In Too Deep (Dancing With The Shadows)

fifteen

Harry bolts upright, which causes Louis to stir out of his blissful sleep from the shift in weight, peeping an eye open toward the lad.

It's the best sleep he's had in fucking ages, and he doesn't understand why when there was a massive giraffe like man crowding his personal space all night.

Louis frowns at Harry and he's quick to spring off the bed when he sees the ashen skin, tinges of green within.

"Alright, love, it's alright," Louis coos, lifting Harry up as gently as possible and rushing him through the house and into the bathroom.

Once there, Harry is over the bowl of the toilet, spewing every ounce of alcohol from his body.

"I'm never drinking that shit again," Harry strains out, gagging.

Louis pulls Harry's hair back for him, rubbing small circles into his back from where he's placed his hand under the tshirt. His skin is warm, clammy and slightly slick with sweat.

"Good, because that shit was mine," Louis easily jokes with a small smile.

Harry is groaning, resting his head on the glass of the shower beside him. "My head is killing me."

Louis leans down and pecks Harry's forehead. "All better?"

Harry looks up at him, confusion swirling in his green irises and that kind of hits Louis with pain into his heart, embedding deep into the cracks.

Harry shakes his head, his head looking heavy on his neck when he lulls it forward and begins chucking up again.

Louis flushes the toilet for him, so the smell can stop assaulting the nose. He finds a room spray in the cupboard beside him, spraying it around them to hopefully mask the scent.

"You alright now, love?" Louis asks after a while of Harry just dry heaving.

Harry nods, slumping slightly back into Louis' touch. "Yeah," he breathes.

Louis grazes his lips over Harry's temple. After last night, he feels as though he's now allowed to, but clearly from the way Harry is pushing him off him and giving him a weird look, says otherwise.

"What are you doing?" Harry says, voice strained as though what Louis just did has wounded him.

Louis quirks a brow. "Do you remember anything that happened last night?" he quietly replies.

Harry shakes his head. "I remember spilling whiskey on the carpet, and you coming in. But that's about it."

Louis begins chewing his bottom lip. He should've known not to be as careless and stupid. 

Of course the drunken git wouldn't remember fuck all of the heart to heart they had last night, the secret he spilled on Louis, the kiss they shared.

Louis runs a hand over his face. "Haz, you told me you were gay," Louis says bluntly.

Better get this over and done with, get Harry's rejection and arguments of, I was drunk, I wasn't thinking straight (figuratively and literally) of course I wouldn't want to be with a boy like you, and I am still very much into girls.

Harry's eyes are wide, looking as though he's a deer caught in headlights and Louis evidently sees the way his breath hitches, and he's buckling over the toilet again, throwing up once more.

Louis soothes circles into his back, continously gnawing at his bottom lip that he's surprised he hasn't touched muscle yet.

"Fuck," Harry wheezes out, his breath short and shallow. "Fuck," he repeats.