Bag of Bones (Larry Stylinson)

8

Just move the stuff up off the bed
And do what you came here to do

      Louis stayed out on the balcony for a while after Zayn left, just staring out at the town in the cold while he clutched onto his cigarette box, convincing himself that he didn't need another. He made a promise to Zayn to not smoke another one tonight, and even though he's craving another smoke already, he decides to hold to his word.
Louis couldn't find much else to do on the balcony now that he was left alone with his unrelenting thoughts and aching chest with no solace of a cigarette, so he wanders inside. Seeing Zayn tonight has reminded him of how lonely he is and how much he likes just having someone there to talk to, so he searches out for Stan, hoping to maybe eat dinner with him and catch a game on TV.
The house is dark now, only a few sparse lamps being on to somewhat illuminate the apartment. Louis continues his search for Stan over to his bedroom, assuming he's probably in there since every other place in the house appears to be vacant.
When he's about to open the door, though, he notices a small note on the coffee table of the living room. It flashes Louis back to how he left a note in a similar fashion for Harry when he finally left, but he diverts his attention from that memory by walking towards the note to read it.
"Went over to a dinner with some of my friends since you probably want some alone time with Zayn. I'm staying the night there, so I'll see you tomorrow afternoon :) - Stan," the message on the note reads in the dim light, causing Louis to pause there for a moment too long.
The one night he finally wants to be with someone, no one is around him. It makes sense to Louis that this is how it always turns out for him; he still feels like he deserves it. He supposes that maybe he truly is meant to be alone. Maybe even forever, considering how his break with Harry might turn out. He doesn't want to think about that now, though.
Hugging his own frame to make himself feel less alone, to feel like he's enough to hold himself together, Louis wanders into the kitchen for dinner. It's 10:16 p.m. now, so he figures he could use some food since he hasn't eaten since his brief lunch break at his job. It'd be the responsible thing to do: eat. His twisting stomach doesn't permit him to work up an appetite, though, even when he's looking over all of the good food Stan has in the fridge.
Louis used to get like this when his job stressed him out, especially when he first started out in his pursuit for a career in theater. It took him a little too late to realize that his degree in theater arts was useless in earning enough money to sustain him and Harry, so between taking up small jobs and helping out at the local theater, Louis was stretched thin. He was always so overworked and stressed that he hardly remembered to eat, and he hardly even wanted to since he always felt like he had something better to do.
Harry was the one who would, no matter how tired he was, make them both an amazing dinner and gently force Louis to actually eat food. Though he grumbled about having to eat more than thanking Harry for cooking and helping him, eating really did help him energy and health wise. Harry was just always there to make sure he didn't push himself too far in his worst times, and Louis did the same for him when Harry's pursuit in movie directing wasn't working out.
Their relationship was never just 50/50; sometimes it'd be 20/80, and other times it'd be 40/60. No matter their struggles, Louis and Harry always were there for one another; they were always each other's home. That's what got them through the tough times.
Louis wishes that Harry was here now to cook him a meal and force him to eat. He wishes Harry was here to talk and joke to, here to hold and kiss, here to love and rest with. And with a deep shard to his gut and a large simmering pain in his chest, Louis realizes that Harry isn't here to be that for him, and that he might never have him here to do it again.
Wanting to escape the feeling of being ripped apart once again, Louis flees the kitchen and back to his safe, messy space of his bedroom. He needs a cigarette to sedate his panic, he needs something to take this sharp aching away, but he promised Zayn that he wouldn't.
So he just stands in the middle of the mess of a room, not knowing what to do except ache. When every movement and every action reminds him of Harry and breaks him down to his core, why should he move anymore? Why should he continue to exist if it just keeps on bringing more and more pain?
He wishes desperately that Stan was just here to help him eat dinner and distract him from the aching throughout his body. It wouldn't be the same as Harry, but it'd be better than just suffering alone with no one to turn to. Louis needs someone; he hardly ever admits that to anyone since he's so fiercely independent, but now as he feels his chest burning and his stomach twisting and his mind aching, he can't deny it anymore.
