Pack yourself a toothbrush, dear

chapter sixteen

I knocked on the door furiously, my knuckles turning red and raw, desperation increasing with each knock on the wooden door. Which immensely constructive individual takes more than ten minutes to open the sodden door ? What, did they discover a secret universe in their closet and take a flyway fucking trip to Narnia ? 

"This better be serious or I'll-" A hurried voice screamed from inside the apartment. It was Oliver's, there was a breathless hush to it.  The door opened and a half shaven faced Oliver peeked out furiously. Half of his face was lathered up with some sort of a foamy cream. was it shaving cream ? Whipped Cream ? But, what kind of a serial killer would have whipped cream smeared across half of their face ? 

Get to the point, Louis. 

 "Who is it, pounding like a fucking maniac-, Louis ?" He exclaimed  halting mid sentence, startled. He studied my face for a millisecond, almost in a state of confusion and amusement. 

"Oli !" I smiled anxiously and we rushed an awkward hug. There's is no platonic way to hug a buff, half naked guy without it being unnecessarily awkward "Sorry, if I got some shaving cream on you aha" Oliver grinned. Oh, thank god. Not, a serial killer. He looked way better than before. Like, healthier, somehow. He's gained some weight on his face, like he was actually eating substantial food and not only booze. 

At least some of us are rediscovering better days. emphasis on some, not me.

"You look great, Oli. What did I fucking miss ?" I laughed. His eyes were brighter and wait, were those laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. What did I actually fucking miss ? 

"Oh god, I-, where the fuck did you go man ? I mean with you gone and Harry behaving all weird. I was so fucking confused" He frowned, shifting to lean on the door frame. 

"Harry ? what happened to him ?" I scrunched up my nose. My heart twisted around within my chest and threatened to jump out. Shit. Harryharryharryharryharryharry. 

Oliver stood patiently at the door frame and pressed his fingers at the bridge of his nose. We were shuffling awkwardly in the hallway and I was beginning to get a teensy bit irritated as to why he wasn't inviting me in. Did he claim this apartment as his own, now ? or did he sense that I'm, in fact, a terrible human being that doesn't deserve the privileges of being a guest ?

Maybe Harry told him what happened, after all. 

I peeked in, terribly missing the familiarity of it all. And I spot a pink shirt laid artlessly over Artie, the beanbag, that I think looks really fucking familiar. It's Harry's apartment. Half of the articles will seem familiar, you doofus. 

 Sighing loudly, he began,

"Um okay, so, on Monday evening, Harry came in really late and he stunk of filthy drinks and he was absolutely furious and off of his mind and I asked him  if you were going to be home anytime soon because I feared he abandoned you somewhere on the streets, in his drunken state and he said you've found better accommodation. And  he said that in a very pissed off manner, if that makes any sense." 

Shit. 

 "I didn't want to pester him with more questions when he was in such a shitty mood, so, I was like, okay. Then he went up to his room and did not come out for two straight days. I thought maybe you both had a fight, Harry can get really attached to people and some people find it suffocating or overbearing, you know. But, I mean I had never seen Harry sulking. I tried talking to him and he did get better for a while. He heated up frozen pizzas for lunch, and we watched Karate Kid and then, he insisted on cleaning the house." Oliver moves his hands comically as he speaks, articulating each word carefully.