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Through a Mirror Dimly

Summary:

Louis Tomlinson, in his third year at university, does not expect nor want the roommate that is being assigned to his room.

Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate.

They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate.

Notes:

Okay, the tags are a bit scary, so I hope I haven't scared you off with them. Hello! I wrote the first outline of this fic three years ago! (it looked very different then than it does today).

My lovely, supportive, wonderful artist Shanelleo did the art for this, which can be found in chapter 3!

Also, listen. Read the tags. A lot of people don't, and then they say "I should have read the tags." I won't blame you if you read the tags and then decide not to read the fic. It's okay. But read the tags. This is the exception to my many fluffy fics. It is, in comparison, more dark. Read the tags.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Early September Part 1

Chapter Text

When the alarm on his phone starts going off at nine, Louis snakes out a hand from under the deliciously warm down comforter and attempts to swipe the screen to turn it off. He doesn’t succeed, not quite, and the phone ends up on the floor for all his efforts. Horrible.

Classic FM becomes a little muffled by the pillow he throws on top of it, but it does little to silence the last few notes of The Lark Ascending . He groans pitifully, hoping against hope for a cancelled class. It’s not going to be cancelled. But he can hope.

A few minutes of listening to tinny announcers before a new song starts and Louis thinks he might be ready to face the world. He gives a heartfelt sigh and lifts the covers off of his face, the darkness turning into dazzling morning sun.

The floor to ceiling windows to his right have the drapes flung wide open. He likes them that way: it’s much easier to wake up in the morning and better to let in a breeze. He had managed to snuggle himself so far under the blankets last night, however, that he hadn’t even sensed the sun rising today.

It’s a cloudless sky, which is unusual for England in September, but he’ll take it. As someone who never remembers to bring an umbrella anywhere, a day where he doesn’t end up soaked is a good day to have. There’s light birdsong filtering in, but mostly he can hear the sounds of students much more diligent than himself walking the campus grounds

Slowly, he gets out of bed and stretches. Classic FM is playing something new now, maybe Bach but Louis was never good with telling composers apart. His mum has to only listen to a handful of notes to have the composer, title, and time period of the piece, but that’s what he gets for having a music major for a mum.

Dressed only in his vest and pants (the top floor of the dorm means privacy even with the windows flung open), he makes his way over to the closet. The closet’s about half the size of his childhood bedroom and he hasn’t done anything to tidy it in about a week so clothing is strewn everywhere. He stands on a pile of rejected shirts from outfits earlier in the week as he picks out his new one, scrunching his toes in the fabric absentmindedly. Settling on skinnies (not his favourite pair because they need a wash) and a striped shirt, he wastes no time in dressing and grabbing a pair of chucks lying by the door. Judging by how long ago his alarm went off, he supposes that if he stops for coffee he’ll be about ten minutes late to lecture.

As he exits the room he walks through the common area to find one of his dorm mates asleep on the couch. Typical. Niall rarely makes it to bed if he was drinking the night before (and he definitely came home shit faced). The fact that he has all limbs on the couch this time is still better than most nights. Louis gives a fond sigh and takes a moment to cover Niall with a blanket before he goes.

He stops at the Starbucks just off campus (adding five minutes there and five minutes back to his walk) and gets to class ten minutes late with a skinny caramel macchiato.

“Tomlinson,” his professor drawls. “So good of you to join us. Maybe next time we don’t need to add the coffee if it means making it to class on time, yeah?”

Louis finds his chair at a table full of girls already diligently following class procedure. “While that could be true,” he counters, “Wouldn’t you rather have late and awake students than early and drowsy?” he angles a pointed glance towards Perrie who, after less than a month of class, has already gained a reputation for how loud she snores when she falls asleep at her desk.

Their professor drops the subject, simply handing Louis a packet with a shake of his head. Louis takes a long sip of his caramel macchiato and begins diligently copying the work that others at his table have already done.

“Louis,” Jade says reproachfully. “Are you actually going to do any of this work?”

“Of course I am,” Louis argues. “Just, you know, after I’m done with my drink.” He takes another long sip, practically letting it pour down his throat, and feels it all but scald his mouth. Tea is better, and would be much preferable really, but Starbucks makes the worst tea.

The girls at his table all roll their eyes, but after patiently explaining to him what the assignment is about, conversation switches quickly (as it generally does) to Perrie’s boyfriend’s stupid decisions, and Jade’s hunt for a man, and Leigh Anne’s favourite Netflix shows.

