L.S. One Shots for Sleep Deprived people. (like me)

Two Idiots. Two Months.

Dark green vans advanced along the sidewalk, knee's striding apart from each other as they shook. Dark eyelashes were cast down, his dull blue eyes memorizing the lines in the concrete as he walked over them, a deep feeling of dread and longing tugging at his gut and making him want to move faster, but in which also resulted in making him want to throw up in a bush.

A feverish sound left his lips, chills raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He buried four fingers into both of his jean pockets, letting his thumbs bury into the sides of his hips like rug burn. His jeans were denim and dark, the waistline slightly covered by a tight fit red T-shirt with the big 'Pink Floyd' on the front. His face was swollen, cheekbones hollowed and eyes red at the edges. His numbness was an extra weight in his mouth, making it hard to swallow what he was about to do.

It wasnt his fault, it wasnt. It was neither of their faults. They kissed each other, it wasnt one-sided and it wasnt an accident. They both wanted it.

But it was his fault that he ran away and ignored Harry's texts for two months straight, and only today he's decided to do something about it.

The sky didnt look how it normally did. Fuck, it was the middle of spring. The sun was warm, but the ends of the burk fences were cold, and the leaves that fell on his skin casted a shiver that raised goosebumps down his arms. The flowers were bright, but the roads were a faded gray--and the branches were cooked into a delightful tan, though they held the blemishes left behind when the other branches fell off during the winter time.

Today, though, the sun was doing its job. The sidewalk had the capabillity of burning through the sole of his shoe and smoldering his skin to the shave of an apple.

Louis pinched the delicate skin of his lip, wincing at the oversensitivity the light struck to it. He drew his hand back into his pocket when the bright black bold letters, written in the Solari font, on the mailbox knocked on the doors to his vision and practically screeched 'Harry's House.' Every molecule stood on the edge of him collapsing.

He grew antsy, slowing to a stop as he directed his guilty eyes over towards the small little home with a red door. It had a wooden rooftop with blue wooden walls and pure white base boards for around the doorframe. There was a patio that was a dark chocolate color and it had a small rocking chair on the front. Harry was wealthy because of his modeling agency's, and from the PHD he was awarded with after collage, so this house was your ordinary rich country home for two.

Louis remembered Harry saying that he lived here with his grandmother. That explains the lonely rocking chair out front.

Reluctantly, Louis began to walk towards the door and up the three patio stairs. He knocked gently on the screen door, and rang the doorbell once with his heartbeat in his thumb. He flinched hard when the door started to unlock.

He met brown eyes. "Hello?" The old voice asked politely.

Louis was a little challenged by the old woman. He didn't want her to think he was any trouble—especially since he doesn't know how Harry is going to react when he's aware Louis is on his doorstep. Louis lowered his eyes in respect. "Hello, I'm a friend of Harry's," He looked into her curious eyes. "We have to work on a physics study due tomorrow."

The woman's eyes widened compellingly and a smile was once again placed on her lips. "Blue eyes," she muttered, her eyes scouring Louis' body, making him shift a bit uncomfortably. "Yeah, um, I'm quite sure I don't believe you."

Louis blanched, blinking at her. "Oh." How should he respond? Does he argue? Well, she isn't wrong. Louis' intentions are definitely not to study. Still, he was caught off guard. "Well." He chuckled, "I don't know what to...tell ya."