Burn [Larry Stylinson AU]

Chapter Fifteen

x; hi hello i've missed you all please don't be mad at me i am so sorry for the long wait. my haitus was sudden and unexpected and i never meant for it to be that long. this story is ongoing, and i can promise you this: i'll never ditch it or delete it, it will be completed in due time. again, so sorry thank you for reading and staying. i love you all so much, you have no idea. this is a drabble of sorts but i'm shit so. please excuse any mistakes or errors. vote, comment, fan – i don't care if you do all three or neither. all that matters is that you enjoy it!

                Louis didn't know how long he had been lying awake.

                All he knew was that he had watched the tent's ceiling color from a dreary, colorless gray to an limpid, aquarelle yellow, and that the tapping occurring in the fore of his head still hadn't disappeared. (Neither had the clamoring in his heart, but that was a different topic altogether.)

                His hands were still shaking, no matter how many fistfuls of sheets he gripped in vain attempt to make them stop. He was antsy and the can of beer condensing on his side of the air mattress was empty, the last of it sliding down the confines of his throat. He was in dire need of something.

                (That something happened to be a little plastic baggy jumbled up in a sock and tucked away in the deepest, furthest corner of Louis' closet.)

                It had been days since Louis' last fix and shit, he felt like his whole body was just swimming in need. No matter how far Louis would bury his nose in Harry's dingy, sleep-mussed hair or how close he pressed his face into the angel's solid chest, it didn't vanquish the dire need pulsing in his addled mind.

                He sighed and slowly, carefully, wriggled out of the arms curled around his waist. Louis didn't want to move, especially when part of him wouldn't mind slotting itself along the ridges in Harry's ribs and staying there forever, but the other half reasoned with him that he needed to get some sort of relief for his current predicament. He swung his legs over the mattress, only to turn and watch with baited breath as the angel curled in on himself from underneath the comforter thrown on the mattress. He only began to relax when the breaths slipping from the slumbering boy's parted lips regulated themselves once again.

                Louis needed something to take the edge off now. As he slipped his wellies over his bare feet and shoved a beanie over his hair, he thought about buying a pack of cigarettes from over at the village. It wasn't his first choice—usually a bottle of Smirnoff or a lad's night out did the trick, but since none of those things were readily available to him, it would have to do.

                He didn't like to smell like an ashtray and honestly, he found nothing remarkably enjoyable about smoking, but he had dabbled with it back when he and Zayn had shared a flat for a couple of months. Louis would crack a window and have a fag or two with the other boy, often wondering why some people affiliated the act as being coquettish and elegant when its pungent order daubed itself all over his window and layered itself over virtually everything. He wouldn't bring himself to complain, however, especially when he couldn't afford to make the trip to a shady alleyway or when no amount of layers on his body could stifle the cold seeping through the thin walls. He had smoked enough to take the edge off, but only allowed himself so much so that it didn't turn into a habit.

                The chill seeping through the tent walls now wasn't too bad, at least for early spring, but cool enough for Louis to allow himself a light jacket. He reached for his rucksack, checking for his wallet and ID, before maneuvering himself over to the tent's entry. There were polariods and pieces of paper written down with show times strewn all over the tent floor, so Louis was careful to watch his step. The large air mattress centered inside the tent didn't help with leg room either, but he had to admit it was far better than sleeping on the floor and waking up with a bad back. He briefly looked back at Harry, who looked incandescent underneath the pale shafts of light beaming through the mesh window embossed into the side of the tent, and wondered if he should write him a quick note about his absence or not. He shrugged, figuring he wouldn't take too long anyway, and zipped open the entry so he could pop out.