Cocaine for Breakfast

chapter 20

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  The sheets cling to his legs and his chest is clammy with sweat from the previous night. Nightmares that had him rolling from side to side are still vivid behind his closed eyes. He huffs through his nose and yawns, rubbing hair from his damp forehead.

"Hmpf..." He moans, "'Arry, wha'time's it?"

Sleepily, he reaches out, seeking Harry's skin and the comfort that comes with it. When his fingers only curl around cold sheets instead of a warm promising body, he frowns, slapping the mattress.

Hmm...

Clearly it isn't the first time Louis has woken up with no mop of curly hair covering the pillow beside him. It shouldn't be much of a concern, but with the events from yesterday which left a sour taste in his mouth –– Anne finding out that Harry deals, Simon chiming in with all his big bad boss attitude, calling Harry in his office to talk about whatever –– it makes everything seem a bit ominous. A red flashing light goes off in his mind, setting his body in panic mode instantly.

Opening his eyes slowly, as if to give Harry time to appear from thin air, his heart starts to pound like thunder when he notices that the covers are made on the right side of the bed and even Harry's pillow is shaken out and fluffy. It is nothing new, though; Harry likes to keep his bed tidy. He always says it motivates him to start the day productively. Louis always replies it's bullshit, the most productive thing one can do is slap the snooze-button.

His stomach turns.

It all sits wrong with Louis.

Holding his breath, he strains to hear any kind of  noise coming from downstairs, pans clattering or music playing, but there are none - which isn't rare, either. Sometimes, Harry walks Travis at random hours in the morning or he jogs to the bakery, saying it's a double win: he gets them a nice breakfast and his morning jog in one go. Also, it's not unusual these days that Louis finds Harry outside on the terrace with paint smeared on his face and a new masterpiece coming to life.

Well, while everything stated is true and Louis should probably laugh at his paranoid thoughts - like Harry being kidnapped or leaving the country to join an underground mafia - his eyes sting and not from the blinding rays of sunshine.

"Shut up." Louis mutters to himself, trying to silence his mind. It works for about three seconds, then his eyes catch a yellow post-it on the bedside table and Louis shoots upright, duvet pooling around his hips as he stretches to catch the note with his shaky fingers.

The words cause tears to spring into his eyes and his vision goes blurry. His heart clenches as a broken sob leaves his parted lips.

"No, no, no." He chants, throwing the note from him and drawing his knees to his chest. He presses his face to his thighs and bites the inside of his cheek, desperate for a distraction from the pain and panic that explode in his chest. "No, no, no, no." He rambles, choked up.

Louis gives himself another second to calm down before he reaches for the note again, reading the words over and over and over.

Don't look for me. I love you. Always and Forever - H

He weeps, rocking forth and back where he's sitting. Louis crumples the note in his fist before straightening it out again and reading it over.

With a great shaky inhale that somehow still leaves his lungs empty, he blinks the tears out of his eyes. "This is his handwriting." Louis mumbles aloud, trying to make sense of it. "This is his handwriting."