The Perfect Drug (Nouis)

~5~

☠ Louis' Point of View ☠

There's this interview I'd read in a magazine once.

In it the singer had responded to the final question in a way that stuck out to me (well, he'd said many peculiar things throughout, but this certain answer seemed to engrave itself into my brain).

The interviewer had asked whether or not the fans of the band he was in allowed them any growth, or if they wanted them to maintain the same sound as the first album they'd released years ago. His response had been quite long, but the last part... The last part is what got me.

"It's all about becoming more than you are, more than you ever imagined to be and breaking out of that place. Whether it's the place you live or just the place that you're at inside. It's about freeing yourself and becoming more than just that."

I found that to be so intriguing, so important, for some reason.

And I constantly questioned it.

How can I become more than I am, more than I ever imagined being, when I am nothing and there's nothing that I imagine being – except maybe nonexistent?

How does one go about breaking out of nothing? You can't if it's just that: nothing.

Then, how am I supposed to know where I'm at on the inside? I lost myself a long time ago and in its place is, you guessed it, nothing.

So how can I free myself when I don't even know where I'm locked up?

How can I become more than nothing when it's just that?

I can't.

I can't make something out of absolutely nothing.

I just can't.

☠

We had a few hours to kill till this party started, so to pass the time I sat cross-legged with my back resting against Harry's bed, listening to the music that filtered throughout the room with a bored expression whilst Zayn worked on a sketch and Harry – well, I actually wasn't too sure of what he was doing, just knew that he was currently sprawled out on his bed with his right arm outstretched towards my head, fingers absentmindedly carding through my fringe.

Harry's room always seemed to radiate a certain calmness, a peace and warmth that was so foreign to me, yet I always welcomed it and soaked it up whenever I was here. It was a nice break from the more than familiar emptiness.

"How stoked are you lads for tonight?" Harry questioned, fingers tugging tufts of my hair excitedly. I could practically hear the grin in his voice.

"Very," a distracted Zayn replied, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth as his thumb worked on smudging a part of his drawing.

"Meh. You both know how I feel about parties," I answered noncommittally. I felt Harry's slender fingers slip from my hair along with movement on the bed, and before I knew it he was leaning over me, his grinning face upside down and mere inches from mine.

"Oh come on Lou, you need to loosen up!"

I frowned. "No I don't. I'm fine."

Zayn scoffed, shooting me a look that practically screamed 'bullshit'.

"Yeah, sure you are. And I love it when Zayn's higher than a fucking kite and cleans out my entire kitchen," Harry snorted, rolling his eyes over-exaggeratedly.

There were moments (i.e now) when I found myself thinking that they knew me, actually knew me. Not just as mates should, but as something deeper, something I couldn't even begin to explain. I never allowed myself to dwell on it for long though, because in all honesty, they don't know me. They know as much as I'm willing to share and they're willing to remember. Which, in my opinion, isn't much. That's just the way life is though, isn't it?