Finding Louis {l.s}

2

I raise my head once my vision finally adjusts, turning towards the flash of brown hair. His curly locks hang limply over his head. They had a certain bounce to them as he worked but now, they seem almost wilted. I wonder why.

I feel a strange urge to reach for them but he raises his head before the strange notion fully takes effect and I freeze up when he stares at me, the grin on his beautiful face causing that warmth, again. We've barely said any words to each other, how does he have such an effect on me?

I cough suddenly, completely embarrassing myself. I must look even worse, now. My eyes feel bloodshot from all the crying I did before I... Fainted. I doesn't bother me when it happens at home but in public? Fucking hell-

Where am I, anyway?

I look around. The same burnt brick red as the 17 Black Cafe lines the walls. I'm starting to quite like the colour. Once upon a time, all I used to see was the plain beige of his walls. Now, I'm sitting somewhere new. No words could be enough to describe my relief.

Placing a hand on my heaving chest, I mvoe to touch it but Harry quickly stands and keeps me on the bed. I can't help but pout and he sticks his tongue out at me, making me want to make myself even smaller so he can stop being so observant and perceiving my existence. He clearly isn't having that, though.

He seems like one of the "saviour" types. The ones who seem good, at first. Thankfully, I already know what people like him are like on the inside from experience. I desperately wanted to be saved, back then and God, did Simon do a great job helping me lose myself even further.

I feel tears well up again and brush my hand over my face quickly, nonchalantly, but those green eyes easily catch the movement. I try to stand up, tired of being under his watchful gaze but hands to my chest stop me in my tracks.

With a sickly sweet smile, I whisper, "don't fucking touch me". He freezes up and I know I've offended him, again. If he would just move away so I could find a way out of this place. He stays firm, instead and I'm too exhausted to fight any further. I've embarrassed myself enough.

I raise my head when I hear footsteps and see his co-worker, Niall, as well as the man who'd helped me. There are two other blokes I don't recognise. Why are there so many people? I feel my body tense up and stare down at my thighs, playing with my fingers. Harry seems to notice because he asks for only the doc. Maybe his creepy staring does come in handy, after all.

"Sorry... Umm... Where the hell am I?" He lets out a small laugh and I roll my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips nonetheless because he has the prettiest laugh I've ever heard. His voice is slow, hoarse, rolls gently like a low rumble of thunder of a cloud, yet his laugh is the very opposite. It's a head-thrown-back, childlike kind of laugh and I'd like to hear it again. Once again, I realise I'm paying too much attention to the poor fella and fidget even further.

"Would you like Mr Styles to leave, Mr Tomlinson?" A bitter smile finds it way to my lips. I haven't heard my surname in such a long time; it reminds me of my family. I don't remember everything about them after all these years but the ache in my chest is proof enough that I still love them. I place a hand there as if it would make it stop and Harry is on alert immediately, up until I silently place a hand on his own.

He relaxes, settled into the chair and my face goes pink at my own boldness. Clearly, there is something wrong with me. When has there ever not been, I suppose.

"I don't care whether he stays or goes," I reply with as much neutrality as possible. Because I don't want to care, truly I don't. But even now, as much as I don't trust him, I find myself a bit attached to the strangely kind man with the long hair. He shrugs, looking like he doesn't even mind what I said and stays in his seat. He angles his knees apart, getting more comfortable and my throat runs dry in an instant.