already out the window for him. Harry came to the door -curls bouncing gracefully on top of his head- and unlocked and opened the door.

"Good aft-" The taller ceased mid-sentence, rendering immediate eye contact with the man in front of him. Harry's voice was deep, portending he'd been asleep not too long ago.

"Shh. Don't speak," Louis acknowledged, pressing both of his hands to Harry's chest and lightly directed him backward. Harry made no effort to fight him off, which overall surprised the fuck out of Louis. Harry was either high or absolutely mortal. "Sit down, Curls."

"Why would I do that? You quite verbatim barged into my flat unannounced-"

"Harry, please. Please be quiet, I can't even hear myself losing the will to live,"

"Say that again, wanker."

Louis wailed, much over-dramatically. "Kiss me, you fucking twat."

Harry stood in utter alarm, eyes going exclusively wide. He was still striving to process Louis appearing on his doorstep. "What?"

With a roll of his eyes and one swift bustle, he put his sweaty hands on either side of Harry's countenance and pulled himself impossibly close. Their lips weren't fondling, but every other body part of theirs was. "You look so fucking stupid." Was all that came out of his tinted, bruised lips.

Their lips brushed in such a gesture that it nearly knocked the wind out of the both of them. Louis' hands never faltered, so he kept a proper firm grip on Harry's cheeks nonetheless.

Louis kissed at Harry's flawlessly shapen lips, pushing his lips against the other's like it would be his only prospect to do so. Because it might as well be.

Harry was unresponsive, him still in the process of determining if he should put his hands on Louis' curvy midsection or tangle his digits in his hair. He settled for the first option, desperate to feel Louis in any way. They detested each other so terribly bad, however, they could both sense the modification in the aura.

Harry's lips finally began to collide against Louis', almost positive he had scraped Louis' bottom lip with his teeth. He promptly perceived what was taking place and the environment that they were rendezvousing in, and pulled away from the tenderness of Louis' lips abruptly.  "Did you just kiss me?"

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Did you just like it?"

Harry took a duration to counter, thinking of exactly what he wished to explain beforehand. "Louis, we've got a problem now,"

"Can it be solved by me shooting you?"

Silence.

"No?"

Silence again.

"Then it isn't an issue I should be concerned about at this very moment, now, is it?"

The side of Harry's lips quirked halfway, rolling his eyes nonetheless. He fucking hated Louis. Everything about the small, pretentious prick made his skin crawl. Yes, they had hooked up once, but that meant absolutely nothing and didn't rationalize romantic behavior between the two of them. Harry figured that Louis only used him for his sexual fantasies (Louis wasn't even gay), and Harry only reciprocated that blessing.

But the way Louis was behaving really threw Harry off. Not ever did Louis openly express intimacy to him, and not ever did Louis want Harry to kiss him. Most of the time, Louis loses his shit when Harry accidentally touches him. ("Get your bloody knee off of me leg." "I didn't even mean to, but know that you're complaining about it, I'm not moving it." "Fuck you, Harold. I hope you die slow.")

"Lewis," Harry whispered, veering his hands from Louis' hips to down at his own side. Concern laced his voice like a coating of silk, but it's all in a day's work.

"Hm?" Replied Louis without missing a beat.

He didn't want to tell Harry. Louis knew that he would be able to see the boy's heart shatter through his painfully green eyes.

Harry furthered his interrogation. "Why'd you come here and kiss me?"

"'Cause I needed someone to distract me." Promptly came Louis' voice, high in pitch- a discrepancy to Harry's gravelly voice.

"Figured." Harry was spent at that final utterance. "Now, get out. I've got company arriving soon." He grabbed Louis by his shoulders and ushered him toward the door of his flat, pressing a forgery smile to his delicate lips. "Will be seeing you tomorrow, to much of my distaste."

Louis stared at him with his mouth agape and whatnot, sensing his insides itch with pure turmoil.

A prime example of why he fucking loathed Harry Styles.

Anywho, Louis made his way out of the gaily adorned door of Harry's flat, not even turning back to say good-bye. Saying goodbye was for pussies, and the one thing Louis Tomlinson was not, was a pussy.

Louis sensed his throat burn yet again, and that was his cue to book it down the sidewalk. There was no way in hell he would let Harry study that the bullshit he talked about comprised him in any denomination.

You can't win against someone who's got nothing to lose.

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