Louis now moves to his phone, hoping that someone on his immediate contact list could possibly come over for just a while. His first instinct is to contact Niall, but considering his almost direct link to Harry, he opts that he should reach out to someone else.
      After scanning his contacts for a considerable amount of time, his eyes fall on Liam's contact. Liam is just who needs right now, logical and resolute in his demeanor naturally while also being caring. Talking to him would give Louis the sense of security and clarity he needs right now while also being a good outlet for his emotions.
      He hardly thinks twice before hitting the call button, holding the phone up to his ear as he waits for Liam to answer. After fives rings, an automated voice tells him that who he's calling isn't there and to leave a message. Cutting off the automated voice, Louis ends the call and then immediately calls Liam again. He needs to talk to someone now, and he needs someone like Liam; he just needs him to pick up for his sake.
      After the fourth time his phone cuts to the automated voice, Louis lets out a frustrated sigh as he takes his ear away from the phone. He cuts the voice off once again, not feeling the need to leave a message. He wonders for a brief second if Harry would pick up if he called.
      His stomach turns at the possibility of Harry not answering him, and he shoots up from his spot of sitting on the bed. Louis needs someone who will pick up, someone to talk to, someone to take his mind off of Harry.
      Before he can even realize it, his mind flashes back to the crumpled piece of paper in a random drawer of the bathroom which has Marcus' number, the nice cashier from the night Louis got punched in the face. His stomach and chest burn immediately at the thought of the open-ended message on the back of the receipt, but he can't forget it now that he's remembered it's existence. He should have just thrown the paper away when he first found it, he knew he should have, but he didn't.
      Gently bringing his hand to his still slightly-bruised eye, Louis wanders towards the door frame of the bathroom, feeling too intimidated to go inside and grab the piece of paper. The churning in his stomach and his stinging chest are telling him how this is a horrible idea, how Marcus is the last person Louis should call to have over to talk to.
      But the burning in his chest takes him back to the late nights he found Harry smoking alone on the balcony, the lies and secrets filling the air so thickly that night that Louis felt like he could hardly breathe. The churning in his stomach takes him back to Harry's confusion when he brought up the problem of them drifting away, a shard digs deeper as he remembers the way Harry laughed at him when he first expressed his distress over their relationship.
      As if his body is on auto-pilot, Louis steps through the threshold of the bathroom door and reaches for the crumpled receipt in the drawer he threw in there over a week and a half ago. He blots out his thoughts of Harry with each number given on the paper, typing it into his phone as he presses harder and harder on the screen. Louis really just wants to forget Harry, even if for one night. Maybe that will take his pain away.
      The phone is ringing before Louis can even register, and it causes his breathing to pick up as he panics over what he's doing. He tries to calm himself down by convincing himself that Marcus might be busy tonight anyway, but his clutch on the phone only increases the longer it rings. Right when Louis expected the automated voice to come on, he rather hears a click and then the breathing of someone else on the line.
      "Hello? Who is this?" Marcus questions from the other side of the line, his voice being familiar to him no matter how briefly they spoke a while ago.
      Louis's not sure what to say, he's not even sure what exactly he wants from Marcus, so he stands in a dumb silence in the middle of the bathroom.
      "Honestly, what kind of telemarketer calls at half past ten?" Marcus' voice sounds dismissive, assuming the unknown number as some shitty telemarketer, Louis concludes. It sounds like he's about to end the call, which is understandable since Louis hasn't done anything other than breathe.
      "Wait!" he exclaims suddenly, rushing to say something to keep him on the line. "I-it's me. I mean, it's me Louis. We met at the convenience store a little over a week ago? I had the gross black eye."
      His breathing is already too fast, his heart feeling like it's pounding entirely too hard for a simple conversation. With every beat, Louis feels his chest ache and pulse out the pain all throughout his body.
      "Oh, I remember you," Marcus responds, possibly sounding fond, although Louis doesn't know him well enough to assume as much. It could be his hateful tone for all he knows. "You were quite the character, strolling in with a black eye like it was nothing and then buying a ton of junk food."
      Marcus is laughing now, and Louis laughs lightly back even though it causes his stomach to cramp. He wishes he knew what he was doing.
