Bag of Bones (Larry Stylinson)

5

Fluorescent store lights, you shine through the night
Illuminate my pores and you tear me apart

      A little bell jingles as Louis pushes the door of the local convenience store open, sending a sharp pain through his mind due to his headache. He figures that it's because of the punch he received earlier, but he's kind of had a headache ever since he left his and Harry's apartment earlier this morning. He prefers to focus on his headache and his aching eye rather than the pain in his gut, though.
      Aside from his head killing him, Louis' eye is swelling and he's craving something to comfort the aching in his stomach. He knows it's not because of hunger, but there hasn't been a pain that crappy convenient store junk food couldn't cure for him so far.
      He treads on to the cold drink section in the back, needing something cold to help the swelling of his eye and keep him from feeling like a dead man walking. He's so tired, and the bright store lights make him feel as if he's outstretched on a surgery table with countless untrained surgeons picking and poking and tearing at him. He wants to grab a Redbull as he stands and stares silently at the drink section in the relatively quiet store, but he's so tired and doesn't want to be awake to think anymore. So, he grabs a water bottle instead and presses it to his eye and cheek before shuffling off to the junk food section.
      He remembers purging on junk food with Harry countless times when they'd take a road trip to go see their families when the holidays rolled around. Harry always sported a healthy lifestyle and encouraged Louis to eat healthy like him for his benefit, but for some reason, he'd always purge and give in only for gas station junk food. That led to many instances of Louis educating Harry on the best junk food for road trips since he considered it to be his personal expertise, which would make Harry laugh probably too loudly as Louis gave him serious reviews on products with silly and childish names.
      The memory causes Louis to tense up, not wanting to think of Harry anymore tonight. To block the memory out, he grabs a handful of chip and candy bags without really looking before shuffling to the cashier with the cold bottle still pressed against his eye. He drops the items onto the counter wordlessly, not capable of much small talk to be friendly to the worker.
      "Rough night?" the man behind the counter asks sympathetically. Louis looks up to him to find a surprisingly attractive man considering that he's in an relatively empty store in the middle of the night. He looks fit and Japanese, with dark hair and tanned skin that still somehow looks good under the crappy fluorescent lights. He looks at Louis with eyes too bright for the hour and a face that seems understanding for some reason.
      "Yeah, you could say that," Louis supplies to the conversation, not quite sure what to say. He just wants to go home and sleep his consciousness and aching body away. The cashier smiles and chuckles a bit, finding Louis' defeated tone amusing.
      "I've been there, trust me. Got into a bar fight or what?" the man continues as he checks out the junk food.
      "It wasn't as much of a bar fight as it was a random man punching me in the face for no reason and then running away," Louis mutters quietly, his face heating up since he had to take the cold bottle of water off so it could get checked out. The man hands him back the bottle after he rings it up with a wince on his face.
      "Ouch, for no reason? Sounds like a dickhead if I've ever heard of one. I'm sorry on your behalf, man." This man seems very nice with his charming conversation skills, and Louis wishes he could return the favor, but he just doesn't have the strength or focus to right now.
      "I mean, all the man did was ask me if I was gay and then clocked me when I didn't answer him directly, but I mean it was weird. I shouldn't have gone out anyway, though, no need to be sorry for me," Louis rambles as the man bags his items, trying his best to be polite and conversational. He reads the man's name tag as he hands him his card to pay, the name "Marcus" written into the tag.
      "Yeah, that guy does sound weird. Wish you would have punched him back; he had it coming," Marcus says with a conversational smile as he writes up his receipt.
      "Oh, you don't need to write up the receipt, I don't think I'll need to refund any of these," Louis says with a small smile as he motions towards his bag of junk food. Marcus lets out a small laugh at the joke.
      "I don't doubt it, but it's just the store protocol," he says with a wink as he holds out the receipt. Louis takes it with a confused look on his face. "Well, I hope your night gets better."
      Louis returns the small smile and says a simple "you too," before turning and exiting the store with the receipt in his hand for some reason. He looks down to it once he's outside of the store, wondering why it's the "store's protocol," just to find scratched out handwriting on it.
      "If you want someone to take you out for a good night, call me. - Marcus" the note read with a number to go with the message. Louis almost drops the water he's still holding to his eye, not expecting any sort of message like that. He quickly shoves the receipt in his pocket without paying it any mind other than a slight blush as he begins walking, planning on throwing it away when he gets home.
      He wonders why the hell people started being interested in him when he feels his absolute worst, the girl getting him a drink although he probably looked like a hollow insomniac and now the cashier giving him his number when he literally had a black eye. It doesn't make sense to him, but nothing really makes sense to him anymore with his aching head and the sharp pain in his gut. He hasn't made sense to himself since he talked to Harry last night.