Then back to Perrie’s boyfriend’s stupid decisions again, because Louis insists on revisiting the subject.

“You’re too good for him, you know,” he offers up with a shrug.

“If I’m too good for him, then why aren’t there guys good enough for me lining up at my door?” Perrie asks as she attempts to properly read the blue gel appearing in the blood type kit they’re trying to decipher.

“Any guys good enough for you aren’t going to be lining up at your door while you’re with another guy! Christ, Pez, that’s a dick move.”

Jesy lightly slaps his arm. “Language!” she chides. “But he’s got a point, Pez. You weren’t all up on Christian’s junk when he was dating that girl.”

“We don’t talk about her!” snaps Perrie. “But of course not, I would have looked like such a ho.”

“And any guy that tries to come on to you while you’re dating another guy is going to look just as much like a ho,” Louis concludes. He cocks his head. “Except guys aren’t called ho’s, are they? Well. Sluts, then. Wankers. Whatever. They’d look bad.”

There’s a round of giggles at the idea of calling a guy a slut. Louis cracks a smile and sits back, taking another look at the blue gel and changing most of Perrie’s answers on their sheet.

Harry: I hate this school

Gems: What happened this time

Harry: My roommate hates me

Gems: Again? Little bro. This can’t be all their fault.

Harry: IT’S NOT MY FAULT! Everyone hates me from the get-go. It’s like they’ve never met someone who doesn’t own their own yacht before

Gems: I highly doubt every single person in your school owns their own yacht.

Harry: Wanna bet?

Gems: Sure. And when I win, you’re going to stop complaining, you little shit. Not everyone gets these opportunities! Stop being such a stick!

Harry: A stick?

Gems: In the mud. You’re supposed to be the smart one, catch up.
Gems: But listen. I’ll Skype tonight, like 7ish?
Gems: Maybe later depending on work but catch u later, yeah?

Harry: Fine. I’m just going to spend all night packing anyway.

Gems: Are you
Gems: Trying to tell me
Gems: You got your arse KICKED OUT

Harry: Just of the dorm! Jesus, don’t flip!

Gems: Where are you staying??? What the fuck, Haz, you can’t just actively make enemies around there!

Harry: Well sometimes shit happens
Harry: I’m getting a new room assignment tomorrow. I just got kicked out of this one because my dormmate’s dad is a member of parliament or some shit
Harry: Like I fucking care. He’s still a wanker.

Gems: I’m forwarding these to mum so she’ll send you some soap to wash that dirty mouth out with
Gems: I really do have to go, but don’t think we won’t talk about this tonight. I’ll come over there and kick your arse myself if I have to

Harry: I’d like to see you try. I’ve got a blackbelt you know

Gems: You bought that at the charity shop.

Harry: Well

Gems: Tonight, baby bro. Love u

Harry: Love u too

“Lou please stop stealing my chips.”

Louis laughs and pops another chip in his mouth. Niall will get close to violent if you take food from him, but the most Liam does is get huffy and give you sour looks for a while.

“You’ve literally got your own chips on your plate,” Liam argues.

“Yeah but yours aren’t spicy,” Louis argues.

“Mine aren’t – you literally put those spices on there yourself!” Liam pulls his basket of chips to his chest as Louis reaches for another one. “Go get some more, and leave mine alone!”

Louis sticks out his lower lip and sits back in his seat. “Fine, if you really don’t love me any more…” he turns to Niall, who’s devouring chicken like he’s never seen food before. “Niall, switch chips with me?”

Face full, Niall shrugs and pushes his basket of unseasoned chips toward Louis. With triumph Louis exchanges them and pops another unseasoned chip in his mouth.

“You literally just – Niall! Why would you do that? Those chips have almost an entire container of seasoning!”

Niall swallows the last of what’s in his mouth with a loud gulp. “I like things spicy.”

“And he’s a true friend,” Louis adds.

Liam looks like he’s about to have a fit. A conniption. “At least give me some of your chips now,” he reasons.

“Never!” Louis hoards the basket to himself just like Liam is currently still doing. “My precious!”

Liam looks unimpressed. Niall has more chicken in his mouth.

Louis sighs. “Fine. I’ll give you some chips. If you answer my question!”

“Is this going to be whether I’m a boxers or briefs person again because you’ve literally seen me-“

“None of that!” Louis waves the basket tantalisingly in front of Liam’s face. A few chips fall out. “I want to know… Who you’re interested in.”

