clean » larry stylinson

[02]

running the knitted pleats of the fabric through his fingertips, the blanket; coloured like the mist and snow that falls outside, is pulled to wrap its way around the bodies it hides, sheltering them both, and drawing the two boys closer. the edges are frayed and the threads worn thin, yet louis holds the cover as though nothing could, and rightfully would ever, be able to protect him better than the sheet within his hands.

flickering upon the screen before them both is the hauntingly pale images of a black and white film, long forgotten to either of them, the signal falling just short to allow the pictures to be watchable. louis didn't particularly care for it anyway, so it is of no great loss to him.

the scent of hazel wood and fireplace ash is woven into the blanket's wool like the memories it holds, a great deal of them being identical to the scene laid out now, of liam and louis intertwined, close enough that they can feel the rise and fall of each other's breaths, but with enough distance between them that it is in no way awkward.

small sighs of frustration fall from liam's parted lips every time louis moves the blanket, destroying the rises and falls in the sheet he was counting so carefully. there is still time remaining until the his shift begins, taking over from his room mate in serving strangers, travellers, and the occasional familiar face whatever beverage it is they desire.

their apartment, or rightfully louis' apartment considering liam was never truly given an invitation to move in alongside - it was merely one of those things that just ended up being. the ashen blanket itself used as a peace offering to settle all questions of accommodation from the younger boy's behalf. - together, the place they share is lined with scattered cups, placed orderly around the room however still serving no apparent purpose. each coffee order never collected is hidden away by whichever boy is serving at the café, brought back to the other by the end of the day, supplying them with an abundance of lukewarm coffee and discarded white cardboard.

louis doesn't share such things, but on occasion, when the world around him is bleak and the weight of life is heavy, he will wander around his own home, stopping to appreciate the smaller details, such as how common a certain order is, or making up a backstory for the person who's name was etched onto their never collected coffee cup.

it is such things that make him happy. nothing excessive. well, that and music. louis really does have an affinity for music.

"your mum left you a message," liam breaks the silence in between sips of his latte. "at least i think it was her. the number was blocked, but they rang a good half a dozen times."

leaning his head back so that he can see past the vast array of cushions strewn the length of the couch, indeed a small green light flashes upon his answering machine his mother had specially installed. it blinks beckoningly, calling for an attention it is never to receive.

with a muffled groan and a scramble to escape the bounds of the blanket, louis crawls over liam's legs; much to the taller boy's dissatisfaction, reaching his arm forth until his fingers trace the metal of a button. with a number of nimble movements, the message is erased, never heard.

liam remains silent.

"i moved out for a reason." louis justifies nonetheless, whispering breathlessly as though to reassure himself.

undoubtedly the voicemail left, this time on his home phone, would be near identical to the countless other texts, emails, and whatnot that has been delivered. once more, each deleted without hesitation, almost as though it has become a ritual to blatantly ignore every last one.

louis suspects that his mother was finally notified about his attendance record for the therapy sessions she has thrown great deals of her fortunes at. the total number he has actually shown up for any of these times since moving out sits awfully close to zero, held down only by the fact that he sat in for half of one before making up the excuse his job required his attendance an hour before opening time. he'd felt obligated to at least assure that this psychologist was indistinguishable from the countless others he has visited across the years.

he really didn't need yet another person to prescribe some form of a cure as though they knew exactly what he was going through. in reality, no words taught at whatever medical school these specialists come from could ever explain the sensation of your body being hijacked by your own self.

from blaring heavy metal music to block out the silent voices in his head, to curling up into a ball and counting backwards from a thousand. no distraction could ever overpower his own mind betraying him.

this is why louis does not wish to attend the sessions. this is why louis does not talk to his family ... well, one of the reasons at the very least.

it is simply easier to remain isolated from them all, the world and all of it's in habitants. at least in his apartment the boy will not be able to find any sidewalks jagged cracks and crooked lines. here everything is in order.

when louis lifts his head up solemnly to face his coffee-haired roommate, the other boy gives the smallest of nods, clasping a hand on louis' hunched shoulder in understanding.

brushing the sleeve of his shirt further up his arm, liam reads the direction of hands on the face of his watch, his face contouring into a look of distress.

"shit, have you seen my jacket?" he squeaks, leaving a ruffle in louis hair as he scrambles over the couch's back.

reaching blindly through a drawer near the hallway, louis watches on, smirking as he observes his best friend pull out a small bottle, spritzing a haze of musk over himself.

"cologne for work now? this is new." he laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"i always wear it. nothing new. no." liam mumbles back in his rush. his voice quieting with every word.

"liam mate, yesterday i stood next to you filling coffee mugs for nearly three hours. you did not smell as heavenly as you probably hope you did." louis is catching on now. the ironed uniform, cleanly shaven jaw. "have you worked out tattoo boy's coffee schedule now?"

liam's startled expression and the blush beginning to tint his cheeks tells louis more than the stuttered denials flowing from his lips.

grasping the wooden sides of the door, liam shakes his head slowly, eyes sunken to the marks dented into their floor. the ghost of a smile twitching momentarily upon the corners of his rosy mouth, hidden to the other by the closing of the apartment.

pebbles against stone steps, the sounds draw quieter, the fog outside almost too thick for the headlight's of liam's car to be seen leaving.

alone once more, the feeling both hauntingly desolate yet somewhat refreshing. condemned to judgement when other's surround, no matter how close they are, it is these moments of absolute freedom that louis chooses to cherish most.

soon silence encases the boy, pulling out his one measure of safety, his laptop, with the opening of each new tab, he is surrounded by fictional worlds. photography blogs, idealistic story settings, and the constant reminder of broken dreams.

this is louis escape.