chapter one

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It's seven am on the first day of second year, and Louis has not slept yet. Instead, he's counted every single dent on the ceiling. Twice.

Perhaps accepting his best mate's celebratory 'cheers to second year!' concoction of a coffee at two a.m. hadn't been his brightest decision. Or, lobbing himself down onto the sofa and being too lazy to lug himself up to bed was. Nonetheless, Louis'd penned a list of things that might go wrong on his first day and 'crippling restlessness' wasn't on it.

Louis rolls onto his side. He doesn't even attempt to close his eyes again. The armrest continues to pinch places in his neck he didn't even know he had. It's obvious that needs as much sleep as possible, as he's got a class to attend at nine and people to engage with until finals, but the caffeine pulsing through his veins leads to anxiety, and anxiety leads to restlessness, and then restlessness, well. Restlessness leads to counting every single dent and scratch on the ceiling twice.

He stares longingly at the wall, then the boxy television set, then the gaming console and twelve-hundred versions of FIFA, until he thinks he hears the sound of a door opening upstairs.

Louis props his weight up onto his elbows right as a body comes barreling through the doorway.

"Why, hello—" Louis starts, but he's interrupted by a loud crash and a string of mangled profanities. He hadn't penned that either.

"New year and new legs?" Louis calls out to the flat in general, and he almost gets up to check if the boy's all right, but his limbs can't disagree more. So he sits, and waits, seeing nothing but shadowy blobs and hearing everything but actual words.

Then the boy gets up from the floor.

"Fuck, who put—since when was there a table there?" Zayn's stumbling terribly on what seems to be an injured right foot, and Louis can't help but smile a little. It's as if all his morning agitations, mixed with the new pain blooming in his neck, have faded away just for the moment being.

Louis sighs, saying, "I don't think it's ever moved," and even in the midst of his groggy haze, Louis can still make out the crisp outline of Zayn's body. From his styled black quiff to the sharp angles of his shoulders, Louis' eyes trail over his profile as he finally steadies himself against the wall. Louis scoffs. "Six out of ten for your entrance, though."

He meets Zayn's gaze right as the boy cocks an eyebrow. His eyes are glowing. "Only six?" Zayn grits.

Louis lets his torso fall back on the sofa. By the time Louis opens his eyes again, Zayn has already clicked on a few lights and is settled in the kitchen. He's peering bewilderedly at the array of mugs they surely have too many of, and in the spirit of helping his best mate make the most important decision of the day, Louis gathers enough willpower to scramble to his feet.

"The batman mug, obviously," Louis says conversationally, strolling up beside him. He hops up onto the counter and sighs, loudly, "Gotta love a fine Monday morning."

Zayn swipes the black mug. "First day of music theory with Stratner!" He exclaims, mock-excited and giving his arm a good uplifting swing, but Louis knows he's an absolute sucker for music, always has been. They were little dependent bundles of joy lolling around the primary school yard and Zayn was already bopping to the nursery rhymes their teacher used to play.

"Sounds like fun," Louis rubs his eyes, maybe now the sleep has finally washed away, and tugs on a loose string off his joggers. He tries not to focus on the way his feet hang like a ten year old, rather, he centers what's left of his early-morning mental capacity on holding up this conversation, "And as for me, thank you for asking—"

A Piece of His Heart / larry uni AUWhere stories live. Discover now