      "Sorry for assuming you were a telemarketer; you never know with all of these suspicious unknown numbers," Marcus continues on, sounding way too nice for a man Louis has hardly met. He knows that it's not what he deserves, but he can't help the small smile that builds on his face.
      "No, no, you're totally fine. I just forgot what to say there for a second, so how could you have known any better?" Louis banters back, not quite sure where to direct the conversation. He feels like a war is waging inside of himself, but he can't stop himself from enjoying the conversation either. He's really just been so lonely lately.
      "I guess you're right," Marcus muses, his line going quiet for a moment before speaking again. "So, why'd you call me Louis? Ready to cash in that promise I offered?"
      Louis' eyes flash to the message scrawled out on the receipt saying, "If you want someone to take you out for a good night, call me. - Marcus." His throat closes and his stomach drops as he surveys the message over and over again, causing his side of the conversation to fall flat for a few moments too long.
"Yeah- yeah," Louis stammers out when he realizes that he's been quiet for a bit too long. "Well, sort of. I was possibly wondering if," he gulps, trying to clear his airways so he can breathe again, "if you wanted to maybe come over to my place to hang out?"
Louis' heart feels like it's about to seize with how many palpitations it's having, his stomach twisting uncomfortably once the question is out of his mouth. His knuckles turn white from gripping onto his phone so tightly.
"Oh, yeah, that sounds nice. Not the ideal night out, but maybe that's for the better considering how it went for you last time," Marcus responds, his tone soothing and a stark contrast from Louis' panicky one. He let out a chuckle that Louis tries to return, his train of thought moving too fast and his breaths too shallow to focus on anything happening in the conversation.
Once Marcus picks up that Louis isn't responding, he speaks to fill the space. "Send me the address and I'll see you soon?" He says it like a question, making Louis feel like he can say no if he wants. But he's the one who called Marcus and pulled on his leg, so of course he couldn't turn him down now. The sick feeling he had the night he got punched in the face is back.
"Y-Yeah; I'll just text it to you," he rushes to answer, trying to not leave any dead space in the call between them. "See you soon?" Louis says it like a question now, giving Marcus the opportunity to turn him down too. He's not sure if he wants him to turn him down or not, though.
"Yup, see you soon pretty boy," Marcus replies before ending the call, almost causing Louis' knees to give out. The sick feeling is back full force, making Louis glad that he's in the bathroom as he rushes over to the toilet. Nothing comes out, but he breathes heavily over the toilet until he's calmed enough to send Marcus the address to the apartment.
The thing is, he always used to call Harry pretty boy. From the first day Louis saw Harry with his adorable curls piled on top of his head and his bright smile, he couldn't help himself from teasingly calling the boy the fond nickname. Though he doesn't call him it much anymore, he'd occasionally throw the name around to get a rise out of Harry.
Harry was Louis' pretty boy, that's who he was, but now that he's gone and someone else is calling him pretty boy now, he doesn't know what to do or how to breathe once again. A huge shard dug into his stomach when Marcus first said it, and now he can't stop it from twisting around his guts uncomfortably as he thinks of all the ways he called Harry pretty boy. He wasn't ready for small things like dumb nicknames he had forgotten about to utterly gut him, yet here he was on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom hunched over the toilet.
He stays like that for a while, trying to recuperate all of the sudden memories, but he forces himself to rise off of the ground and straighten himself out in the mirror when he receives a text from Marcus stating that he was close. He's fine, this is fine, and he repeats that over and over to himself as he forces himself to smile before heading out to the living room, checking if anything is out of place.
      After obsessively rearranging the pillows on the couch to distract himself from the burning in his chest and his raging mind, he finally hears three resolute knocks on the door, immediately increasing his heart rate. He continues to ignore the shards in his gut and his shaking hands by repeating the mantra of he's fine in his head over and over again as he walks up to the door.
      Pausing at the door with his hand on the handle, Louis takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself with the way his lungs expand and inflate. It doesn't really work, but he doesn't have time to go through a full breathing session because Marcus is on the other side of the door.
      With a white-knuckle grip once again, Louis turns the door handle and opens the front door, wishing one last time that Stan had just stayed home tonight.
