Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

two

The rest of the week is much of the same, just like that first day of Louis and Harry rooming together. Harry is nowhere to be found all day until Louis gets home from his last class and finds him curled up on the couch, sleeping soundly with Clifford sleeping on top of him. Planet Earth isn't always on, though Louis watches when it is—when it isn't, the TV is off, and Louis just passes by to go to his room or to the kitchen, out of breath from the three flights of stairs.

Does Harry even go to class? Louis really doesn't know. He never sees him leaving, but unless he's on the couch napping, Harry is nowhere to be seen.

It's not much of a change from the past four months Louis spent alone. Yet, somehow now, with a roommate, he feels even lonelier. It has something to do with the fact that Harry is so detached, Louis feels as though he's living with a ghost.

The other problem is that this is the first time Louis since freshman year that Louis is living with someone who isn't his boyfriend. It feels strange to have someone else in the apartment that he isn't allowed to cuddle up to whenever he wants. Not that his old boyfriends ever wanted much more than sex, and rarely prioritized non-sexual physical touch, but the point still stands.

So yeah, Louis is a little concerned. Harry doesn't talk much, he's always locked up in his room, and he never has anyone over. Louis wonders what he does all day, if he goes to his classes or if he just stays locked up working on his art in his room. Sitting on the canvas-covered floor doing god knows what.

The week is full of strange mediocrity and it isn't until Friday night that something bad happens.

It's nine o'clock in the evening and Louis is holed up in the living room, wearing his pajamas. He's flipping through the TV stations, when he sees Planet Earth again. Surprised that Harry isn't curled up on the couch either watching the episode or napping, he makes the split-second decision to head down the hall towards Harry's room.

When he gets there, he doesn't hesitate before knocking on the door. Vaguely he considers the fact that Harry might be asleep, but it's so early in the night that Louis doesn't worry. He knocks loud enough to hear but doesn't get a response. So, taking a deep breath, he twists the door open.

The room is empty of Harry. All of his art is covered too, by thin sheets. Louis is glad. He had forgotten he might've seen something Harry hadn't felt comfortable sharing. His eyes land on the empty bed with a pile of messy blankets and quilts. He closes the door quietly and wonders where the hell Harry is.

Not that it's any of his business, of course, but sometimes he'd like a bit of a heads up just to know where Harry was going. That's typical roommate behavior, right? Louis is pretty sure it isn't too much to ask.

Whatever. For a second he considers going out to a bar to pick someone up and maybe go home with him. With his reputation that isn't so out of the question. But he quickly dismisses the idea, because the thought of squeezing into skinny jeans is so ludicrous. Instead he curls up on the couch in his now typical spot beside Harry's typical spot, and falls asleep watching wolves chase rabbits and deer on TV.

A few months ago, during the time in between relationships, he would be out right now fucking around, flirting with boys and acting as the slut everyone always accused him of being. It's funny, when he thinks about it now, how easily he fell into the role when he finally accepted it as his own. Call someone something enough, and they'll start to really act like it. Call someone something enough and they'll begin to believe it.

It's four AM when he's jolted awake by unfamiliar noises, like waking up from a garbled dream and facing the disorientation head on. Like opening your eyes and not knowing what's up and what's down, not knowing where you are at all. There's the door, opening, then closing. Feet against the wood floor. Shuffling. And above it all, the distinct sound of someone crying.