Love is War (L.S.)

14

When Louis manages to grab the keys from the pocket of Styles' shirt, he quickly pushes open the freshly painted green door and maneuvers the other man inside. Louis can hardly see a thing so he runs his hands on the adjacent walls in search of a light switch. He finally finds one and flicks it on; immediately filling the room with a bright white color. Louis looks around the apartment and fights the urge to ask how much the rent is because it's so very beautiful and...huge is the thing. His apartment is more spacious than Louis' home back in London. It's an open concept with a massive kitchen, a soft-looking white sofa in the living room, a bit too big a flat-screen television set, and a rectangular table adjacent to it that's holding a large bowl of fruits. Everything's also really clean. It almost looks unlived in. 

The alcohol and drugs seem to really be working their way through Styles' system as he leans against the closed front door and takes a second longer to open his eyes again every time he blinks them. Louis sighs and grips his arm to pull him away from the door. 

"Where's the bedroom Styles?" he asks him, trying to sound more patient than annoyed. He sees a few closed doors at the back of the room but he's not sure which is the right one. 

Styles refocuses his eyes on Louis and he smiles a bit too mischievously for Louis' liking. "You want me to show you my bedroom?" he asks in a scandalized low whisper. 

Louis rolls his eyes and starts moving them further into the room. He stops at one of the doors and points. "This one?"

Styles laughs a little and shakes his head at Louis as if it's all a game. "Cold. Guest room."

Louis huffs and walks a few feet to his left so that they're standing in front of the other closed door. He stares pointedly at him. 

Styles bites his lip and shakes his head slowly. The movement makes a few baby hairs fall in his face. "Warmer. Office."

Louis pulls on his arm as they walk to the end of the row of rooms and reach the final closed door. He doesn't need the confirmation but he sends Styles an expectant look anyway. 

He looks at Louis with his glassy eyes and reddened cheeks. "Hot. Bedroom."

Louis stares at him for a beat before opening the door and moving the both of them inside. And - okay, it's not like Louis has ever sat down and thought about what Harry Styles' bedroom looks like. But if he did he would've imagined black, vacant walls and burgundy silk bedsheets on a king-sized bed next to a nightstand that housed his piles of money and tons of books on how to be a dick. 

What he sees is a little bit of the opposite though. For starters, there is a king-sized bed but it's covered in a soft beige comforter and accompanied by a multitude of throw pillows, the kind that Louis' mother would always buy to decorate the living room couches with when he was growing up. There are also two nightstands but instead of money, they're displaying...flowers. There are two vases - one on each nightstand - and they're both filled with colorful flowers. Louis spots a pair of glasses and a copy of Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar (so no books on how to be a dick...that Louis can see at least). A brown dresser is tucked in the corner of the room and the craftsmanship on it leads Louis to believe that it's vintage; must've been passed down. Finally, the black, vacant walls that Louis was expecting are actually a light blue. It's pretty, Louis thinks belatedly. The walls also have a few framed images - one is a painting of a watering can, one is a large poster of the Eiffel tower, and one is an enlarged photo of Styles with two women Louis doesn't recognize. The three of them are seated on a picnic blanket and Styles has his arms wrapped around their shoulders as they all grin at the camera. 

Louis is pulled from his inspection of the room when he feels the warm press of another body against his back. 

"Lou," Styles whispers into his ear.