Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

sixty-four

Back at the hotel, Harry strips out of his clothes to reveal coral pink lingerie.

He pulls on thigh-high socks too, and dances drunkenly in front of the mirror for a while, as Louis gets ready for bed. There's certainly something about alcohol that makes him want to dress like this, because he's done it before, on the night he first said to Louis, Daddy hurts me. It feels like a far off, distant memory.

Eventually Louis finishes his bedtime routine, and lounges back on the mattress, propped up on his elbows, just watching Harry dance. It's silly, the way he flails his limbs, but there's something artistic about the way he sways his hips so smoothly.

"What're you singing, H?"

"Shania Twain," he answers, raising his arms in the air and letting them glide back and forth.

Now that he mentions it, Louis can recognize the song in his broken, drunken lyrics. The song says something about Harry's ideals and feelings towards love, doesn't it? That young, starry-eyed thought that it can somehow last forever...

A twinge hits Louis when he remembers this is their last night in a hotel room together. Tomorrow, on Christmas Day, they'll drive back to their apartment. And then Harry will begin his search for a new place to stay.

"C'm'ere, honey, aren't you cold?"

"I think you mean you're cold," Harry sasses, spinning around and clambering onto the bed anyways. "You're always cold. And you need me to warm you up."

Louis smiles teasingly, but doesn't say anything because Harry is right. He lets Harry crawl up towards him and clumsily slip beneath the covers. Harry turns on his side and pulls Louis into him so they're spooning, Harry's arms wrapping around his middle, legs entangling. Usually it's the other way around, with Louis as the big spoon, the comforter, the protector, but today it's different and it feels nice, especially when he's encompassed by the soft warmth of Harry's bare skin.

"Thank you for everything today."

"Of course, Lou. Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Louis whispers, pulling Harry's arm closer to his chest and clinging to it, smiling to himself. In the morning, they'll wake up and Harry will be sober and not love him anymore, but that's alright, because for now they have this moment, and it isn't much, but it's enough.