They were ROOMMATES

12

Harry is so exhausted he could cry. His eyes burn as he passes the hours watching training videos and filling out paperwork. The flower shop feels abandoned, silent apart from the sound of his own typing. The computer casts a ghostly glow across the otherwise dark room, and when the clock in the corner of the screen finally turns to 3 AM, Harry gets up and leaves faster than he's ever left anywhere before.

It's uncomfortable being there alone. He knows this is probably irrational, but it the whole time he felt on edge, like something bad was going to happen and there wouldn't be anyone around to help.

He carefully locks the door behind him with frozen fingers, then starts walking towards the dorms. Snowy, frigid wind cuts through his worn boots, stinging his already aching feet. He hugs his coat tighter around his body, and he realizes he's never been more grateful for anyone in his life than he is for Louis Tomlinson right now.

It makes his chest aches, thinking about the events that occurred earlier that evening and how he had to leave Louis alone and surely ruminating with his self deprecating thoughts, but it's not like Harry had much choice.

He needs this job. He will never admit it to anyone, but he's about one more missed tuition bill away from being kicked out of school, and then he'll be back on the streets, having wasted his only opportunity to make something of his life. Memories of last year flash through his tired mind, and suddenly he's barely fighting back the tears.

It's not easy for him to think about that time in his life. Starving. Lonely. Hating himself because he couldn't even make his own parents love him. He recalls the way people sneered as they passed by him, and he remembers the way people would swear at him and spit on him. He recalls being awakened from being dead asleep by older, far stronger men who were complete strangers, beating their fists angrily against him, demanding he give them money he never even had, or else he wouldn't have been sleeping on the sidewalk in the first place.

These are the memories that flash through his mind as he makes his way across campus, and he's fighting off the intrusive thoughts urging him to skip his 7 AM class. He can't skip class. He absolutely has no choice but to attend so he can keep his grades up.

Being an adult really sucks sometimes.

Harry slips soundlessly into the dorm, not wanting to wake Louis, then carefully latches the door. The sound of the older boy's soft, tiny snores fill the room, and Harry smiles to himself. He was worried about whether or not Louis would have been able to fall asleep.

But now it's Harry's turn to worry about himself sleeping, because he's got exactly two and a half hours before he has to wake back up for class, and he doesn't want to waste another precious second of it remaining conscious. He slips off his boots and starts walking carefully towards his own bed. He opts to leave the light off, not wanting to wake his sleeping beauty in the corner.

The problem is, it's pretty dark.

It's too dark, and Harry doesn't notice the coffee table in front of him until his foot is already caught against it and he's hitting the ground with a loud thud.

Damnit! He curses under his breath, freezing as if maybe he can just be extra quiet now to compensate for his blunder and then Louis will just stay asleep.

No avail. I'm the corner of the room, Harry hears a slight stirring. As his eyes start adjusting to the darkness of the dorm room, he can just make out the petite silhouette of Louis with his soft, sleep disheveled hair sitting up, stretching his arms over his head with a soft yawn.

"I didn't mean to wake you, sorry!" Harry says with a wince.

"Always clumsy, this one," Louis retorts. There's a smile evident in the sound of his tired voice. "How was work?"

"Alright." Harry frowns. "You should go back to sleep, it's really late. Well, technically it's early."

"You should sleep too. Are you skipping your first class?"

Harry groans. The thought of waking up so early with so little sleep is revolting. "Can't," he says plainly. He strips until he's just in his boxers and flops down on the bed. He should probably brush his teeth. The dentist costs a fortune. He can't afford a cavity. But his bones feel too heavy, and his bed is so soft, and he can feel himself starting to fully relax, drifting asleep when...

"Hey, Harry?"

"Hmm?" He hums, face still buried in his pillow.

"Do you, like... want to sleep with me in my bed?" Louis voice is very quiet, almost shy, in a way he's never heard him before. It's adorably endearing, and Harry is suddenly glad the lights are out, cause he's smiling like an idiot and may or may not be blushing at the thought of sharing a bed with Louis.

"You know what, scratch that," Louis says, and the younger boy's heart sinks. He's suddenly wide awake, his heart racing as he anxiously works out why Louis would have changed his mind.

Does he not like me as much as I like him? Does he just feel bad for me, so he's pretending to feel the same way? Is he not really going back to sleep? Is he mad that I woke him up? Is it the video? Is he sad? Do I smell?

But then his breath catches, because he feels the bed shift as Louis carefully climbs in next to him. Harry is afraid to even blink, for fear he'll drive the other boy away.

"You looked all cozy, so I thought I'd join you instead," Louis says almost shyly. Time slows down, Harry thinks, as Louis settles in, climbing under the blankets and then finally resting his head on Harry's chest.

Harry wonders if Louis can feel his heart pounding through his skin.

"Goodnight, Curly."

And oh. Harry has to think long and hard, trying to remember how to form coherent words, because all he can think about is the fact that Louis Tomlinson is lying in his bed, the softness of his hair raising goosebumps on Harry's bare skin, their knees gently brushing together. This boy will be the death of him, but at least he'll die happily.

"Goodnight, Lou," he says finally, and feeling emboldened by the darkness, he plants a gentle kiss on the older boys forehead before closing his eyes, letting the warmth of all the butterflies wash over him and lull him to sleep.