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

Chapter 11

**

“Roadtrip family photo! Louis get out here!” Niall calls from outside.   

They’ve just finished packing the van, and it’s six in the morning, and Louis has never consecutively been up so early in his life. It’s cruel. Niall and Liam are cruel, Zayn is cruel for going along with it, and Harry is cruel for not taking Louis’ side when Louis protested against leaving so early and having that thing about him that Louis can’t seem to say no to. Harry is the worst one, Louis has decided.  

Louis wraps his scarf around his neck and steps outside, locking the door behind him. “Alright, jeez. I’m coming.”  

Niall makes them all take a photo in front of the van, setting a timer and rushing to fit into it, an arm around Liam’s shoulder, the other around Zayn’s waist. Louis looks at Harry quickly, standing next to him with a hand resting on his lower back, because everything has been so rushed this morning he hasn’t had a proper chance to ask if he’s okay. The camera snaps, and he doesn’t think he looked away.   

Niall and Zayn sit in the front of the van, because Niall wanted control of the stereo. The sky slowly paints itself a lighter shade of blue, and both Liam and Harry fall back asleep on each of Louis' shoulders almost straight away. It's sort of endearing, sleeping during car rides isn't usually a thing for Louis though, nevermind how tired he feels.  

Louis spends the ride staring out the window at the blur of green and blue, and occasionally joining in on Zayn and Niall's conversations. Harry wakes hours later when they're driving through a small township, and he just about jumps when he notices his position on Louis' shoulder.  

"Shit, sorry." Harry says, leaning back in his seat.  

"It's okay," Louis replies, smiling. "Welcome back, sleepy head." 

They pass streets off pastel coloured beach houses with mosaic artwork and surfboards leaning against the walls. The town is a lot quieter than usual though, according to a barely awake Liam, it's because of the season. Zayn seems impressed with that, going into a spiel about how excited children just add to the list of things he hates about summer. 

They pull up to a house at the end of a long street, gravel crunching under the tyres. It isn't a big house, but it's charming in a strange way, like Louis can tell how they could see it as a home, the memories might as well have been engraved into the wood. It's a faded verdigris colour, with wooden screen doors and the sandy shore right off the back yard. But it doesn’t lead straight onto the ocean, there’s an estuary cutting through the sand and a road that winds and curves around it further down to the surf beach.  

There’s already a car in the driveway, and Liam says the car stays here all year round. There’s a pile of shoes at the door, which Louis assumes belong to Niall and Liam from years ago. The yellow wooden door is chipped, with stained glass windows, sand still left at the doorstep and a welcome sign next to the door on a piece of driftwood. 

"This is the beachiest beach house I have ever seen.” Louis says when they go inside, and the interior is even less surprising. Wooden walls covered in photo frames, more pieces of driftwood and shells and a fishing pole leaning against a wall, a big worn brown couch in the middle of the room facing a small TV with a crooked antenna.  

"Because you guys are technically guests, I'll take the couch," Liam says dumping his bag on the ground in the living room.  

Niall pulls Zayn along by the hand, rattling on about the view from one of the rooms and disappearing down the hallway.  

“Guess you’re with me,” Harry says, nodding towards the other room.  

Louis smiles delightedly at him and follows him. "Was this your room when you stayed here?"