      Though he's freezing as the cold night whips around him as he makes his way back to Stan's apartment, Louis's glad that he's finally in the dark. Something about the store lights made him feel split open, even more so than right now.
      Usually on cold night walks like this, him and Harry would either huddle up as they walked or take turns giving piggyback rides. Though Louis' rides given to Harry were significantly shorter than the ones Harry gave him, it was the thought that counted.
      He pushes the cold bottle against his eye harder to snap the memory out of his mind, the coldness being more present now as his gut churns with Harry's absence. God, how he wishes that he didn't ever confront Harry.
      Sure, maybe they would have gone on to robotically continue their relationship merely based on routine and nothing else, but that sounds better to Louis right now than walking alone on a cold dark night with a swollen eye and a heavy stomach. He wonders what Harry's doing right now, wonders if he went out too or if he stayed in and cried, wonders if he's even cried at all yet. Maybe this distance is making Harry realize that he doesn't actually love or need Louis, maybe this is making him realize what a burden Louis was to him.
      Louis turns and throws up what little he ate for lunch on the side of the pavement, not being able to handle the nauseous feeling in his stomach anymore, dry heaving after it's all out. It sobers him up mostly, and he wipes his mouth once he finishes and continues to walk home despite the tears in his eyes clouding his vision, trying to act like everything is fine because yes, everything is fine. He just needs to get home, needs to make it to his bed, needs to smoke one more cigarette, needs to do something other than be out in this cold night hopelessly thinking of Harry.
      He wants to drink his water to get the gross taste of bile out of his mouth, but he needs to keep the bottle pressed against his aching eye. Luckily, he makes it home a couple minutes later, shuffling down the sidewalk curled in on himself due to his pathetic t-shirt and skinny jeans to the apartment complex.
      Walking home alone in the middle of the night was probably not the best idea now that he thinks about it, but he can't seem to care as he opens the door with the copy of the key that Stan gave him.
      Louis immediately makes his way to the guest bedroom, his body feeling heavier with every step now that he's in the warm air of the apartment. He crashes into the bed still in his jeans for the second night in a row, leaving the bag of junk food on the floor as he just lays in the bed finally.
      Though he can't sleep on his left side since his eye hurts too much, Louis doesn't really care since he's so exhausted. He hazily stares out the glass door that opens up to the balcony, the lack of night stars in the sky making him think of Harry for some reason.
      He closes his eyes finally to snap the last thought out of his mind, more than ready to fall asleep. After laying there for what feels like thirty minutes, though, Louis tiredly opens his eyes. He can't seem to fall asleep no matter how exhausted he is, his gut never tiring of churning and aching with all of the shards in it. It feels as if some mysterious force refuses to go let him sleep, something like guilt or regret. He looks at the clock to find it reads 1:43 a.m.
      Louis remembers when he and Harry used to stay up this late or even later just talking about nonsense, laughing one another into the late hours or having serious discussions. He remembers those being the best nights because even though he didn't get as much sleep as he needed, he always had the feeling of using the entire day to the best of his ability by spending as much time as possible with Harry.
      Louis sits up suddenly, leaving the water on the bedside stand since it's gone warm by now. He can't just lay and think about all of the things he misses about Harry, he just can't take it anymore.
      He stands up, ignoring the pounding in his head as he walks over to his box that he brought with some of his stuff in it. Defeatedly, Louis reaches into the box and takes out one of the shirts of Harry's that he stole, smelling his familiar scent alone in the dark room as he collects even more shards to his insides. He thought he'd last longer than this.
      He feels tears finally fall down his face as he breathes his smell in, missing every inch of him. It's so crazy to him that even though he lost Harry a long time ago, it's all becoming painfully real to him now. He stands there just breathing in the shirt for a while, not really caring if it's weird anymore because he can't stop crying, his hiccuping jabbing at his headache.
      After a while, though, Louis brings the crumpled up shirt away from his nose and to his chest as he continues to rummage through the box. He can't just keep thinking of Harry, he needs to get all of the thoughts constantly swirling in his head out somehow, all of the thoughts of just Harry, Harry, Harry. He remembers grabbing a journal he had hardly ever used before and putting it in the box for some reason this morning, so he searches until he finds that.
      After doing so and then finding a pen as well as a blanket to huddle around him, Louis went out to the balcony with a pack of cigarettes and the journal in the middle of night. He sat huddled on the balcony with Harry's shirt held close to his chest and wrote as he smoked into the morning, and he tried to ignore the burning of the receipt in his pocket and the aching of his tired body.
      As he drained every agonizing thought of Harry and them out of his mind onto the paper, he told himself that he was fine, that this was for the best. He almost burned Harry's shirt because he had absentmindedly tried to smell it while he had a countless cigarette in his mouth, but he's fine. And he tells himself that this is for the best as his cramped hands clutch the journal, blanket, and Harry's shirt to his chest as his aching and tired eyes watch the sun rise hours later.