Into the Blue

15

Louis is fine.

"I'm fine," he tells Zayn, and his voice cracks embarrassingly on the last word. Rather than call him on it, Zayn continues watching Louis over the rim of his cup of tea, steam obscuring his face each time he exhales. "I'm fine," Louis repeats.

Zayn blinks very slowly, and Louis sits down on the beach chair, tilts sideways until he's half-lying on the worn upholstery.

"I'm really not fine," he whispers.

"Oh, Lou." A moment later, Zayn slides up against Louis, nudging him over so he has enough room to fit in with him, body warmth and solid comfort, and fuck, fuck, Louis isn't weak, he's strong and confident and self-reliant.

Love is complete shit.

"Love is shit," he says out loud, for good measure. "It's a whole load of fucking bullshit, I don't know why people even try."

Zayn pulls him closer, and he smells like sleep and shaving cream and home, and Louis loves him a lot, a whole damn lot, loves him vigorously. Just not like that. But that's neither here nor there because Zayn, too, will be gone in a week. Everyone is always leaving.

"What happened?" Zayn asks, the question stirring the hair at Louis' temple. With a sigh, Louis turns further into him.

"He left, obviously."

Zayn stays silent, makes no move to reach for his tea again or let go anytime soon, even though they have to be at the dive centre in five minutes. Louis can do that, be there and put on a fake smile that Harry would have seen right through.

Harry isn't here, though. That's part of the problem.

"I---" Louis clears his throat. "I thought, like, maybe. He shot me down, though. So. You know."

While Zayn doesn't reply, his arms tighten, and Louis allows himself to pretend that he can disappear, just for a minute. Fine, he's fine, he will be just fine. It was three weeks with Harry, nothing more, only three fucking weeks. Surely it can't be that hard to get over it, move on, go back to life as it had been before Harry had walked in, all brilliant smiles and stupid jokes and kind heart and ridiculous fondness of fruit. Gangly limbs and open-mouthed kisses. Words that drip like wax from a melting candle.

Surely it can't be that hard to get over someone you've only just met.

--

Louis loses himself in the routine of taking care of the guests, seeing after a malfunctioning regulator, carrying tanks, briefing everyone on the dive site with grand gestures and jokes he's made a hundred times before. Which is not even an exaggeration.

Each time he blinks, dizzying echoes of bright sunlight are swirling behind his lids. He's tired down to the very marrow of his bones.

When they get back to the dive centre, Liam is waiting in front of the hut, sitting on the table with his feet on a chair that's out of place. Who cares, though; just one more thing that isn't where it belongs. He jumps up as soon as he sees them, a frown etched into his forehead, lips tugged into a pout.

"Missing your boyfriend already?" Louis tries for a light tone, and fails. "Pathetic, Payne. So pathetic."

Liam glances behind Louis, waiting for a gaggle of guests to walk past them and disappear into the hut. Then he leans in close, voice lowered. "What did you do, mate? I thought you liked Harry."

Liked, haha, oh God. Liked. Louis is in stupid, ridiculous, idiotic love with Harry, that's what he is. Liking Harry would be nice, would be an antidote to the nauseating tension that sits behind Louis' sternum. He'd take liking Harry over this... this mess inside his chest any damn day.