Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

it's simple (it's green, it's still green)

Written by:milkballon

Summary:In a way, he still feels like he's asleep, like this is some dream where he's with Harry and the sun is out and he doesn't feel like he has to watch what he says or figure out how he's supposed to feel. In this strange time between light and dark, Louis just is.

AU. In which Harry runs a bed and breakfast and Louis' trying to figure everything out.

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Work Text:
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There's an empty road that stretches ahead of Louis, loose gravel fading into deep indigo like a black hole or all the places in the universe where there's nothing, just emptiness. Life would probably be a bit easier if he kept driving.

He blinks into the darkness, hands tight around the steering wheel. It's like, here he isn't anything. There's no one else on the road, maybe no one else in the world. One of his headlights is out but when he closes his eyes it's almost the same on both sides, the only difference being the small LED lights burning at the edges of his vision.

Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn't. Louis' trying to learn to let go.

His GPS tells him to turn left but he stays still in the road, guilt already nipping at the nerves in his hands. There aren't any stars out, only a soft haze of pale yellow where the moon should be and this is the darkest that Louis' seen the world in a long time, too used to the lights of London sheening across the city. He likes it though, it makes him feel small and rather inconsequential, which is a good thing to feel. People should feel good things.

He bites at his lip as the GPS's voice fills all the empty spaces in his car, the kind of empty spaces that don't say a lot but they feel big. Everything feels kind of big right now but Louis is used to that, at least. He can't remember the last time something felt small and he thinks that maybe that has something to do with why he's here, in the middle of the road, guilt pooling in his stomach like lagoon begging him to sink into it. To relax.

Well, he can't do that. He's twenty nine years old and he's driving to the Cotswolds because his mum told him he should. Get out of London, she'd said, take some time for yourself. As if he hasn't been alone for a while now.

The road shifts under his single headlight, shadows playing across the gravel and dirt, across the sign marking that he is, indeed, at the right place. His GPS sounds that he's reached his final destination but all he sees are pine trees and tall grass surrounding him, tires crackling over the loose gravel. He tries to blink through the darkness but he's not wearing his glasses and despite the single headlight he's not gathering much information.

He's moving very, very slowly and the world is quiet around him, kind of like he's a whisper or a ghost. He thinks he'd make a bad ghost though, too involved and too attached to everything to possibly stay hidden, stay invisible to the world. He pulls one hand away from the steering wheel and through his hair, a gentle reminder that he's still here and not as outside of his body as he feels.

The car park glows like an alien spaceship, a single floodlight pouring over the front of the house but not quite lighting it up. He can make out a porch and the reflection of his lone headlight on the windows, two stories, and the faint glow inside them. He watches the way the dark seems to swallow it whole, light flickering and fading like the end of a cigarette. Bright for a moment and then gone.

By the time he's finally gotten out of the car guilt swirls and pools in his chest, footsteps loud over the dead quiet. He doesn't know why he doesn't knock and he especially doesn't know why the front door is unlocked but it opens with a soft click and it's just as dark inside. There's a soft light edging the room he's in but it seems to peek around the corner, hiding from him in what appears to be the kitchen.