Lets Cross The Lines We Lost {L.S} (Not My Work)

Chapter 7

Louis blinks awake to the sky purpling, coated in darkened clouds, wind whistling and throwing leaves out into the sky. Oh, and not to mention, a roaring headache.

Through dry, groggy eyes he notes the light drips of rain start to hit the window. Yeah. Not good weather today. Makes sense with the storm last night ––

Wait. Since when did he have mustard coloured curtains?

He blinks again.

And three things hit him in quick succession:

1. He’s not in his own bed.

2.There’s definitely a body next to him.

3.He’s still fully clothed. Which. That’s a good sign, right?

Still. His heartbeat speeds up rapidly, eyes snapping open, glancing down to double-check that he is actually clothed, and slowly, very slowly, he pushes himself to turn around, wincing from the burn in his head. He turns to face the direction of the snoring body next to him, the source of the body heat, and ––

Oh, thank fuck.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been more relieved in his life.

It’s just Liam.

Thank fucking god.

The side of Liam’s face is pressed into fluffy white pillows, his gravity defying hair has deflated profusely, emitting slow, deep breaths out of his slightly ajar mouth. He looks so… young, and vulnerable in a way. Louis’ chest expands a little.

He lets his body slump back against the bed, sighing as his heart slows. He’s not exactly sure why he’s there, it’s not like it’s particularly difficult to make it back to his own place, but okay, crashing with Liam isn’t the worst thing that could have happened. God, what even happened last night? How did he end up here?

He presses his eyes closed against the weak morning light, trying to think or – or recall something. He definitely remembers Liam last night; the poor boy was a mess, an absolute mess (Louis reminds himself to talk to him about that when he wakes up.) He remembers Zayn and Niall, the pair glued to each other the whole night, wherever Niall was, Zayn was never far behind and vice versa, and Louis was sitting on the counter next to the fridge with a beer bottle in his hands, and Niall and Zayn were throwing peanuts into his mouth. He remembers feeling weird and dazed and floating through the rest of the night, floating to Harry’s room.

And –

Oh.

Oh god. Fuck.

Harry kissed him. Did Harry actually kiss him? Yes. He did. And – and Louis kissed him back. Oh no. Not to mention Harry was crying. He was crying. God, why on earth was he crying??

Dread seeps cold into his bones.

It just – it solidified everything that he knew would happen. When things get like that – when they get good and comfortable, it doesn’t last, it never does, everything always goes to shit. Time and time again Louis has heard people make promises, and there’s a natural instinct to run the other way, to switch off and disappear. And it petrifies him because – well. Because he almost doesn’t want to run from Harry. He isn’t sure he even could.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Harry kissed him.

He finds it slightly ridiculous that he’s panicking about this after everything they’ve been doing. But it’s different. Kissing comes with certain… expectations, and it was different. Yes, Harry was drunk. And fuck he was emotional –– Louis hasn’t even begun to try and decipher what his words meant –– but he kissed him, and it was purposeful, and it meant something, and – oh Jesus.