I Think I l Love You Better Now (Larry Stylinson)(Rated R for a reason)

(Louis’ POV)

So I’d admitted it. Only to myself and only in my head but I had indeed admitted it. I’d figured it out 13 days, 7 hours and 20 minutes ago. I’m gay. Yep. Gay. I’d been in denial for who knows how long and it felt nice to finally just be honest. In my head, of course. I couldn’t say it out loud yet. Hopefully I could at some point.

At first I’d thought that maybe I was bisexual. It had been Harry who’d made me feel that way. We’d always been close. Incredibly close to be exact. The fans had dubbed us Larry Stylinson and we both found it hilarious. It had started on X Factor when I jumped onto him while still on stage. Maybe even back then I’d felt a spark, but I’d hid it away. And over time we just grew close and closer. Maybe we weren’t like other friendships. We cuddled on the couch, pretend made out on camera. We were constantly whispering to each other in public and even though it was usually pointless things, I couldn’t and still can’t help the smile that flashes across my face when his breath hits my neck. And then there was the butt touching and living together and nicknames and holding hands and even the occasional kiss usually while drunk. Yeah, okay, definitely not like other friendships. But I’m not complaining.

So anyways, I’d thought hey, bisexual. Because the butterflies I felt with Harry weren’t something I could ignore. But the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t fit. I thought I found women attractive. I could appreciate beauty and curves and all that. But it wasn’t the same as all the other boys. They saw girls the way I found myself looking at guys. Instead of being drawn towards boobs I was pulled towards abs, and scruff and just…men. I’d never been one to think being gay was wrong because it isn’t. But of course when I’d come to the conclusion that holy shit I check out guys more often than not, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Some people aren’t accepting. And how could I know who? The boys might not think of me the same. Okay, lie. I knew how accepting they’d be. But of course irrational fears spilled over and every time I came close to saying it out loud, I ended up choking on the words. They got caught in my throat and I just couldn’t do it. And what would the fans think? God, they might hate me. I’m sure some would be accepting but others? I didn’t know. The press would go nuts with it. And what effect would it have on One Direction? What if it ruined us? I couldn’t do that to them. And what about Harry, hmm? What about my Hazza? What if this changed the way he was around me? I don’t ever want that to happen.

So it had to stay inside my head. Like everything else.

I’d been self harming since I was 15. I don’t remember why I started and I don’t remember why I didn’t stop. I got addicted before I knew what was happening and instead of dealing with feelings like a normal person, I grab a razor and slice into my skin. I know it’s bad. Believe me, I’ve read so many horror stories about going too deep that it nearly scared me out of doing it again. Nearly. I need the pain. I don’t deal otherwise. I can’t imagine what I would do if I couldn’t ruin my skin. It’s never happened before. But when I cut, I feel that pain. It’s real and it overwhelms me. It overpowers anything else. It overpowers heartbreak or sadness or worry. It just does.

So that’s how I ended up here. Sitting on the bathroom floor of our latest hotel room, razor in hand, blood on wrist. I would say ‘oops’, but I don’t even care anymore. It started with my wrists, all those years ago. That was what I’d read about and so naturally that’s where I tried first. It’s still my favorite. But being famous and all, I can’t let fans see that. So when it gets warm out or I need to do something with a short sleeve top, I make sure to do this elsewhere. Usually my legs. Thighs are the best if you want to see blood. And I do. But nothing is as good as my wrists. The blood there bubbles into beads before rolling off and it’s hypnotizing.

And it’s winter. So don’t criticize me. Nobody will see it.

I press the blade into my skin again, hissing delightfully as I go deeper than usual. Nothing dangerous. I know what I’m doing.

But that gets me thinking about what would happen if I did indeed go too far. I don’t want to die. I like my life. But there’s just this strange curiosity bubbling inside me, just wondering. What would happen? How would it feel? Calming? Relaxed? Or would it be painful?

Without noticing, my hand has pushed the end of the blade near a vein, not moving, just pushing. It’s so close and I should be scared but there’s something about it that puts me in a trance. If I just dragged it a little deeper…

And then I snap out if it because whoa what the hell was I about to do? My breath speeds up and I throw the razor back into its box. Holy shit. This has gone way too far.

It dawns on me that I don’t even trust myself anymore and that’s kind of terrifying. In the world, the one person you understand and trust most is yourself. You just do, because it’s you. But now, not having control over myself…I need to tell someone. Nobody else has ever known before. But I’d never been so close to doing something dangerous before either.

God, but who? I know none of the boys would freak out, but there’s a difference between reactions and it being difficult to say. Of course my mind goes straight to Haz. We tell each other everything and I love that about us. But this is something I just can’t say to him. So who else? I can’t go to Liam. He’ll go all Daddy Directioner on me and try and make me get some help. I don’t need help. I need a friend. So, Niall? We’ve always been the two jokers of the group, but we still get each other, if that makes sense. But the Irish boy isn’t the best at keeping secrets. Not at all. So Zayn. It has to be Zayn. It makes sense. He’s the calm, zen like one most of the time. He’s insightful and a good listener.

Zayn it is. His hotel room is the next one over, sharing with Liam and Niall who I know for a fact are out with Harry, getting dinner. Wow that’s kind of too perfect.

I shove the bin back under the cabinet. We’re never in hotels long so nothing else is under there but towels and such. Harry’ll never think to find it. I wipe the blood off my wrists with tissue and make sure to put pressure enough to stop anymore from leaking out. Once that’s done and cleaned up, I slip on my TOMS and leave our room.

