Bag of Bones (Larry Stylinson)

11

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

      Shortly after Louis falls asleep on the cold balcony yet again, the sparse clouds collect quickly in the early morning sky. Unfortunately, the clouds started to drizzle, but then broke out into full-on pouring right as Louis' tired eyes blinked open. The cold water raining on him woke him up quickly despite his lack of sleep, and he huddled his journal and Harry's shirt to his chest to protect them from the rain as he rushed inside.
      Now that Louis is standing in his room dripping wet after being shocked awake, he remembers that there is a stranger still huddled in his bed cuddling a pillow. The water dripping down his sides reminds him of his bruises and how he aches all over his body, wincing as he pushes the balcony door closed quietly as to not wake Marcus. The last thing he needs to do is look like a wet dog in front of the man he just slept with.
      Earlier in their relationship, while they were still young and broke in college, Louis remembers how him and Harry got caught in the rain often since they didn't have cars to transport them anywhere. If they wanted to go on a date, they either had to hail a taxi, ride the bus, or walk there, and since their part-time jobs didn't pay well, they opted for walking most of the time.
      When they used to get caught in the rain, Harry would always try his best to act as a chivalrous gentleman by shielding Louis from the rain with his coat or by huddling him closer, and it always made Louis just as hopelessly endeared as it made him mad. He wanted to bring just as much to the relationship as Harry, not to just be a useless person for Harry to love and take care of.
      So then it became an unsaid sort of competition between the boys, each of them trying to be kinder and chivalrous than the other from offering each other their coats to both of them bringing umbrellas to give to each other. This continued on for months despite how ridiculous it was, both of them silently trying to top one another in how nice they were.
      It wasn't until Louis was almost hit by a car because he was being a dumbass and tried to lay his jacket on a puddle for Harry to walk over at a crosswalk that they finally decided to stop with their petty competition. Though both of them were spooked in the moment, they laughed about both of their faces and the entire competition later that night when they were eating takeout in Harry's dorm room.
      Louis wishes that he was laughing about how he looks like a wet dog right now with Harry with some takeout food, but he's just standing alone soaking and cold in a messy room that isn't his with a stranger sleeping in the bed. There was nothing funny about this situation to him, and it made Louis grit his teeth in shame.
      After standing there for a while dripping wet, he jolts back to his current situation as a shiver runs up his spine. He puts away his journal that was surprisingly dry and Harry's partially wet shirt into his moving box before plucking a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt off of the messy floor to change into. Louis quietly pads off into the bathroom with his mismatched outfit, silently shutting the door before turning to the mirror.
      He looks awful; his hair is soaked and sticks to his hollow face with his sunken eyes and cheekbones that are too angular. His eye is still slightly bruised, now a more orangish-green color in a few spots. His wet clothes cling to him as well, revealing how skinny he has become over this break of hardly eating and smoking entirely too much.
      He has to turn away to strip off the wet clothes and put on the dry ones, not wanting to see his bruises or his ribs that most likely stick out from his skin. He doesn't want to look at his tattoos to be reminded even more of Harry, so he doesn't. He quickly puts on the new clothes and sets the wet ones to dry in the bathtub before exiting the bathroom, ignoring the anxious feeling in his chest or the shards digging into his gut.
      Closing the door quietly behind him again, Louis' eyes fall onto Marcus who is still asleep in his bed. He looks calm and rested, the opposite of how Louis feels. His eyes stray away from the sight to find the clock at 8:56 a.m. So he hardly got three hours of sleep, great. He tells himself that he's fine as he shakes out his hair, trying to dry it a bit but feeling disoriented and lightheaded afterwards.
      His stomach rumbles loudly then, being hungry after not eating dinner last night in favor of calling Marcus over. It just makes him more mad at himself. He decides to make him and Marcus some breakfast since he doesn't want him waking up to be an entirely awkward experience. Louis just wishes again that Marcus would have left in the middle of the night after they were done like a casual one night stand, but of course he didn't. Louis worries for a moment that maybe it was more than that to Marcus, but he forces the thought out of his head quickly in favor of being somewhat productive.