“Who I’m-“ Liam’s eyebrows draw together. “You mean who do I like?”

“Precisely,” Louis says. “We all know Niall’s head over heels for that girl in his music theory class, but I haven’t heard you pipe up about potential soulmates in an awfully long time.” He sets the basket down. “I find it suspicious. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill!” Liam argues. He reaches for the basket but Louis drags it back. “Really! I just haven’t really met anybody lately, we’ve been back less than a month, and maybe I just want to focus on my homework!”

“Focus on your homework?” Niall chimes in. “Liam, I’ve seen your homework. It’s stuffed under your mattress. The only focus you’re putting into that is focus on how little you can turn in and still pass your class.”

Liam looks affronted. Louis takes pity and offers him a single chip, which he takes.

“He needs help,” Niall says to Louis. “I’ve got a girl in my life now and I think he’s taking the loneliness pretty hard-“

“You’re not even dating her! You’ve seen her twice at parties!”

“-I think he needs to be set up. Work some of your Tommo magic and get our boy out on a date.”

Louis nods sagely. “I’ve got just the girl for you, Liam,” he says.

“I don’t need a girl,” Liam moans into his hands. Nobody is listening.

“She’s a redhead in my Literature Theory class. Likes to smoke and I think she plays the saxophone-“

“This girl definitely doesn’t exist.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Liam. Anyway as I was saying, plays the saxophone. Getting a degree in Veterinary Science. Big animals, she says. Think elephants.”

“I need to get to class,” Liam mumbles, but he doesn’t get up.

“You want me to set you up on a blind date? I can do that! We can make it somewhere nice like at a Nando’s or a McDonalds.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Liam says, as if Louis was not making fun of him before now.

“Of course not!” Louis flaps his hands. “Just because the first time you or Niall ever tried Nando’s was because I dragged you here when we first met, and you told me that McDonalds was for people who couldn’t afford actual food-“

“Kill me,” Liam buries his face in his hands.

“-Thus showing that you were the two poshest S.O.B.s I had ever met-“

“The McDonalds comment was pretty insensitive,” Niall mused.

“True, thank you Neil. Anyway, Liam, my point is, I’m here for you mate.”

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t.”

Harry doesn’t even have that much stuff to pack, seeing as how he’s been on campus less than a month, and he’s been all but expecting this to happen at some point.

Really, it’s not his fault that Colin is so sensitive. Because that’s what he is – sensitive. Running to his parents as soon as Harry says anything remotely impolite and getting them to complain to the school. Honestly, it’s really a shock they haven’t brought up losing his scholarship over this, but maybe since he’s the only student in his year to earn one they’re trying to keep their image up and keep him in.

The unfortunate thing is that Colin is currently in the room with him, blatantly staring at him as he arranges his clothes back into his case.

“Don’t you have a class to attend,” Harry grits out. He’s been trying to ignore Colin but, really , he’s just sitting there staring and it’s rather creepy. Very creepy.

Colin shrugs. He’s reclining back on his four-poster bed, as even the first years in this university are treated to the best of the best. Harry hates it. “Just admiring my hard work,” Colin says. “Do you think this means I’ll get the room all to myself now? With a father like mine I think I should have gotten my own from the start.”

No first years get their own room, as their dorms are the smallest on campus. Smallest, yet still nicer than any home that Harry and his family lived in when he was growing up. Harry rolls his eyes and manages to keep his mouth shut as he stacks his textbooks. He’s considering sleeping in the library tonight instead of dealing with one last night with Colin.

Speak of the devil. “You know, I hear people who get scholarships here tend to have some sort of mental disorder. They say the school takes pity on you to improve their reputation. What’ve you got then, bipolar? OCD? A bit touched in the head?”

It’s a ridiculous comment and Harry’s all but certain that he’s made it up on the spot, but it still takes all of Harry’s waning patience to bite his tongue from making a comment back about the daddy issues of someone with absent parents.

He knows that in the end he’d get his words back to him in a letter from the Dean about how inappropriate his behaviour is. Eventually those letters get forwarded to his parents and then he gets a much more strongly worded phone call from his mum, which is enough to quiet him.

Only three weeks of class and he’s already got this routine down pat.

