Love is War (L.S.)

6

The plan is to befriend Styles.

It's quite possibly the only way for Louis to have any kind of chance of finding out anything, ever.

It shouldn't be too hard, right?

It's currently a little after 3 in the morning and he's sat in a slightly uncomfortable chair flying 34,000 feet above the ground. He should be sleeping. He knows he should be sleeping otherwise he'll be in a shit mood tomorrow. But he can't help but watch the man seated opposite him.

Styles is sporting a frown again (what else is new?) and he hasn't looked up from the phone in his hand since they boarded the plane. It's a small plane, which could even be classified as a jet. Maybe it is, Louis is too tired to care at the moment. As a result of the small confines though, he's forced to sit directly opposite from the brooding figure who can't seem to wear anything other than dark colors. Swift is to his right with her seat reclined and an eye mask on. She hadn't uttered a single word, just popped her earbuds in and passed out like a light. Louis envies her a bit.

He needs to make conversation if he and Styles are going to become best friends. He has to. If only he would put his bloody phone down for five seconds and just fucking-

"Do you have a problem?"

What?

Words out loud are better than words said inside, c'mon Louis.

"What?"

"You're staring at me and scowling. I don't appreciate it," Styles tells him, without looking up from his phone.

For fucks sake.

Louis redirects his attention to the night sky outside his window. "Just don't understand what could be so interesting on your phone at 3 in the morning."

He's so fixated on the view that he doesn't notice Styles has placed his phone in his lap. His hands now clasped in front of him, and his gaze fixated solely on the other man.

"If it was my attention you were in need of, all you had to was say so," Styles tells him calmly.

Louis huffs a breath and turns back to face him in his seat. He's met with the sight of a blank gaze but he does notice a small smirk tugging at the corner of Styles' lips.

"D'you fancy telling me what the plan is when we land in London?" Louis asks.

The little hopes of a smirk on Styles' face vanish and his frown returns as he picks up his phone again, effectively ignoring Louis' question.

He needs to switch gears.

He looks over to Swift who's very still. The only thing separating her from a dead body is the little sniffles she makes every few seconds.

"So," Louis tries again, "You and her together, eh?" He gives a little tilt of the head toward Swift.

"Why do you want to know?" Styles responds, gaze still on the phone and lips pulled into a firm line.

"Was just curious, mate," Louis shrugs.

"M'not your mate," he mutters under his breath, speaking more to himself than Louis.

"I know but -"

"Are you jealous?" He's looking at him head-on now.

"Why would I-"

"Does it bother you that I fuck her?"

Okay, not where he wanted this to go.

"No," Louis sputters.

"Do you want me to be fucking you instead?"

Louis is pretty sure he looks ridiculous with his jaw hanging open and his eyebrows touching his hairline.

"I - I, no for fucks sake man."

"Alright then, glad that's been settled." He returns to resolutely staring at his phone.

Louis doesn't try to make conversation again. 

Their flight lands a little after 4:30 a.m. due to some turbulence and bad weather that caused the pilot to reroute a bit. And when Louis finally gets off the plane, it is then and only then that he begins to feel his tiredness hit him.

He can barely keep his eyes open as he trudges through Heathrow Airport with his duffel bag slung loosely over his shoulder. He can make out the blurry movements of Swift in front of him as she walks confidently through the building, well-rested and at ease. He's not sure where Styles wandered off to and he can't find it in himself to care. He just needs a bed - that's all he ever needs. 

He looks around at the packed airport, blinking slowly, his eyes closing for a beat longer each time, and all he can think about is how everyone here should be in bed. They shouldn't be flying, they should be lying down. Hey, that kinda rhymed, Louis thinks. 

He needs sleep. Or coffee. But, preferably sleep. 

He's such an idiot for not resting on the plane, even if it was just for a few hours. He's also an idiot for not resting before he got on the plane. He could've gotten shut-eye from at least 9 pm to 1 am and be able to operate like a fully functioning adult.

But no, he had to spend that time watching episode after episode of Love Island. Not on purpose, obviously. The show just happened to start and the remote just happened to be too far out of reach. 

Louis stifles a yawn and vaguely registers himself leaning to the side as he walks. It's quite comfortable to lean and walk. People should do it more. Who decided everyone needs to walk upright all the time. Mix it up, lean to the left, lean to the right, crab walk, moonwalk, walk backward, walk upside down, who's stopping us? Certainly not Louis. 

He leans a little bit more, just a touch, to try and get more comfortable. However, he overestimates just how far he can lean his body and still walk and ends up losing his balance. He can feel himself falling and he squeezes his eyes shut, waits for the impact of his face hitting the ground. He's half terrified of the pain that will follow, half apathetic because he's just so tired that he wouldn't mind being horizontal for a bit. 

The feeling of himself hitting the ground never comes. Instead, he feels an arm wrap securely around his waist. 

He feels a body pull him tightly against their own and he feels warmth everywhere. 

He's too exhausted to open his eyes so he doesn't think too much about it when he rests his head on the shoulder of the mystery person and buries his face in their shirt. 

He inhales once and smells a combination of vanilla and something else, something specific that Louis can't put his finger on. A smell that he imagines home would smell like. He decides not to linger on that thought for too long.

They start walking again but Louis' barely putting any effort into the action. The person seems to be guiding him, applying the tiniest bit of pressure where their hand is securely placed on Louis' side to make him move forward. 

"Thank you," Louis mumbles into the shirt of his helper. 

He feels the person's grip on his waist tighten and then he fully falls asleep, relying on them to get him wherever he needs to go.