      Casting one final calculative glance at the other man, Louis exits the room as quietly as possible, dodging all of his clothes scattering the floor in order to reach the door and walk down the hallway to the kitchen. Stan said he was going to be back around noon on his note, so he had to find a way to make both him and Marcus breakfast and then have him leave before then. Okay, he can do that, and he tells himself that before he starts.
      Louis figures that a simple breakfast of a bacon, egg, and biscuit sandwich will be the easiest and quickest thing to make considering the food they have, so he starts by buttering a pan and laying the bacon on after he took it out of the fridge. Letting that cook, he grabs a few frozen biscuits and puts them into the toaster oven to unfreeze and heat up enough.
      Soon enough, Louis flips the bacon over and gets started on the eggs, not having much energy to do anything more than scrambled. Surprisingly, cooking puts all of Louis' internally troubled thoughts on the back burner as he focuses on completing simple tasks as buttering a pan to scrambling eggs. Cooking casts all of Louis' worries away for him to focus solely on getting the food right, so he finds his soul at rest as he mindlessly flips the bacon and collects the biscuits onto two plates.
      He doesn't even notice Marcus when he walks into the room and sits down at the dining table right next to the kitchen silently. When he's cooking, all of his thoughts about what's wrong between him and Harry, his thoughts about Marcus and what he did with him, his thoughts about all of his past memories with Harry, and everything in between is muted and it finally allows Louis to breathe. He almost finds himself saddened when his thoughts start to creep in again once he finally finishes fixing up breakfast.
      "Did you make us breakfast? You're definitely the best lay I've had in a while," a voice, Marcus' voice, finally fills the air and causes Louis to jump a little as he's taken back to reality fully. He turns to the man at the dining table, not recalling how he got in there but not taking too long to question it.
      "I-I thought you might like a breakfast sandwich or two. Unless you're vegan! Sorry, I didn't even think about that, oh no I'm-"
      "I'm not vegan; you're totally fine," Marcus cuts his rambling off, laughing at Louis' concerned nature. Relaxing only the littlest bit, Louis gives him a small smile before grabbing the two plates and bringing them to the table.
      "Okay, good. Would you like anything to drink? We might have orange juice if I remember correctly," Louis asks politely after handing him his plate. The anxious feeling he had before is back and recoiling in his chest, shortening his breathing a bit for no apparent reason. He doesn't look him in the eyes, and Louis hopes that he doesn't notice, or at least that he doesn't point it out if he does notice.
      "Water will be fine. Thank you, Louis," Marcus says genuinely before picking up the sandwich and beginning to eat.
      "No problem," Louis mindlessly returns as he starts to pour Marcus water in a glass cup from the cupboard. He pours himself some orange juice, hoping that the acidity will wake him up a bit. As if the freezing cold rain wasn't enough.
      "Did you have a good rest?" Louis asks politely as he gives him his glass of water, trying to ignore the insistent beating of his heart. He can feel it in his fingertips against the cold drinks in his slightly shaky hands, so he puts them down quickly and takes a seat across from Marcus.
      "You know it," Marcus replies with a smile, taking a drink of his water before eating again. There's a considerable pause before he speaks again. "How early did you get up? Your hair is damp so you must have had a shower already."
      Louis freezes, suddenly aware of how his hair is still damp not from the shower he had in the middle of the night, but because of the cold rain he was caught in. He takes a sip of his orange juice before responding, the acidity of the drink helping ground him from his panicked and constricting thoughts.
      "Oh, you know... I got up and took a pretty short shower before heading in here to make breakfast. I haven't been awake for long," Louis easily lies as he picks his breakfast sandwich up and takes a large bite, hoping that the longer he chews, the less he'll have to talk.
      Sleeping with Marcus was one thing, it didn't require talking or really much on Louis' part. But having breakfast was like torture, having to make small talk since they don't know each other enough to talk about anything of interest, so they dance around the subject of if they'll do this again. Louis doesn't want to, but by the way Marcus is sticking around and smiling at him, he can guess that he wouldn't mind sleeping with Louis again.
