TIRED TIRED SEA (Larry Stylinson) by MediaWhore on AO3

CHAPTER 3

Late afternoon, a few days later, Louis shows up at the top of the lighthouse just as the sky starts to darken. Harry is sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the bench, one of his long legs stretched out in front of him, the other bent, the notebook Louis almost never sees him without resting on his thigh as he hums to himself and writes down whatever it is he"s always scribbling away. He"s wearing pale jeans again, the bottom rolled up, and his feet are protected by grey wool socks with a thin red band at the ankle. There"s a hole on one of his knees, the only indication these are not the same pair as before, the material frayed somehow endearingly. It looks like proper use as well, not one of those fashionable pairs that have been pre-frayed for aesthetic purposes, like Harry wore them over and over and won"t stop even now that they"re falling apart. He"s wearing one of Louis" favourite jumpers too, one he clearly took from the living room chest where Louis left it after the last laundry load he did. It"s always a hit with guests, dark blue with a quirky frog pattern, five rows of large green amphibians decorating it on both sides. Louis" mum bought it for the lighthouse back in his hometown a few years ago, found it in her favourite charity shop and mailed it to him the next day, too amused to wait until they saw each other in person to give it to him. Louis had laughed when he"d opened the package, unable to resist putting it on immediately. It"s always been a bit big on Louis" slightly slimmer frame, but it fits Harry"s perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders impeccably.

After a second of silent observation, it becomes quite clear that Harry never heard him walk in, so lost deep in thought that Louis" arrival didn"t even register for him. Feeling a bit creepy just standing there in silence, Louis clears his throat before says a quiet "hey" to greet him.

Harry looks up at the sound, giving Louis a simple nod in reply before burying himself back into his journal.

"Is it okay if I..." Louis trails off when Harry looks up again, showing him the Scottish short stories anthology he"s been reading and pointing at the other side of the bench instead of explaining himself.

Harry nods again, offering Louis a small shrug before tuning out the entire room again the second his eyes are back on the page. He clearly doesn"t seem too bothered by Louis" presence, which is a relief considering they"re going to have to coexist for a few months and Louis certainly isn"t ready to give up his favourite view in the world entirely for a guest. Even one who paid for such a long stay.

Louis makes his way to the only lamp in the room, turning it on and sitting close to it on the bench, on the opposite side from Harry"s little corner. He has quite a good view of his serious profile, on all the microexpressions flashing on his face as he rereads what he just wrote, drumming his pen against the pages of his journal, the small tap tap tap still heard underneath the storm outside, mixing in with the sound of rain splattering against the windows.

He keeps watching for a few seconds, unable to look away, before he realises what he"s doing and self-consciously clears his throat, taking the receipt he"s been using as a bookmark out of the anthology and reading on.

Still, he can"t seem to focus somehow, between the rain and the tapping and the humming and....

Louis shakes his head, closing the book. He"s sitting crossed legs on the bench and he drops it on his lower shins and ankles, the green cover and gold lettering staring at him, warning him against opening his big dumb mouth. Without permission, his eyes turn to Harry"s face again.

He"s in his own world, the pen now resting between the pages of his journal, his fingers fiddling with the rubber band around his wrist, eyes moving quickly over the page as he reads.

Louis looks away, back down at his book. He shouldn"t bother his guest.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he still says after a beat, against his best judgement. He has no excuse for the fact that he was unable to contain it.