larry- one shots

when we uncover

Louis remembers a time when he was young and idealistic, looking down at the tattoo on his ankle that he was born with and longing for the day he'd see it show up on someone else's skin. He imagines that most people have a moment like that, where they believe their future is full of such bright lights and the kind of romantic love that only exists in the pages of fairytales. He can't believe he was ever that naïve.

"How's that?" Zayn asks, sitting up so that Louis can see all the tattoos on his arm, the marks of each mistake of a partner he'd let himself fall in love with, suddenly transformed into works of art under the indelible ink of Zayn's markers.

"They're beautiful, Z," Louis remarks, eyes trailing over each image trying to find some trace of their original form and happily spotting none. "Just like always."

Louis' come to hate his stupid tattoos, each failed relationship roping off another broken section of Louis' heart until he has none left to give to anyone reaching for a piece of it. Should anyone else seek to hold Louis' heart, all they'll find are cruel, jagged shards that will slice their hands to ribbons. At least, that's how it feels right now but what can you expect from someone who's spent the last year falling in love with an arsehole who didn't have the decency to love him back? Louis had waited, hoping, but there has to come a time when you admit to yourself that it's just not going to happen. Apparently, for Louis, the time had come when his boyfriend had come home with a new tattoo that looked nothing like Louis'. He hadn't even really tried to hide it.

Louis takes a sip of the drink Zayn had given him when he'd shown up at the other boy's door looking quite pathetic, he's sure. Without a word, Zayn had gotten Louis a drink and steered him to the sofa to wait while Zayn went to get his pens. It's a tradition at this point. Louis will spend a year or so in a doomed relationship and drag himself to Zayn's when it all falls apart so that the artist can erase every trace of Louis' past mistakes with incredible art, leaving him with an arm full of beautiful lies.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Zayn asks after a moment of silence. He keeps his eyes on the television, knowing how defensive Louis can get if he feels cornered.

"He came home with a tattoo that wasn't mine," Louis says, voice reflecting no emotion, giving the illusion that he's unbothered. "Told him to pack up his shit. Don't really think there's much more to say about it."

"Oh, Lou," Zayn sighs and Louis can hear the unspoken you have the worst taste in men that Zayn would have said aloud a few years ago when Louis would have tried to laugh it off, before he became so jaded.

The funny thing is, Louis actually doesn't have that many tattoos. He's got five. Four on his left arm, and one on his right. He actually doesn't mind the one on his right arm, a relic from secondary school when he'd fallen in love with his first boyfriend. They'd broken up when they'd gone their separate ways for Uni but it was amicable. They'd spent one last summer night wrapped in each other's arms before Louis had gotten in his car and driven away the next morning. He doesn't let Zayn change that one but he wonders sometimes if that one good relationship is making all of the bad ones seem worse somehow, coloring them with hopes he isn't capable of achieving anymore.

"I'm fine," Louis lies and ignores the stare he can feel burning into the side of his face.

"You're not fine," Zayn says, taking a deep breath like he's gearing himself up to inform Louis of all the ways in which he's 'not fine'.

Louis decides now would be a good time to leave.

"Well, thanks for the artwork," he says ruffling Zayn's hair as he stands, knowing it will annoy the other boy. He feels a vindictive little thrill when he hears Zayn's indignant squawk. "I think I'll be going now."