      The thing with Harry is that, with him, there was never really small talk, something Louis openly hates. Louis is a passionate and energetic person most of the time, enjoying conversations to go from one topic to the next and not really needing a connection. Even though Harry was considerably slower in the way he talked, he was able to match Louis' sporadic conversation and contribute in his own quirky ways to make it interesting.
Even on their first date, they had somehow managed to avoid small talk for the most part, telling each other about their interests and their families through stories rather than responding to lame inquiries.
      Ever since Louis and Harry met, they clicked, and the small talk he's having to engage in now is just a painful reminder of how Louis doesn't click with everyone the way he does with Harry. He's starting to question if he clicks with anyone like he does with Harry.
      "That's good," Marcus responds, cutting off Louis' train of thought probably for the better. His chest is coiling tight again, and the only way Louis finds himself combating it is by swallowing down more acidic orange juice. "I was worried you got up way earlier than me. I'm not much of an early bird."
      "Me either," Louis responds easily before eating again, hoping Marcus will take the hint and just enjoy eating in silence. That's another thing about Harry: Louis could just comfortably sit in silence with him and not feel pressured to talk. It was a nice feeling, not feeling required to have to entertain someone and just merely exist with them. Louis misses it.
      He thinks over his response to Marcus on not being an early bird as he eats. He's not really sure if that's true or not since his sleeping schedule is so strange. Sure, he's up at the earliest hours of the day, but he also sleeps through most of the actual morning with light. Maybe it'd just be easier to call himself a night owl. He doesn't know why he cares, probably just because he's trying to ignore the raveling in his chest or the awkward silence between him and Marcus. Most likely both.
      Fortunately, Marcus does get Louis' message and falls silent as they both continue eating their breakfast, the only bad thing is that the silence between them settles to be an awkward one since they are essentially strangers. Louis gets lost in his thoughts until Marcus finishes his breakfast later, Louis still having a bit more to eat. He's hoping to not throw it up, but that depends on how his day goes really. He still foolishly hopes to keep it down.
      "I should get going; I have work in a couple of hours and I need to get home to get ready," Marcus says, finally filling the air between the men. Louis smiles half heartedly at him.
      "Yeah, that sounds for the best." He's so glad that he doesn't have to think of a reason to kick Marcus out of the apartment before noon. He tries not to let his relief show as he collects their dishes and brings them to the sink in the kitchen.
      Marcus follows him into there, seeming to wait for more from him. Louis doesn't know what he wants, doesn't know what he's waiting for, so he tries to fill the air once again. "Do you have everything that you brought? Did you leave anything in the room by chance?" he asks as a polite way to shoo him away.
      "Hmm, nope. I think I have everything that I brought," Marcus replies. A few moments later, Louis feels warm arms wrap around his stomach from behind as Marcus steps up behind him. Louis' heartbeat feels like a jackhammer as he stands stuck in place, not sure what to do with this intimate position all of the sudden.
      Hugging from behind was a thing that him and Harry did all of the time as a quiet sort of gratitude, especially on the harder days. When Harry would come home late from work to find Louis trying to make dinner for the both of them for a change, he'd just walk up and hug him from behind and press a kiss to his ear as a wordless sort of thank you. Louis did the same thing, hooking his head over Harry's shoulder when he'd find him up making them breakfast early in the morning before heading off to another shift.
      It wasn't even a thing Louis had really thought about before, but now that he has a stranger holding him from behind, it becomes so clear to him how hugging from behind was a thing between him and Harry. The difference between then and now only highlights the aching in his stomach even more, and he feels like he can't breathe. Maybe his hopes of keeping his food down were too premature.
      "When can I see you again?" Marcus quietly asks Louis in his ear, causing a shiver to run up his spine but not in a good way.
      Louis steps away from the sink suddenly, breaking out of Marcus' hold and staring him in the eye. He never thought that he'd had to have this conversation with a stranger, but this break has brought a lot of new things for him, he supposes.
      "Okay, Marcus, I have to tell you something," his voice shakily escapes his mouth, air not filling his lungs easily. He ignores that and Marcus' confused face as he goes on. "I... I have someone else. I mean, I'm not with him right now- I'm not cheating on him with you. We're just... taking a break is all. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I only ever saw this as a one time thing; I'm sorry if that wasn't clear from the beginning."
