Bag of Bones (Larry Stylinson)

3

And after everything's done and I'm all undone
You can hear my high heels walking on

After Louis stared silently at his hands for a good five minutes, he gathered enough courage and held the bile rising in his throat down to face Harry in the living room. He insisted on sleeping on the couch, but rather than responding to him, Harry simply got up to grab some blankets and laid them down make a suitable pallet for the night in a silent refusal. He then plopped into the spot wordlessly, laying down to just stare past him at the wall.
Louis wishes that Harry would have screamed at him, been rude to him, been straight-up cruel to him, anything else other than this blank wall that Louis couldn't see himself breaking down. It pinned all of the guilt onto his shoulders, made his bones ache with every little move. So right after calling Stan to ask him if he could crash there for a while, Louis marched to their bedroom and immediately crashed into their bed, still in his jeans.
He didn't have the strength to move anymore with all of the guilt pinned onto him, so he reflected Harry from the other room and stared at the colorless wall feeling completely empty. Louis remembered how they had planned to paint the wall a cute and bright color to bring charm to the dingy apartment, to make this place feel like home, but Louis supposed that they got too busy with work to even do that. It twisted in his gut along with the other realizations.
As he clutched his stomach all alone in their queen-sized bed, Louis realized that this might be his last time ever laying here. He clutched his gut with one hand and laid his other over the empty space where Harry was supposed to be. Louis wished that he could just rest next to Harry for one last time, regretting how he wasn't even aware that the night before was possibly their last night sleeping together. Everything that he'd ever done with Harry might have been his last time doing it with him ever; last kiss to the forehead, last hug, last breakfast in bed, last date, last shower together, last holding hands, last of everything.
And with that particularly large shard of realization digging into him, Louis finally allowed himself to cry. He cried for what seemed like hours wrapped up in the duvet too large for just him and clutched onto it for dear life. He didn't let out a quiet sniffle every now and then, but he was full-on sobbing into the night alone in what was supposed to be his and his boyfriend's bed; it didn't really like either of theirs anymore, though. He cried until his eyes physically hurt from not having anymore tears. He cried until he felt dehydrated. And with that exhaustion and pain aching over his body and coating his bones, he finally passed out.
Despite falling asleep fairly late in the night, Louis woke up early, the sun just then beginning to coat the world with light. He closed the blinds to shut out its annoying bright presence before he packed his necessities into a box that was left over from when they moved into the apartment. Once the box was relatively full of the stuff he would need for a few weeks, he left the room quickly, forcing himself to not take one last lengthy look around the room in case he never came back, in case him and Harry didn't work out. He didn't want to think about that; he didn't want to add onto the tons of shards already digging into his insides. Louis felt that if Harry decided to throw him into a pool right then, he would immediately sink to the bottom with all of the weight in his gut.
The house was eerily quiet save for Louis' shoes that slightly squeaked down the hallway. Harry was usually awake by now, either making them breakfast or doing yoga. Louis found him still asleep on the couch, and he looked more peaceful than he had seen him in a long while. The switched roles made him feel sick in the bright early morning.
In order to not get weepy or fight again, Louis decided to write something for Harry on a little sticky note before quietly dragging out of the apartment for possibly the last time. After he scribbled the message down, he left it on the middle of the coffee table in the living room so it could be found easily and proceeded to leave the house without as much as a word.
"Went off to Stan's. I hope you actually think about what's best for you. - Louis." That was all the note said, only enough to let Harry know where he was heading off to and get his point across.
As Louis walked down the joined hallway for all of the apartments over to the elevator with his sad box in his hands, his footsteps resounded eerily in his mind, each step bringing him closer to whatever his future held. It was supposed to be hopeful, enlightening, maybe even empowering, but Louis couldn't help but feel like he was leaving behind the greatest thing he ever had as his gut twisted and threatened to make what little was in his stomach come up.
As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't help but remember the first time him and Harry walked, or rather ran, through it after they bought the apartment together. It was their first living place together after they both finished college, and Louis remembered racing down the hallway with Harry and laughing loudly with the key to their new apartment in his hand. They ran around and fought for it until Harry cornered Louis against their apartment door. He then gave him a sweet kiss that he deepened quickly, causing Louis to completely forget his surroundings and wrap his arms around Harry. After disarming him with the kiss, Harry sneakily stole the key from Louis' hands and ran off, laughing loudly as Louis chased him.
Louis missed who they were then with every bone in his body as he heard his solitary footsteps echo down the hallway. But that wasn't them anymore, and the sooner he accepted that, the better off they'd both be. He clutched onto his box tightly and stepped into the elevator to move forward.
Which leads to now, Louis sitting alone in Stan's spare bedroom with the few items he brought haphazardly packed around the room to make it seem familiar. He still feels sick like before, but he also feels empty, like he'd dry heave for hours if he tried to gag the sick feeling out of himself. He's been sitting on the bed staring at a wall for a while now.
