Work Text:
Louis feels Harry's eyes on him, his stare almost like physical weight. He's waiting for him to say something, since they’ve been in a confined space together for twenty minutes now, Louis puffing on a cigarette and blowing the smoke through the open car window. Harry would probably give him flack about it, him smoking, but he doesn’t think he’d answer. Come to think about it, he hasn't even said anything to any of them since they'd left the studio.
Louis' been a bit caught up in his head, is the thing. Being in studio with Julian and the lads will be the last thing they'll be doing as a boyband for a while and he doesn't know how to process it. He and Liam have made plans to meet up at Workshop Coffee in London for brunch next Tuesday, Niall will be in Yorkshire for the next month and they can just stay at his mum's when they're both there, and Harry. He and Harry aren't on good terms, so he doesn't even know what the younger lad'll be doing and that's new for the both of them, nagging him more than anything else.
Louis takes a long drag, then releases it.
He knows that the break isn't indefinite but everything just feels wrong and out of place, and he doesn't know how to ground himself.
He thinks about his family. While they're all free to go home to their loved ones at this point, Louis wants to go back to the hotel and maybe stay there for a few days to get himself together before he goes to his mum's or even worse, his own home. That's how he and Harry end up in the same car, actually, because everyone else is going to the airport or somewhere. Everyone has their shit together. Except Harry, apparently, but knowing him, he probably has a valid and sane reason for staying. And he might leave in the middle of the night.
Knowing him. Louis shudders. Does he know him anymore?
They've fought every day in the past week, to the point where Louis' actually been sleeping in the fourth room when they're at hotels. The problem is that they don't know what's causing them to be at each other's throats, and it's stressing everyone out. The both of them are too immature to deal with it like adults, and everyone has kind of left them to their own because they don't know what to do either.
He's starting to think that that's why he doesn't know what he's doing or why he's doing it, because Harry is usually there to help him make decisions and ground him. Be his anchor.
He's brought back to his surroundings by the sound of Harry coughing, wheezing a bit when he tries to catch his breath.
"Shit," Louis says, and quickly flicks the remainder of his cigarette through the window. Harry sits up then, brows furrowed.
"You didn't have to do that," Harry says hoarsely, his voice barely louder than the hum of the engine. He swallows, and suddenly the car is tense. "I was just choking."
Louis wishes he could laugh, but he can’t. Harry's eyes are wide and wet and it almost feels like all the light in the car is coming from them because of how bright they are and fuck, Louis wants to touch him. But he doesn't move, just glances at the space between them with a cringe.
After what feels like hours, Louis finally looks up again and says, "Yeah. I- I was done with it." which isn't exactly true, but he can't let Harry know. Louis' pretty sure that he does know, but if he does, he doesn't say anything.
The moment is over when Harry slumps back in his seat and slides his eyes shut. Louis brings his window up and does the same, sighing as he strictly doesn't think about how pretty Harry's eyes are.
~
The ride is over pretty quickly after that, and after they leave the car, Louis doesn't see Harry again. Not in the lobby, not in the lift, not in the hall on their floor as he enters his own room, and that's fine.
Except, it's not, and as Louis' emptying his pockets on the plain white bedside cabinet he feels an emptiness deep in his chest that he hasn't felt since before he'd kissed Harry for the first time.
It seems everything begins and ends with Harry.
Alpha and omega.
He sighs, unzipping and shrugging his hoodie onto the floor, the vest following suit. He runs his hands over his bare stomach, not even flinching when he starts pulling his nails over the skin. It doesn’t hurt, not as much as staying away from Harry does, and after he’s been doing it for a while he realises he’s not getting anything out of it and stops.
He recognises in an instant that he needs something more substantial, and crosses over to his carry on. He has just enough on him to get him stoned, and he knows he won’t get any more until he gets back to the America’s where weed is dirt cheap but he wants more than anything to stop thinking about work and promo and Harry so he pulls out the baggy and his lighter, finds the paper and sets to work.
~
Louis’ on the floor and he doesn’t remember how he got there, but he stopped questioning things hours ago.
What time is it? Have ‘hours’ even passed yet?
His mouth is paper dry but the fridge is so far. His phone is on the floor beside him, but who is he supposed to call? Everything in him is telling him to call Harry but he knows he doesn’t want to hear from him. He didn’t want to earlier and he definitely won’t want to now, at fuck knows in the morning.
Louis doesn’t realise what he’s doing until the phone’s in his hand and he’s swiping through his call log, but by the time he does, his inhibitions fly through the open balcony door.
Harry answers on the first ring, “Louis?”
Louis notes vaguely that his voice doesn’t have that rough edge it usually does when he’s been woken up and he’s curious.
“Hi,” Louis says, rolling over so he’s on his stomach. “Hi.”
“Are you drunk?” Harry asks, sounding bemused. Louis hears shuffling on his end.
“Definitely not. ‘m thirsty,” he trails off, licking his lips then smacking them together.
“You’re high.” Harry sighs. “Of course you are.”
Louis frowns like Harry can see him. “Wha’s’at supposed t’mean?”
Harry disregards the question, much to Louis perplexity. “Are you in your room?”
