A Piece of His Heart / larry uni AU

chapter fifteen

Louis wakes up with the worst headache.

Staring up at the ceiling with watery eyes, it's a splitting one—all through his temples and down into his sinuses, throbbing in time with the beating of his heart.

For a moment, Louis wonders if this is the end. And then he remembers the wonders of modern medicine. He's up to his feet and stumbling into the kitchen before he even rubs the sleep from his eyes.

The early morning light far too golden and vivid for his liking. It's stinging his eyes and harsh on his head, and with clenched fists, he makes a beeline for the medicine cabinet beside the fridge.

He yanks the door open and reaches inside. Letting his fingers trail along the bottle tops, he stops on a familiarly shaped lid. Then, he's swiping it and unscrewing it weakly, resting his back up against the island with his head hung low.

That's when he hears it.

He stops.

It's mumbled at first, nothing more than the monotonous hum of voices and coughing, until Louis cranes his neck and spots them.

Through the sliding glass pane of the balcony door, there are two people sitting in rod iron chairs, bundled up in their coats as the early morning sun peaks through the skyline. Louis can't see their faces, only the frost-smeared outline of their profiles, but he can see that they're talking. They look deep in concentration, barely moving as the wind rustles the fabric of their coats.

And as the lit joint is passed between them, Louis feels his stomach drop. Zayn doesn't just share his pot with anyone.

And Louis must've made a noise, because then both Harry and Zayn are turning toward the glass, Harry's reddened eyes locking on Louis immediately. Harry stands from his chair, as Zayn's gaze bridge the gap, his lips miming something in the neighbourhood of oh, shit through the icy glass.

And no—this is not happening today.

Louis is tripping over the island and darting toward the staircase before he even hears the door slide open.

"Louis," The door's metallic slam ricochets through the flat, but it's not the voice he was expecting. When Louis' feet unwillingly lock in place, it's as if the sound has gotten to the staircase first and blocked his way, like a punch to the stomach, "Tommo, slow down." 

Louis shuts his eyes. His hands ball into fists.

Zayn stops running too, "I was smoking and he came by to drop off some sweets," he's breathing quickly, grittily, and Louis can feel his presence nearly three feet behind his back. Zayn doesn't dare touch him, "He was on his way back from the train station. That's all."

And of course, he did. Louis really should have guessed it.

He squeezes the medicine bottle, "Looks like he was doing more than a drop off," he would love to see the guilt in Zayn's eyes right about now, something to finally taint the gleaming perfection Louis has envied for so many years, "God. I said I needed time, can't you see how embarrassing this is for me? I thought you understood."

So, maybe Louis' lowballing him. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe Zayn's too far in Louis' head to let comments like that slide, "I didn't ask him over, Tommo. He came over on his own, thoughtfully, I might add," Louis covers his face with his hand as the boy continues, "And I wasn't about to send him off. I thought you'd be sleeping much later than this, anyway."

"I have a headache. Why aren't you at work?" Is what he goes with, still having not turned around, because he knows Harry is on the other side of the balcony doors, looming behind his best mate's back.