      Marcus is standing in the hallway of the apartment building, his hands sheepishly in his pockets and a small smile on his face. He's taller than Louis remembers, taller than even Harry, and his jawline seems even stronger in the dim light.
      "Hi," Marcus simply says, his whole demeanor slightly recognizable to Louis. Maybe this wouldn't be as scary or as bad as he thought.
      "Um, hello- hi," Louis stammers once again, his hand still clutching tightly onto the door handle. "Oh! Um, come in," he manages to get out while stepping to the side to let the other man in. Marcus smiles at his struggle to say a complete sentence as he walks inside.
      Louis feels so wrong, with his stomach twisting more than ever before and his chest utterly burning, but he can't help the magnetism he feels from Marcus and wanting to talk to him. He closes the door behind him once Marcus walks in enough and then trails behind him towards the living room.
      The apartment is extremely dim with only a few lamps on here and there, the same as how Louis found it when he went looking for Stan earlier. It dawns on Louis that Marcus is probably perceiving this as mood lighting, and he suddenly feels sick. He sits down on the couch wordlessly and twists his hands in his lap as Marcus surveys the area.
      "So, do you play hard to get often?" Marcus asks with humor is his voice and a light in his eyes. The question makes Louis freeze, not really understanding it or the tone even.
      "Sorry, what? Hard to get?" he echos back, feeling dumb under the attractive man's gaze. Marcus sits down a considerable distance away from Louis, most likely sensing his nervousness, but he angles his body towards him.
      "Hard to get, you know, taking over a week to finally call my number. The longest anyone's taken to call me is about three days tops, so I assumed you were never gonna. It's nice to have some humbling, though, I can get a bit big-headed," Marcus chuckles, explaining his reasoning to him. Louis nervously laughs along at his joke, trying to play into the conversation and seem pleasant.
      He's too aware of every minuscule thing in the room, from the way the ceiling fan's oscillating to the way the texture of the couch feels on his clammy skin. Louis's just now realizing that his trashy daily outfit of a oversized t-shirt with sweatpants might not be the best for the occasion.
      "Oh, well um, I guess you could say that I only call when I think it's needed," he somehow manages to say without stuttering, although he doesn't make much sense to himself. It's like he's fuzzy and numb to the pain raging within him, making his own voice sound far off and not his own. He's fine, he is, and he continues to tell himself that.
      "Oh really? Well, why was it deemed to be needed tonight, Louis?" Marcus asks, a glimmer in his eyes as his gentle smile projects directly towards Louis. He seems closer than before, though he doesn't remember him ever scooting closer to him. Louis' heart feels like it's beating out of his chest, but he grips onto the sides of his sweatpants to ignore it.
      "I guess I was... lonely tonight," is all his brain supplies him to say, not remembering how to speak properly. He instantly realizes how what he just said could be taken in an entirely different sense, and his eyes widen as he grips harder onto his sweatpants, not correcting himself. He pushes his nauseous feeling down as he studies Marcus' demeanor.
      "Well, good thing I gave you my number then," he replies, a smile still bright on his face. He's not even subtle now as he moves closer to Louis, their legs almost touching now. He moves his hand to brush a stray hair in Louis' face behind his ear, Louis somehow not flinching away from his touch.
      "Yeah," he breathes out, not sure how to respond anymore or how he let him get this close. He really wanted Marcus over tonight just to have someone to talk to, he didn't plan for any of this. He feels his pulse in his hands and in his ear that Marcus' hand brushed against. He wishes Stan or Zayn could have just stayed.
      But he thinks he subconsciously knew that things would turn out like this once he remembered the scrap of paper Marcus left for him, he must have from the way he instantly burned at the thought. He doesn't know why he called Marcus over tonight, but he also does.
      He should get up and out of here, he should stand up abruptly like he does when he want to stop thinking about Harry and just demand for Marcus to leave. He doesn't owe anything to him, he's not obligated to anything with him just because he asked him to come over, but he still finds himself stuck in place.
      He once again remembers the burning in his chest the night he saw Harry smoking alone on the balcony in the middle of the night, remembers the churning he felt when Harry laughed at him when he brought up his problems, remembers the way he threw up thinking about Harry the other night.
