The Rusty Old Minivan

Chapter 37

He felt as if someone had just punched him, hard, directly in his solar plexus. His keys had dropped out of his hands, a loud clatter against the floor, and he couldn't even bring himself to care. He couldn't even breathe.

"Louis."

Louis just stared at him, unable to speak.

Harry was just sitting there, in the middle of his living room, up on a book-shelve with his legs dangling loosely, like he wasn't even aware that his presence was unusual. Like he'd been here for ages.

He was wearing the same clothes as he had been at the restaurant, but he'd freed his locks from the hairband now, all pushed to one side, sticky little curls clinging to the edges of his beautiful face. His lips weren't rosy anymore, weren't stained with the hints of red wine. They were dark red, almost purple, torn and frayed like he'd been biting them for hours.

Louis couldn't stand to look at him. He turned around, dragging a hand over his mouth. "No," he muttered into it, "no, you can't do this to me."

"Louis-"

"Please," his legs were going to give out, he felt so nauseous his vision was blurring with it, "please, just-"

"The other's are sleeping at Tabatha's," Harry said. Louis caught it, somehow, but couldn't find words to answer. Harry continued, slowly, "I came here looking for you an hour ago. I thought you'd be home by then."

He came looking for Louis. He came looking for Louis, at his home, just to talk and it wasn't fucking fair. It wasn't fucking fair that Harry came here uninvited because he wanted to talk, because he wanted to talk it all out to feel better about himself. It wasn't fair that he'd neglected to consider the fact that talking might not be as easy for Louis as it was for him. That Louis might not have moved on as easily as he had.

It just wasn't fucking fair. "What do you want, then, what do you want - you want to talk- you want to talk it out, is that it? Huh, is that it?" he rattled out manically, spinning around to force himself to face Harry. "You want to talk to me now, want to come into my home and make me tell you that you shouldn't feel guilty over me?" he stopped, just to catch his hitching breath, and pummelled on before Harry could object; "Is that it? So you can go on fucking your fucking whore and feel like a good guy still? Is that what you want from me?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, his eyes wide and confused. "I don't-"

"No, you know what? Fuck you," Louis spat, "fuck you and your fucking talking. You talk and you talk and you never get to the fucking point because you're too fucking afraid to offend - well, I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to hear you say some shit to me that you mean right now when I know that you'll mean exactly the same thing with someone else tomorrow. You're a fucking arsehole wrapped up in empty apologies and fake fucking politeness and I don't owe you shit. Piss off out of my house. Piss the fuck off."

He stopped, finally, panting for air.

He felt angry, which was better than hurt, but as his breathing slowed and Harry was still just bloody staring at him, the hurt seeped through his bones again. The need. Need to touch him, just by looking at him, fucking yearning for it. Need to tell him that he'd missed the sound of his voice so much that he replayed old voice-mails in the bathroom just to hear it. That he missed his smell so much he'd cried in the shower after finding out someone had washed his forgotten boxershorts.

But fuck, he didn't want to talk. He didn't want to talk when all he could think about when he looked at Harry was touching. Grabbing, yanking, biting, kissing. Kissing him.

"Piss off," he repeated, marching off into the kitchen. He found the whisky, completely untouched, thank fuck, and screwed off the lid.

Harry followed him slowly, wordlessly. Louis didn't turn, just put the bottle to his mouth and began chugging. He kept going, gulping it down until his throat burned, until he couldn't take anymore and then longer, because he knew Harry was biting his tongue not to tell him to stop. He couldn't tell him what to do now and it was bloody fantastic. They didn't owe each other a fucking thing and that was just so bloodyfantastic.