Not Again? || l.s

n i n e t e e n

nineteen | don't start now

Isn't it lovely, all alone?
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone
Tear me to pieces, skin to bone
Hello, welcome home

~ 'lovely' by billie & khalid

ツ

Harry left for home a little earlier than he'd planned. Technically all his exams were done, but he was planning on leaving Friday since that was the day Liam and Zayn were both heading home. But when he woke up Tuesday morning, not exactly early but not late, since they didn't have to be in the art room for another few hours, to find paint still caked under his nails, he couldn't breathe.

And when Louis got up a little later, after Harry had showered and dressed for the day, he said, "Hey, do you think I could talk to you tonight? After the auction?" 

Harry felt like he's being suffocated. Like Louis had wrapped those hands of his, with the tiny, slender fingers, tightly around Harry's throat.

"Talk about what?" Harry asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Louis shrugs, "Just something. I'll get your number off Niall and text you."

Harry went to protest, but there's really no reason to, was there? Not one, aside from the heavyweight on Harry's chest. 

"Okay."

Louis nodded with a tiny smile and Harry grabbed his mobile and turned the music volume up so he could pretend to ignore Louis until they had to be in the art room to set up their stuff. But Harry had never been very good at ignoring Louis, and now was no exception. 

Especially when he got out of bed, completely naked. There's still a bit of paint on certain parts of his skin, little swatches, reminders of what happened. He headed for his dresser, and Harry bit his lip, pointedly not looking at his ass except— okay, he did. 

Fuck.

Slowly, Louis pulled on his boxers. He did it deliberately, tugging them up his legs with a little twist of those hips. Harry's eyes narrowed, his head cocking to the side, and Louis reached for a pair of jeans, did the same thing, buttoning them painstakingly slow. He forwent the shirt, heading back for his bed once he's done. He fell onto it, grabbing his phone from on top of the desk, and then he laid there like that, propped up on his side, looking fucking ridiculous.

Ridiculously attractive, but Harry didn't want to think about that. So he got out of bed, leaving his headphones on, and left the room.

Liam and Zayn were still asleep when Harry got to their room. Liam answered the door in one of Zayn's shirts —he thinks, but the two of them share so often it's nearly impossible to tell— and a pair of boxers, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

"What?" he sighed. "What do you want? It's too early for me to like you right now. Come back later."

Harry pushed into the room anyway. Zayn is half-awake in bed, rubbing at his eyes as Liam had. Only he tried to smile weakly at Harry, which Liam hadn't bothered, and he also didn't kick Harry out. So Harry crawled into bed beside him, getting right under the blankets and everything.

Zayn's bed smelled like him; like that cologne he wore every day, but also distinctly like cinnamon rolls —weird, but delicious. Harry tucked his head against Zayn's chest and breathed it in while Zayn rubbed at his back, not even asking what he's doing, which was why Harry had come here for him, not Liam. Liam would ask; Zayn just comforted automatically and let him work it out on his own.