Bleu; larry stylinson [Top!Harry Cop!Harry Bottom!Louis]

20. First Love.

Inspired by "First Love" by Adele. To get into the sad mood, i recommend listening to the song with your eyes closed. don't do anything, don't think, just listen. it'll be worth it :^)
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"Please wear the face, the one where you smile
Because you lighten up my heart when I start to cry." — Adele, First Love
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The cold winter breeze hits Harry brutally, while the outdoor scent of nature fills his lungs. he knocks on the old wooden door. It opens slowly. "Hi."

Louis sinks back. He has dark bags under his eyes and his face is pale.

Harry clears his throat as another gust of wind hits him. "Can we talk?"

The London boy doesn't speak, he's hiding most of his small body behind the door. He leans slightly, peeking outside. Only a few cars are parked in the lot, including Harry's truck. There was a police car by the check-in office, the windows tinted dark. "Why?"

It's been days since they last saw each other. Days since Harry kicked Louis out of his house. Days since Harry put his foot down and told Louis how he made him feel. There was too much to say but a lack of words in the dictionary. Harry needed to create a new language to communicate his thoughts and emotions, to fill the emptiness in his chest where his heart laid deflated. He felt dried out, withering in the burning heat of the desert.

"Because we need to." Harry steps in, forcing Louis to step back. Harry shuts the door, hanging up his coat and taking off his boots. The snow melts with the dull warmth of the room.

When Harry turns around, Louis looks scared. His face is white and eyes fearful, his toes pointed inwards and hands hidden in his sweater sleeves. Harry almost loses his breath all over again. Even with Louis' clear uneasy appearance, Harry drank it up like a starved man. Within their years apart, Harry has fallen in love, he's dated other people, kissed them and held them close. Though, ever since Louis appeared in the station, everyone else became a blur. Any past lovers and potential sweethearts were smudged with the paintbrush of Louis' presence. He outshone a flame, but he was so sad. He was a blue star burning in an open fire.

Harry notices the small kettle on the desk and a box of tea right next to it. He knew Louis preferred hot chocolate, but his mother probably bought the tea as a little reminder of home. He was thankful she wasn't in the room—he doesn't know if he could hold himself together in front of an intimidatingly kind woman like her. "How have you been?"

Louis shrugs, his feet planted on the carpet floor. The room seems larger and worse than Harry remembers. The walls look like an uglier yellow and bedsheets a horrid design. The light above their heads was tiny and flickering. It smelt odd, it was unfamiliar and not homey despite the scented candle burning on the windowsill.

"I-um, I've been okay." Harry tries to keep the non-existent conversation alive. "Working at the butcher shop is lonely without you there." The words slip from his mouth before Harry could think but he doesn't regret it. Even though Louis barely spoke to him when he sat in his boss' office, only munch on the food Harry would bring and glare out the window.

Harry's palms sweat. He shouldn't be nervous, even though he wanted nothing more than to claim Louis. He's come to the conclusion that hating Louis, despising him, and ignoring him was something he couldn't do. It was on the long list of things out of Harry's reach. The world, specifically Jasper, and the Millard's were against Louis. He was defenceless and needed Harry to save him. Harry steps closer again, this time he towers over Louis, he stares down at him. From his angle, Louis looks even sadder. The corners of his pink lips turned down.

"Blue," Harry calls softly. "Talk to me."

Moments drag to minutes with the two men looking at each other. Louis licks his chapped lips. "You shouldn't be here."