I'm fine, We're fine [boyxboy]

August

Hey y'all! This is my new story and I hope you like it! Let me know what you think and I'd like to give a special thanks to HunterMay18 for helping me edit this!

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The first time I hit Louis, it was an accident.

I didn't mean it when I struck him, no, sometimes he just makes me so upset. That first day at my apartment when he was visiting; the first time it happened. We had been together, if I remember right, two months. Most of the time the days ran together in a messy jumble, cluttering up my mind to the point I can't distinguish what's real and was isn't. I blamed the alcohol that permanently stained my lips for that. Louis though, he was real, I know that. And he had this special way of sliding his fingers under my skin just enough to send me over the edge.

Two Months Before

That first day started out nice. Louis version of nice, anyway. Dark clouds hung in the sky, pregnant with the rain that was to come and a damp, dirty smelling breeze picked up and carried fallen leaves and stray plastic bags this way and that. I hated this weather. The rain, the storms, the way puddles would have the soles of my shoes squeak squeaking every time I took a step. My hair fluffed up with with frizz when it was wet no matter what I did, but Louis, he loved it. He loved to touch it, run his fingers through it and snag the smallest knots he could find. I asked him to stop more than once but doesn't listen. Louis never listens. He just tells me to get my boxers out of my ass and smiles. The first time I laid eyes on him it was his smile that really grabbed my attention. It lit his entire face up and made those baby blue eyes sparkle. When he looked at me that day, that dazzling smile was infuriating.

Alcohol helps but Louis doesn't like it. Does he think I care what he thinks? This was my apartment, I paid for it and if I wanted to have bottles of rum and whiskey lying around, I could do that. Even now, there was a bottle of whiskey in the freezer, tipped up on its side. "Harry, you shouldn't drink so much, it isn't good for you!" Louis words haunted me. They got to me more than they should. Was it because I was aggravated? Or was it because somewhere deep down, I knew it was true?

"Shut up, Lou," I had shot back when he repeated himself, bringing the lowball glass to my lips. The liquid burned my throat all the way down and I could feel it, smoldering in the bottom of my stomach. On the rocks is how I would have made it if I had the damned mold for the cubed ice. Again, he had only smiled. "Why do you want to go out today, Louis? Look at the sky. Did you even check the weather before deciding you wanted to go on a picnic?" I watched him shrug and twirl his keys around on one finger. The tinkling and jingling were maddening.

"Well, no, I didn't but... It's cloudy out, I thought we could have a picnic. You hate it when it's hot because you don't like the way the humidity makes your cheeks shiny. A cloudy day seemed perfect for a picnic."

Louis was still smiling at me. I watched him from my perch against the sofa, the glass held tight between my fingers. He was right. I did hate the warm weather. Spring, especially summer. If it ever got above sixty-five I was miserable, hot and usually tucked into my apartment, whose temperature I kept cold enough to store cuts of beef in.

With him, he had brought a basket like the ones I had seen on the television. It was wooden, wicker maybe, but it opened on top of each side and had the two handles crossing above it. The basket was woven in a criss-cross patterns and had what looked like a cloth or blanket of some sort coming out in two neatly folded triangles on both sides. It did  look like one of the picnic baskets Yogi Bear would have stolen. I could only guess what he had inside: sandwiches, Tupperware full of berries and sliced bananas, some waters. I'm sure he had a large thermos in there too and i'm sure it was full of sweet-tea. Louis had a sweet tooth and every time we went somewhere, he had that thermos. Once I had told him all of that liquid sugar was going to make him pudgy and he needed to slow down. Louis didn't give me much of a response but he hadn't drunk from it again while we were together.