      Marcus had naturally taken a step back when Louis admitted he was with someone else, showing a good quality. Louis's glad he got with a genuinely good guy instead of some handsome prick at least.
      "Is he the one that gave you that black eye the other night?" Marcus asks, genuine concern in his voice. The question completely shocks Louis, causing his mouth to hang open for a bit. Louis has never even imagined once of Harry bringing a harmful hand near him, let alone socking him in the eye. Harry could never even hurt a fly, so the idea of him being able to hit Louis is mind boggling to him.
      "Oh- no no no no no no no, not at all. The guy who gave me a black eye was just some random prick like how I told you at the convenience store the other night. My boyfriend? He would never even hurt a fly," Louis reassures Marcus, trying to already forget the fact that he called Harry his boyfriend. Calling him by his name now in front of a stranger would just be too painful, so he opted for that. He takes a deep breath, trying to open up his lungs that feel constricted.
      "Okay; sorry for assuming that, you can just never be too sure these days," Marcus replies, trying to ease the sudden anxiety Louis has now. "Anyway, I understand. I'll be on my way now. Thanks for last night and for breakfast this morning. It was great."
It feels kind of awkward, but somehow not as much as it did earlier when they were eating. Louis's glad that he's finally leaving even though Marcus does seem like a charming personality to get to know; maybe they could have been good friends if they didn't sleep together. Louis doesn't entertain that idea much, though.
      "Yeah, thanks for coming over on such short notice," Louis returns, his reply feeling out of place and weird coming out of his mouth. He just tells himself that Marcus will be gone soon and that he won't have to think about this ever again. "See you."
      "See you," Marcus echoes before leaving, both of them being fairly sure that there won't be a next time where they will see each other again. The farewell is more of a formality than anything. When he leaves, though, Louis feels like he can finally breathe a bit better, a large sigh coming out of his mouth.
      He hardly got any sleep, he was drenched in cold water from the moment he woke up, and he had to maintain awkward small talk with the man he just slept with after making them both breakfast. To put it short, Louis is exhausted, his stomach churning, his chest sore, and his bones feeling heavy. His eyelids start to feel heavy as well after he loads the last dish into the dishwasher, his body desperate for some sleep. Checking the clock to see 9:39 a.m., Louis decides that he has enough time for a good nap before Stan gets home.
      He pads off to the living room sleepily, plopping down onto the couch as he turns the TV on. He doesn't really want to watch a show, just to have some background noise to fall asleep to, so he switches the channels until it gets on a nature based one that's showing a documentary. Finally allowing his eyes to shut, Louis lulls off to sleep to the calming voice of the commentator, his aching subsiding as he falls unconscious.
      He sleeps for longer than he anticipated, Stan returning home around noon but letting Louis stay asleep on the couch since he doesn't have work and knows how little sleep he usually gets. He doesn't wake up until Stan finally nudges him awake around 4 p.m. so that he could move to his own bed. Stan wants to watch his own show, and he thought the bed would be better for Louis' bones anyway.
      Louis sleepily complies, shuffling down the hallway with bleary eyes to go sleep in his bed. Even in his half asleep state, his mind wanders to how Harry used to carry him to their bed when he found Louis asleep on the couch on lazy Sunday afternoons.
The first couple of times it happened, Louis had genuinely drifted off of sleep watching the latest tennis match. But once he realized Harry was transporting him from the couch to the bed, he faked falling asleep just to get the full experience.
He remembers how the gentle and careful way Harry picked him up almost made him smile, but he had to keep a straight face because he didn't want to give away his rouse. He had very slightly opened his eyes, in a way where it was practically undetected, to see what Harry looked like from the angle of being carried bridal style, and Louis can't remember a time where Harry had looked at him with more unaltered love and warmth than then. It had made his face heat up even in his supposed sleep, but if Harry saw anything, he didn't mention it. Louis continued to pretend to fall asleep every Sunday just to get to see Harry's face and have him hold him again.
