Deep in Thought: A Larry Stylinson Story

Two Flights in Six Packs

     Harry and Louis were fighting. They were at an interview in Germany, of all places, and their hotel room was just the way they wanted it, except for one thing.

     "I can't believe you used all seven towels!" Harry scolded Louis, who was lounging around in his sweats.

     "Well, I did," Louis said, uncaring. Harry just got angrier, though he didn't know why. He knew that Louis always used a lot of towels, but seven? Really? No one needed than many towels. Harry didn't want to be angry at Louis, but he had been poking at him for the whole trip, and it was making him irritable.

     Louis seemed to notice how angry Harry was getting, and his brows furrowed together in confusion.

     "What's the matter, Haz?" Louis asked him. Harry just glared. Louis stood up and walked over to Harry. He grabbed his wrists and tried to unclench Harry's fists. "Really, Hazza," Louis said. "You can tell me anything. You know that."

     Louis' blue eyes searched Harry's green ones, and the pleading look in them only made Harry angrier, but at himself.

     "I don't know, Boo," Harry admitted, pulling away. "I'm just gonna... Go for a walk." And he left Louis in the room, alone, confused, and sad.

                      (((\\\///)))

     As Harry walked down the lonely street, trying to comprehend signs in a language he didn't speak, he thought about Louis. He loved him, he knew that, but he just felt so... Distraught. He wanted so badly to go back in the hotel room and apologize, tell Louis he loved him and that it was alright, he wasn't mad at him, but he just kept walking.

     Eventually he came across what had to be a liquor store, and he went in. Harry never drank, but he got a six pack of some strange looking beer and then went back to the hotel room.

     It was empty, as he suspected it would be, as he knew that Louis would hang out with the others when Harry left. Harry cracked open one of the cans and took a long, awful chug. It was much stronger than the beer back home, and eventually he couldn't even taste it anymore. He watched TV, not really seeing the screen. He wanted Louis, but he couldn't think straight. Was it the beer? He didn't care.

     Louis, where was Louis again? Was he back at the flat? No, that didn't sound right. They were in Germany for some weirdo interview. Should he call him? He wanted him. He should go look for him.

     Harry looked over at the box that once held six beers, and now there were only two. He didn't know how he could have chugged all of that alcohol without even noticing. He stood up, and after a second he balanced out and headed for the door.

     He made it out into the hallway, and he pressed the elevator button. It was taking too long for his alcohol addled mind to handle, so he took the stairs. He was down three flights, with four to go, when he tripped. He fell down the cement stairs, and then there was nothing.