Fine line (Larry Stylinson)

Louis

his brain was on fire. temples crackling at the end, nerves sparking with animosity. his hands shook with what he couldn't tell was fear or longing.

Louis could feel his organs churning, his insides doing backflips.

He could feel the imprint of the other mans skin on his fingertips and the sweet scent of his lips on his own.

He felt - what was it? Longing? Aching? Needing? - well, he felt something within him. Something big. Something unchanging.

It was a feeling he was far too familiar with, a feeling Louis feared he'd never shake.

It was something only he could do to him. Only he could ignite within Louis.

A tear shed in to his cheek but Louis sat still, his palms laying, grasping, on each side of him.

He was still.

He was stuck.

The venom churning in his body was slick like honey and jagged at the edges. The sweetness that Harry has released in him was laced with daggers and tainted with malice. He hated it.

He loved it.

He lived for it.

And in the out of his stomach he knew he'd done wrong.

Every fiber if his being begged him to run, to collapse into the arms he'd so quickly forced away, charges to leave.

Louis felt so much and so little at once, gasping for air on the inside and strangling his thoughts on the outside. He wanted to squeeze and squeeze until the breath he craved was not the breath of the man he had forced away. He felt open and closed, his heart beating at the pace of someone who had never really lived.

More tears welled, and a sob escaped his throat as he finally moved, bones as fragile as porcelain, grasping at his face as if it had never been his own, as if he believed he could pull at the mask along the edges, rip away the years of pretend and create another that could be seen, heard.

Electric waves moved through his body, screaming at him, begging him.

Go.

Go to him.

He screamed, a scream that didn't belong to him.

It belonged to the time wasted, the time spent pretending. It belonged to the mark he wore so begrudgingly, the face he claimed to be his own.

He felt helpless.
Lost.
Incapable of change.

Louis knew, in that moment that nothing could save him at the same time he knew that only a touch from him could solve it all.

He hated it.

He loved it.

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Hello my lovelies!!!!

I am soooo sorry it's been so long, but I wanted to give y'all the best writing I could, and the past few months have been so fucking hard . I know this chapter is short, but I wanted to give you a glimpse into Louis's mind.

I hope you enjoy.

Let me know what you think is going to happen next!