Tentatively, I knock on Zayn’s hotel room, shoving back down the sleeves of my jumper out of habit. The door swings open and he grins at me.

“Vas happenin?” He teases, winking at me.

“Hey.” I say quite hushedly. I know it’s given me away. Normally I joke or tease but not today. I see him figure out that something’s wrong and he lets me inside, shutting the door behind us.

I follow him silently to his room, and he shuts that door too. He sits on his bed. I stand nervous. I’m pretty sure I’m shaking.

“What’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.” Zayn says reassuringly. I need to do this. If I don’t…I don’t know what will happen but I know I don’t want to get to that point.

I open my mouth to answer, but I kind find the right words. How do you say something like that? Hey what’s up by the way I’ve been cutting myself for years and I was thinking about killing myself. Yeah, no.

He’s raised a concerned eyebrow and I’m pacing slightly, hands running through my hair. Show him. That’s it. I can just show him. But I’ve never done that before and I’m not sure I can.

Suck it up and do it, idiot. I scold myself.

Without thinking about it further I push up both my sleeves and let my arms sit in front of me, giving him the full view. Zayn’s eyes widen and he bites his lip, worry forming on his features. I blush hugely, never having had anyone else see this but me. It’s private. Well, was, until now.

“How long?” He asks. I’m surprised that he doesn’t stutter or give me the slightest look of hatred.

He grabs my hands, bringing me closer to him and I sigh. “Years.” I answer softly.

“Then why now?” He asks. Why did I tell him now, he means. I begin to freak out about telling him but then remember what a calm person he is. If he can do this so can I. Right?

“I was thinking about…things.” I mutter. Finally I sit down beside him, surveying my arms as well. Most scars a faint white, old and healed, but the new ones are bright red and angry. Suddenly I begin to hate what I’ve loved for so long.

“What do you mean, ‘things’?” He asks cautiously, and I felt myself start to well up. God, I never cry, but the realization that I’d thought about killing myself struck me harshly.

“I was…” I break off, sniffing. “thinking about if I…you know.” I know it’s a lame way to finish. But I couldn’t make myself say it.

Zayn seems to understand because his arms are suddenly around me, pulling me into his chest. We hugged a lot but this was different. He’s quite literally suffocating me.

“Don’t you dare Louis. Don’t you fucking dare.” He says lowly, hitting close to home. I feel myself begin to unravel at the seams, and I finally begin to cry.

Honestly, I hate crying in front of people. It always amazes me how Harry can do it and not hide his face with embarrassment, whereas I normally flush beet red. But here I am, crying into Zayn’s shoulder, completely honest like an open book. How am I doing that?

“There’s more. Cuts, I mean.” I admit into his shirt. He pulls back and raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

I sigh and pull back from him to unzip my pants and pull them down. My boxers hide a few of them but the rest of the scars are out in the open, even more numerous than on my wrists.

“God, Lou. You need to talk to someone.” Zayn says, hand on my arm.

“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, and he winces. “Sorry. Just…this is why I chose to talk to you. Liam would have had me admitted.”

That gets a light chuckle out of him. His brown eyes meet mine and he furrows his eyebrows.

“Can you talk to me then? You need to let out whatever’s making you do this. Why did you get this far?” He asked, and I sighed once again.

Truth was, I’d been thinking about Harry. The fact that my Hazza was the one who made me realize that I was gay. The fact that he gave me butterflies and made me blush. The fact that okay, fine, I fancied him. Big time. And the fact that he is completely, totally, undoubtedly straight.

But I couldn’t tell that to Zayn.

“I’m fine. I swear.” I mutter. I can’t tell him about Harry. Nobody can ever know about that. It needs to stay inside me.

“Obviously not, Lou! If you’re so bad that you’ve been thinking about…ending it, then you need to talk. You can’t keep stuff in anymore. You’ve been acting weird the last few weeks anyways. What’s that about, hmm?” He asks, as I pull my pants back up, unable to look at the scars anymore.

“I…” I wanted to open so badly, but I always keep my mouth shut. Maybe I should tell him. Maybe I should just tell him I like boys. He wouldn’t care, would he?

“I won’t judge you, you know that right?” He says, like he can read my mind. I feel flushed and worried but his words give me the boost of confidence I need.

“I…I like…I’m gay.” I finally say. Time seems to stop as I hear the words leave my mouth. Heat rushes to my face as look up at his shocked expression. My mind goes numb and my ears ring and I feel like I might be sick.

Zayn’s eyebrows are raised and I worry that I’ve made a mistake. But then his face cracks into a 1000 watt smile.

“Really?” He asks, grabbing my shoulders. I nod, flushing further.

“That’s awesome!” He grins, and my mouth parts in shock.

“You…so it’s not weird?” I ask, insecurities peeking through.

“Of course not! Whoever you like, whoever you love, it’s all the same. Personally I think it’s adorable.” Zayn says.

I collapse into his arms out of relief, weight floating off my shoulders. He’s okay with it. He’s fine. He didn’t freak. Zayn ruffles my hair and I nuzzle into his neck.

“Now, I only have one question.” He says and I pull back, looking at him quizzically.

“Now that I know you like guys, I have to ask. Am I the most attractive one in the band?” Zayn asks.

I burst out laughing, unable to contain it. He chuckles too, and I shake my head.

“Second only to my Hazza.” I giggle, and I scuffs.

“Right, forgot you’re biased.” He teases and I slap him on the arm playfully.

So maybe my life’s looking up.