Atlas At Last

Chapter 4

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2212 Miles To Go

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The first words out of Zayn's mouth in the morning are, "You two need to shower." And— Louis casually sniffs himself— he's absolutely right. Two, going on three, days in a van with no AC has created somewhat of a ripe situation. All the same, Harry just makes a grumpy noise and burrows his face deeper into Louis' neck. Forty-eight hour BO doesn't smell quite so bad on him, Louis thinks.

Zayn's got his side of the Garbage Truck wide open, lounging in the doorway with a cigarette between his lips. He seems neither fazed nor surprised that Harry's all but curled into a ball, wedged snug between the door and Louis' chest. Louis lazily stretches and offers no explanation, privately (probably not so privately) smug. It took them a whole two days, but it's looking like the Gay Coming of Age is back on track

His smugness doesn't last however. He inhales deeply and winces at the ache behind his left eye. "Do I—" he starts, voice gruff from sleep. "Fuck, how can I possibly feel hungover right now?" He half shifts into a sitting position, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder when he whines softly. "That's not even a fucking thing! What did you put in that shit?" he demands, mouth horrifically dry. The dull thrum behind his eyes isn't really enough to be a hangover, but he's used to feeling better the morning after a nice smoke, so. This is clearly Zayn's fault.

Zayn shrugs and flicks at his cigarette. "I feel fine," he offers. He's back to zen calmness this afternoon it seems, and Louis would like to continue being bitter, he truly would, but to be honest, he mostly just wants to go back to sleep.

"Don't you own any shirts?" he shoots back, no real heat behind it. Zayn's in the same open brown vest as the day before.

"Would you like to lend me one?" Zayn cocks his head to one side. Louis sighs. It's no fun being irritable and snarky if the other person doesn't rise to the bait. When Zayn leans over, reaching for his sketchpad, Louis' temple gives a particularly annoying twinge. "Oh, no you don't," he warns, lowering himself back to the ground. "You gave me this hangover—"

"Weed hangovers aren't a thing, man."

He's obviously wrong. Also, good natured protests from good looking shirtless men have no effect on Louis. Or, well, at least not at the moment. "You're on first shift driving today," he replies dismissively. He lays flat on his back then, lets the scorching sun wash across his face. Harry wriggles in immediately, latching on like a koala bear.

His toes brush against Louis'. "Coffee," he murmurs sleepily.

Zayn smirks from the door and Louis has to close his eyes because fuck Zayn. He doesn't even know what he's smirking about. Stupid, open-shirt hippie. Harry's nose brushes against his neck then and, "Um," Louis blinks, unduly pleased. Harry lays warm and heavy against his chest. "You heard the man. Let's get some coffee."

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An hour later, they're back on the road, styrofoam cups in tow. That Zayn had successfully managed to coax Harry into accepting gas station coffee doesn't bother Louis at all. It really doesn't. He sips his drink in dignified silence and lets the soothing sounds of Zeppelin bring him inner peace.

Harry's in the front, legs up on the dash. "So. Bathing," he begins.

Wait. Hold up— "You were awake for that conversation?" Louis asks, surprised. Wrapping his leg over Louis' hip had been a conscious decision it seems. Interesting.

"I was just resting my eyes," Harry says. He shoots Louis a sunny smile over his shoulder and turns around again, winding a finger through a particularly buoyant curl.