Chelsea boots and cigarettes

11

It was one of those days again where Harry just felt that weird deep feeling of being alone even though he knew he wasn't. He came home from a long day at uni, where he didn't understand a single word. He wasn't motivated to do anything, which was why he had spent the rest of the day watching movies and swiping through his phone, cuddled into his pillows. It was just like that sometimes.

The worst wasn't even the numb feeling, or that he felt like he wasn't enough, but the struggle he had falling asleep because of it. He laid awake for hours now, overthinking, asking himself the question of what he must have been doing wrong that he was still alone.

Even Louis had someone, Liam, Niall and Zayn probably too. Harry put on some lofi music and turned the volume down to the minimum, just like he always did to distract his mind from overthinking.

Another hour of rolling from side to side and cursing his pillow for not being comfortable enough or his blanket for getting in the way when he rolled onto his stomach later.

He got up and headed to the kitchen. Barefoot. He twatted over the cold floor, and looked through the fridge once he reached the kitchen. Nothing interesting, he yawned. He couldn't sleep anymore anyways so he poured himself some cold orange juice and made some pancakes (yes, in the middle of the night) It was about four a.m. when he was done eating and chose to practice some songs on the piano.

Which turned out to be a bad idea because it made him even more mad because he always failed a specific part, like always. Suddenly his phone rang muffled from the sheets, Harry got up, wondering who that could be since it was only four or five am. He picked up without looking at the name. "You're doing it wrong." A voice said and Harry could literally see Louis blow a big cloud of smoke out of his mouth.

He rolled his eyes ignoring the skip his heart took as he saw Louis through the window. "Oh, and you can do it better or what?" No answer, only a while of silence and then he started playing, knowing exactly that Harry could hear him through the wall. He played the whole song as if it was the easiest thing he had ever done. "You know what, Curly? I will come over and teach you."

"What why? No, it's in the middle of the night."

"Yes, but it drives me crazy when you always mess up my favourite part." With that said he hung up, a few seconds later this door fell shut with a loud creak and Harry watched him make his way to his front door. Louis walked in as if it was his own home. Only in some pyjamas and slippers, he slurped right into the kitchen. "Pancakes?" He asked. Harry just shrugged.

"I was bored and couldn't sleep, so. You want some?"

"Please, I'm starving." The man begged following Harry with his eyes. "Did you take lessons?" Harry asked curiously getting on his tiptoes to get a plate out of the cabinet. "Yes since I'm like four." Okay, this explained a lot. "But I stopped last year."

"Why? You're talented."

Louis shrugged "Uni, and it's kinda expensive."

"Hey, uhm, can I ask you something?" He added, his voice sounded different. "Uh, sure."

"So, uhm I -, maybe I, uh." Louis paused. Harry handed him the plate with a stack of pancakes. "Nevermind, thanks." He smiled so wide his eyes crinkled at the sides, like a child that was allowed to eat a second dessert.

-

"Try using a different chord," Louis mumbled, chewing on his pancake and gestured with the fork. Harry tried and it sounded horrible. In general, everything Louis told him to change sounded horrible, it was like the piano hated him. "Ugh, no. It doesn't work, I should stop. But thanks for trying."