Where You're Meant To Be- Larry Stylinson

Chapter Six

[Word Count: 2370/2626]

Hashtag making the first part in Brad's POV because I'm a fearless unicorn. Well basically I thought it'd be a good idea after what just happened. So...

 

Chapter 6

 

~Brad~

I had been pounding on Louis' door for the past half hour. "Shane! Shane!" I gave up the fake name. "Dammit, Louis! I'm sorry! I was drunk! We were wasted!" I let my hands fall from the hard wood of Louis' door. I sank to the ground and leaned my head back against the door. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my forehead against them. My hands covered my face and my breath was shallow.

When I woke up on my living room floor this morning, head pounding, memories of the night before came flooding back. We both had at least four shots each, maybe more. Maybe Louis has a higher alcohol tolerance. Maybe it's a Brit thing. I didn't know. I did know, though, that I had made out with Louis. He'd have said snog, but I didn't even want to think about it too much. I wasn't even in my right mind. Tequila and vodka tend to do that. Just then, I had the greatest idea in the history of ideas. I sprang up off Louis' stoop, ran to my house, and started up my computer.

 

~*~*~

 

~Louis~

I was holed up under my bedsheets, waiting for the pounding and shouting at my door to cease. I was, in all honesty, frightened. I wasn't sure about what Brad wanted or what he was going to do, so I hid under my blankets for around 45 minutes, waiting about 15 minutes after the noise stopped.

I slowly shed the blankets and winced at the sudden chill. It wasn't that cold in October in Reno, but after being under blankets for nine hours, it was definitely a shock. I pulled on a pair or dark grey sweatpants and a bright green t-shirt I bought solely for the fact that they reminded me of Harry's eyes. I didn't even like green clothes, but anything to keep Harry in ny thoughts, in my memory.

Seated at the small kitchen table, I lost myself in my thoughts. I missed Harry. I wanted Harry. I needed Harry. Then, in all those thoughts about Harry, I thought one about myself. This is all my fault. My eyes widened and I buried my face in my hands. I broke down sobbing because this was all because of me. If I hadn't tried to kill myself, Harry wouldn't be in a mental institution. My family wouldn't have grieved. I wouldn't have hurt anyone. And worst of all the things that were my fault, if I hadn't tried to kill myself, I would probably be sitting on the couch, happily snuggling with my Hazza on the couch, escaping the cold October air in London.  We'd be drinking hot cocoa, all wrapped up in a blanket. Harry would have probably picked out some sappy movie or a rom-com because he's a hopeless romantic like that. My breath came in shallow as I pictured his face. I mentally scrolled over all the features I loved. His curly chocolate hair. His energetic emerald eyes. His adorable dimples. His oh-so-perfect smile that can literally light up a room. And no one could forget about his abs.

I choked out one last sob, then rubbed my eyes. I didn't bother looking in a mirror to find out how bad I looked. I already knew, since I had seen myself, unfortunately, during the bad days when everything went straight downhill.

I made my way into the kitchen when I realized I hadn't had anything other than alcohol since yesterday's breakfast of two Clementine oranges. I searched through my fridge and pantry looking for something satisfying. I found nothing worth my while, and decided to call for a pizza. I dialed the number and waited for an answer. "Hello! You've reached Pizza Hut, my name's Don, what can I get you?"