larry stylinson one shots

numb & angry

a/n so this one may need a ⚠️tw?? idk i kinda just wrote how i've been feeling so i can't really tell lmaoo.
-⚠️nothing graphic but theres depressive themes and mentions of using substances as coping mechanisms

Sparkler2020 asked me to write something like this. hopefully this meets your standards 😍

i love you and i know life sucks so much but one day you'll look back and realize how far you've come, and you'll be proud. just hold on.

summary: uhm kinda depressing tbh

louis' pov

it's numb on the way back from the studio. it's a bunch of rehearsed systems as i get ready for bed. i brush my teeth, i shower.

i lay, staring at the ceiling. long after harry falls asleep. every position is uncomfortable. everything is too light and too dark simultaneously. in the shadows i see faces creeping on me and the light keeps my eyes too awake to sleep.

i grip the sheets in my fists, trying to ground myself. my hands are clammy and feelingless. if i close my eyes i can imagine i'm drifting at sea, lost, with no warmth and no home.

i open my eyes, slightly dizzy. i look at harry. he frowns in his sleep. i let go of the sheets and reach out for him. i pet my fingers through his hair, cringing when my cold sweat sticks to his curly strands. i sniff indignantly and return my gaze to the ceiling.

why do i feel like this? have i done something?

i scrunch my eyes back shut. i think, hard. i recount my blurred moments of the past few days, weeks, months. i've lost count. it's faked smiles, hidden tears, sleepless nights, angry meltdowns. i'm sure happiness is a myth, or a tease. you get to feel it once and whenever it leaves you never get to feel it again. i miss my happiness.

a gust of wind blows past the house and rattles a window. i feel a chill wash over me but my body doesn't react. numb.

i turn on my side to face harry. let me feel your warmth, i plead. i hold his hand in two of my own and bring it closer to me. i rest my eyes and try to sleep, keeping my boy close to me.

five, ten, twenty minutes pass. my eyes are itchy. i sigh and roll out of bed. my knees wobble, my head spins and i feel heavy all over. i want to curl up on the floor and watch the snowflakes hit the windowpane. i don't.

i stumble through the house, my hands trail the walls beside me as i walk. the textures of the drywall feels bland under my fingertips.

when i get to the living room, i stand in front of the sofa, staring at my reflection in the tv. i look for too long, unable to recognize the person standing before me. that's me, i have to tell myself. make myself believe. that's me, i remind again, as if i'm pleading.

i notice everything all at once. the way my clothes awkwardly hang here, but stretch too tight there. i breathe heavily out my nose and look for my cigarettes. i have difficulty remembering where i placed them last, my memory is dull.

i find a pack on the kitchen counter and open a window.

light, inhale, hold, hold, hold, exhale. i feel the smoke burning my insides, killing me from the inside out. yes, i think. let me feel this. please.

snow falls through the empty window, littering me with cold droplets. goose pimples rise on my skin. i blow out heavily, gray air filtering through the night sky. the stars are scattered scarcely, the moon is covered by a cloud.