Chances - Larry Stylinson

Part III

Sunlight filtered in the next morning, a soft light creeping up on them that was barely enough to wake them. Louis did anyway, opening his eyes and wondering why the ceiling looked all square and boxy and why did he feel like he just got run over by a truck – and where was he?

Turning his gaze to the side, he was met by a head of curls resting on his shoulder, and then it hit him that no, the ceiling was most definitely not boxy, that was just the cupboards and shelves on the opposite wall, and he was in Harry’s room after he’d spent a whole day travelling halfway across the world.

And now he was feeling like he couldn’t turn his neck at all and his back was aching and he sort of couldn’t feel his knees, but oh god, maybe all that was made up for by the fact that Harry was sleeping on his shoulder, and Harry had been sleeping on his shoulder the entire night, looking as blissful as – for lack of better comparison – a newborn child.

Two years was an awfully long time to be apart, Louis felt, especially after they’d only just met. It wasn’t very nice of fate or destiny or whatever you chose to call it, to give them a taste of what they could be like together for a mere one week and then snatch it back.

All Louis really wanted to do now was hug Harry forever and never let go, possibly until the end of time, but that wouldn’t be practical, because he wanted to look at the curly haired boy forever too, and it was physically impossible to do that while crushing the air out of his lungs.

Louis shifted a bit, trying to move so that he could get some feeling back into his limbs, but he couldn’t move his arm properly without moving Harry, as he found out when he’d tried to and was rewarded with a groan from the sleeping figure beside him.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice was a soft whisper, his hands somehow instinctively wandering to the other boy’s cheek. “Harry, wake up, I can’t feel my arm,” Louis laughed softly, brushing the hair away from Harry’s face.

A few seconds later, Harry’s head moved, albeit reluctantly, to settle on the pillow behind him. And another few seconds later, his eyes opened, looking around as if taking in his surroundings.

“Morning Lou,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Sleep well?” He asked, smiling contentedly, and Louis couldn’t help it, but Harry in the morning was just unbelievably snuggly-looking and – dare he say it? – cute.

Louis felt his cheeks threaten to turn a furious red, so he pushed the thought away and laughed. “I’m not sure. We’ll see if I can feel my arm and get rid of this neck ache by afternoon.” He joked, and Harry’s face morphed into an expression of guilt.

“Oh my god. Was I sleeping on you the entire night like that?” He asked, softly, as if he couldn’t believe himself. “I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t mean to, why didn’t you wake me up!”

Louis smiled fondly. “Nothing new in us falling asleep like that anyway, we used to do it all the time, remember? And you were sleeping so soundly anyway,’ He added, although he actually hadn’t minded being Harry’s cushion for the night. There was some kind of comfort in having another warm body pressed up to you while you slept, he realized.

They had used to fall asleep in one another’s beds all the time, even though there were always spare mattresses or beds for when they had sleepovers, regardless of whose house it was at. The two of them would stay up late talking and talking and never running out of conversation topics, so late that the sound of cars disappeared off the streets and the tiny pinpricks of lights from the neighbours’ windows in the distance extinguished.

“Thanks, I guess, but you could just have pushed me off so that we could both have been lying more comfortably on the bed, you know,” Harry yawned. “Well, maybe you’ll learn and we’ll sleep better tonight,” he continued, and was it just Louis being over-sensitive, because his heart skipped a beat right then. Was Harry implying something there? That maybe –