17 Black

31

Guys. I'm so fucking sorry. I feel like I say this every time but I'm so caught up in school and shit and it's really hard for me to focus on a lot of things at once. I'm hoping that with finals done with for this trimester, I'll be able to write and update more frequently! But no excuses. This update took for-fucking-ever and that's so not cool. I did reread and revise this chapter a whole bunch of times but still, I feel terrible and promise I'm trying my best. I just love you guys sm tho and your continuous support is like fucking unreal, like, it makes me happy everyday just thinking about you guys and your adorable lil comments and how funny y'all are. PLEASE KEEP FAITH IN ME I WONT LET U DOWN AND I LOVE U ALL. - Bella 

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He's been at his counter for the past few hours, dutifully staring at his computer for the majority of them, head steadily gaining a dull ache, eyes involuntarily closing for minutes at a time with each blink. At some point, he gives up entirely on focusing on the work in front of him and leans his elbows on the table, running defeated hands over his face before resting them beneath his chin and giving in, shutting his eyes finally, breathing deeply. It's quiet in his flat, peacefully and unsettling so at the same time, and it's snowing big fat flakes outside his window. It's four minutes past midnight, and he's decided to go to bed, but can't find the energy to move. He's sitting there in a fatigued state of indecisiveness when there are two light knocks on his door.

He jumps, startled, and hops to his feet from the stool. A spike of nervous energy zips down his limbs at first, but he feels himself calming as he approaches the door. He's still tense as he opens it, but all of that tension - anything that was going through his head at that moment, any emotion or thought or feeling he was having - vanishes in a fraction of a second when he sees Louis Tomlinson standing in the hallway before him.

Louis is wearing a pair of grey sweatpants that hang off his hips and pool near the laces of his vans, and a plain white t-shirt that clings to his dainty shoulders, clothes spotted with little dark wet snowflake spots. His hair looks soft in a messy fringe, a little dampness at the ends. He's not even wearing a jacket, and the tops of his cheekbones along with the peak of his nose are tinged a faint pink with the cold. What stands out the most to Harry about his appearance, though, is the way Louis's reddened lips are slightly parted as if in exhaustion, how the tip of his nose twitches in that familiar way that Harry offhandedly recognizes as a signal of being close to tears, the crease between his eyebrows, and his eyes; rimmed with an obvious redness, irises darkened to a dull cobalt, long eyelashes framing them in damp, weblike strands. Harry stands there, frozen aside from his racing mind, an unpleasant weight in the pit of his stomach and an inescapable urge to do something - anything. He only realizes that he's been staring and hasn't said anything when Louis suddenly speaks, voice soft and wobbling vulnerably.

"Um, do you...do you mind if I come in?"

Harry snaps out of it immediately and reaches out to Louis, hands careful around his shoulders as if he were handling a glass statue, because in a way, he feels like he might be. Harry immediately pulls him inside the flat, ignoring the tightness in his chest. Louis is leaned against the wall when Harry shuts the door, his head tipped back against the surface, making visible the way his chest rises and falls with great effort, like he's straining to keep himself together. Harry can't help but let his hands briefly circle around Louis's biceps, skin cold and soft under his palms - and he holds him lightly there, somehow afraid that he'd break at the slightest touch, but somehow more worried that he'd break without it.

"Lou..."

When Harry speaks, it feels like his voice is still caught in his throat, raspy from hours without speaking. Louis looks up at him, fine eyelashes brushing the ridge of bone beneath his brow, and Harry is still stunned by his beauty despite the fog of other emotions he's experiencing. But something about the raw exhaustion and troublesomeness that is visible in just Louis' expression makes Harry think for a moment that this must be the worst thing he's ever seen. Louis doesn't say anything, but his throat bobs once and Harry can hear a single, shaky inhale before the pained look disappears from his eyes and is replaced with a nothingness - a surprising indifference. He forces himself not to think about how unnaturally small Louis looks all folded in upon himself in the doorway.