Strawberries & Cigarettes

Long Way Down

Really really sorry for the late update!!! I was super busy and did not find any time to write, but I'll try my best to update as frequently as possible again.

The next chapter will be up a bit later than usual, though, sorry!

Another thing I'm sorry for is this endless pining, but it'll be over soon, promise ;)

Thanks for your patience and for reading anyway! I really appreciate it <3

                                                                    Song(s):

                                             "10,000 Emerald Pools" - Borns

                                      "The Devil's Tears" - Angus & Julia Stone

If there had even been the possibility of a benevolent God, that possibility was now definitely, with one hundred percent certainty, thoroughly, gone.

And if there was a God, he certainly took a liking in tormenting Louis William Tomlinson, because otherwise he never would have innocently and in semi-good spirits walked up the stairs to his apartment where he, unknowing of the approaching terror, fixed himself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, nodding his head along to the music playing from his headphones, then walked into the living room, where the volume of the music in his earphones was not loud enough to drown out the unmistakable grunts and moans of frenzied sex.

The thing with sound is that it normally reaches one's ears at the same time as the vision does, and in this case, it took Louis a full three seconds of angling his head to the side to completely register what exactly these noises disrupting the sweet tones of Oasis were. The realization hit him at the same time as he reached the couch and saw with his own two eyes what exactly was producing these inhumane grunts.

So, one of his roommates was having sex in his apartment. Cool. He had walked in on Niall doing much worse things at uni more than once.

Okay. Fine. Whatever. Completely understandable.

What he was not fine with, however, was the fact that this was not only one of his friends, but two, and that they were performing their business on their lovely new leather couch, not even a meter away from Louis unprotected, very much seeing eyes.

The thing that made Louis lose all lingering shred of belief in a higher form of mercy or meaning, was the sight of two of his best friends – Zayn, wearing nothing but his small party hat (which was now a two-days-anniversary hat); and Liam, wearing nothing but his earth-given skin – violating the perfectly comfortable couch Louis spent most evenings (and afternoons, and mornings) on.

Half a second was all it took for the sight of those two sweaty naked bodies occupying Louis' loved natural habitat to unendingly burn itself into Louis' memory.

Which was, according to all definitions and translations and interpretations of the word, definitely not okay. Not even a little bit.

So, now Louis had one more trauma to pile atop all the other ones. Fantastic. Bless.

When he closed his eyes, he still saw the flashes of dark pubic hair and Zayn's hands gripping Liam's shoulder blades. And not in a good way. This got no enjoyment out of him, only shock and post traumatic stress disorder. There was no way he would ever, ever again touch a millimeter of that once lovely and inviting leather couch.