It’s the last class of the day, and Louis’s only got about fifteen minutes left before he’s home free. Lecture can be great for getting studying done (because the professor only ever reads off the power point anyway, so what’s the point in paying attention?), but Louis’s just so ready to get in a good stretch and eat his fill of whatever he can grab from the canteen (probably some sort of fancy pasta dish with salmon).

When they’re finally dismissed, Louis grabs his bag and makes a beeline for the door. He likes to sit up front so that he doesn’t have to wear his glasses, so even heading straight for the door means passing by just about everyone else in class.

“Louis! Up for a drink tonight?”

Looking to his right, Louis sees Ed jump out of his seat to keep pace beside him. “My mate’s laid claim to the common room in Brunswick dorm and we’re planning on doing some betting on who’s the first one to get so sloshed they break a lamp.”

The lamps in Brunswick dorms have glass bodies, in order to properly match the décor of the room (which Louis thinks is ridiculous. This is university. Everything is going to look horrible by the end of the year), and it’s become a running joke to break the lamps on an almost weekly basis. The upside of going to such a well off university is that the lamps are always mysteriously replaced in the night, as if house elves are in charge of keeping the place looking ship shape.

“I’d love to,” Louis says. “But I’ve got a date with a textbook and a good night’s sleep for once so I’m gonna turn this one down, yeah?”

Ed gives him a look like he must be a bit thick but Louis’s used to it at this point. There are some places where if you’re rich enough the grades don’t really matter (and Ed, as humble as he is, is due to inherit his father’s international recording company so he doesn’t have much to worry about in the long run).

They walk out of lecture together, Louis saying his goodbyes to several people he’s in a group project with and Perrie, whom he blows a kiss to and promises to “talk more about that boyfriend of yours later” while Ed is engrossed in a game of what looks to be solitaire on his phone.

“Oh, I gotta meet up with Nora in ten,” Ed says when the little alarm on his Apple watch starts going off. “Reconsider the party though, yeah? It’s always a bit more fun when we’ve got someone who’s guaranteed to start dancing on the table after drink number two.”

Louis rolls his eyes and smoothly ducks out of a sideways hug from Ed. “That’s not a compliment!” he calls after Ed as they turn in opposite directions.

It’s just gone six thirty as he makes his way past the looming stone buildings that make up central campus. While the dorms for the older students are new and fancy, with sky high windows and designs surely compiled by some up-and-coming architect with a penchant for metal columns and high ceilings, the buildings that classes reside in are, as Ed would say, “old as balls” and draughty in every season. They cut an imposing figure as Louis strides across the central square and toward the less inhabited south end of campus, where Beeker dorm (his own) is located.

His shadow casts long and lean under the lampposts and the sound of crickets are beginning to make themselves heard over the fading din of students. For a Friday evening it’s peacefully quiet, probably because everyone who’s chosen to go out tonight (which sometimes seems like it’s most of the campus) is either in their dorm getting ready or already out on the town (it’s a bit of a trip down to London for the real parties so campus tends to clear out quickly on Fridays and Saturdays to make way for the fun of the weekend).

Just as he’s turning onto the pavement two dorms down from his own, another set of footsteps makes itself known as someone hurries to catch up with him.

It’s almost instinct at this point to recognize the light footed gait. Louis wants to speed up, to outrun and get back to his dorm but he’s got far enough to go that it would end up being glaringly obvious who he’s running from.

He considers doing it anyway, honestly.

“Louis!” Robert shouts. He jogs the last bit and ends up right next to Louis, steps in tandem.

Louis keeps his eyes straight ahead. He’s not up for this tonight. It’s been a good day. He doesn’t want to have to deal with this right now.

“Listen- I was wondering,” Robert starts. He reaches out a hand and brushes Louis’s arm – Louis jerks away, almost as if he’s been burned, and but quickly catches himself in the act and forces his arm to remain still at his side. Robert’s clearly noticed but he doesn’t say anything.

“I just wanted to say – you know it’s nothing personal between us, right? You and me?” he looks almost pleadingly to Louis, who absolutely refuses to meet his gaze. “Like, I know this thing with our dads is tough, but-“

“He’s not my dad,” Louis grits out before he thinks.

Shit.

Shit.

He can’t do this, he’s already fucked up this simple interaction. Robert hasn’t provoked him in any way. But he can’t do this.

“I have to go,” he says bluntly, moving into a jog and angling toward Beeker dorm, cutting straight through the grass. He doesn’t hear Robert move to follow him, but he’s so intent on making it in the doors - somewhere Robert can’t follow - that his senses aren’t exactly at their most alert.

