Larry Stylinson One-Shots

#12

Title: Not Fortune's Fool by Eleadore on AO3

Summary:

The one where Louis goes to sleep in his X-Factor bunk and wakes up years in the future to discover things have... changed.

Word Count: 3,780

Heh dis one is smutty enjoy;)

Louis can't sleep.

This is unfortunate for a number of reasons, the first and foremost being that sleep might be all that's needed to get him out of this mess. The boys insist it's one of those twenty-four hour fortune cookie things, and while that sounds better than, say, being the butt of a cruel cosmic joke, midnight's come and gone and Louis hasn't yet been jolted back into his X-Factor bunk. Liam, who turned into their resident expert on parallel dimension time travel when Louis wasn't looking, is certain he needs to be asleep for it to happen, like his consciousness is giving the fortune cookie gods performance issues, or something. It sounds a bit far-fetched, but it's not like Louis has got any better ideas, so. Sleep it is.

It's not coming, is the thing. His room is dark and cool and silent and it's ten past two and Louis has been lying here for the better part of an hour, buzzed like he's just downed his body weight in energy drinks. He should be exhausted; he's spent the day coming to terms with waking up in the future, for fuck's sake, but his heart is beating somewhere in his throat and his eyes are twitching and Louis-well, it's not like he doesn't know why.

He's a good liar, but he doesn't lie to himself. Maybe it'd be easier if he did, if he could pass this restlessness off as the product of information overload, the rattled cogs of his brain trying to process it all, but that would mean spending the rest of the night blinking at the ceiling, and he'd rather not. Nothing offends Louis quite as much as forced inactivity, so he kicks the covers off and cracks his knuckles and makes for the door.

He remembers to shrug on his t-shirt and briefs before he leaves the room, but it's not like it matters. They've bought off the whole floor, because that's something they do now, and the corridor is empty, carpet soft under his bare feet. It's warm here, wherever they are-the boys wouldn't tell him, for what they said was fear of upsetting the delicate balance of the universe but what Louis knows is them being utter piss takers-and it's enough to make his palms sweat.

Louis tells himself it's that, and not even remotely anything to do with whose door he's standing in front of. He knocks before he can lose his nerve, and remembers a second too late that it's the middle of the bloody night, that Harry doesn't have any messy, unsettling thoughts keeping him awake, that he's probably sound asleep.

He isn't.

"Hi," Louis says, and fists his hands in his shirt.

Harry doesn't look as if he's been sleeping, eyes clear and bright when he drags them over Louis' body. It takes a second for him to blink and look away. "Hi. Did you, uh. Did something happen? Should I get Liam?"

Louis refrains from pointing out he could've gone to Liam himself, had he wanted to. "No. I just wanted to talk. If that's all right?"

Harry's smile is lopsided and supremely uncomfortable. "Dunno if we should. I've already let enough slip, the lads might kill me if I spoil anything else."

"The fabric of the universe hasn't ripped yet," Louis points out. "A little more can't hurt."

"Famous last words," Harry says, and seems taken aback by Louis' answering grin. He drops his eyes and laughs a little before backing up. "Come in, then."

His room is exactly the same as Louis', but it feels different, somehow. Smells different. The bed's still made, and there's clothes hung over the arm of the sofa, shoes stacked near the door. A club sandwich has been carefully deconstructed and left on the dining table to complement an untouched bottle of beer. Louis digs his toes into the carpet and takes it all in, wondering where to start.