***Harry Styles***
Friday, July 6th, 2012 – North London, England

I woke up on Friday morning in Louis’s bed, but Louis wasn’t there. I looked at the clock – it was almost lunch time. I figured he had probably woken up at a normal hour, so I got up to go to the bathroom. The door was only slightly open, but I didn’t think anything of it, still half asleep. I pushed it the rest of the way open.

“Whoa,” I gasped, surprised, my brain still foggy with sleep. Louis was sitting on the edge of the bathtub with a razor blade pressed against his hip, slicing it. That was enough to wake me up. “Louis,” I breathed. I walked towards him and stood above him, holding out my hand expectantly. Louis hesitated for a moment, and then placed the razor blade in my hand. I tossed it in the trash and then looked at Louis, worried. “I thought you were doing better,” was the first thing I could think to say. He shrugged.

“I’ve been dealing with a lot,” he muttered.

“Like what?” I challenged. I knew some of it, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t more than just his guilt over the car accident. He averted his eyes from mine, and I knew he was trying to avoid telling me what was going on. I sighed and sat down next to him. “Is this about the car accident?” I prompted, knowing if he wouldn’t tell me I would have to start guessing.

“Part of it,” he nodded.

“What else?” I tried. Nothing. “Lou, you gotta talk to me or I can’t help you. And what about you coming to me first before you turn to cutting?”

“That’s the rule for you, not me,” he said. I felt anger at that comment rising up throughout me, but I was determined to never get mad at Louis again. The last time that had happened, he had almost died, and I wasn’t about to let that happen again. I was also trying extra careful not to make him angry with me, knowing I needed to make up for what had happened in Anaheim as best I could, although I knew nothing ever really would.

“That’s not fair,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even. “Starting now, it’s the rule for you, too.” Louis just nodded, probably afraid to get in a fight as well. “What else is going on?” I tried again. He just shook his head, indicating he didn’t want to talk about it, which hurt my feelings a bit. I knew he was going through a lot, and I knew I was lucky that he didn’t blame me for some of it, but I felt like we had crossed a barrier throughout the course of the tour in that he had finally started opening up to me about things, like the night at Disneyworld when he finally expressed the guilt he felt over the cab driver. I wondered if, now that we were back home, he’d revert back to not talking to me as much. I came up with an idea. “How about I make you something to eat, and then you tell me what’s going on?” I suggested. He looked at me, clearly not interested.

“I don’t know, Curly,” he said.

“I guess you can always starve,” I teased, knowing he would never cook for himself. He almost smiled, knowing I would never actually let him starve.

“Depends on what you’re making, I guess,” he said. The options were limited – we had only gotten back last night and hadn’t been to the store yet, so the only choices were whatever nonperishable items we’d had before we left on tour. I knew I could come up with something, though, and my idea worked better than I expected, because once we were finished eating, Louis decided he was ready to talk.