      Stan greeted him as welcomely as expected from a friend you haven't talked to in a while who doesn't know what your current relationship problems are. Luckily, he must have seen how tired Louis looked and how red his eyes were because he didn't push as to why he was crashing here or for how long. It was nice, and Louis was glad. He didn't really feel the emotion of gladness, though, more like relief. He pushes down on his stomach absentmindedly with his hand in an attempt to ease the pain. It doesn't help.
He pushes up off of the bed suddenly instead, grabbing for his cigarettes and lighter before heading out to the balcony attached to his room. It's a fairly nice balcony; it has a small fireplace and a few chairs, but Louis is more concerned about just having a place to smoke. Louis doesn't think much really, hasn't since he made the big possible-last-times realization last night, so he mainly relies on his basic motor skills to light the cigarette and bring it to his lips as he overlooks the town.
It's a different part of town that him and Harry are used to, far away enough that he's not scared of running into him anywhere. Just the thought of that causes his grip on the metal banister to tighten.
He stays there like that for a while, gripping the banister as he stares out at the town and smokes one, two, three cigarettes back to back. His mind is still throbbing despite how smoking usually calms him down. He still feels so fragile. He bangs his fist on the metal banister just to prove to himself that he's not. It hurts, so he brings his third cigarette to his lips again to ignore it.
Towards the end of his third cigarette, Louis' eyes focus on a worn-in looking bar. It seems charming enough and only a bit of a walk away. He stares at the dead neon sign for the bar as he finishes up his cigarette, already wanting another.
Rather than indulging, though, he sighs and stalks off to the kitchen to possibly talk or keep Stan some company. He has to return the favor of Stan letting him crash, he just isn't sure how right now; he's not quite sure how to do much of anything right now.
As Louis quietly pads to the kitchen, he can hear the rustling of bags and silverware as Stan most likely fixes up something for himself to eat for lunch. The lack of humming that Harry would have been doing is blatantly apparent in the otherwise silent household, and Louis digs his nails into his palms to try to will Harry out of his mind. It doesn't really work.
He walks through the doorframe to see Stan arranging two sandwiches on the counter, some chips on the island of the kitchen. Louis can't tell if he's glad that Stan's apartment is way nicer than his and Harry's since he doesn't think about it a lot, or if he's upset about it since an apartment like that was what Harry deserved. Instead of addressing the idea, Louis rather clears his aching throat to get Stan's attention.
He turns around and his eyes brighten once they land on Louis. "Oh, Louis, hey! Are you hungry? I was just fixing us up some sandwiches, and you can choose whatever chips you want too, if you'd like," Stan says with an overly nice tone to his voice.
Louis knows that he's trying to help him the best he can without being invasive of what's going on between him and Harry, but the shifted atmosphere makes Louis focus on the pain ever-growing in his gut. He still gives Stan a small smile for his best efforts, warming up Louis' heart to some degree.
"A sandwich sounds nice, thanks mate," Louis reassures, suddenly noticing how he hasn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Stan gives him a relieved smile, like he got a guessing game right, and Louis tries not to think about it too much.
"Hey," Louis says conversationally as Stan finishes up the sandwiches.
"Hmm?"
"We should go to that bar a few blocks away from here; it'd be nice to go out, don't you think?" Louis offers as he stares at another wall. He can't break his gaze no matter how hard he tries, but he stopped trying a while ago anyway. He's not really sure what he's saying anymore, but he just needs to move around and not be stuck in one place to think about all of the things he did wrong when it came to Harry.
"Uh, are you sure that's the best for you right now?" Stan says with worry and concern lightly treading the tone of his voice. "I mean, I'm down to go out and do anything you want, but if you just want to hang out here with me and watch movies and stuff, I'd be cool with that too."
Stan really is a good friend, offering his time and house in order to comfort Louis even though he doesn't know his situation. He could be crashing here because Harry kicked him out for cheating and Stan wouldn't even know, but he'd still offer to do the same things with just as much kindness. It was that similar trait in Harry that Louis remembers admiring first in their friendship so long ago.
"That sounds nice, but I want to go out tonight," Louis responds in order to snap the reoccurring thought of Harry out of his head. It doesn't really work, but at least now he has to worry about going to the bar instead of staring off into space thinking about Harry. He wonders how his day is going before Stan replies and snaps him out of his daze.
"Okay man, you're the one calling the shots," Stan conforms to his idea conversationally as he hands Louis a plate with his sandwich. After adding a few chips, Louis follows him to the living room where they proceed to sit silently and watch a game of soccer, except it's college level so Louis doesn't know much about it.
It doesn't matter, though, because his mind is too busy twisting and turning over all of the possibilities of what Harry is doing right this moment as he blankly eats his sandwich and chips to focus. It tastes bland, much like everything else has become to him recently.
Despite his vigilance, Louis can't help but wonder if Harry has a friend over right now, if he's called or texted him yet, if he's still possibly asleep right now. Louis turned off his phone after getting to Stan's, knowing that he couldn't handle it if Harry sent any sort of message or left any kind of voice mail.
After he finishes his bland food, he stares off to the TV screen though he's more distracted by his mind than anything. His mind zeros in and focuses on the outline of his phone in his pocket, being intimidatingly shut off. Despite all of the measures he's taken to make sure his phone is off, he still wishes that his phone would ring with a certain caller on the other side. He's almost tempted to check. Instead, he goes out for another smoke and stays churning in his room for the rest of the evening.