Status: ♡ *** you too ♡
Don't Go
please.
Harry hated Louis. He hated the way he made him love him, hated the way he knew what pissed Harry off, hated the way he liked to watch Harry get agitated only to make him forget what he was even mad at in the first place. He hated how he could make him scream one minute and cry the next, hated how Louis had complete control over him, hated how he couldn’t change it even if he tried. Hated how Louis was there one day and gone the next; making him breakfast one second and leaving him with a shitty excuse the next. He hated how he could never see himself without Louis, hated how he couldn’t forget about him because then he’d fall apart, hated how he needed Louis to be himself.
“Louis, please don’t go.”
Harry knew it was pointless; knew it was wasted breath and landed on death ears, but he still said it. He still said it with that twinge of desperation to fall back on, that quake in the vowels where Harry tried not to cry.
“I have to, Harry.” It came out easily, fell off his tongue like he said it a million times(which he had). His lanky fingers gripped tight onto Harry’s forearms, and Harry swore there would be imprints the next day: he wished that there would be imprints that’d never fade, because then that’d mean Louis was something tangible, that what they had wasn't a fabricated lie.
Because sometimes he didn't know. Sometimes he could convince himself Louis was a fragment of his imagination, an imaginary friend, a billion pieces of the perfect person molded together to form one mass. Sometimes at 3 in the morning when he pawed at the cold side of the bed, nerves aching for skin contact and Louis, only to be met with stale air, he wondered if everything was a dream. He wondered if he was hallucinating, wondered if he was doing drugs without himself knowing, wondered what was so wrong with him that he couldn't stop loving Louis.
“Why don’t you ever stay with me, Lou?”
Harry’s legs were wrapped around Louis’s waist, trying to hold him in place, afraid he’d float away at any minute. Louis didn't answer him at first, he just stared at the space above his head, eyes dilated like he was thinking of something philosophical. But then his pink tongue came out to lick at the cracks in his lips and Harry was gone. Again. He was a puddle under Louis’s strong arms and whatever Louis said next, whatever bullshit excuse came out of his fucking mouth, Harry would accept it.
Harry would accept it because Louis was everything. Even when Louis was merely a passerby in the terminal of their kitchen, when Louis was a frenzied hurricane coming to wreck havoc on Harry’s life, there was always that tinge of something that Harry confided in. There was always that solidness, that crushing weight in his chest, that twinkle and endlessness in Louis’s ocean eyes that made Harry believe Louis loved him, too. So even when Louis wouldn't come home for a few days, when he wouldn't bother calling, when he’d open the door and kick off his shoes next to Harry’s, he was there. He was there to press his cheeks into Louis’s heart, to smell the home that lingered on his shirt, to press his digits into fleshy skin. To keep Louis grounded, to keep Louis there long enough to know how much Harry needed him.
But maybe Louis didn’t love him, despite how much he tried, despite how much of himself he gave away to Louis. Because maybe finding out Louis was sleeping with his coworker, Zayn, was the bottom. Maybe it was the meaning of “you can’t get better until you hit rock bottom”, maybe Harry falling apart inside his bedroom at four P.M. on a Wednesday was a good thing.
Or maybe it was when Louis hadn’t been home for two weeks straight, when Niall texted Harry to say that Louis was sleeping at Zayn’s; sleeping with Zayn. Maybe that was the pinnacle of his and Louis’s relationship, maybe it was never tangible, or maybe it was only tangible for Harry himself. Maybe it was nothing to Louis, maybe it was a way to fill up the empty crater inside his chest, maybe it was a way to feel needed when he didn’t want to need someone in return. Maybe it was the breaking in Louis’s heart when he tried to come back to Harry after three more weeks, maybe it was when he realized for the last time that he needed Harry too, maybe it was when he realized it was too late and he’d screwed up(and around) too much.
Maybe it was his rock bottom too; maybe it was better for the both of them. Even if neither wanted to let go.
Harry still hated Louis, but was getting better at not loving him as much
“Louis, please don’t go.”
Harry knew it was pointless; knew it was wasted breath and landed on death ears, but he still said it. He still said it with that twinge of desperation to fall back on, that quake in the vowels where Harry tried not to cry.
“I have to, Harry.” It came out easily, fell off his tongue like he said it a million times(which he had). His lanky fingers gripped tight onto Harry’s forearms, and Harry swore there would be imprints the next day: he wished that there would be imprints that’d never fade, because then that’d mean Louis was something tangible, that what they had wasn't a fabricated lie.
Because sometimes he didn't know. Sometimes he could convince himself Louis was a fragment of his imagination, an imaginary friend, a billion pieces of the perfect person molded together to form one mass. Sometimes at 3 in the morning when he pawed at the cold side of the bed, nerves aching for skin contact and Louis, only to be met with stale air, he wondered if everything was a dream. He wondered if he was hallucinating, wondered if he was doing drugs without himself knowing, wondered what was so wrong with him that he couldn't stop loving Louis.
“Why don’t you ever stay with me, Lou?”
Harry’s legs were wrapped around Louis’s waist, trying to hold him in place, afraid he’d float away at any minute. Louis didn't answer him at first, he just stared at the space above his head, eyes dilated like he was thinking of something philosophical. But then his pink tongue came out to lick at the cracks in his lips and Harry was gone. Again. He was a puddle under Louis’s strong arms and whatever Louis said next, whatever bullshit excuse came out of his fucking mouth, Harry would accept it.
♡
Harry would accept it because Louis was everything. Even when Louis was merely a passerby in the terminal of their kitchen, when Louis was a frenzied hurricane coming to wreck havoc on Harry’s life, there was always that tinge of something that Harry confided in. There was always that solidness, that crushing weight in his chest, that twinkle and endlessness in Louis’s ocean eyes that made Harry believe Louis loved him, too. So even when Louis wouldn't come home for a few days, when he wouldn't bother calling, when he’d open the door and kick off his shoes next to Harry’s, he was there. He was there to press his cheeks into Louis’s heart, to smell the home that lingered on his shirt, to press his digits into fleshy skin. To keep Louis grounded, to keep Louis there long enough to know how much Harry needed him.
♡
But maybe Louis didn’t love him, despite how much he tried, despite how much of himself he gave away to Louis. Because maybe finding out Louis was sleeping with his coworker, Zayn, was the bottom. Maybe it was the meaning of “you can’t get better until you hit rock bottom”, maybe Harry falling apart inside his bedroom at four P.M. on a Wednesday was a good thing.
Or maybe it was when Louis hadn’t been home for two weeks straight, when Niall texted Harry to say that Louis was sleeping at Zayn’s; sleeping with Zayn. Maybe that was the pinnacle of his and Louis’s relationship, maybe it was never tangible, or maybe it was only tangible for Harry himself. Maybe it was nothing to Louis, maybe it was a way to fill up the empty crater inside his chest, maybe it was a way to feel needed when he didn’t want to need someone in return. Maybe it was the breaking in Louis’s heart when he tried to come back to Harry after three more weeks, maybe it was when he realized for the last time that he needed Harry too, maybe it was when he realized it was too late and he’d screwed up(and around) too much.
Maybe it was his rock bottom too; maybe it was better for the both of them. Even if neither wanted to let go.
Harry still hated Louis, but was getting better at not loving him as much
♠ ♠ ♠
the end.