Play Pretend, Find a Friend? (Larry Stylinson)

10

X.

When Louis woke up, it was cold and dark and he didn't know where he was.

The room was full of unfamiliar shapes, and it smelled different, like lavender oil and unfamiliar laundry detergent. His back hurt like hell from sleeping on the floor, his left shoulder aching from digging into the unforgiving hardwood as he was curled on his side, and shivers wracked through his body, literally making his teeth chatter. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, and caught a glimpse of the bed, and a body peacefully sleeping.

Oh. Right.

Louis wasn't sure if he woke up because he was cold, because his back hurt, or because he had to piss, but he could only solve one of those issues right now, so he shuffled to the bathroom. It was warmer inside, and he realized the bedroom was so cold because Harry had the window cracked open to let in the cold October breeze, which settled around Louis like ice water with his two measly blankets doing little to protect him from the cold. Meanwhile Harry was swathed in a fluffy duvet, living his best life.

After doing his business, he flicked the light off and reentered Harry's room. He was still drunk and it was making the room spin.

"Harry."

"Mm..."

He was on his stomach, his arms curling around a spare pillow and clutching it close to his chest. In the darkness, the planes of his face looked softer than usual. Also, he was shirtless. Louis suddenly remembered Harry taking his shirt off before bed. He had balled it up and thrown it to the other side of the room, at least in the direction of the hamper, like a heathen. And then he was all skin and muscle and surprising softness to his hips and chest, and Louis' face had burned even though he'd only caught a glimpse before averting his eyes.

That was his fake boyfriend, all right, Louis was allowed to think he was hot.

Now, Louis poked his bare shoulder. "Harry."

"Mmm, what?"

"I'm cold."

He was expecting a grumbled, snarky and? or so what? or maybe just to be ignored altogether. He was not expecting Harry to shove the sheets back and pat the spot next to him on the mattress like an invitation.

Even still drunk and half-asleep, he was caught off-guard. "Oh."

The earlier part of the night was a blur, and Louis couldn't remember much. After painting Harry's nails, they stayed sitting on the floor and continued their conversation, talking about anything and everything. Louis couldn't be sure, but he might have made some confessions he wouldn't have made without the loose-limbed wine drunkenness that made him care less about keeping secrets. He had probably said something embarrassing, but he couldn't be sure. It was hard to say. Louis knew he would cringe about it in the morning, but for now he didn't care. Harry was the one who had asked him if he wanted to spend the night, anyway. He had politely offered his own bed to Louis, which wasn't a thing normal people did, but Louis had declined and said he'd rather be the one on the floor. And here they were now.

Harry didn't say anything else, but rolled onto his other side of the bed, now facing the wall with his back to Louis, to make room for him.

Because Louis was still drunk and half-asleep, and really fucking cold, he clambered onto the spot Harry made for him and got settled in.

It was warm from body heat and all the blankets. He pulled the duvet up to his chin and stayed still on his back, staring up at the swaying ceiling. The bed was small but they had still managed to put a few inches between them. The warmth still radiated off of Harry and Louis was highly cognizant of that fact, because he felt it, seeping into him. Harry's breaths evened out again and it was like he had fallen back asleep. Louis closed his eyes.