Under Coloured Trees || Larry Stylinson

18

Louis gets to work the next day with a pounding head and the imperious need to throw up. He doesn't even remember how he got to bed and he most definitely does not want to repeat that ever again. 

But he was feeling good last night. He felt light and happier than usual and he thought it was okay to let go. Even if it was just once. Even if he's not doing it ever again because he positively wants to die right now.

He lets himself drop on the armchair and closes his eyes. "I'm going to murder that Irish bastard" he mutters, covering his face with his hands and trying not to think about the fact that his brain feels as if someone were squishing it like a sponge.

"You did drink a lot" a voice says next to him. It's deep and low. It actually doesn't hurt Louis' brain more than it's already hurting. He likes it. What's good for Louis' brain is good for Louis himself.

He lets his head roll to the left from where it's resting on the back of the armchair, looking for the source of the voice. He opens his eyes, glaring at the green that's staring back at him. "Oh, thanks, Harold. Yeah, I wasn't aware of that, thank you very much for that enlightenment, the 18th century has nothing on you" Harry then smirks, showing his hands which were hidden behind his back and that are holding two tiny white pills and a water bottle. Sarcasm instantly leaves Louis' tone and it's replaced with more genuineness and gratitude. "Bless you," he says, quickly taking the aspirins and the bottle from Harry.

The boy grins and while he drinks, Louis notices the dark circles below his eyes. Just like Louis' own ones that he sees every day when he looks at his tired reflection but that he tries his best to ignore.

Louis swallows the pills and the water and nods towards Harry, leaving the plastic bottle on the small and round coffee table full of books that is in front of him. "I thought you didn't drink last night?" 

Harry's brows furrow. "I didn't. I don't usually drink, I don't enjoy it that much"

"Oh" Louis says as he leans back on the armchair again. "Are you feeling okay then?"

Harry glares at Louis, his eyes, which were previously shining brightly, lose a bit of that distinctive light of them as he crosses his arms. "Is that your way of telling me I look like crap?"

Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "No! You never look like crap I-" Harry's eyes widen and a faint blush reddens his cheeks as he tries not to make eye contact. Louis, who has just become aware of what he just said, looks down at a very interesting spot on his right shoe for a few seconds. "I mean like- you look... tired... that's all" he lifts his eyes to look at Harry again and finds him nodding slightly.

"Right, yeah... I- I didn't sleep very well" and Louis can actually relate. Actually, he only sleeps well when he's drunk, which means that this was the night of his life, probably. Louis has been having nightmares for around two years and he doesn't get the feeling that they're going to stop any time soon.

"That sucks, sorry," he says getting up from the armchair and immediately regretting it. "Bad idea, bad idea" Louis announces sitting back again as Harry, whose cheeks are still red, snorts and walks away to get to the door and turn the open sign so it's facing the cold street where people are walking. Each with their own problems. Each in their own world. Four billion different worlds.

It's actually reassuring to Louis. The fact that no one else actually lives in his world. That he can show it only to the people he wants to show it to. And to what extent. It's nice to know that no one will ever really know what it's like inside. But what he hadn't really thought about before is that this system doesn't only go in one way. Because he had never cared before.