His arm burns where Robert brushed it. He feels dirty. Tainted. His hand shakes as he puts his numbers in the pinpad to unlock the door. When it buzzes and he hears the faint click of the lock moving, he wrenches the door open and all but falls inside, letting the door fall closed behind him.

Dirty.

Shivering, he rides the lift up, anxiously pacing in the small space. The  spot on his arm where Robert touched him feels like it's burning, like a poison that's spreading. He doesn't want to touch it, feels like his insides are bubbling.

When the door slides open, he jumps out and walks quickly down the short expanse of hallway. Calm. Order. Calm.

With shaky fingers he types in the code to his door and pushes it inward, letting out a breath when he sees the common room is deserted. After letting the door swing closed behind him and hearing the latch click , he takes off at a run for his room, opening that door and letting it slam behind him before turning the lock himself.

His room. Safe.

He shucks off his trainers and socks, throwing them off toward a far corner of the room. His arm feels like it's on fire, like he can feel the exact spot where Robert brushed against him. He can. Of course he can. He'll never be able to get away entirely. With frantic movements he tears off his shirt and shimmies out of his skinnies and pants, all of them going onto the floor; anything to get them away from him.

Clean, he thinks to himself, almost in a chant. Clean. Clean. Clean. It'll be okay. Just get clean.

He runs into the attached loo and heads straight into the shower, turning the taps as far as they can go. It's got dual showerheads, one on each side, and for a minute he's standing under two streams of freezing cold water as it takes time for the pipes to cycle through.

He stands in a daze under the beating streams as they go from freezing to so hot that his skin feels like it could melt away.

Clean.

Shakily, he grabs for the soap and goes to work furiously on his skin, starting at that spot that burning spot on his arm and working until the skin is raw red, working down and up his arm before going on to the rest of his body. Clean.

Most showers would turn ice cold by the time an hour has gone by but this one, part of the fancy new dorms, is hooked up to a system that stores so much that everyone in the building could take hot showers simultaneously and still not end up in an ice bath, as explained when Louis first moved in. This is one of those days that he takes full advantage of that fact, spending almost an hour scrubbing every part of his body until it’s raw and aching and he’s almost emptied an entire bottle of soap. The water, steaming hot, feels almost like it’s scalding his skin and fills the room with steam until it’s difficult for him to breathe. In his haste, as normally happens, he’s forgotten to switch on the fan to help clear the air. But he barely notices. He barely notices any of it.

Finally something clicks, and he steps out, rather groggy but feeling some sort of different. The towel hanging next to the shower feels dirty though, as if he’s touched it. As if he’s touched everything in the room. He goes for the loo closet and pulls out a fresh one, wrapping himself in it and still feeling a residual heat from the shower where the towel touches his skin, but that just means he’s clean. Right?

There’s clothes everywhere. Clothes on the ground in the loo, on the ground in his room that he spies as soon as he opens the door to let the steam out. Everything is dirty, things aren’t where they should be. Things need to be where they should be. That’s what makes everything okay. Clean.

Working like a man possessed and with a bit of a tremor he makes his way around both rooms picking up every piece of clothing, dumping them in the basket. Every shoe gets picked up and put in his closet, neatly. His clothes hanging in his closet are a mess as well, out of order and hanging haphazardly as he’s pulled at them and flung them back up when he picks different outfits. Straighten. Clean. He moves them and adjusts them and puts them in an order] that make sense to him, if not to anyone else that would look in. Shoes standing tall in order by the front of the closet. Clothes straight, in order. Footie kit emptied of the clothes, placed in the basket, and the ball run under hot water in the sink until all the dirt is off. It can’t be dirty. He’s dirty. He can’t be dirty.

His desk is terribly out of order; assignments are everywhere, textbooks thrown all over the place. It’s not okay he has to do better, has to be better, has to show that he’s clean because that’s what makes things okay. Meticulously, still in his towel, he moves things around. Recycling papers, tossing food wrappers, putting the books in order from class to class. It’s all necessary. It must be organized.

He hoovers. He knows he’s the only student, in the whole dorm if not the whole school, with a hoover because that’s what the staff is for, but it’s necessary. It has to be clean now. One, two, three times until he feels there’s nothing left of what he was earlier.

Finally, his bed. Stripping the sheets, because they somehow feel the dirtiest of all. New, fresh sheets and a new comforter and new pillowcases, with all the old going in the overflowing basket. Everything needs to be clean. He needs to be clean.

