17 Black

17•

Hiiii Harry sweetheart little baby petunia curly friiiiii this is my pic from the detroit concert when he noticed us (even tho everybody says that he notices them but whatevs. Judge it by the picture).

Ok so I have an explanation for updating a decade late but it doesn't matter bc IM UPDATING NOW AND IM SO EXCITED FOR IT SO JUST BEAR WITH ME GUYS I LOVE YOU ALL KEEP COMMENTING BC IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY AND IM JUST SO SO EXCITED OK BYE -B
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Louis grabs his bag and leaves as quickly as his worn and battered body can let him, exiting the locker room the long way that goes through the school so he won't have to face his team. Or Harry. God, he doesn't want to think about Harry. He can't think about Harry--he's pretty sure if he let any thought related to that man cross his mind, even just one more time, he'd lose it.

He staggers down the empty hallways, tears thick in his eyes and mixing his surroundings into one big swirl of colors, like an artist mixes paints. With each step, the bag on his back seems to grow heavier, his legs more tired, but he makes it out the door and finds his car in the front lot. Opening the passenger door, he carelessly tosses his bag somewhere in there and then collapses into the drivers seat. The jolt sends a few of the tears spilling down his face, and he angrily wipes them away. Maybe he shouldn't be driving, he considers, blinking away the blurriness, but he jabs the key in and pulls out anyway. Outside his window, the sky is the color of metal, and although it is a bit later in the evening, it's still too dark. Louis doesn't know when it started, but steady rain taps at his windshield as he drives through town. Weather to match his mood. It doesn't take more than ten minutes to arrive at his intended venue.

He settles for only using his hood as protection from the rain as he gets out of his car and treks through the parking lot to reach the door of the bar he works at, not caring that his football sweats get dampened by the rain. When he swings open the door, he immediately recognizes the musty wood smell that instantly engulfs him and grows stronger as he works his way further into the bar. The place is pretty packed for a week night, most of the booths and tables occupied by parties of two, sometimes more. Only a few lonely patrons are seated at the bar itself; an older man with white facial hair and a trucker hat, a middle aged woman in ripped jeans and a peacoat, a young man with solemn eyes and a flopping quiff. Louis figures he fits right in as he slides slowly into the barstool farthest away from everybody else, not even bothering to take his hood off. When Arie, the bar's most recently hired employee who got stuck with the shifts nobody wants, comes over to him with a kind smile, it takes a lot more effort than Louis thought to let his lips twitch into a similar one for a moment. He politely asks for a vodka with an orange slice in it and tries not to let his voice sound like how he probably looks.

The alcohol burns refreshingly on his tongue as he swallows, and he realizes it's been a while since he's had a drink. After his first, there's a slight blur to everything in his brain and he likes it, remembers that that's what he came here for, for the blur. To have everything in his mind mix up until none of it is important anymore. He is halfway there when he downs his second. His lips touch the edge of the cup as he holds to his mouth, and the first thing that he thinks of is how much the cool, hard glass feels so unlike Harry's lips did against his own, gentle and warm. The alcohol induced tingling in his limbs only reminds him of how it felt when Harry's fingers spidered under his shirt and arose goosebumps to his skin. The different voices drifting around the room seem to only be there as a lousy comparison to Harry's soft, deep rasp. It's all about Harry, and Louis needs it to stop. He can't handle it anymore.

After he's successfully drained his second vodka and has just began working on his third, Arie takes his keys and Louis can't really argue with that. Both peacoat lady and trucker hat guy have already disappeared at some point, and Louis squints at Floppy Quiff, trying to figure out what his deal is. He doubts it could be as bad as kissing your coach and admittedly having a crush on him when he clearly isn't--no, Louis needs to stop.