what about us | l.s.

nine

March 20, 2011

Ever since Harry spent the night in Louis' bed, it had become a habit. Harry would return from rehearsals and slip under the covers of the single bed, pressing his back up against Louis'. The two boys had yet to discuss it, and it was mutually understood that they wouldn't discuss it.

Every morning after, Louis would wake up and walk out on campus to watch the sunrise, allowing Harry to take over the bed. It had been that way every single morning, and there had been zero difficulties. But then the morning came when Louis couldn't get up.

It was 5 AM, and Louis was quick to turn his alarm off, not wanting to wake Harry. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and let them adjust to being awake before sitting up. But he didn't sit up. His stomach made contact with a heap that sent him backwards onto the bed.

Louis gasped as he looked down to see an arm draped over his torso. Eyes widening, he poked Harry's arm in an attempt to make it move. Harry groaned and tightened his grip, still fast asleep, it was five in the morning. Louis jabbed the arm now, as he was growing uneasy. Harry's hand had found its way to his hip. The curly-haired boy reacted this time and opened his eyes. His arm moved in a flash as he saw the frown on Louis' face.

Silence.

At a certain point, silence gets painful. Whether it's twenty seconds or five minutes, it's uncomfortable. The two boys sat for ten minutes wishing the other would speak first. It shouldn't have been uncomfortable, they shared a bed, and it was bound to happen eventually, but Louis' heart was racing.

To Louis, sharing a bed with someone was innocent, but the second intimate touching is involved, it's something else. He had shared a bed with Zayn all the time at sleepovers, and Harry wasn't anything new. Waking up wrapped in his arms, however, that scared Louis.

As Louis was trying to calm down, Harry cautiously tapped his arm, letting him know that he wanted to talk. The smaller boy grimaced at his touch and didn't notice the way Harry's eyes had lost their glow.

"Lou?"

Louis' eyes began to water, which worried Harry deeply. He tapped him again and received a frustrated whisper in response, "Get off."

Harry let confusion take over his face as tears began to run down Louis' skin. He attempted to comfort the boy but was shoved away.

"I said, get off!"

The older boy nodded and ran into their bathroom, aching at the sobs coming from Louis' bed.

The difference between loving someone and liking them can be hard to spot.

When you like someone, you laugh at all of their jokes. When it's love, your face lights up even if the joke is terrible.

If it's a simple crush, your heart aches when they look nice. Love is when your eyes soften when they're a mess during a sad movie.

When you just like someone, you crave to share a bed with them, and your heart flutters for a moment when it happens.

When it's love, you still feel where their arm touched your body, something that fits so right, and you want them to come back to you.

Louis wasn't crying because they had shared a form of intimacy. He was crying because he liked it, and he wanted to do it again.