Now, with a clean room (it is clean, right?) and a basket full of laundry, Louis hangs the towel up. He fluffs his hair and puts on a pair of clean, soft pyjama shorts.

They’re hidden away in a drawer in the back of his closet; three sets of completely clean and fresh pyjamas for days like today. He knows by now that this is what he needs – something completely untouched. Something his. Something clean.

On the ground floor of the dorm in a back corner is a room full of washers that sit entirely unused by the student population. Staff door to door to pick up laundry that’s been left outside or sent down the chute, and who would do their own laundry with a tempting offer like that?

But that’s part of the reason Louis feels so free to go to the laundry room on days like tonight. It’s deserted and positively silent and now, as he loads everything into the washers and hits the start button, he’s able to just sit. Breathe.

It’s okay. Clean. It’ll be clean. You are clean.

You are clean.

He moves to close all the curtains, because the view of the campus grounds is lovely but he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Wants to just disappear for the night.

Especially doesn’t want to be found again.

It’s always inevitable. Robert knows where he is, has known all along and has made it no secret. But most of the time doesn’t try to approach him. Just a few more years and he can disappear from them forever.

He sits and watches the clothes spin. It’s quiet and he’s clean. As clean as he can hope to be.

A little over two hours later, as he makes his way back to his own room with a basket of clean clothes and sheets, he finds a letter just inside the door to their common room.

It’s still deserted, his two roommates out with whatever friend groups they’ve deigned to show up to, and as he puts down the basket and picks up the letter he rather wishes that they were back.

The letter is addressed to him. Mr. Louis Tomlinson. He slits it open and pulls out a formal looking letter that bears the school’s symbol.

Mr. Louis Tomlinson,

This letter is to inform you that starting 04/10 you will be experiencing a change in rooming requirements. Another student has experienced a need to change their housing situation and as such they have now been assigned to share your room.

This student is in a class a year below yourself, and while we realise this is unusual, we insist that this is a special circumstance and that no other housing could be made available in such a short timeframe.

We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause and would like to remind Mr. Tomlinson that counsellors are available to speak to during class hours at Brunswick Hall every weekday.

Sincerely,

Dean Hartswitch and staff of Saint Albert University.

There’s a scribble under the name that is very clearly done by printer rather than pen.

The date given on the note, Louis realises as he reads it, is tomorrow. Tomorrow! They’ve given him less than a day of warning, and expect him to be okay with it?

Shit, they don’t even list this guy’s  name on here, he’s going to know nothing about him except that for some reason he’s being booted out of his old dorm. He’s probably a little shit who got in a fight with a roommate who has a father with more power.

Louis has successfully avoided getting a roommate for years now and he doesn’t particularly want that to change now. How is he going to function on nights like tonight when there’s someone else in the room?

He’s not. Shit, shit, shit.

He drops the letter on the coffee table with the assumption that Liam and Niall will stumble across it at some point when they get home. His thoughts are still racing with the information but he absolutely doesn’t know what to do with it, especially not late on a Friday night – none of the staff will still be on campus at this point (which is almost definitely why they’ve delivered the letter so late), and this newcomer could arrive at any time tomorrow -  he’s probably known about this for days already. Louis curses. The feeling of being clean, separate from everything, is already fading and he doesn’t want to have to face anything else this daunting tonight.

Instead he picks up his laundry and heads to his room, trying to find something else to refocus himself on.

While hanging things up in his closet he surveys the space, thinking about how two more people could honestly fit their clothes in this closet with his own, and as nice as the large space of his room is, with the empty area next to the large windows that he likes to prance around on a good day can easily fit the second bed that was removed the day after he moved in. Only people in their last year at Saint Albert University tend to be able to get singles, even with parents who will threatened and pay out the nose for their precious offspring.

Louis was lucky to have gotten a room all to himself three years ago when he started Albert Prep (from which St Albert Uni gets most of its first year students), because of a roommate with a substance abuse problem dropping out in the first month in order to switch to private tutors instead.

Niall and Liam had been there from the beginning, the three of them requesting to room together in every instance since, and it could be that the institution has a particular fondness for his stepfather Dan, or it could be that this is the only request Louis has ever pushed, or some combination of the two with a dash of pure luck, but he’s spent the last three years as one of the few lucky ones with a space determinately his own.

It had to end sometime, he supposes.