Love Me Please (Larry Stylinson)

4

The night ends as it always does, with Louis crumpled to the gross floor of the dinghy dorm bathroom. The guy he brought with him is heaving into the toilet, and the sounds of puke splashing against the bowl are heard over the music thudding from outside the door. When he pulls back, his skin is pale as a sheet and his eyes are red and watery, from being sick and also being high. He's an absolute mess—he looks like how Louis feels inside.

"Sorry," the guy mutters, and Louis still hasn't caught his name but that's alright. He'd rather not know. It's difficult to hear him anyways, over the sound of the crowd outside.

The ache inside Louis' body is swallowing him whole and he doesn't know how to make it stop. Feeling a little bit bad for moping in his own corner, he crawls across the floor to the man's side. "It's okay," Louis whispers quietly. He rubs his hand up his back comfortingly, feeling no spark, no warmth. Nothing. Just like ten minutes ago when they were fucking against the wall and all Louis could think about was how he felt when he met Styles' eyes earlier, that jolt of electricity through him that made him feel weak and nauseous when he forced himself away. He rubs his hand up and down the guy's back in soothing movements and steadies him when he sways dangerously. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah..." he breathes, slumping forward.

Louis feels bad. "Are your friends here? Do you have someone to get you home?"

"Came alone."

Someone starts pounding on the door and Louis knows who it is without question. Judging by the guy's facial expression, he knows too.

Louis sighs lightly, letting a loose, apologetic smile take over his face. "I'll help you get home then, yeah?"

"Yeah, alright."

Someone's still pounding on the door. Louis buttons his jeans and helps his nameless acquaintance do the same. They stand up unsteadily and Louis swings the door open to see Styles standing there, expression unreadable. Louis doesn't have his car here but he knows someone who does.

"We're bringing him home," Louis announces, brushing right past Styles and dragging the inebriated man with him, leading him through the messy crowd, not waiting for his soulmate to follow. He finds the black Maserati easily because it stands out so glaringly from the rest of the cars in the area, because this is a college campus for fuck's sake, and deposits the man in the backseat.

The car ride is as awkward as it could be, with Louis' unnamed hookup quietly giving Styles directions to his apartment. He lives just off campus but the streets are confusing and it takes longer to get there than it should. It feels like hours. The whole time Styles is fidgeting as if there's something under his skin—probably Louis. Well, in that case, Louis calls tonight a successful night. Any night where he annoys Styles is a good one.

Styles is the one who walks Louis' "friend" to the door and makes sure he gets inside alright, before getting back in the car and shutting the door hard. The sound alone conveys annoyance, frustration, and anger.

The world falls silent. Louis doesn't dare break it.

Styles drives him back to his residence hall and they don't say a thing about it.

Only when they're parked in front of Louis' dorm that he even opens his mouth.

"Why do you even try? You know you're never going to find what you need from any of them. I'm what you need."

Louis has heard this spiel many times before. It always ends with Louis yelling at him, telling him, Yeah, well I don't want you.

He's feeling a little tired tonight, though, from a stressful week of school and then a crappy night out with a less than desirable bathroom rendezvous. So he just sits still, doesn't answer, and doesn't make to get out of the car, letting his eyelids flutter closed. If he fell asleep here, would Styles carry him out of the car and to his dorm, and tuck him into bed? The idea is tempting.

"Lou? Are you alright?"

Not tempting because he wants Styles to touch him, but tempting because his legs feel weak and he's too tired to move. It would be nice to have someone strong carry him up the stairs and deposit him in bed.

"I told you not to call me that," he grumbles.

No, it's definitely that Louis is just exhausted. He would want to be carried up to his room no matter who was sitting next to him. He's certain.

Styles ignores him. "Do you wanna come back to mine?"

See, this is why Louis hates him. He knows Louis is exhausted and he's trying to take advantage of him. He doesn't care that Louis is sleepy and sad and would like to be carried up the stairs. All he's trying to do is get Louis in his bed so they can have soulmate sex and he'll get to tell all his friends about what it felt like, and if it's any better than the normal sex he has all the goddamn time.

"Fuck off," Louis mutters, yanking on the door handle until the door swings open and he nearly tumbles out. He slams the door shut hard, hoping that's the end of it, but it's not, because Styles gets out too.

"Let me at least walk you up."

He does. When they're standing outside his door, Louis is tired enough to give into the hug that Styles offers. It isn't his proudest moment, but his embrace is warm and comforting, and it soothes that aching in his chest just for a moment.