So, in favor of his mental stability, he simply stops thinking of him. He feels his pulse rabbiting in his chest and his mind racing in a way that it hasn't since Harry last said that he loved him, and it causes him to hold his breath.
      He can't seem to manage to move away as Marcus leans in towards his face, his eyes set on his lips. With all of that in mind, he blots out his thoughts of Harry by closing his eyes as he leans in and finally receives the kiss, his heart racing, his stomach dropping, and his hands shaking at his sides. His mind keeps racing faster and faster, so he ignores it by pressing closer into their kiss.
      Marcus brings a hand up to the side of Louis' face, gingerly stroking his angular cheek as they continue their kiss, his other hand eventually making its way to Louis' shoulder. Louis's taken back to the night when he told Harry they needed to take a break, the hand Harry kept on his shoulder despite the way he stepped away from the kiss. Louis pushes the memory away by bringing his own hand up to the side of Marcus' neck finally.
      It's not like he's cheating on Harry, he tells himself. The whole point of the break was to think about their relationship and possibly see other people to discover if they truly were meant for one another. Louis keeps reassuring himself that this is fine, that this isn't cheating, as he opens his mouth to Marcus now, deepening the kiss as his body seems to malfunction.
      It's like his chest is burning and the shards are digging into him, but he can't feel it as he numbs it with the contact between him and Marcus. The sudden intense amount of attention and contact given to him after over a week of nothing is dizzying to Louis, and he finds himself easing backwards without realizing it as he struggles not to think.
      Marcus continues to hover over him throughout the kiss, following Louis' ease backwards until he's practically on top of him, framing him with his hands at both of his sides. Louis feels his face heating up at the position and the guilt he's pushing away in favor of continuing the kiss. He wraps his hands around Marcus' neck, loosely holding onto him. Just this once, he wonders what it'd feel like to be someone else's pretty boy.
      With that thought, Louis pulls out of the kiss, breathing heavily. He's reeling from his influx of emotions and lust and pain and thoughts as he stares up at Marcus' face, which is staring down at him in a similar fashion.
      "Do you want to take this to your bedroom?" Marcus asks, the words entering the air between them and feeling so big that Louis can hardly breathe. So much goes along with that simple phrase, so much that Louis's not sure if he is grasping it all right now. His hands are shaking and his thoughts are racing as fast as his pulse as he just stares up at the man above him. So much goes with that simple phrase, but Louis finds himself nodding regardless, too afraid of his voice coming out mangled since his throat feels closed.
      With a warm smile, Marcus wordlessly gets up and helps Louis off of the couch. Remaining silent, Louis leads him down the hallway and into his room as the other man grasps onto his hand. Everything about this situation is wrong, Louis knows it, but he tells himself that this is moving on, that this is discovering the truth to his and Harry's relationship. So, he opens the door after a slight pause of hesitation and the two men walk into the room.
      The room is still a mess like before, and that causes Louis' heart to lurch for some reason that's not even embarrassment. He looks up to Marcus, his face feeling abnormally warm for a reason he doesn't have enough mind to place right now. The other man smiles at him as they go to the bed.
      "Oh, u-m, you can move that," Louis finally says, directing Marcus to move his big moving box off of the bed to make room for the both of them, his voice only breaking a bit.
      "Alright," Marcus responds with a glint in his eyes, somehow not being awkward no matter how weird Louis is acting.
      Seeing all of the clothes on his floor, Louis figures that the only items in the box are Harry's shirts and his journal that he writes in every night. So many thoughts all scribbled into one item, which is just so easily moved over and pushed to the side so Louis can share the bed with Marcus.
      He feels sick once again, almost enough to throw up but not quite. It causes Louis to think of Harry again, the man he had tried to avoid thinking of desperately for the whole night. He thinks of his hair, his smile, his dimples, the way his hands felt, the years they spent together. It causes Louis to flush and become stock-still, confusing Marcus.
      But soon enough, those memories and images were blotted out as Marcus brought Louis to the bed with him, kissing him once again. And as they made out on the bed with Marcus hovering over Louis once again, he wonders if this is what it was always going to take to forget Harry.