Saviour (A Larry Stylinson Fic)

Chapter 18: Fear

Louis slept soundly that night, curled up on the couch. He dreamt of Harry and his bright green eyes. His brilliant smile and his luscious, curly hair. He dreamt of his lips, the way they felt, and of his skin, soft, pale and smooth; a porcelain surface beneath all the scars. His mind didn’t imagine Harry perfect and without them, to Louis, his scars were what made him who he was. They only enhanced the beauty of the boy, reflecting how much he had gone through and how much he had overcome. A sort of living tribute to how strong he could be. What was a few scars when you still had your life?

He awoke from a particularly happy dream with a smile on his lips and a tightening in his trousers. He wrapped his arm tighter around the body next to him, pulling them closer together. He traced his hands down the long torso and rucked up the bottom of his shirt to run his finger tips over the soft skin just above his briefs. He nestled in and nudged at the boys back with his nose before breathing in his heavy scent. Louis’ face crinkled up and his eyes flew open when the smell wasn’t what he was expecting. He sat up slightly, alarmed to be on the couch, and looked over to see Jasper’s sleeping face.

"Shit-" Louis swore under his breath as he removed his hand with, lightning speed, which had made its way down onto Jasper’s crotch, clutching his morning stiffy. Immediately the events of the previous day overwhelmed him. It crashed over his mind like a tidal wave and he quickly got caught in the undercurrent. It tossed him around and around till he didn’t know which way was up anymore. His breath caught in his throat and his stomach lurched. He sprang off the couch quickly, vaulting over Jasper, nearly doing a belly flop onto the coffee table, and ran down the hall. He narrowly made it to the toilet before the contents of his stomach, which consisted of only bile and alcohol, came racing up his throat. He clutched to the cold sides of the porcelain and heaved again and again till nothing more came out, but his stomach wouldn’t let him stop. It felt as if it, too, was trying to climb out through his mouth, squeezing almost painfully as his body lurched up and he gagged dryly. His eyes watered and a cold sweat broke over his body as he shivered, the air around him suddenly feeling frigid.

Finally his stomach settled and he sunk back to sit on the floor. He wiped his mouth and leaned forward to spit a few times into the toilet, trying to rid himself of the acidic burn in his throat and the vile taste on his tongue, before reaching out and flushing it. When he was sure his stomach was going to stay put he slowly pulled himself to his feet and rinsed his mouth in the sink. He splashed his face with ice cold water, sobering himself a bit. His head was throbbing slightly, but he’d felt worse after a night of drinking. He glanced up to the mirror and was shocked by what he saw. His face was pale and hollowed. Large purple bags sagged under his eyes and his hair was a complete mess; matted down on one side where he slept and sticking straight out on the other. His lips were cracked and bleeding slightly where he had chewed them raw through his stress and anxiety the day before.

He groaned and pulled his eyes from his horrifying reflection. How could he have slept the whole night and not remembered that Harry was still missing? How could he have kept that from his mind the whole time? Why were his dreams filled with smiling lips, sparkling eyes, sensual moans and miles of glistening skin rather than turning to blood-curddling, scream-inducing nightmares? He almost felt guilty for this. Knowing that Harry could be anywhere right now, doing who-knows-what, and possibly dead in a ditch, while he was curled up, cozy on the couch, sleeping soundly and dreaming of making love to his boyfriend was enough to make his stomach churn again. This was an extreme guilt, like none Louis had ever felt before. He should have been up all night and out looking for Harry. He should have been searching the frigid streets to bring Harry back to the warmth of their home.

He willed his stomach to stop its flipping as tears began to fall from his eyes. He steeled himself with a large breath and brought his eyes up to the mirror again.