(Harry’s POV)
That day is spent in bed, and it’s probably the most perfect day ever. Like ever, ever. Louis wakes me up by kissing all over my face, light pecks to my cheeks, forehead, nose, lips. When I do stir, he smiles at me and offers me my mug, which I take with a grin.
Not too soon after, Paul drops off my medicine, a carton of muffins and my ice cream (“Seriously Paul, you are a saint!”) and Louis is happy to spoon feed me the chocolate treat as we lounge about. It’s nice being taken care of, I decide. I’m happy to take care of Louis all the time, it’s my role and I love it, but sometimes being a little submissive is nice too.
Then when my medicine starts to kick in and I go a little numb, Louis starts singing. I double take, because hold up, Louis never sings unless it’s for rehearsals, concerts, or when he’s drunk as shit. Yet here he is, singing softly to me, words like kisses. He starts with Coldplay, then moves to Ed Sheeran, and then gets a little cheeky and sings Justin Bieber (which I slap him for) into my hair as he kneads his fingers through it. Eventually I start asking for songs and he complies as I curl up into his chest, just listening to the beautiful tone of his voice, occasionally cracking like he knows I like, other times keeping steady for longer than should be legal because god, I love him when he sings.
The rest of the day is spent doing many things, really. I nap on and off, taking more medicine when I need to, throat becoming less sore. Lou orders room service and gets me soup (that amazing idiot) and once again spoon feeds me with a smirk on his gorgeous lips. We watch a movie, then some crap telly, then another movie. Somehow we end up on Louis’ laptop, scrolling through Twitter and replying to a few tweets, laughing at fan accounts and the amount of Larry Stylinson. We click through a few links (“She’d die if she knew we were reading this, Lou.” “Well, wouldn’t want to kill a fan now would we.”) and end up on some tumblrs dedicated to us, moving pictures (gifs?) of us in interviews, badly covered up smiles, whispered ‘I love you’s (“God, we’re literally terrible at this.”) and fingers trailing on thighs.
Soon after that we end up on youtube, watching Larry videos, interviews and concert clips. We don’t usually look at stuff of ourselves, that’s not our style, but somehow once we start, we can’t stop, and ‘one more video’ becomes five, then ten, then we shamelessly watch while commenting (“Your hair looks cute there.” “Ugh look at Niall being all smug.” “I can see Liam and Zayn having a bromance like ours.” “That interviewer was annoying as hell, remember?” “The fans scratched me so hard I bled just then.” “Oh my god, you brought up the cats, good god Louis.” “It shouldn’t be legal for you to look that good in a blazer.” And then, of course, “Hold up, did you just bite you finger while looking at me? Look at the comments, they’re all convinced you were lusting after me.” “Well I was, wasn’t I?” “Shut up, smart ass.” “My ass has an education now? Prestigious.” “Don’t make me hit you.”) and laughing at funny bits.
And then Louis says “Hold on, I wanna watch one Niall told me about. During the Toronto concert, while we sing Moments.” And I’d flushed red, because I’d cried that night, my only time crying during a concert, but I couldn’t help it because it was one of those ‘I can’t believe we’re here and have made it this far and shit this song is sad and no Louis don’t stretch your voice like that are you trying to fucking kill me you piece of sin’ moments and ugh.
But we watch anyways and I hide my face when I see me tear up on the big screen, eyes going watery and Louis coos, telling me he thinks it’s cute and that while I can be a big sap, he loves me for it. And I smirk, because hello, I love him more than anything.
*****************************************************************
I get better and we go back to England then, and for just a week, everything is fine. We relax around the house, Aiden comes over to visit and laughs at how apparently we’ve turned into a teenage blushing girls, my mum stops by, as does Louis’. We get some down time, which is fantastic, to be honest. We goof off and play pranks, tweet each other from across the room, snog, cook dinner together, watch movies while curled up together, snog, make love when the power goes out and we light candles in order to see, snog and…snog. Come on, we’re teenage lads, what did you expect?
We go out drinking with the boys as a celebration for who knows what, and we’re careful not to repeat Wellington from the week before where we’d had a…close call. So this time we stay in the back of the bar and snog between drinks, Liam chuckling at us as Zayn and Niall went to hit on girls that didn’t even look old enough to drink, but then again, I’d done the same thing for years.
But for that week, that time spent with Lou, joined at the hip and filled with whispered promises and sweet nothings, everything is perfect.
Perfect.
*********************************************************
But not for long.
It was a matter of time, I suppose. People want fame. People do stupid shit. But I really thought that Colin fucker was better than this.
Management has hauled us in for an emergency meeting the next week. We knew it had to do with Louis by the way they glared at him as he’d shrunk into my side. I’d wrapped an arm around him and the boys puffed up their chests defensively.
“Louis, we need to talk.” Marshall, one of the management guys says.
“Okay…” Lou trails off, and I squeeze his hand under the table.
