you're cold and I burn (on hold)

He can’t help but worry, <strong>and</strong> he hates to worry.
He’s always told himself that there was no point in worrying, it was too short of a life to spend the
effort on. And now, he’s here, staring at himself in the mirror <strong>and</strong> loathing the way his eyes seem
to glisten every time Harry’s name flashes in his memory. Or the stark perfect image of his face,
especially the way his deep pink lips parted <strong>and</strong> his voice seemed to seep out dangerously slow
<strong>and</strong> drawn out, he can feel his own breathing speed up.
Now is a good time to brush his teeth, <strong>and</strong> forget.
There’s clamoring from the kitchen, which means Harry isn’t only awake, but he’s home <strong>and</strong>
Louis picks at the counter, cleaning off dirt that isn’t there because he’s fucking buying time. He’s
procrastinating this whole face-to-face ordeal, the reason being that he’s not sure how his body,
his voice will react to the pressure of seeing how Harry’s interaction around him will change. The
most likely scenario includes Louis fumbling around with a coffee mug as he haphazardly pours
<strong>and</strong> attempts to keep things casual, all while basking the room in an unnecessary awkwardness.
And then, he’ll leave wordlessly <strong>and</strong> quickly <strong>and</strong> hate himself for it.
”You’re being a baby, you’re being a baby, Louis.” He says, in a hushed whisper, psyching
himself up. “It’s just Harry, it’s fine.” He adds, before taking one long, prolonged breath, leaving
the bathroom.
His h<strong>and</strong> freezes on the h<strong>and</strong>le of his bedroom door, hearing a shuffling <strong>and</strong> a small musical tone.
It sounds like Harry’s whistling. The noise flows through all of Louis’ tense limbs <strong>and</strong> unwinds
him; there’s no sense in being so scared, everything will be just fine between them. Yeah, he acted
out on a supposedly platonic friendship, quite aggressively at that, <strong>and</strong> kissed his troubled
roommate, what’s the big deal?
When Louis opens the door, he looks tired, nothing out of the ordinary, but his eyes are
subconsciously searching for Harry. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, a nervous tick, as he walks
quietly to the kitchen. Harry is, well, shirtless. He’s wearing loose basketball shorts <strong>and</strong> a bunch of
silky curls quaffed away from his face. All the ink from his tattoos is on display <strong>and</strong> Louis can’t
seem to focus on anything else.
It’s art, really, in every sense of the word. Not only the designs, but the way they contrast so
beautifully against Harry’s skin.
“Good morning, Louis.” Harry sing-songs, snapping Louis from his obvious stare. His cheeks
redden just slightly.
“Harry,” He nods, “Sleep well?”
“I did, you?”
“Yeah.” Louis winces at the tense air, he wants out of here, but before he can grab a mug to-go,
he feels fingers ghosting over the small of his back, just over his t-shirt.
“You seem pent up, everything okay?”
Louis tries to even out his voice, pretend like his heart isn’t racing at the simplest touch, “Yeah,
I’m fine.”
“D’you wanna talk about last night?” Harry presses, leaning up against the counter. The muscles
from his forehead are straining <strong>and</strong> Louis is having a hard time keeping his body at bay.