Harry placed a finger under Louis' chin, lifting his face to meet his own. He leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to the Doncaster boy's lips. Louis, shocked, raised a trembling hand to Harry's soft mop of curls. He felt Harry began to unbutton his tan chinos, and slide a warm hand into his waistband, wrapping his long fingers around Louis'-
Louis shot up in his bed. This was the fourth night in a row he had the exact same dream. The rain tapped against the large window that was covering most of one wall. The droplets stuck to the glass, fitting together, forming a simple yet intricate mosaic. Thin, almost ghostly, white curtains hung on either side, framing the darkened world outside. A small, LED, "4:42 AM," illuminated the opposite corner of the room. Louis ran a hand through his messy fringe. His eyes were heavy as they stared off into the distance through the window. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and stood up from his bed. His careful footsteps sank into the carpet as he passed into the kitchen. He filled the stainless steel kettle halfway full with water, and set it on the lit stove-top, careful not to wake the cheshire lad sleeping upstairs.
"What are you doing up so late?"
Louis spun around, his palms now damp and cold.
"Oh, uh, just- making some tea, you know?" Louis stammered, his shaking hands fumbling with his tea bag.
"What are you doing up so late, Harry?" he continued.
"Couldn't sleep," he coldly replied, his eyes wandering to the misty, rainy scene outside. There was a difference in him, he seemed...quiet, lost almost, but with a certain beauty about him. He was sat against the living room window, a bit bigger than the one in Louis' room, huddled in a mess of blankets and regret. The kettle whistled from behind Louis, making him flinch a little, something Harry normally would have giggled at. However, now, no such heartwarming noise escaped the boys throat.
Louis poured the boiling water into a ceramic, cream-colored mug. The small bag of various leaves, herbs, and flower buds exploded with color, the wisps of rich pinks and reds bleeding into the water. Harry remained silent. Louis grabbed a chocolate brown cashmere blanket of the back of the couch.
Chocolate brown.
The color of Harry's hair in the dream Louis had just minutes ago.
He shook the thought from his mind, and sat down, taking his place next to his best friend.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Louis spoke, in a whisper so weak, it was like he was afraid of the answer.
No response.
"Harry?" he repeated, becoming increasingly worried. A long, smoky sigh rose up from him.
"Have you ever, just, watched the people, Lou?" Harry asked, his eyes darting from side to side, scanning up and down the wet street.
"Well, yeah, but-"
"No. I mean really watched them. Busy men in grey suits, and single mothers staring daggers at the back of their kids heads when they turn around. People getting jumped, car accidents, angry citizens kicking over trash cans. So many people, everyone with their own friends and their own lives, not giving a fuck about anyone else," he continued, his voice shaking a little more with each word.
Louis sat still, bathing in each syllable Harry produced separately, until they soaked up into his pores, and pulsed through the web of veins beneath his skin, alongside his blood. Harry broke away from the streets view, just to lock onto Louis' cerulean iris'. He heard Harry say something, but was too caught up in his lips to listen. Like two pink rose petals, bending and flexing a little with every word, they kept moving, making sounds that Louis should be listening to and caring about.
"Louis?" he heard them say, and snapped out of his trance.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"You're not really one to ignore someone in need, what's going on with you, Lou?" Louis' palms began to sweat again. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He sat there, gaping open like a fish out of water, which was pretty close to how he felt.
Out of place.
The phone rang behind them. Louis took the opportunity that presented itself, and stood up, bounding across the flat, and over to the phone.
"Hello?" he spoke.
"Louis lad, morning, how are ya?"
Niall.
"Oh, I'm alright, and you?" Louis responded.
"Pretty good, we have the interview today, don't forget," he chimed through the phone.
Right. The interview.
"Of course, how could I forget?" Louis lied. He felt sweat bead up and roll down the back of his neck. He was uncomfortable, and he didn't like it.
"Well, I'm off to get ready then. Go wake up Harry, and make sure he does his hair this time! " Niall laughed, and hung up. Louis took a deep breath, and set down the phone. The imprint of sweat his hand made slowly faded as he walked over to Harry.
"You going to the interview today, Haz?"
"Yea, I guess. Put on a happy face for the world, right?" he snapped, speaking probably a little more harshly than he meant to. He stood up, and walked right past Louis, up the stairs to his room, leaving the still-warm blankets in a small pile on the ground. Without warning, Louis' eyes began to sting. His knees hit the ground, tears spilling over the brims of his eyes, and in that moment, the cold, forgotten cup of tea on the counter was the only thing that could feel as alone as Louis did right then.
A/N: What do you think? Should I continue it? 3