Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

seven

The week flies by quickly. Not much changes, other than the fact that they fall asleep on the couch together more often.

Rather than waking up early in the morning, cramped together on the couch, Harry and Louis make a habit of catching themselves before falling deeply into slumber, and stumble to their respective bedrooms at one or two in the morning. They don't talk much, and they never see each other during the day, but at night they always sit close together on the couch until they both fall asleep. It isn't intentional. At first, at least.

Louis has never done anything like this before. In fact, he's never been so subdued. But it seems that rooming with Harry has turned him into someone who never goes out anymore and always falls asleep on the couch as early as nine o'clock. He doesn't mind it though. The dark purple circles beneath his eyes have been lightening up back to his normal skin tone and he looks a lot less tired now, after just a week of consistent sleep.

They don't talk about their new sleeping habits either, just like they don't talk about Harry's bruises or Louis' reputation. When Louis wakes up Harry is already gone and they don't see each other again until dinner or later. Harry is still exceedingly shy and reserved but Louis doesn't try to push him out of his shell. He enjoys their evening routine too much to try to upset it. For once the world is in balance and he's frightened of anything that might send it spinning off kilter.

There is only one more incident that leaves a bad feeling in his gut. It occurs on Thursday night, three days after Louis cried into Harry's jumper about the entire population upper Manhattan thinking Louis is a slut who will do anything. Louis is already asleep and in his own bed, curled up around his spare pillow in place of a human body he has become so accustomed to sleeping next to over the years of constantly having a boyfriend, when it happens.

He's jostled awake by a strange sound he can't quite place. At first he thinks it was the heat coming in through the air vents or maybe even a neighbor causing a ruckus. But then he hears it again, a strange sound that vaguely represents a scream. It's enough to make goosebumps rise on his skin, a chill running up his spine.

Lying in bed for a moment longer, trying to discern the sound, he finally figures out what it is. Or at least where it's coming from.

Harry's room, of course.

In a deep midnight haze, Louis vaguely thinks a murderer might've broken into their flat and is now massacring Harry with a machete or something equally as brutal. As a last-second decision he grabs his old baseball bat from his closet and slowly creeps out into the hallway, ready to pummel any stranger he may see on the way to Harry's room. It would be funny if it wasn't so scary.

When he gets to Harry's room, just a few yards down the hall, he sees the door is slightly open. More proof that there's a murderer in their apartment, since Harry never leaves the door open. He doesn't have time to think much of the door, though, because he's much more concerned by the strangled screaming sound coming from inside. Tentatively, Louis pushes the door with the bat until it's wide enough for him to slide inside.

He's expecting a shadowy figure standing over Harry's bed with a big knife raised above his head, glistening with blood. He's also expecting to die. Louis raises the bat, ready to defend himself, and Harry too if it isn't too late to save him.

What he isn't expecting is the only person in the room to be Harry. He also isn't expecting for Harry to be thrashing around on his bed, tangled up in his sheets. Screaming, crying, and whimpering. No murderer or Grim Reaper. Just, alone.

"Oh," Louis breathes, lowering the bat. His eyes are wide and trying to focus in the darkness. He feels around the wall for a while but can't find the light switch so instead he gives up and approaches the bed, all of his movements covered by the veil of darkness. "Harry?"