On The Horizon || L.S.

Day 12: Sailaway, Haiti

Wednesday, the 24th of August, 2022

Suffering from anxiety means that some days are simply worse than others for Harry. It becomes clear to him not long after waking that today is about to be one of those days.

Day twelve of Harry and Louis' cruise finds them at Sailaway, Haiti, and running quite late.

When they'd first woken up, Harry had been thinking about bringing up their sex the night before, asking Louis what implications it had for them. It seemed like Louis was saying he wanted to be with Harry beyond the cruise, but what if that was the fantasy talking? Either way, communication was the best way to solve that issue.

Except Harry couldn't get up the nerve to say anything, and Louis looked so sinfully gorgeous that Harry didn't bother glancing at his phone to check the time. He scooted down the bed and took Louis into his mouth, a dark cloud of precome blooming beneath his own crotch with every grunt he elicited from Louis, heady and deep. It's hard to say whether it was worth it in retrospect, playing so fast and loose with the time, but Harry's reasonably sure that if he'd checked what the hour was midway through, he wouldn't have even considered stopping. Louis was pulling at his hair and holding him down when Harry asked him to, and as he held back a gag, Harry knew he would never want to be anywhere else.

That said, the stress of being so pressed for time is one of his worst anxiety triggers. Harry skips half his routine, deciding they'll be sweating soon, so washing his face is mostly pointless, and tugs on his outfit.

Louis, on the other hand, seems perfectly fine. He's waltzing around the room, high off of his orgasm. With careful intensity, he takes one shirt out of his baggage, observes it for a few seconds, and then places it back down, shaking his head. It's almost dramatic, and it makes Harry's head spin. We're going to be so late, we're going to miss the boys, then we're going to miss the first excursion, and our whole day will be off, and we'll just be running around missing things all day. It's no surprise that Harry starts mindlessly plucking his hair, even though he doesn't consciously notice what he's doing.

He's gripping his phone too tight in one hand and fiddling along his scalp with the other, rubbing a rough hair, when Louis says, "Love, what are you doing?"

Before he can react, Louis is up close, and his compulsion forces him to pluck one that he'd been focused on. Harry has his eyes locked on Louis when he does it, wincing not at the sensation but at his personal frustration when he does it. "Nothing," he mutters. "Can we go? Are you ready?"

"Almost - why are you pulling out your pretty hair?" Louis grabs his hand and tugs it down, brushing the hair out of his grip and to the ground. Tense, Harry has to fight himself not to go after it. There hadn't been time for him to rub his fingers along it properly, to look at its texture, to revel in the satisfaction of it. A flare of irrational frustration lights in the back of his skull.

"I don't want to talk about it. We need to go," Harry replies, his words clipped. He can tell he's slipping away, similar to their time at the Chacchoben ruins. God, that was like a lifetime ago, yet he's still falling back to the same patterns, despite how well he's gotten to know Louis.

Louis raises an eyebrow, almost challenging. "We'll be fine. What's going on?"

Like Louis' tossing fuel on it, his flare grows into a bonfire in seconds. "None of your bloody business. Just get ready!" Harry knows there's a hard glint in his eyes, and he can't experience the faintest remorse at the moment, even as Louis' expression shifts to shock.

That's right, he thinks. You should be shocked. You should be shamed.

But all it takes is Louis lowering his head and muttering an apology for the anxious nausea to start.