One Direction Sickfics + Hurt Imagines

21| Stressed (Louis)

Request from : rayofsunshine_1d

Hope you enjoy !!

The stress was unbearable. Absolutely unbearable. No stopping, no rests, just a constant go go go. It was agonising and weakening, and it stripped Louis from his every strength. Yes, Louis loved his job, and oh how he adored his fans. He would do absolutely anything for them. It was more the having to write lyrics, and think of good music that stressed Louis out.

He didn't want to disappoint everyone. He hated letting people down, the very thought made him grimace and frown. So now he sat, countless scrunched up paper balls thrown around him, and a blunt pencil in his hand.

A million thoughts and ideas ran through his head, but they weren't what he was looking for. They weren't, in his opinion, what were needed to make a great album. He'd write a lyric, he'd write a verse, he'd write a chorus...and then he'd scribble it all out. In anger and frustration he'd rip the paper from his notebook and crumple it up.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to become the greatest song yet. Only, his brain wasn't working, and now his hands were aching and his joints were stiff. Maybe that was because he'd been sat in the same position for almost three days. Maybe it was because he rarely moved from the uncomfortable chair that he was sat in, the only break being when he left to go to the bathroom. Maybe it was because he hadn't slept properly, mind to busy for rest. Words raced and whizzed around his brain, he was scared he'd miss the thought and opportunity of a good song.

And now Louis sat, back hunched over, plate next to him with a half eaten sandwich, the crumbs daring to spill onto his paper. Not that it would matter, he thought, the paper would only go in the bin. The boys had occasionally entered the room in which Louis tried to write, they all knew it was best for him to sleep. Perhaps then he'd have a fresh mindset and new ideas that would flow into his notebook easily.

But no.

"I have to write something now, I have to." Louis told them each time they appeared in the doorway. It was pathetic in the boys' eyes, why would he want to waste so much time just sitting at the same boring old desk? Most, if not all artists and writers knew that if you wanted inspiration then find a new scenery, a different place, a different feeling. Louis was just staying in the same four walls, what ideas would he get from there?

There was a headache creeping in the air as Louis sighed and huffed. He massaged his temple quickly, not wanting a headache. That would be the worst thing for him. He needed to write at least one lyric by the end of the week.

Except, as minutes went on, the headache clouded his vision and muffled his thoughts. It was pounding and loud and harsh and brutal. He winced as a wave of discomfort crashed into his skull. Then he wished he'd maybe eaten that sandwich Niall had made him, or drunk the drink that Liam had brought him.

Realisation hit him, and it finally sunk in that all he'd done for the last three days was mope around in a wooden chair that didn't support his back and stay in a room that was almost pitch black if not for the gap in between the curtains and the lamp that sat on the desk in front of him.

It looked miserable.

Louis felt miserable.

And now he was in need of a good shower and a some nutrients. For the first time in what felt like forever, Louis pushed back in his chair and stood up. He was surprised all his joints didn't simultaneously crack and the sudden movement. He stood for a second, stretching out his back before he decided to finally leave the same four walls he'd looked at for what felt like an eternity.