Impulse

Chapter 20

You will know pain. You will see the true face of panic.

*NARRATOR'S POV*

Louis wakes up with the most broken of feelings running freely from his shoulders to his ankles, the latter now conforming to the thrilling ache of worn off painkillers. The only reason his head wasn't in a pit of misery is because it feels comforted and cradled by a fragranced pillow.

He didn't wish to turn around and put himself under anymore effort-requiring actions. Instead, his arms conceal his face as he blackens the space around him, just a sliver of light passing through the gap. Someone blocked his chances of getting up anyway, and it was Harry fast asleep in the curl of a millipede. His upper body was on Louis' back, a hand spanning out over his hip.

That's not all. Edward, the one making Louis' body surrender to his, was an all encompassing space heater pressed up to Louis' side. He had one of Louis' hands mixed up with his, held to Louis' beating heart and their fingers kept warm with the speedy rhythm.

Louis closed his eyes and welcomed more darkness, slipping into a fitful sleep right away. His energy levels needed replenishing and at the moment the last bar on his reserves was flashing blood red.

The next time he woke up he could move his legs a little to the side and let them breathe. The darkness of the room has not lifted one bit and Louis realises that their curtains are excellent shields against the sunlight so it could be any time of day now.

Sighing, he inspects from a distance the state of his ankle. It's a little more swollen that it should be, but there pain has subsided and he has a small amount of feeling now. He folds his arms under the perfect pillow he's occupying, careful not to knock Edward in the face as he does, and hears a satisfying 'pop' in his back.

He relaxed again down amongst the pool of sheets that had been suspiciously laid out on the floor, not at all disgraced with himself on how he got here. Harry is holding onto Louis' lower mid-section for dear life, all Louis can see of him is his head of unruly curls and then some. It's not a painful kind of tight that he gripped him with, more of a don't-go-away kind of tight.

Louis couldn't reach him when he stretched an arm out behind him, so he shuffled a little closer to Edward. He couldn't sleep so he decided to examine what he could while the man was asleep. Extending his hand meant a sharp muscle pull in that limb, but Louis continued anyway.

His body was not going to be ignored, it seems. He was sore and sensitive and everything that anything to do with it was a delicious drug to him. They've made him greedy for something that ended like this, and he refused to be guilty about it.

Who would have ever thought his high school's sassiest student would be waking up in bed with two murderers?

Edward was peaceful when he slept, all calm features and deep breaths. Louis touched the planes of his bare chest, over the tattoos of quotes in ancient languages and images of forbidden descent. He felt like a criminal merely touching the upside-down cross or the skull with a top hat and the teeth of a siren.

When he drifted further upward towards the curve of a jaw that should be banned, Edward's hand caught his. Louis' heart plummeted. The man opened his eyes like he was never a victim of sleep after a night of physical exertion - the best kind - and brought Louis' hand to his lips.

"Good morning, petal." He nipped at the underside of Louis' wrist, kissing the warm pulse right after.

"Hi." Louis had his arm thrown over Edward's shoulder and his body brought closer to him.

Staring into the deepest shade of green that held lies and truth in one glance, Louis minded Harry's unmoving figure while he leaned towards Edward. His forehead was resting on Edward's and his other hand was squashed between them, caught in a cage of bodies.