      It stopped once they got older and started working more, Harry opting to cuddle up with Louis on the couch and nap with him rather than transporting him. Louis can't remember the last time they even did that, though.
He wishes Harry was here now to carry him to the bed instead of having Stan nudge him awake. He wishes that he could just be on the receiving end of Harry's loving look right now instead of blearily stumbling down the hallway on his own. Comparing now to how things used to be was going to be the death of him, yet Louis still found himself doing it in his half asleep state. He just wishes that he could be asleep again so he wouldn't have to think of Harry.
So, he practically throws himself onto the bed when he finally stumbles over all of his clothes and trash on his floor. Louis buries himself in his pillow the second he's in the bed, trying to drown the world out, his own thoughts out, and just burrow himself back into sleep. That's what sounds best right now.
But as he burrowed his head into the pillow, Louis became aware of one glaring fact: the pillow smelled like Marcus. It must have been the one Louis gave him to cuddle while he walked around all night, now being fully covered in Marcus' smell instead of his own or even the smell of Stan's laundry detergent. The smell made him queasy no matter how nice or charming Marcus was, the memories of last night being enough to make him repulsed by the scent now.
Now thinking of last night, Louis thinks over how he hasn't washed his sheets from then yet. He suddenly feels disgusting, thinking of all they did in the bed and how the traces were still there even if he couldn't see them. The smell becomes too overwhelming paired with his memories and the gross feeling of being in his bed, and Louis shoots out of the bed, wide awake now.
Though unconsciousness would be nice, he can't stand to rest in this unwashed bed that represents so much. It represents his betrayal of Harry, his complete desperation to forget him, his pathetic attempt to feel better, his betrayal of himself really. This bed which had meant nothing to him before suddenly represents so much and it only makes the shards in his gut dig deeper as he stares over it with burning eyes.
He needs to wash it; he needs to wash it now. He needs every trace of last night to be completely washed away from the earth so he never has to think of it again and what all it unintentionally represented.
With no further thought and somehow keeping his food down, Louis rips all of the sheets off of the bed, collects all of the pillowcases off of the pillows, and grabs the comforter before heading over to Stan's washing and drying machines.
"What are you doing?" Stan questions as he sees Louis march almost robotically across the living room to the washer.
"I-it's been a while since I've been here, so I thought it'd be best if I washed my sheets," Louis replies, not putting too much thought into his response other than not letting Stan know that he had someone over last night. He's too focused on the way his hands burn just holding the sheets right now to focus on Stan.
"Okay then. I could have done that for you, you know?" he asks half-heartedly, more focused on the game now than Louis since he's reassured.
"Mmhmm," he hums in response, approaching the washer. He just needs to get all of the memories he didn't want washed out with these sheets. That will help him, and he reassures himself that over and over again as he feels on the verge of puking.
So he shoves all of the sheets and pillowcases into the washer, adding the necessary soaps and detergents before starting it up. Louis tries to focus on other things while the sheets are washing, but he finds himself just nervously bouncing his knee up and down as he sits in the living room, pretending to watch the game. He can't focus on anything else until he just knows that the sheets are washed and the memories are done away with, guilt working its way across his skin until he feels itchy from it.
He waits the same way for the dryer, knee bouncing and heart beating distractingly in his ears. His chest feels tight as the repeated sound of the sheets rolling in the dryer digs into his skull and averts his attention from anything else. Louis can't remember a time when he was this nervous about something as minimal as washing sheets. Maybe because it's not a normal thing.
He brushes that thought away, though, when the dryer finally dings that it's done. Louis shoots out of his spot on the couch and heads directly to retrieve the load.
"You good?" Stan asks, startled by Louis' sudden movement and determined demeanor.
"Yeah, yeah. Just- just ready to go back to sleep," Louis admits, the most truthful he's been to Stan today. For every moment that he's awake, his stomach just twists painfully a new reason to be unconscious.
Approaching the dryer, Louis sighs to himself, pausing from his action of opening the machine to retrieve the sheets. He hadn't noticed how much he was depending his stability on the smallest of things until Stan's reaction made him realize how unhinged something as small as washing sheets was making him. Maybe he needed to start treating this break between him and Harry like an actual break instead of a task filled with a set amount of objectives.
