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

It’s the next night when it begins to storm. I’m lying in bed and when the thunder cracks loudly, I jump out of my skin, fear flooding through me. I’ve never really known why I was so utterly terrified of storms. It’s something I never tell people, even in interviews. I’ll mention birds and aging because that’s all rather normal, but storms? Pathetic. My mother knows of course. It’s something I’ve been afraid of since I was little. She’d hold me tight and with her there I could fall asleep. But now with the divorce and me being away on tour, it’s gotten worse. I can’t stand them and I try desperately hard not to wince as I hear another rumble.

The only people other than my family who know are Liam and Harry. Liam because he once had to calm me down when we were in a car together and a storm broke out, resulting in my having a mini panic attack. And Harry because more often than not, when there’s thunder and lightning this bad, I end up in his bed. It just feels safer with someone else beside me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t crave the way his arms wrapped around me.

But not tonight. I don’t want to go and slip into his bed. After coming out I worry he won’t want me there. I know he said I’m still the same to him, but two guys cuddling in bed is a tad bit weird if one is gay. Or at least I assume.

CRACK.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles, scaring the life out of me. It’s an irrational fear but that’s just it; I can’t even think anymore. I pull the covers over my head, curling into myself and trying not to shake. I feel absolutely weak like this, but god, I’m scared out of my mind.

Everything seems so out of control when it storms like this. It makes me think about everything going wrong with my family, and then I think about my doubts, and my fears and then-

CRACK.

This time I jump loud enough for the bed to squeak and I feel myself well up with tears. I’m crying too much lately. I bury my face into the pillow.

Think of Hazza. Think about him, he calms you down. Think about his arms around your waist, his lips on your forehead. Think about his voice, and his laugh, and his silly dance moves. Think about the way that he calls you Boo Bear. Think about the fact that while the others in the group call him Haz, you are the only one who calls him Hazza. So think about your Hazza.

CRACK.

Yeah, that didn’t work. I jump even more and start to feel my fingers shake. God, when did I become so fragile? I’m unstoppable Louis, I shouldn’t be acting like this. But I am. I am.

*************************

(Harry’s POV)

When the storm breaks out I half expect Lou to end up in my room. I keep staring at the door waiting, jumping slightly whenever thunder cracks. I’m not scared of storms per say, but they’re not exactly fun. Kind of like a set up for a horror movie that I don’t want to watch.

When ten minutes passes and he hasn’t knocked on my door, I begin to worry. There’s a small possibility he’s asleep, right? But when I hear a strangled cry from the room next to mine I know better.

I’m halfway to my door when I freeze. If he hasn’t come and curled up with me, does that mean he doesn’t want to? Is this because of him coming out? I don’t understand why it would be, it changes nothing. I know he was nervous to tell me because we’re so inseparably close, but just because he likes boys, doesn’t mean he’s not my Lou Bear anymore. In fact I find it rather cute, and for some reason it makes me want to hug him even more.

CRACK.

I hear the bed squeak in Lou’s room, and I know he’s jumped out of his skin. That’s when I realize that he’s doing that thing again. His thing where he tries to pretend he’s not scared. He cracks a joke or denies it till he’s blue in the face rather than just admit that he’s not okay. On the anniversary of his parents’ divorce, on nights like this, on days when the fans tweet rude things about him. He gets pissed or laughs it off but not once will he just sit down and goYeah, that hurt. Yes, I’m sad. No, I’m not okay.

Because Louis won’t do that. But I will.

I leave my room silently, shutting the door behind me. It’s dark in the hallway and when lightning flashes I jump slightly. I pad to Louis’ room and knock on the door lightly. There’s no answer, but I hear a sniff.

“Lou Bear, come on. I know you’re scared.” I say through the door, leaning my forehead against the frame.

I hear another sniff, and a creak of the bed. “I’m not.” He calls shortly.

“Yes you are, can I come in?” I ask. Normally I wouldn’t even ask, but something’s different this time. I can feel it.

“I’m…I’m fine Curly.” He says, and I grin sadly at the nickname. I honestly love it when he calls me that.

“I’m coming in Lou, you can’t fool me.” I tell him, and then open the door quietly.

I see him curled up under the covers, and he peeks out at me nervously. If I didn’t know just how utterly terrified he was, I would have laughed at his childlike action.

