Gods & Monsters // velvetoscar on ao3

chapter 15

The entire world is burning apart, crumbling off into tiny little embers that drift away in the wind, soft as curled paper, leaving what's left engulfed in bright, licking flames.

And, no, Louis is not being dramatic.

It's just that...

Harry.

Harry. Little Harry Styles. Harry with his warm palms and fingers that burn through cloth and smiles that brush Louis' skin and jumpers that bunch at the waist and feet that are always perpendicular and lips that are always perfect and hair that's always lying so softly, ready to be mussed up by Louis' hands. That Harry. You know.

Louis is sort of sick to his stomach these days because of that Harry. He sort of can't feel his body.

And he sort of doesn't give a fuck because he's not letting himself think anymore.

See, it's been like this ever since the date. When the first match was lit, really.

Louis'd woken up on Anthony's floor the day after, wound up with restless dreams and bitten with a strange sort of beautiful tension filling his limbs and lungs. He'd rolled over, bleary eyed with twitching lips, and the first thing he saw when he checked the time on his phone was the small slew of text messages from one mister Harry Styles. It was a bolt of electricity that shot through Louis, sparking him wide awake as he unlocked the screen with finesse and began devouring the words, sitting up on one elbow and threatening his sleep-drenched eyes to stay the fuck open.

All of them had been meaningless—the first merely Harry saying good morning, sending a sleepy selfie of a smile that could've been made of fucking feathers with how soft it was—and a few random sentiments that shouldn't have made Louis feel the way he did.

'I don't think I've ever been this tired in my entire life xx'

'So. Exhausted. Can't pay attention to one word the prof's saying. Keep thinking of you :) x'

'Can't wait to see you today. I've come up with a brilliant nickname for you :) xxxxxx'

'You should show me your favorite punk music :) Tonight? x'

'Louis :)))) xxxxxx'

'(Louis)'

It was just... It was so hideously sappy and clingy and completely opposite of how Louis works. It was incredible.

'I can't with your words this morning you sap' he'd sent back, now smiling and lying on his back and feeling dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. 'But yea I'm excited to see you too pup. And I expect an excellent nickname. King will do'

He'd sent it and then rolled over, burying his face in the shitty, stained brown cushion of the couch and tried to fall back asleep despite the dancing electric bolts flittering up his spinal cord. His body's always keeping him up these days.

He only gave up when he got a text from Zayn.

'With Niall. We're hungry. Want food? We'll go somewhere. Hang out.'

Zayn is, by the way, the least savvy texter in this universe. Choppy sentences and half-formed intentions are the most you'll get out of him. Louis sometimes wonders if his texts to Niall are the same.

But anyway, yeah, Louis'd went to breakfast with them, the happy couple, and it was one of those situations where Louis was on one side of the booth, stirring his tea with pursed lips and a raised brow as he eyed the expectant couple before him. Zayn's elbows were on the table as he stared unblinkingly at him and fiddled with a spoon, Niall leaning into his side with an arm slung around his shoulder. Two against one, it felt like.