Ficlet: Lilo breakup/makeup
Dec. 9th, 2018 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magicalrocketshipsOriginally posted here.
ANONYMOUS ASKED: Lilo breakup/makeup
They break up two weeks before the end of tour, after weeks of arguing over nothing and bickering over stupid, ridiculous stuff like who ate the last of the Coco Pops or who got to pick the DVD. Louis is snappy and bad-tempered, and by the time he and Liam break up, he can barely remember why he’d ever thought sleeping with one of his bandmates was a good idea.
It had seemed a great idea at the time; sneaking around and snogging a lot and fucking on hotel beds. Coming out had been accidental, and easy: the two of them hadn’t closed the hotel room door properly, and they’d been caught snogging up against the bathroom door by Zayn and Niall and Harry. They’d immediately accepted them as together, even before Liam and Louis had talked about taking it to the next level and being boyfriends.
Breaking up was even easier: Liam had eaten the last of his pop tarts, and Louis couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t do the fighting, or the snapping, or the lack of fucking. They’d barely done more than perfunctory snogging in weeks, and Louis could put up with fighting if there was spectacular sex coming alongside it, but there hadn’t been anything, literally nothing, for over a week.
“You ate my last pop tart,” he says, suddenly exhausted.
“I’m sorry?” Liam says. “I thought they were mine.”
“They’re not,” Louis says, and then, “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Liam asks, but Louis can tell that he gets it. He knows it isn’t working too. His shoulders drop.
“This,” Louis says, and he waves his hand between the two of them, and all of a sudden he feels too exhausted to sugar coat it. “The two of us. It’s not working.”
Liam nods, and doesn’t try to stop it, and that’s when Louis knows it’s the right thing to do. He spends the rest of the day hiding in his bunk, iPod on high, blankets pulled up to his chin. In the gaps between the songs, he can hear Liam’s snuffled, hitched breaths from the bunk next to his, and Louis cries then too, silent and painful, tears sliding down his cheeks.
And then: they just have to get past it, work through the strained silences and the long, endless nights where sleep doesn’t come and Louis stares up at the ceiling of his bunk and tries not to think about what it felt like to fall asleep next to Liam, or to know that he could sprawl out across the sofa and have Liam slide in behind him, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle. He tries to forget what it felt like to kiss him, to be able to think, boyfriend, and see Liam’s face. He tries to forget what it felt like to be in love.
The shows are strained, and although they try to hold it together, there are shards of Louis’ heart that are slowly splintering away with every time they have to stand next to each other on stage, with every lyric that they sing, with every time their eyes meet and Louis has to look away.
It hurts, is the thing.
It really hurts.
Every time he looks at Liam his heart contracts.
It takes him a week to realise he’s made the wrong decision.
Making up is the hardest part of it all, harder than kissing him for the first time, harder than being away from his family, harder than turning around and walking away from Liam the first time.
Liam won’t look at him when they’re off stage, ducking his head and walking away, looking the other way.
“Liam—” Louis says, the night before the end of tour. He grabs Liam’s sleeve, but Liam shrugs him off. “Liam, please.”
“I can’t,” Liam says. “I know you’re probably over me or whatever, but I can’t. Not yet. Just give me a bit more time before we go back to whatever we were before.”
“No,” Louis says. “I want to talk to you.”
Liam shakes his head, and pulls away. “I seriously can’t.”
Louis doesn’t sleep. It’s almost four in the morning when he crawls into Liam’s bunk, and wraps his arms around Liam’s waist. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, into the back of Liam’s neck. “I’m so sorry, babe. I miss you so much.”
“I can’t be your friend yet,” Liam says, and he sounds exhausted. He doesn’t pull away.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” Louis says and he presses his nose to Liam’s skin, trying to breathe him in. “I want to be your boyfriend. I miss you so much.”
Liam’s breath hitches. “Louis—”
“I want to try again.”
“Lou—”
“Please,” Louis says, and he holds on tighter. “Just give me another chance. I love you.”
Liam doesn’t say anything.
Louis gives him another minute before he loosens his grip. If he can get back to his bunk before he breaks down then he’ll count it as a win.
Liam lets out a breath. “Don’t go,” he says. “Stay.”