“There’s someone coming forwards saying you were snogging a guy two months back, and they’re threatening to go public with the rumor.” He says simply, raising a harsh eyebrow.
“What do they want?” Niall asks before Lou can.
“And more importantly, who is it?” I growl protectively.
“They want attention, I’m sure.” Some management lady, Sasha I think, says and sits on the table. “And supposedly it’s this guy’s best friend.”
“But this is just a rumor, right? We can make this go away.” Marshall asks harshly.
“Why should it matter if it’s a rumor or not? We can still make it go away.” Zayn asks, quirking an angry eyebrow.
"It matters, because if Louis, or anyone else in the band for that matter, has a sexuality other than straight, we have to hide that." Marshall says harshly and it takes all my willpower not to stand up and hit him.
Not only was that incredibly rude, he’s just insulted me and my boyfriend. I see the looks of anger and hurt on all of our faces.
"Okay, that was fucking rude." Liam says harshly. It’s a shock, because he’s not usually one to swear, but he’s obviously furious.
"It’s not meant to be sweetie." Sasha says in a stupidly kind tone. "It’s for your own good. You wouldn’t be successful otherwise."
"So you’re saying that if Louis were gay or I was bi or something, you’d force us to keep our mouths shut about it?" I ask angrily, feeling Lou tense underneath me.
"Yes. For your own good." Sasha says. I feel Louis shift and I worry I’ve gone too far.
But then my amazingly brave boyfriend speaks up. “Then get some duck tape.”
Niall inhales a scandalized breath, his face in a complete recreation of oh no you didn’t. Whereas Liam and Zayn raise an eyebrow and was that a smirk?
"So you’re gay?" Marshall asks, his tone condescending.
"Is that a problem? I’m all for sweeping this under the rug, but if there’s going to be any homophobia in our own management, I’ll be calling Simon." Louis says harshly and I tighten my hold on his hand proudly.
"Your lifestyle choices aren’t any of my business, but what you let out is. Not a word of this will be leaked. Stop playing up bromances until we get this sorted out. Anyone else wanna prance out of the closet?" Marshall asks, smirking at himself.
"Oi!" Niall shouts at his rudeness. Oh I will so be calling Simon, I’m firing the fuck out of this ass-
"I would." Zayn says, and my heart stops. We all spin to look at him, eyes wide.
"What?" Sasha asks, in shock.
"I’m pansexual." He admits, as if it’s nothing. It is nothing, I suppose.
"Good god. We’ll be watching all three of you like hawks. Don’t screw up. I’m going to contact the press and deny this rumor.” Marshall mutters, storming out.
We’re left with Sasha, who’s now timid. None of us speak, still shocked about Zayn.
”Bye.” Liam says a little too harshly and the woman scurries out the door. The second she’s gone, we freak.
"Why didn’t you say anything?" "How long have you known?" "What’s pansexual?" "Girls or guys?" "Why did you say that?"
"Lads!" Zayn interrupts with a chuckle. "Pansexual is when you’re attracted to personality over appearance. Now you can’t tease me when I say that I like a girl’s intelligence. Or a guy’s for that matter."
We ponder this for a second. I’ve never met a pans person before, not that there’s anything weird about it. In fact, it rather suits mysterious Zayn’s persona. Now I understand why he makes a face when Niall’s on about someone’s rack, and prefers to talk about a girl’s attitude or whatever.
"How long have you known, though?" Niall questions like a hurt puppy.
"A year or so? I dunno, really. Not a big deal for me." He answers, and god I wish it was that easy for me.
"Why didn’t you tell us?" Liam questions.
"Or me, when I came out to you?" Lou asks from my side and I kiss his hair, feeling the slight hurt in his voice.
"Like I said, it wasn’t a big deal for me." He shrugs.
And then it clicks into place.
"Zayn, oh god. You did that for us! You admitted it because we were getting in trouble. You didn’t have to do that, you could have just stayed quiet." I say, blushing as Louis pulls away to look at me in realization.
"I didn’t wanna make you do this alone. And besides, what are they gonna do, follow me like undercover cops? If I wanna hook up with someone, regardless of gender, or who the hell they are, I’ll do it. Screw management." Zayn shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips.
"But…" Louis trails off, lost.
"Lou, relax. I did this cause I love you guys. It was about time you all knew, really. And what are friends for, right?" He smiles, and I feel Louis sag into my side.
I share a private warm smile with Zayn. “Thank you.” I say kindly, and he smirks, nodding.
"But wait, on the plane ride here, we played Never Have I Ever and you didn’t drink when we said ‘slept with a guy’, Zayny!" Louis says in a knowingly scandalized tone that turns into what can only be described as Louis-is-going-to-embarrass-the-fuck-out-of-you-as-of-right-now.
Finally Zayn blushes, groaning embarrassedly. He covers his face with his hands and Liam chuckles at the sight.
