Playboy » L.S

Chapter 40

Louis' pov.

Neither of us had said anything - just simply sat, staring at each other, all hopes of remembering what to say to him thrown out the window. My mind is drawing complete blanks, no matter how many times I try to search through my thoughts for anything coherent to say. I would feel like an idiot for this, but Harry seems to be having the same exact problem.

It's been almost four fucking months since I've seen his beautiful face. Even though his features have slightly changed, he's still the most beautiful person I've ever seen. His eyes are a shade duller than their usual shining jade, instead replaced by a cloudy, mossy color, the white space around it tinted with red. His cheeks are a bit sunken in and lacking color, his lips chapped and uncared for. His hair rests on his shoulders, the long curls held back with a dark blue scarf-looking headband. He's still his usual towering height, but I can't see the shape his body is in because of the over-sized grey sweatshirt he's wearing.

"Louis," Is barely audible - just a breathy, wavering sound whispered from his pale lips. I missed the way his voice graced my ears and I missed the way the simple sound of it made me shiver. I never got used to how he could look so soft and pretty, with his voice contrasting greatly with his features, but fuck did I miss it.

"I'll leave you two.. to talk.." Gemma says, patting me once on the back reassuringly before she stood from the couch and made her way further into their apartment.

Once she's gone, we're both surrounded by the horror of silence again. His mouth is hanging open, his bloodshot eyes wide and unable to move their gaze away from mine. I watch as his hands begin to slightly shake, his fingers gripping onto the end of his hoodie almost nervously.

"Can I.. Can I sit down?" He asks, motioning towards the spot where Gemma was once sitting. I blink a few times before finally nodding, absentmindedly moving further away from him. He cautiously sits down, his body stiff and awkward.

"This is weird," I mutter, finally tearing my gaze away from his to stare down at my lap. My fingers are twisting together, a nervous habit I have yet to kick.

"Extremely," He agrees. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him hang his head, his curls falling in his face. He reaches up and runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back and fixing his headband to keep it in place again.

"You need a hair cut," I voice, my mind not entirely catching up with my mouth. I see the corner of his lips twitch in an urge to smirk before he turns his head slightly towards me.

"I would say you do, too, but it looks good on you," He smiles softly, his voice quiet. I wasn't expecting a compliment, especially not in this moment, so I'm caught slightly off guard.

"Oh, um, thanks.. Yours looks good, too, Harry," I return. His head shoots up suddenly and his wide eyes are once again trained on me.

"I missed hearing you say my name," He whispers, his hand reaching out slowly. The second his rough, calloused finger touches my hand, I flinch further away from him. The pained look on his face hurts so fucking bad.

"Don't fucking do this to me, Louis. Don't fucking show up here and expect me not to be like this," He motions towards himself vaguely.

"Like what?"

"Desperate!" He yells. "I'm fucking desperate here, damnit, can't you tell? I'm lonely and I've missed you so damn much! How can you just appear after almost four months and not feel the same way?"

"I do, you asshole! Last time I checked, you're the one that left me!" He can't seriously think that I've been happy with this separation - it's been complete hell.