CRACK.

He jumps again, and I do too. In the flash of white from the lightning that follows, I see tear streaks on his cheeks.

In a moment, like it’s my immediate instinct, I have the door shut behind me, the room crossed and I’m kneeling beside the bed, hands around him. I feel terrible, never knowing how to properly soothe him. I know having someone with him helps though, and I try my best.

I put our foreheads together and his shaky, choked breath ghosts over my neck. I can tell he’s trying his best not to let anything show. Not to let anyone know how horribly scared he is. He does this every time, but usually by now he gives in to me. I’m not sure why he’s being like this.

“Shhh,” I coo, wrapping my arms around his shivering torso. “it’s okay, babe. It’s fine. I’m here, just relax.”

I feel him roll backwards, a silent invitation. In an instant I’m under the covers with him, pulling him into my chest. His arms lay awkwardly on my torso, not around me like usual. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel empty. Still, I pull him close, rubbing circles on his back.

CRACK.

He sobs, but tries to catch it like it never happened. Lou shakes his head, almost as if he’s trying to deny himself of being scared. I can’t stand seeing him like this. A wreck, even more so than usual. He’s trying, literally clawing at his emotions, attempting to bury them deep. He avoids my eyes, and bites his lip to attempt to halt his cries.

“Shh, let it go. Let go, come on. Just give in, it’s okay, I’m here, let it go.” I coach, and slowly I feel him unravel in my arms.

With one more “Let go.” he gives in, and his arms snake around me, clutching at my shirt. His face buries in my neck and I drag him impossibly closer to me, our legs interlocking.

He begins to sob, and I start to cry as well, purely because I can’t stand the heartbreak of hearing such a noise come from a normally happy boy’s mouth. I begin pressing small kisses to his forehead, something I know he likes. Followed by me twirling the hair behind his ear, knowing that with just one touch in that sensitive spot, I can make him shiver. And just like that, he does.

And it feels…right. Like I belong here. I belong here helping Louis. I belong right here, making him feel better. Making him realize that he doesn’t need to hide everything; that he doesn’t need to hide at all. Because he really is perfect the way he is.

Every small insight I get about him-every tidbit of new information, every new side of his personality-makes me want to smile permanently. He’s my best friend and I hate knowing that he doesn’t fully open up the way I do. He puts up barriers and walls and he just-

CRACK.

I jump as much as he does this time, and I hold onto anything I can, as does he.

“I’m here Boo.” I say simply, feeling the need to verbally confirm it.

“Hazza…” He whimpers, saying nothing more and clutching at my top.

It’s gonna be a long night.

****************************************

(Louis’ POV)

When I wake up in the morning, it’s to chuckles and ‘awww’ing. It takes me a few seconds to open my eyes, and when they do finally obey me, I realize I’m still in Harry’s arms. Mine are wrapped tightly around his warm waist and he has one hand on the small of my back and the other twisted in my hair. I inhale the smell of Harry, and grin. No cologne, no styling product scent, just Harry. The slightly cinnamon aroma that decorates his skin, and his apple shampoo that is so deliciously sweet that it makes me want to bury my face in his curls.

Then I look up to see his peaceful sleepy face, eyes fluttering open and closed as he begins to wake. His hair brushes against my forehead and it tickles enough to make me shiver involuntarily. I study his face; the way his lips press against each other, the way his chin connects with his neck, following down to wear I realize he’s wearing a thin tank top, which leaves little to the imagination, and my eyes go further down to his boxers-

“Done checking me out?” I hear him mumble and I snap my head up (nearly slamming into his chin might I add) to see him smirking at me with a sparkle in his eyes.

I flush a deep crimson.

“Well aren’t you two cute.” Zayn says and both of us jump enough to almost fall off the bed, turning to see the boys in my doorway. So that’s where the laughter was from.

Again, I blush thoroughly, and I swear I see Harry redden as well.

“In case you lovebirds forgot, we have an interview this afternoon.” Liam says, leaning against the doorframe and obviously hiding a laugh.

Niall’s trying desperately not to go into hysterics and I look back down and me and Harry and realize why. The covers have been kicked off us (probably from me having nightmares at some point) and our legs are hooked together, torsos and well, erm, crotches are pressed together tightly. Oh god.

