In From The Cold

Saturday 3/3

Saturday, continued - again

Harry sleeps through until evening, when he awakens to a growling stomach and the sound of intense quiet. The clock says it’s just after four, and when he gets out of bed he feels a little dizzy. He sits up carefully, and when it settles, he notices the pain he’d woken up with is dulled, but his head is still foggy. He doesn’t know how to uncloud it, but perhaps a full stomach might help.

He creeps out of the apartment and into the inn. Toast, he thinks. Tea and toast. That should make everything perfect. Maybe Zayn wants some apology tea too.

When he pokes his head into reception, he sees Jade at the desk, which means Zayn must be upstairs. Harry begins to wander up through the house, but he pauses when he sees the door to Louis’ room open.

The light from it spills out into the hall, and he finds Louis curled in a ball at his desk, curved over it as he taps away at his laptop. His knees are hugged up to his chest, and the quilt has been pulled from the bed and draped over him up to the neck. His arms poke awkwardly out the side, and he looks for all the world like someone who would benefit from one of those sleeve-blankets.

Harry knocks lightly on the doorframe, and when Louis looks up, his face breaks into a smile.

“How are you doing?” Louis asks, and Harry shrugs.

“I’ve been better,” he replies. He notices Louis is wearing his glasses again. It makes him look beautiful. “Working on the review?”

“The article,” Louis corrects, with a shrug. “There’s a lot to say about this place.”

Harry just looks at him a moment, wondering what someone like Louis could possibly have to say about a town like Ennis. It’s tiny by global standards, no major attractions, just old bricks and winding streets and green fields. It’s his though, and he feels protective all of a sudden. Protective, and confused, and so damn tired.

“Why are you staying?” Harry asks quietly, and Louis tilts his head a little in that way he does.

“To finish the article.”

“No, but-” Harry lets out a breath. “You don’t stay places, Lou. You said.”

“I’m not moving here, Harry,” Louis says with a shrug that dislodges the quilt, “It’s just a couple of extra days. I’m leaving Thursday.”

Harry looks down at his feet. Thursday. That’s barely any extra then. God, and he’d thought…

 “Right. So it’s not…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m asking, sorry,” Harry mutters. It’s impossible to get a clear thought in his head right now. This was a mistake, he needs to go back to bed.  But then-

“It’s maybe something else,” Louis admits into the gap between them. “I don’t mean, I’m not- I guess I just want to see?”

“To see?”

“If maybe what I’m-” Louis starts, falters again, like it’s hard to admit. “I’m just looking for something, Haz.”

Louis is staring at him in earnest, like maybe Harry can understand, can help, and Harry doesn’t know what to do with that. His attempts to help had so far gotten Zayn angry at him, Niall hurt, and earned him a punch to the face. And he’s tired, he’s tired of trying and failing, failing himself and failing his friends.

“Don’t do this to me, Louis,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes closed. “Don’t make me your therapist, or your hero, or whatever.”

“I’m not-”