All Too Well (a Larry Stylinson Oneshot)

But now he sat with his knees curled to his chest, nestled into the corner of the floor of his small closet. His fingers slipped through and wound tightly into his fist the multicolored fabric, pulled it to his face in an unconscious need to feel the closeness he longed for. He’d turned off the TV long ago but the celebrity gossip news shows and their laughing, their joking, still ran through his mind like whispers in his ear.

Long curls of hair fell in front of his face, and with his left wrist he nudged them back. But his head was bowed and the hair just flopped in front of his eyes again. He closed them, resting his forehead on the fabric and on his knees. Somehow the weathered fabric still smelled of cologne.

It almost, almost, felt like Louis still loved him.