Larry Stylinson One Shots

Satellite

Summary: Louis has insomnia and Harry brings him back to bed.

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Groaning, Louis rolls over in bed, squinting through the darkness at his clock. The deep red, blocky letters glare back at him.

1:32 am.

He sighs, his head flopping back onto his pillow, strands of hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. Moodily, he lets out a harsh puff to clear the hair from his face.

It's impossible for him to fall asleep. He'll be staring at the pitch black darkness above him for hours until he deems it an appropriate time to get up. Insomnia can really suck.

Louis rolls back over in his bed, the comforters bunching up around his waist as he scoots slightly closer to the sleeping mass beside him.

Harry. His favorite person in the world. Fast asleep on his back, one of his arms is bent above his head, biceps bulging. Harry must have shed his sleeping shirt without Louis noticing. The other arm is splayed out on the pillow next to him, laying forgotten as it's no longer wrapped around Louis. His breaths are slow and deep, lips slightly parted as his chest rises and falls methodically.

Louis' eyes scan his sleeping form, surprised to see the blankets only covering one of his legs. He must have lost his half to Louis in the night.

Grinning sheepishly, Lou feels bad that he stole them, although he's fully aware that Harry could've taken them back if he wanted. This makes him smile more, knowing that Harry was willing to lose his precious warmth to keep Louis comfortable.

Carefully as to not wake him, Louis lays his head down on the pillow beside Harry.

For a few minutes, he admires Harry. How his mouth moves slightly, as if having a conversation but not being able to form the words. A small grin spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling as his mouth opens slightly wider than before in delight.

"Baby."

It's the only word Harry pronounces clearly in his sleep, the smile growing wider.

A grin splits Louis' face as he sees the joy the mere thought of him brings to Harry's unconscious mind.

Baby.

Louis loves that nickname, almost as much as Harry loves being able to call him it. Four simple letters that rip the air from Louis' lungs and the thoughts from his mind every time it's murmured.

Because it was always murmured. It was never sneered or spat from Harry's mouth. Neither can imagine using such an endearing word as a weapon. Even the idea of Harry yelling at his boyfriend makes them both sick to their stomach.

A movement pulls Louis out of his thoughts as the hand that was above Harry's head moves to his chest, laying palm open above his rib cage, rubbing up and down slowly. His lips still danced with indecipherable conversation before he let out a rough huff and rolled on his side, his back facing his frowning boyfriend.

Sighing, Louis lays back, closing his eyes in an attempt to fight the unrelenting demons constantly keeping his thoughts whirring.

He couldn't do it any longer.

2:03 am.

Sitting up, Louis swings his legs off the edge of the bed, rubbing the nonexistent sleep from his eyes. Stretching, he stands and pads out of the room in his sock covered feet.

In the kitchen, he flicks on the light, blinded by the brightness against his unadjusted eyes. After a moment, he continues across the room and opens the fridge door. He knows he has about 90 seconds between the time he opens the door and the time the fridge starts beeping with a reminder that the door is open. It's not his first late night snacking excursion.