365 . larry stylinson fanfiction

chapter 2

Day 31: Math

One month down. Eleven to go.

Fucking writer’s block. Louis is staring at his computer in frustration, has been for the past twenty minutes. Even a couple of those little bottles of crappy alcohol from the minifridge aren’t lubricating his brain enough to get anything done. He sighs deeply and rolls onto his face. Thank God this hotel has soft bed.

Fucking writer’s block. Fucking pop stars. Fucking tour.

Louis doesn’t want to spend five months on tour. God forbid the rumors about an autumn tour. He really hopes not, or he’ll have to go there too. More hours on a bus or plane, more rehearsals and waiting and then lingering backstage during more performances. At least he isn’t dancing or singing or shit. Especially since he can’t do either.

He can’t do anything. He can’t even fucking write. And they pay him to write.

About pop stars, though. It’s not like he’s writing anything important. And he can’t even manage that. And he hasn’t seen any of his mates for a month, or his family, or anybody he likes.

This is awful. Everything is awful.

The door opens. Louis doesn’t move. “If this is a rapist, I’m a terrible fuck,” he says loudly. “And if this is a burglar, I’m poor.”

“I’m not…”

Louis knows that awful deep voice. He doesn’t move, now out of stubbornness. “The fuck did you get in here?” he mumbles.

“A key…”

“How the hell did you get my key?”

“No, it’s mine. They forgot to get you a room.”

Louis sighs loudly and groans, “Are you fucking kidding me.”

Harry is quiet for a while. Then he says hesitantly, “No?”

“Can’t you just fucking… stay with your band mates?”

“Um. Well. Liam and Niall aren’t answering their phones. And Zayn’s staying with Aiden. So.”

“Does that mean no?”

“I mean. You have an extra bed. And I’d have to share a bed with one of them.”

“Is it really such a huge problem? You share everything else.” Harry stays silent; Louis thinks that’s a wimpy way of saying it is a problem. He sighs deeply. “Jesus. Just this one night, fine. Don’t touch my shit.”

Harry looks at him for a second, and Louis can’t tell if he’s happy or hurt. “Okay. Please, um. Please same?”

Louis pulls himself onto his knees to look at Harry suspiciously. “Same what?”

“Same rules,” Harry says in almost a whisper. “For me. Please. Don’t touch my stuff, I mean.”

Louis frowns. “Duh.”

Harry looks relieved though. “Okay.” He sits on the edge of the empty bed and tentatively puts down his bag. He looks at Louis and the laptop on the bed next to him. “Are you writing tonight, then?” he asks, and Louis knows he’s trying to sound friendly again.

He doesn’t want to be friendly. “Nope,” Louis says shortly. “I’m going outside for a smoke.” He fumbles for his pack of cigarettes and attempts to sweep grandly out of the room. Three steps out of the door, though, he realizes he forgot his shoes, his wallet, and his jumper. And it’s cold outside. Fuck.