The thought leaves him as soon as it comes though, his heart picking up its pace again and his chest constricting as he pulls the sheets out of the dryer. They are warm and make him want to fall into them endlessly just to enjoy their warm embrace.
They remind him of how Harry would run their blankets through the dryer just to warm them up on rainy days. He knew how cold Louis could get even if he didn't go outside, and he always found small ways to make him more comfortable. Louis finds himself crying silently as he holds the warm sheets to his chest next to the dryer.
Soon, though, the sheets start to turn cold and Louis comes back from the memories to the painful present yet again. He just wishes Harry was here now no matter how much he knows that he doesn't really love him anymore. Louis doesn't really care if Harry will ever actually love him again, though, he just wants to be in his arms right now.
But familiarity is not love, it's comfort. Louis reminds himself of that as he finally forces himself to move forward and trudge back through the living room and down the hallway to his messy room. The whole reason why he made him and Harry take this break was to really think and see if they actually loved one another, not to rely on routine and familiarity for comfort and define that as love. Because that's all him and Harry had become, a routine, and that's what eventually killed Louis from the inside out.
So Louis forces himself to shove away his warm memories of Harry and forces his wishes for Harry to be here back into the dark crevices of his mind because it wasn't helping him right now. What he needed right now was to erase every piece of evidence that last night ever happened because if Louis is sure of anything, it's that last night was a horrible mistake that he needed out of his mind.
He grabs the fitted sheet and tries to force it over the corners of the bed as memories of him and Harry making the bed together mixes with memories from last night, making him feel sick as he pulls harder and harder for the sheet to fit. Just as he gets one corner covered, the other corner comes undone, causing him to let out an exasperated sigh. This is why making the bed was always easier with Harry; they always could even out the work to get it done.
Gritting his teeth, Louis pushes his previous thought away and stretches across the bed to keep one corner in place as he covers the other. After a few more tries filled with muttered cuss words, Louis finally gets the fitted sheet on. He already feels better, feeling more independent from Harry and the memories of last night feeling further and further.
He drapes the bed with the sheet and then the comforter to cover it completely. He feels his heartbeat steady and his jaw loosen as he puts the pillowcases back on the pillows, setting them up nicely to really top it off. He takes a step back from his handiwork to appreciate the made-up bed.
Inspecting the sheets and the pillowcases, Louis sees nothing amiss, nothing reminiscent of what happened the night before. He feels his chest finally loosen and the shards in his gut stop digging so deeply when he finally realizes this, his eyes growing heavy once again like he flipped a switch. Now that he knows he can sleep without the traces of last night dirtying him and contaminating his mind, he allows himself to fall into bed again to finally rest.
He hasn't slept an actual full-night's sleep since he decided that a break for him and Harry would be best, and he can feel the collateral damage of staying up till sunrise every night start to pull him readily to sleep. Right before he drifts off to sleep, though, Louis notices something.
The bed still feels dirty.
It feels as if the traces are still there like he never even washed the sheets, and the memories of last night graphically play in his mind on a loop despite his attempts to think of something, anything else. He twists and turns, hoping that some part of the sheets are untouched by the feeling of last night, but he can't find a single place where he feels right. It's like his mind is ripping itself apart with every breath as he tries to breathe away the memories of last night, and he feels his chest seizing as he is overcome with what he understands to be a panic attack.
Harry used to have these, and Louis in turn knows a lot of research to help prevent them, but he's never actually been through one before. He feels short of breath no matter how much space he has around him and his chest feels like it's compressing like how coal is compressed to become a diamond, but only in reverse, his lungs feeling like they're becoming worse with each second. His heartbeat is in his head. He tries to bring his hands up to his head to calm its raging, but that just adds to the crushing feelings around him.
He stands up suddenly, the stabbing in his stomach finally causing him to rush to the toilet to throw up what he had left in it. He feels himself shake heavily as he dry heaves into the bowl for a few minutes after he's thrown all he can up.