I pull away from Harry, tumbling out of bed quickly. My butt hits the floor harshly and I wince with pain and embarrassment.

“Nicely done, love.” Harry teases and I’m quite proud of the glare I shoot him. I remain rather pissy as I pull myself up with a little help from Nialler.

“Alright boys, you’ve got two hours to pull yourselves together before we’re out of here. I’ll make you some breakfast.” Liam tells us, and I thank him quickly, ruffling my messy hair.

I make my way to the bathroom without a glance towards Haz, worried I’ve made things awkward. I lock the door firmly behind me and press my head against the wooden surface.

A wave of worry washes over me, and I slide to the floor, rubbing my healing wrists. I absentmindedly wonder why Zayn hasn’t asked me about my cutting. Why hasn’t he asked for my razors? Why hasn’t he checked in? At first I think it’s because he’s being careful not to tread on any nerves. Naturally, he wouldn’t want me to snap. But there’s a part of me that wants him to because at just the thought, my skin begins to itch.

That familiar aching itch that makes me want to just rip open my skin, mark it, hurt it, ruin it. Even after years, I still can’t explain the feeling. It’s far too overwhelming, far too strong. If I think about it for too long, I worry it’ll tear me in half. Quite literally.

So then I ponder the only other reason I can think of as to why Zayn hasn’t done more about the sensitive issue. He doesn’t care. What if, in reality, the fact that I harm myself doesn’t bother him? Or maybe, he just thinks I’m not strong enough. Like I’m dependent on the pain?

I whimper as I realize that I am. I am fully dependent. I need it.

God, who was I kidding. I can’t stop. I’ll never be able to stop. Without self harm I don’t know who I am. Without the razors and the slices and the blood, I’m nothing. I’m the Louis who needs to hurt himself every time he can’t deal with something.

Self hatred hits me and I feel tears prick my eyes. Hell no, I am not crying today. How did this happen? I was happy just a moment ago. But now….

I feel emotions rise and fuck, I do not want to deal with them. So instead, I scramble to open the cupboard under the sink, and pull out the black box hastily. It opens with my shaky fingers and I grab out one of my razors, my lips curving into a smile against my will.

I need this.

**********************

By the time I come out of the bathroom, it’s been at least an hour. I’d spent half of it with a razor on my wrist, and the other half showering and trying not to wince as the water stung at the newly damaged skin, it flaring red within seconds.

Afterwards, I’d whimpered as the towel hit the cuts, and then growled with frustration as my stupid box wouldn’t close properly. It had taken me several minutes to get it right, and within that time my eyes had welled up out of upset.

I go straight to my bedroom once I’m finished, avoiding the boys. It takes me longer than usual to pick an outfit, having to make sure my shirt won’t ride up and reveal anything. I end up settling on a grey jumper, turquoise jeans and white braces, remembering what our stylist said about coordinating. I slip on grey TOMS and tousle my hair into its usual messy-but-styled look, hair spraying it into its place.

I put on a few bracelets just in case, wincing yet again as it hurts, and then finally make my way out to where the boys are eating breakfast. Niall is sat on the counter, wiggling his legs as he waits anxiously for Liam to serve him his eggs. Zayn is reading through his Twitter feed in between bites of sausage, and Liam is dancing to an unknown tune as he spins in a circle, letting us see a rare whimsical side of him.

And then I feel arms around my waist and a head on my shoulder, making me blush.

“What took you so long, hmm?” Harry asks into my ear, and I lean back to grab his waist, unable to help myself.

“Thinking.” I lie, feeling shame settle in my heart.

“About someone in particular?” He teases. I shove him away playfully, and settle into a chair, accepting a plate from Niall.

“Oooh, you got your eye on a guy we don’t know about?” The Irish lad asks, catching me off guard as my mind betrays me and races to Harry.

“Uh n-no.” I stammer, cursing my stupid mouth. The guys immediately catch it and all four heads snap up to look at me.

“Holy shit, you have!”Liam exclaims, and I see what looks like hurt flicker across Harry’s face. But in a second, it’s gone.

“I do not!” I protest. “And we’re not talking about this. Eat your fucking breakfast, I’ll be outside.”

I storm away from them, my plate clanking loudly on the table as I leave. I slam the door behind me, and I try to ignore the upset and worried looks that I’d seen on everyone’s faces.