Fine line (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 14

I had been standing outside of the cafè for what felt like hours.

In reality it had probably been only five minutes, but you get the point.

I wanted to go In, I did, but my body felt paralyzed. I felt stuck in place, in time even. I'd made it this far, and I knew at some point I would enter, but still - I was terrified.

Once more, I was terrified.

Of what? Well hell if I knew.

If spoken to him once, I could do it again, right? Plus, here, with a public audience I doubt it result as the last conversation did.

Still, there was a pit in my stomach, a void I couldn't name or fill.

I took a breath in, but it hitched as my eyes caught a glimpse through the window of the cafe.

My iris's caught on a head of brunette hair and ice blue eyes, and I felt the void widen, shudder almost.

He wasn't looking at me but staring off into the distance as if in deep thought. Still, I doubted he hadn't caught me standing there like some lunatic.

I felt my face flush, and I shoved my hands into my pocket.

Well, I had to go in now.

I took a heavy step foreword, and although I could feel my own body pulling me back, I pushed ahead.

As I trudged through the door, I heard a familiar bell ring above me, then felt Louis's eyes dart toward me in almost impossible speed.

Damn that bell.

Though I could feel his gaze, it took everything in me not to meet it, for i knew if I did, I'd turn right back around and bolt.

So instead, I kept my eyes on the ground, and even as I went to take my seat, I didn't raise them.

I felt myself lower into my chair and went to run a hand through my -

"Ah, fuck."

So much for not looking up.

There was a sharp clash as the salt shaker fell to the ground, knocked over by my elbow. I could feel the eyes of the other diners, and my face flushed rapidly.

I heard a soft chuckle across from me, and then a word.

"Hi."

Finally, I looked up, and a swarm of emotions ran through me.

Before answering, I studied him, quickly, but fully. His eyes were surrounded in dark blue and purple half moons, and his hair looked greasy and unwashed. He wore a solemn, apologetic smile, and I cursed the butterflies in my stomach that rise at the sight of it.

He looked awful, distressed, exhausted even. And yet somehow, he still managed to look beautiful.

God how did he do that? And how the hell did it still affect me?

"Hi."

I willed my voice to sound angry, unimpressed even, but it was impossible.

"Well, you look like shit, styles."

His voice carried a sarcastic yet soulful tone, and it was all I could do to force myself not to crack a smile.

"Well, y'know," I spoke unevenly. "Rough night."

This struck something in Louis, and his smile faded, as he looked town at his cup of tea and began to stir it distractingly.

I felt a pain of guilt at my words, but I pushed it away. After all it was a rough night, wasn't it?