One Meaningless Promise

One Meaningless Promise~7

Chapter 7.

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Louis blinked slowly as he sat up on the couch, waiting for his vision to adjust to the bright light coming through the window. He threw his blanket off of his body, groggily walking into the kitchen and towards the fridge. On the door, a Post-It note was stuck. It was in Niall's messily scribbled handwriting.

'Hey, lads,' it read. 'Liam and I went to get some breakfast. We'll be back at around 11'.

Louis crumpled the note up and tossed in the trash bin. Of course, he was left at home alone with Zayn, who was probably still asleep, and the last person he wanted to see. Harry.

After last night, Louis had excused himself from the film and went into his bedroom, thinking about what he had done. He was embarrassed of himself. Ashamed, even. What was he, a fool?

When he had seen Harry, sitting stiffly in his seat, twisting his rings around his fingers with his eyes clamped shut, he knew something was wrong. At first, he was confused. He wondered what was happening, but then he realised that Harry was actually having an anxiety attack in the middle of the movie. Louis didn't know why, though. All he knew was that he felt the need to comfort Harry-to help him in some way-and he shouldn't.

It wasn't as if Harry even gave a fuck about him any longer, after Louis just up-and-left, leaving their friendship to blow away like dust in the wind. And it wasn't as if Louis cared, either. So why did he try to comfort the boy then? He barely even interacted with Harry in the first place, and now he was acting as if nothing even happened between them. Louis felt so stupid.

Maybe he had done it because he felt bad for Harry. Maybe he had done it because he didn't want Harry to go into an asthma attack in the middle of the movie. Or maybe it was because the way Harry looked so innocent, so breakable in that moment that Louis couldn't help himself. Did Louis do it to help Harry, or to have some sort of connection-any connection with him? Either way, it worked out pretty shitty in the end. He fucked up. He always did. It was as if his touch was poison-anything he laid a finger on withered up and died.

Louis strolled into the kitchen, casually opening the refrigerator and scanning its contents. He barely ever ate, so he snatched a carton orange juice as a substitute for his breakfast. The thought of food just made Louis sick to his stomach. Whenever he ate, he felt like the food was toxic as it sat in his stomach like a dead weight. It was disgusting. Sometimes, it got to the point where he would go into the toilets and stick his fingers down his throat just to get rid of the nasty feeling.

Louis turned on his heels, about to go to his room when he stopped abruptly.

Harry stood in the middle of the kitchen, blocking Louis's path to the stairs. He looked sleepy, his joggers and tee shirt crumpled, curls messy, and his face pale, but his green eyes were still as stunning as always. The sight of the tall, lanky boy made Louis's heart ache with regret and some other emotion... Was it longing? He willed himself to ignore the feeling and averted his gaze to his feet.

Louis quickly stepped past Harry, picking a glass from the cabinet and setting it, along with the carton on the table. He felt Harry's stare on him as he poured the bright orange liquid into the cup, his cheeks burning with blush for a reason he wasn't sure of. Louis carried the carton back to the fridge and began to walk towards the stairs.

He did the one thing he didn't want to do, and he didn't know why he did it. Louis looked back, staring at Harry, who stood tall in the center of the kitchen, his full, pink lips agape and his emerald gaze locked on Louis. An emotion that Louis couldn't recognise passed through Harry's eyes as they looked at each other for what seemed like a lifetime.

Louis turned away, quickly ascending the steps, careful not to spill his orange juice.

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Harry watched Louis run up the stairs as he stood alone in the kitchen. Seeing Louis in the kitchen reminded him of when he would always cook eggs for Louis every morning and sometimes even for dinner, and when he'd make Louis his special soup for when he was sick and he'd serve them to him in bed and sit next to him, cuddling up into his side and watching him eat. He missed it. And he missed Louis's pleasant, dainty voice and the way his hair was always disorderly after he got out of bed and how he looked so small and fragile in his oversized joggers and sweatshirt. He missed his funny jokes and his playful, sassy attitude. Not having Louis felt like there was something missing in his heart-like there was something that should be there, but wasn't.

Harry wanted to know when their hate for each other was going to end. Or even if it was ever going to end. They did each other, didn't they? Harry was supposed to hate Louis. He had reasons to hate him. When he needed him most, Louis left him. And when he didn't want him to be, Louis was there. Harry should hate him. But something about the way he looked, the way he was so innocent and broken, only made Harry want him more.

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Filler chapter, I know, I'm sorry

:( I promise there will be some action in the next one tho ;)) follow me pleaseeeee ily!

~Bell