My Gay Roommate (L.S)

Twenty Five

"I don't want to listen to this one, though!" I protest, leaning over to change the song but Louis slaps my hand away for the second time.

"Harry, we just listened to your song, it's my turn now!" he argues back, turning the volume up higher, and onto an odd number.

I go to change it to an even one, because I simply cannot sit in a place with an odd number volume— it makes me freak out and want to crawl out my own skin.

Louis slaps my hand again, brows furrowed. I pout, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning down in my seat more.

"It's on an odd number," I grumble.

He rolls his eyes. "Gold fucking star for you, you can decipher numbers."

I shake my head, watching the green fields outside blur into grey concrete of the motorway.

"It's bad luck on an odd number. We have to have an even number. Change it."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Lou, please," I whine like a persistent four year old, stomping my foot for extra measure.

He tuts, flipping the dial down one. "You're such a baby."

"Your baby," I mumble.

The corner of his lip tugs upward at that. He takes my hand in his, twining the fingers together and bringing it up to his lips to give a feather like touch to the knuckles.

"'M sorry, Hazzabear," he mutters, his bottom lip grazing over my skin, making my tummy flap.

I nod, sighing through my nose heavily. "It's okay, I'm sorry, too."

"When we get back to the dorms, we can get Zayn to order us a Subway," he suggests, bopping his head to the tune of the song.

I raise a shoulder, stifling a yawn. "I don't really like Subway."

He smiles then. "Neither. Prefer a KFC to that any day."

I nod, shuffling in my seat so my cheek can snuggly rest on the seat belt strap near the window, my temple hitting the glass.

Last night I woke up with a panic attack. It's left me feeling grumpy and drained all morning. I don't know what started it off, probably that dumb fear, especially after I nearly bloody died a few weeks back. A shiver forces down my spine at the thought.

"You okay?" Louis asks gently, squeezing my hand a little, making me feel a little more grounded.

I nod, the glass cool against my temple and I can feel the vibrations of the car course through my skull comfortably.  "Tired," I whisper.

"Sleep, Curly, we're still quite far out, yet."

I watch a red Audi speed past, then a grey Fiat, before deciding to actually let my eyes fall shut— hand still very much still in Louis' but on the middle console.

My brain filters with images of a crystal clear lake, the ones where you can see the pebbles at the bottom no matter how deep it is, sun dancing against the ripples. Louis comes into view, splashing his way into the shallows, picking me up and chucking me in with a laugh.

A smile makes one of my dimples pop and I can feel Louis prod it lightly, just as the song changes to ABBA.

Thank fuck for that.

...

A slam occurs, making me flinch and my heart to jump into my throat. I peel my eyes open to see the driver's seat empty. My brain is fuzzy with sleep and when the passenger door opens, I yelp.