Slowly, he gains his breathing back and the pressure on his chest eases up the slightest bit. His head stops pounding and his attention is brought to the gross taste in his mouth rather than the tightness in his chest. He goes to the sink and hurriedly washes his mouth out, wanting to never taste of bile to be in his mouth again. He feels like it won't be the last time, though.
After a few minutes of just breathing and shaking alone in the bathroom, Louis finally feels restored enough to his normal state to stand up straight. He wipes at his eyes and walks back into the room after flushing the toilet, trying to act as if nothing happened by ignoring the stumble in his step from his head spinning and stomach being so empty.
The bed sticks out like a sore thumb in his messy room, the pristine white sheets looking too good to be paired with the trash on the ground. The sheets don't look white in his eyes, though, being dirtied by the memories of what he did with Marcus overtaking his brain. The traces of that night seem highlighted on the bed now as he stares at it, making him feel sick although he just got done throwing up. He needs those sheets gone, and he needs them gone now.
So, Louis does what he only knows to do, and he rips them off of the bed to push them out of his sight. Much like he does with his problems, much like he did to Harry. He blocks out his guilt by pulling the cases off of the pillows and reveling in the way the fitted sheet curls away from the mattress as he undoes all of the work he did earlier. Once he has all of the sheets removed, he crumples them up into a huge ball and throws them as hard as he can to the corner of the room. The crumpled ball of sheets hits the wall and slumps to the ground in the corner, causing a loose piece of paper to fly into Louis' vision.
It's the receipt from Marcus, the one that brought all of this pain and misery from a stupid fucking mistake, and Louis' eyes burn as he stares at it. Without thinking, he grabs the paper and rips it once, twice, three times, and over and over again until he can't anymore because he can't see the pieces of paper due to the tears that have built up in his eyes.
This is all his fault. He's the one who let him and Harry drift away when he noticed it before anyone else, he's the one that ran away and suggested a break instead of fixing their relationship, he's the one who went out to drink and got punched in the eye and got a random man's number and kept it instead of throwing it away, he's the one who called the stranger over to sleep with him in order to forget about Harry instead of swallowing his pride and asking for help from a friend.
He's the one who did this, he's the one who dirtied the sheets, he's the reason for a pulsing ache in his chest and his stomach and his still-black eye, and it only makes him want to rip up the ripped-up receipt more.
The paper has already fallen to the floor, though, and now he's just left with a bare bed and a head full of thoughts of why everything is his fault. He wants to solve this, needs to solve it, but he doesn't think he can do much at this point. He feels so fucking useless, just sitting there and crying over the problems he made, and he allows himself to wonder why Harry would ever want him. He can't let himself think like that, though, because it'll only lead to him smoking cigarettes until the sun comes up.
He needs to do this one step at a time, and he tells himself that he can do this in order to keep the tears from spilling over and to stop himself from spiraling into another anxiety attack. He tells himself that he can do this again as he gets up from the bed and collects all of the tiny shreds of the receipt to throw away in the trash can. Louis feels his mind become surprisingly empty as he does so. It's nice to lose himself.
For now, he decides his main objective is to get new sheets for Stan's bed tonight. The last sheets are ruined, and Louis knows that they'll never be the same again no matter how much he washes them. He knows his memory will never let those sheets seem clean ever again.
So, without much more thinking, he slides some sneakers on and heads out, merely telling Stan that he's heading to the store with no explanation. He isn't questioned, luckily, and he lets his feet carry him to the elevator and out of the apartment complex to the bus stop.
Louis doesn't want to go to the same convenience store as the one that Marcus works at, the risk of seeing him being too great. He tells himself that he can use the ride to think of what else he needs to buy in order to help restore Stan's room to the way it was when he first arrived. That will help him the best, he tells himself. It's still raining, although it's only a light sprinkle by this hour. It makes Louis think of the morning again. He clutches himself around the stomach tighter as he shrinks into the bus seat after he pays for the fare and feels his shards twist achingly.
He arrives at the store soon enough, somehow avoiding thoughts of Harry for most of the time. He traces the seams of the bus seat and thinks over his and Harry's past dates that required them to ride the bus around town, but only for a few minutes. Other than that, he just looks out the window and tries to think of what the other people on sidewalk are thinking, walking under the protection of their umbrellas. All of his estimated thoughts of the others turn out to be sad, though.
