Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

fifty-four

Harry looks like hell the next morning.

Louis catches sight of him coming down the stairs, and then he can't look away. It's only six o'clock but they're getting back on the road soon to avoid a bad winter storm.

His hair is a tangled mess, his skin is sallow and pale, and there are dark circles hanging beneath his eyes that are only a few shades away from looking like bruises. He moves stiffly, clumsily bumping into the corner of the wall on his way down by accident. When he sits down at the table, he fails to hide a wince. It looks painful.

Louis slides his own coffee across the table in apology and thinks that Harry shouldn't look this horrid after rough sex.

"Everything okay?"

Harry accepts the coffee gratefully and takes a sip even though it's steaming hot. He wraps his hands around the glass and curls in on himself, shoulders hunching, looking smaller than he really is.

It's a good thing his parents aren't awake yet, because he looks like obviously fucked-out hell, and Louis is the prime culprit. At least there aren't any visible hickeys. That would be a disaster.

"I feel like shit," he says. "Didn't sleep well."

It's only been a solid five hours since Louis left Harry's room last night, and as soon as Louis slipped in bed he fell asleep, not waking until his alarm went off fifteen minutes ago. Definitely not enough sleep, and that was with him out cold the entire time. Poor Harry, then.

"Why not, babe?" The endearment just slips out, Louis not having planned on saying it. He calls people pet names sometimes but after having literal sex with Harry it definitely has a different connotation.

Harry looks up at him like he's grateful for Louis asking softly, with warmth in his voice. "Bad dream."

Louis' stomach drops. Usually he wakes up when he hears Harry's distress, his crying. It worries him to think of Harry all alone last night without anyone to comfort him.

"You poor thing," Louis says, feeling sad. "You can always wake me up, you know. I wouldn't have minded."

"Sorry."

He waves it off, dismissive. Harry apologizes too much, always. "I'm driving, so you can take a car nap. And we'll try to get to the hotel quickly for an early night."

"Sounds good. Thank you."

"Of course. Wanna leave now and stop somewhere for breakfast, or should we eat here?"

"I gotta say bye to my parents."

"Alright, we'll wait until then of course. How about you go take a nap on the couch and I'll wake you when breakfast is ready?"

"Really?"

"Yes, love." He pulls the coffee cup away from Harry and stands up, setting a hand on his upper back and rubbing comfortingly, coaxing him to stand as well. He guides him over to the couch, helping him settle in and covering him in a blanket.

Everything about this house is perfect and pristine, looking absolutely untouched. It's strange to see someone actually living in the space, using it as it's meant to be used. Harry makes this cold place look a little bit more like home, but even then he seems so out of place.

He isn't sure if Harry's actually asleep but it's fine, it doesn't really matter. Getting busy in the kitchen, he realizes not only that he doesn't know where anything is located, but also that he doesn't know really how to cook most breakfast foods. He's done pancakes before, but they've never turned out right, at least not looking anything like Harry's. Oh well. Maybe today's the day he figures it out.

As it goes, today is not the day. He wakes Harry up in twenty minutes to a depressing failure of a breakfast. It's still edible, though, just not physically attractive or presentable. Harry laughs only a little and eats them without hesitation, complimenting him politely.

"We both know they're shit, Harry, it's okay. You can say it."

"They're not though, they're just different," he argues, apparently still set on not insulting the weird crinkled "pancakes" on his plate. He eats them all, leaving nothing but a sticky mess of syrup, as if to prove a point.

Louis' doing the dishes when Harry's father comes downstairs and enters the kitchen. Harry is caught hovering near the sink because Louis won't let him help out, begging him instead to go sit down and take another power nap.

It's awkward and uncomfortable, laughter dying out quicker than anything. Louis busies himself by scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the frying pan, feeling bad for Harry who has no such distraction.

The first thing he says isn't good morning or hello or anything as cordial. It's something about the apartment, ordering Harry to move out. Away from Louis. He doesn't say it like that but they all know what he means.

At times like this, Harry is a shyer version of his true self. Tentative, quiet, docile... It's so uncomfortable to see it, especially because it's such a sharp contrast from who he really is when he isn't so nervous and afraid.

God. Louis has to get him out of here. They can't leave fast enough.