Playlist:
One - Ed Sheeran (his songs always fit so well in fanfics)
The Last Time - Taylor Swift ft Gary Lightbody (this is so sad)
~*~
Louis is drunk, again. Mostly drunk, but he probably have smoked some kind of drug that made him a bit funny and having some kind of hallucinations but he can't quite remember. So he might be only drunk. Pissed, drunk.
Since that night he went with his friends to that bar and let Harry waiting all night for him that he lost himself. He lost control over everything. It's not—like, it's normal in his age, he thinks. It's definitely the age, he is growing up, he's sixteen, he's trying new things, he is just changing. In such a way that he can't believe it's already May, the school year is nearly ending and this was such a shitty year. I mean, here he is. Drunk. Almost failing the year. Losing himself in such a repugnant way that if a ten years old Louis would see this sixteen one, he would cry. Or shout at him. But probably cry, because how? How did he get here?
And where is Harry between all of this? Well that's the question Louis haven't been asking himself lately. He doesn't know. The worst thing might be that they talk, once in a while and when Louis apologised to Harry about that night, that night, Harry said It's okay, It's fine and smiled. He smiled and Louis didn't hear him screaming on the inside.
That started to become a habit so. Louis began to talk less and less to Harry but apologising every time, he apologised the times he had to leave Harry after what? Fifteen minutes of talking. He apologised for the times he couldn't managed to go meet him, he apologised for everything really. Once, even for breathing. But it's okay. It was okay for Harry, Louis thought, because the green eyed boy — is it really green the colour of his eyes? — always said so.
It's okay. It's fine.
So Louis thinks he never lost contact with Harry. Of course you hadn't Louis, of course you hadn't...
His mother noticed it. Maybe not the whole thing about Louis' nights with his friends and his girlfriend. But she knew something was wrong, especially when Louis came back home, smelling like cigarette after coming from Harry's. Yeah, he'd go to Harry, of course. And it wasn't hard for her to suspect because it's been almost three months that Harry hadn't come over. She only sees him walking in and out from his house and that's all. That's not enough.
So let's go back to the beginning.
Louis is drunk. Mostly drunk, but he probably have smoked some kind of drug that made him a bit funny and having some kind of hallucinations but he can't quite remember. So he might be only drunk. Pissed, drunk.
Pissed drunk in front of Harry's house.
He is just looking around. Looking at that big house. He probably thinks it's his house but then "Harry!" he calls out. Not loud enough, although for him it sounds like an orchestra is playing near his ears. "Harrrry!" he's smiling. He probably doesn't realise it but he is. He is smiling with sad eyes.
How did he get here anyway? The last thing he remembers is being kissed roughly and Mickey — was it Mickey? — putting him in a car.
He finally moves, stumbling and making his best to climb the small stairs — they never looked this big and he can't find something to support himself.
He needs help.
There's no one to help him.
He knocks at the door — not hardly, he doesn't have strength for it — maybe asking for that help he needs. The help he wants but doesn't admit.