He walks out of the bus quickly, avoiding the rain and heading into the store with a mission set in his mind. He just needs to get some new sheets for Stan's bed so he can finally sleep. He'll be fine then, and he reassures himself that as he quickly walks down the the tiled aisles in search of the bedding section.
He keeps his head down in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone, that occurrence feeling too draining now as he focuses all of his energy in finding new bed sheets. That's all he can muster for now, and he can't afford to run into anyone he knows here, so he quickens his pace and hitches his head lower.
      Louis briefly thinks back to the night he first met Marcus in the convenience store, his head feeling practically split open due to his new addition of a black eye to his face along with the way the fluorescent store lights seemed to dig in even more. The lights now make him feel the same way, as if he's strapped down to a stretcher for some reason and being prodded at relentlessly until he finally breaks. No matter how much he tries to focus on his task, Louis can feel himself tearing apart in the middle of the store as he rushes around trying to find the goddamn bedding section. He wishes that the sunrise would be the witness to his ripping apart instead of the shitty store lights. But then again, the sunrise represents Harry. Maybe he just wants to be his only witness for once.
He finally finds the bedding aisle, turning into it with white knuckles due to holding onto his own arms so tightly. He brings his head up from its previously downward position to look through the options for the sheets. He surveys all of the options, looking for a simple white spread to look like what Stan previously had. That's all he needs and then he can be out of this store and away from being caught under the dumb fucking store lights that make him feel like his soul is seeping through his pores.
In his search, his eyes trace over a certain patterned sheet which causes his heart to clench achingly. It's the same pattern of sheets that him and Harry agreed to get when they first moved in together, hardly being able to agree on anything until then. Although they seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces, Louis and Harry's personal preferences and aesthetics clashed obnoxiously, which they hadn't found out until they went shopping for their apartment decor that day.
After bickering for the majority of the day, though, him and Harry were finally able to agree on those sheets, and he remembers how they shared a silly victory kiss in celebration for agreeing on something. He can almost feel Harry's lips on his as he overlooks the sheets now, the distant day fresh in his mind. He suddenly feels cold as he becomes aware of how he's standing all alone in this aisle now and how he'll probably never walk down the bedding section with Harry ever again. His stomach gains a new shard as he forces his eyes away, finally landing on a simple white bedsheet spread.
Eager to forget his churning pain, Louis grabs the sheets quickly and sets off to leave the aisle and hopefully never come back for a long time. However, right as he's about to exit the aisle, a familiar face appears on the other side of it.
It's Liam. Louis needed him last night when he ended up calling Marcus over, and a new wave of sickness and sadness hits him as his eyes take in the image of his familiar friend. The sheets he was grasping onto so tightly in his arms fall to the ground as he rushes up to Liam, hugging him tightly now without saying a word.
"Louis- what?" Liam asks confusedly as Louis hugs him. His eyes water and he finally starts to cry as he embraces Liam, falling into his strong and comforting presence easily. When Liam feels Louis shaking from his quiet sobs, he relaxes his surprised and tense form and wraps his arms around him. He just hugs him back and rubs his hand up and down his back reassuringly as Louis lets it out in the middle of the store in the bedding aisle. In Liam's comforting warmth, Louis starts to wonder if he was wrong and if familiarity really is love in a way.
After a few more minutes of just quietly crying into poor clueless Liam's shirt, Louis realizes how pathetic he's being along with how he's most likely burdening Liam and interrupting his day. And if Louis is sick of anything, it's being a burden, so after a few moments, he collects himself and finally steps away from Liam's warm and comforting embrace to free him from his sudden and overdramatic episode.
"Sorry- I'm sorry," is all he can find the strength to say to Liam before turning around and quickly walking away, picking up the sheets he had previously dropped on his way to hug Liam. He felt humiliated for being so vulnerable with Liam out of nowhere, for being so weak in public, and being such a burden as well. He caused this problem, so he'll have to deal with it on his own, and he tells himself that as he checks out the sheets with red-rimmed eyes and a tremor in his hands.