“What is that supposed to mean, Hazza?” Louis presses, and all he gets is more shuffling then the opening of a door. “Harry?”
After a moment, the line goes dead, and the light on the door lock goes green before the door opens. Harry is there, wrapped up in the duvet from his bed and probably not wearing clothes underneath it.
Louis drops his phone and watches him as he comes in, shutting the door behind him.
“How’d you-“
“How’d I get in?” Harry interrupts, standing over him. Louis nods, even though he knows he didn’t really need to. “Everyone gets a key to the fourth room.”
Harry hesitates a moment before he goes over to the balcony door and shuts it, then over to the fridge for three bottles of water. Only then does Louis notice that the room is actually a bit nippy, and when Harry comes back over and drops to the floor at the side of the bed, he crawls over and worms his way under the duvet with him.
“You’re naked.” Louis says, giggling when his hands find Harry’s stomach bare.
“That I am,” Harry says, lifting an arm and urging Louis to come closer. Louis sort of falls against him, allowing himself to be wrapped up in the white duvet and Harry.
He’s handed one of the bottles and he takes it gratefully, screwing the cap off and bringing it to his mouth. “How come you weren’t sleeping?” Louis asks, pulling the bottle away from his lips for a second.
Harry clicks his tongue. “Can’t sleep without you.”
“Hm,” Louis offers, downing the rest of the water and dropping the empty bottle beside him. “Remind me why you were trying?”
“You’re the one that left.” Harry says, pinching Louis’ arm.
“Because, Haz, it felt like you hated me.”
“I can’t hate you, you git.”
Louis lets that sink in, Harry’s attempted casualness and the real depth behind it.
As if Harry can sense where Louis’ mind is, he says, “We’re not gonna be able to have a conversation with you like this.”
And Louis’ offended, just a bit. “Oh really? Try me.”
Harry shifts, and but he doesn’t say anything. Louis doesn’t really expect him to.
But after a while, Harry takes a deep breath and says, “I hate that you don’t talk to me.”
Louis would be alarmed, under normal circumstances, but he’s still pretty out of it. Harry’s voice sounds sad. “But I’m talking to you now.”
Harry pinches him again, harder. “For as long as we’ve been together, communication has been our only issue.” Louis swallows, starting to feel the urge to run. He twitches and Harry holds him tighter. “You start feeling things and you lock yourself away and smoke or drink or both, and none of that is healthy, Louis.”
Louis wants to leave. “Smokin’ is so much easier than talkin’, though.”
“But which one shortens your life span?”
“Is this about me smoking or me not talking to you?”
“A bit of both. Both makes me want to strangle you.”
Louis starts to actually feel bad about it, even through the haze of his high. From he was younger, he’s been taught to either articulate or keep his mouth shut, which shouldn’t be hard, but he’s always been horrible at communicating his problems. So he always keeps his mouth shut. If he can’t respond in violence and cursing, he doesn’t at all.
“How many times have I told you I’ll get better?” Louis asks, shifting so he can look up at Harry’s face. Harry looks down at him, and he looks so tired.
“Too many,” Harry says. “But every time you do, you make just that bit more progress. That’s why I’m still here.”
Louis smiles. “That and my charm?”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry says, smiling back, dimples popping out. Louis stares into his eyes and he sees all the love he has for him, all the trust, and Louis definitely feels bad.
“I’m sorry,”
“I know.” Harry sighs, and when Louis leans up to kiss him, he lets him, parting his lips slightly and letting Louis breathe into his mouth. Louis knows Harry usually hates kissing him after he’s smoked, but he doesn’t seem bothered now, eyes closed and eyelashes resting prettily on his flushed cheeks.
Louis pulls back and presses chaste kisses along his chin and jaw. He pauses, “How come you didn’t go home?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?” Harry smiles and his voice has no edge to it. His eyes are still closed when he continues, “Wanted you to come with me.”
“Suppose I had plans?” Louis asks, kissing Harry on the lips once more before he resettles, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.
“Your family wouldn’t mind if you spent a day or two at mine,” Harry says, feeling around under the duvet and coming up with the other two bottles of water, handing one to Louis and keeping one for himself.
“I go other places than home, you know.” Louis says, accepting the bottle and uncapping it, drinking half the water in two big gulps.
“No you don’t,” Harry smirks, opening his own bottle and taking small sips from it.
Louis would protest, but he knows it’s virtually true. If he makes any plans outside of family, they’re hardly important and can be rescheduled easily. It is true, though, that the multitude wouldn’t really have a problem with him staying with Harry. In fact, they’d encourage it.
Louis finishes the second bottle and throws it in the direction of the dustbin, tucking himself closer to Harry. The high is wearing off now and he suddenly feels exhausted, his eyelids drooping. He lets them stay closed, his body slumping against Harry’s.
He’s not fully asleep when Harry gets up from beside him, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to complain because he’s being scooped up, duvet and all, and deposited carefully on the bed. He mumbles out his thanks and gets a short laugh in return, Harry’s big body curling behind him and holding him close again.
If Louis wakes up an hour later and climbs over Harry, throwing his thigh over his and spooning him, neither of them talk about it in the morning.