His chin is grabbed harshly, facing the two deep green eyes that have been getting on his nerves for the past ten minutes. The smirk on the man's face does not vanish. The grip of his hand on Louis' chin does not soften, his thumb at the side of his...
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He wakes up abruptly, lungs craving air and body covered in a thin layer of sweat. It's like waking up to a snap of fingers after having a nightmare. As soon as he sees the ceiling of the room he is in, he slightly furrows his brows at first, not recognising where he is. A look around the room helps him understand that he is still there, where he fell asleep with a few tears rolling down his cheeks. He had never felt that humiliated his entire life with the way that Styles left him there in that part of the bed, turning his back to him and not acknowledging his presence any longer.
He looks at the window, and it's still very early in the morning for him to be awake, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even feel comfortable sleeping a minute longer there either, so he puffs out a breath and carefully steps out of the bed. The Captain is still sleeping, his breath coming out evenly, and his back turned to Louis. He looks at the back muscles of the man, moving up and down slowly after each intake of air, and Louis wants to touch him; Louis to give him a kiss in the middle of his shoulders, and snuggle up to him and fall back asleep in the warmth of his body.
He grabs his clothes from the floor, putting them on quickly without thinking about it any longer. Deep down he wishes Styles would wake up to question him where he was going to so then he would prohibit Louis to leave and open his arms widely and welcome Louis in. This is reality though, and things like that don't happen. Especially to Louis.
Louis braces himself, praying to whatever mighty power that no one else is awake at this hour and spare him a walk of shame. He doesn't even want to think of how he would look walking out of the Captain's cabin at the first hours of the morning, slightly limping with his eyes on the floor. He grimaces at the thought, while tears well up in his eyes.
He shakes his head quickly, hands shaking as he grabs the doorknob, and looks at Styles one last time to make sure the man is still asleep. When he's sure of it, he slips out of the room same way he planned and he doesn't look back until he reaches his own room.
His heart starts beating faster as he opens the door to his bedroom, Zayn's eyes immediately meeting his. The warm honey-brown eyes of his best friend make chills run down his spine. They reflect the hurt Louis caused to their owner a few hours back and Louis feels sick with himself. He stops in the middle of the room without knowing what do to.
How do you apologize to your friend and tell them that they were right? How do you excuse yourself for reacting the way you did? How do you excuse yourself for putting first someone you've known for a month before your best friend of four years?
He doesn't even have the possibility to open his mouth and start blabbering nonsense because Zayn turns his back to him and throws his blanket over his body 'till it reaches the base of his neck. That makes two people turning their back to Louis in less than twelve hours. It dawns on him like big waves crashing down his body and sweeping it away; it feels like drowning in an abyss of deep-blue, salty water, and there is no one to reach his hand and pull him out of his misery.
