flower crowns // l.s.

19½

Louis was sitting on his couch with a coffee in his hand, waiting for the dreadful moment Harry would wake up. He considered leaving and writing a note that said he expected Harry to be gone while he was away, but he couldn't. Harry's too sweet for that, and as drunk as he was, Louis knew Harry wouldn't remember anything, most likely. He doesn't know how Harry's going to react.

And Louis really hates that he enjoyed last night. He's never seen someone so desperate for just him. It made him feel so wanted and powerful and in control. That's what he never felt with Matt. Everything is so different with Harry. Louis is happy when he's around him, and Harry is just the same when they're together. It's weird. He didn't know that could happen, really. Being with a boy for two years that degraded everything about you tends to leave a person stripped of all confidence of being in a happy relationship again. Not that they are dating . . .

Now he feels bad for dropping Harry without a warning. Harry didn't deserve that. Louis only avoided Harry for about a week, but Harry has such a fragile heart. And that's the thing. Louis knows that, yet he still did it. He's cruel.

He heard footsteps coming from the room and immediately put his coffee mug down on the table in front of him. He rested his elbows on his thighs and laced his fingers together, waiting. Listening. In just a few minutes, Harry was out of the room and slowly making his way into the living room. He had a confused look on his face and wore the jeans he was so quick to get out of last night. "I . . . Um. Bathroom. Gotta tinkle."

Louis nodded and pointed to the door right beside Harry. "Right there."

Moments later, Harry returned from the bathroom and cautiously made his way into the living room shirtless. He spotted the bottled water, medicine, and toast on the coffee table and had asked if it was for him, and when Louis nodded, he practically dove for the medicine and water. It was quiet after he took that, silently sitting on the other end of the couch. Louis was trying hard not to ogle. "What exactly . . . happened? I mean, I think I remember coming here. Kinda. And Louis," he paused, looking down at his jeans. His cheeks were a scarlet color. "My—my, um." He shifted in his seat. "Ye—yeah, just tell me what happened."

Louis inhaled deeply, reaching for his coffee and gulping a lot of it down before turning to Harry. "You were really drunk, Harry," Louis started off, hoping Harry'd look at him. He didn't. "You came here thinking it was your apartment. And you were so out of it, I couldn't let you go home like that. So I brought you into my room—after you ripped your shirt. You said you were a god and tore it open like Superman for some reason, I dunno. And then you took off your jeans and stuff. You laid down . . . and—"

"Went to sleep?" Harry asked, hopeful. He knew.

Louis sighs, scooting closer to try and comfort Harry, but he retreated away from him. Ouch. So he moved back into his previous position and looked down. "Not exactly. But you can't blame yourself, Harry, I mean . . . You were so drunk. And you begged, kept on begging and crying. Even grabbed my hand and placed it over your . . ." Harry let out a loud sob. Louis stared, hesitant about moving closer, but he did it anyway and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "It's okay."

"No it's not! God, I'm so mortified. This is horrible. I can't—I can't believe this," Harry said, face in his hands.

Louis bit his bottom lip, huffing. "I didn't touch you. I mean, okay . . . maybe a little, okay? I'm sorry, I really am. But I stopped and you did the rest. You didn't take your underwear off, I didn't see anything. It's really okay, Harry. We all have urges, don't be ashamed."

Harry was still crying, but he put his hands in his lap. "I can't help it. I'm so embarrassed, oh my God. I'm sorry I did that to you."

Louis ran his fingers through Harry's hair. "Don't be. It's really okay, I promise."