"I’ve gotten as far as blowjobs with a guy, I don’t think that counts as sex." He admits.
"Oh my god you little pansexual whore!" Niall giggles and gets a slap from him.
"Shut up, Nialler! Anyways, back to more important things. Who’s calling Simon and firing that dick?" Zayn asks, and anger flares in me again.
"That would be me." I say harshly, standing up to stride across the room and pick up the phone there.
"Ooh, protective. You’re lucky Lou." Liam comments and I hold back a chuckle as the ring tone sounds.
"Tell me about it." Louis laughs.
I go to tease him, quip something inappropriate, but Simon picks up with a gruff “Hello?”
"Uh hi, it’s Harry. Erm, we need some help."
*******************************************
(Louis’ POV)
Simon, while surprised and confused, had agreed with us about Marshall. He asked us to hold on for a while longer, and he’d come out here next week. I suppose I can’t blame him, he’s rather busy. I’ll just have to put up with Marshall and his fucking rude antics. Deal with it. Cope.
But the only thing I’ve ever been able to do as a coping strategy was self harm, so what do I do now? Now that that familiar itch has returned? Now that all I can think about is the feeling of slicing into my skin? Now that my fingernails are scratching into my wrist, eagerly wanting to ruin it?
Haz is nowhere to be found, supposedly going out with Zayn to get take out that I hadn’t wanted. He’d kissed me lovingly and left with a shout of “Love you!” which I’d sighed at because he had no idea. Niall and Liam had offered to hang out but I’d lied and said I was tired. They believed me.
Why was everyone believing me? They’d been walking on eggshells for over a month, and now they just trust me alone? Did they think now that I had Hazza, those thoughts would just leave? They’re so, so wrong if that’s what they think. Harry may be an incredible boyfriend and an amazing distraction, but that was just it. Without him, I’m lost.
I almost feel angry at them for leaving me here. For leaving the idiot who self harms alone in an empty flat after a homophobic man at management’s insults of my life choices impact me greater than they should. I need it. I need the familiar cold burn. I need a feeling of wholeness. I need to not be alone.
Who am I kidding? Sitting here contemplating it isn’t gonna change my mind. I sigh, nerves zinging as I trudge to the bathroom, cold tile meeting my feet. I feel like I’m betraying Harry. Okay, I am betraying Harry. But he isn’t here and nobody is here and suddenly I can’t breathe and I’m shaking as I grab a disposable razor and try to pry a blade out, all the while wondering how it got so bad so fast.
I’d been doing well.
But now, as a silver blade pops out with a little clinking noise, I know it won’t last. I can’t last. And really, it’s all Marshall’s fault. He opened his homophobic mouth and gave me just a taste of what would happen if we come out. When we come out. Let’s be real, we’re far too handsy and in love to keep it a secret for much longer. And god, this was so terrifying. This feeling of having someone dislike me for something I can’t change.
And with that my fingers almost slip, far too used to this by now, wanting desperately to ruin myself. But I can’t on my wrists, I can’t add more speculation, I can’t. And not my legs either, we might have photo shoots, I might need to wear shorts.
So I settle for my hip. I’ve never ever cut there before but then again, I’ve never ever been in such a position before. So I dig in, angling the corner of the sharp blade harshly to my skin, suck in a breath and drag it across forcefully. I whimper in shock, as that area is so close to the bone that it hurts far more than usual.
That should scare me off. Not spur me on, like it does. I instantly move to do it again, only hissing this time as the cold pain sets in, blood beading at the surface. I slice again and again, until there’s six lines covered with blood on my hip.
But I’m not smiling like I used to. There’s no relief. Instead, worry plagues me. What about Hazza? He’ll be so disappointed. He’ll hate me. He’ll yell. Or cry. There’s nothing good about the pain this time. It only adds to what’s already there. And I hate that.
So I switch to the other hip, dragging the razor across painfully, tears leaking from my eyes as I whimper. No happiness. No numb relief. Just more anger, more feelings, more guilt.
I fucking hate that.
What changed? There’s now six bleeding slices on my right hip and two on my left. But none of them have that quality they used to.
It takes me twenty minutes to figure it out. After I cry on the floor cursing, I manage to wipe the blood away, putting pressure to stop anything further. The pain ebbs away to a dull, annoying sting as I settle on the couch, still fully clothed as the cuts scratch against the fabric angrily. It takes me all that time to realize what’s changed.
Harry has. Now, Harry is my life preserver. I’d do anything for that beaming smile and I do. I love him, I’m in love with him, he’s perfect. Perfect boyfriend. And then I go behind his back and do this? How the hell could I? I betrayed him.
It’s no longer my escape. It’s no longer the thing I yearn for. Harry is both those things, and this is slowly going to rip us apart if I keep it up.
So I promise myself to stop. To tell Harry about this (he’ll know anyways) and then stop.
For the first time since this all began, can actually see myself without a blade in hand.