“God,” Louis says, but he stays, and Liam slides his hand into Louis’ and keeps holding on.
ANONYMOUS ASKED: Lilo breakup/makeup
They break up two weeks before the end of tour, after weeks of arguing over nothing and bickering over stupid, ridiculous stuff like who ate the last of the Coco Pops or who got to pick the DVD. Louis is snappy and bad-tempered, and by the time he and Liam break up, he can barely remember why he’d ever thought sleeping with one of his bandmates was a good idea.
It had seemed a great idea at the time; sneaking around and snogging a lot and fucking on hotel beds. Coming out had been accidental, and easy: the two of them hadn’t closed the hotel room door properly, and they’d been caught snogging up against the bathroom door by Zayn and Niall and Harry. They’d immediately accepted them as together, even before Liam and Louis had talked about taking it to the next level and being boyfriends.
Breaking up was even easier: Liam had eaten the last of his pop tarts, and Louis couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t do the fighting, or the snapping, or the lack of fucking. They’d barely done more than perfunctory snogging in weeks, and Louis could put up with fighting if there was spectacular sex coming alongside it, but there hadn’t been anything, literally nothing, for over a week.
“You ate my last pop tart,” he says, suddenly exhausted.
“I’m sorry?” Liam says. “I thought they were mine.”
“They’re not,” Louis says, and then, “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Liam asks, but Louis can tell that he gets it. He knows it isn’t working too. His shoulders drop.
“This,” Louis says, and he waves his hand between the two of them, and all of a sudden he feels too exhausted to sugar coat it. “The two of us. It’s not working.”
Liam nods, and doesn’t try to stop it, and that’s when Louis knows it’s the right thing to do. He spends the rest of the day hiding in his bunk, iPod on high, blankets pulled up to his chin. In the gaps between the songs, he can hear Liam’s snuffled, hitched breaths from the bunk next to his, and Louis cries then too, silent and painful, tears sliding down his cheeks.
And then: they just have to get past it, work through the strained silences and the long, endless nights where sleep doesn’t come and Louis stares up at the ceiling of his bunk and tries not to think about what it felt like to fall asleep next to Liam, or to know that he could sprawl out across the sofa and have Liam slide in behind him, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle. He tries to forget what it felt like to kiss him, to be able to think, boyfriend, and see Liam’s face. He tries to forget what it felt like to be in love.
The shows are strained, and although they try to hold it together, there are shards of Louis’ heart that are slowly splintering away with every time they have to stand next to each other on stage, with every lyric that they sing, with every time their eyes meet and Louis has to look away.
It hurts, is the thing.
It really hurts.
Every time he looks at Liam his heart contracts.
It takes him a week to realise he’s made the wrong decision.
Making up is the hardest part of it all, harder than kissing him for the first time, harder than being away from his family, harder than turning around and walking away from Liam the first time.
Liam won’t look at him when they’re off stage, ducking his head and walking away, looking the other way.
“Liam—” Louis says, the night before the end of tour. He grabs Liam’s sleeve, but Liam shrugs him off. “Liam, please.”
“I can’t,” Liam says. “I know you’re probably over me or whatever, but I can’t. Not yet. Just give me a bit more time before we go back to whatever we were before.”
“No,” Louis says. “I want to talk to you.”
Liam shakes his head, and pulls away. “I seriously can’t.”
Louis doesn’t sleep. It’s almost four in the morning when he crawls into Liam’s bunk, and wraps his arms around Liam’s waist. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, into the back of Liam’s neck. “I’m so sorry, babe. I miss you so much.”
“I can’t be your friend yet,” Liam says, and he sounds exhausted. He doesn’t pull away.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” Louis says and he presses his nose to Liam’s skin, trying to breathe him in. “I want to be your boyfriend. I miss you so much.”
Liam’s breath hitches. “Louis—”
“I want to try again.”
“Lou—”
“Please,” Louis says, and he holds on tighter. “Just give me another chance. I love you.”
Liam doesn’t say anything.
Louis gives him another minute before he loosens his grip. If he can get back to his bunk before he breaks down then he’ll count it as a win.
Liam lets out a breath. “Don’t go,” he says. “Stay.”
“God,” Louis says, but he stays, and Liam slides his hand into Louis’ and keeps holding on.
