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

Louis and Harry get in a fight, and some old feelings come back.

Trigger warning for mentions of self harm.

Title from Lego House by Ed Sheeran, obviously.

It’s not like we’ve never fought before. Of course we have. Harry and I are defensive people and when we butt heads, the arguments are for the history books. But this…this is just different. I’m not sure how, but. It is.

“I just feel like I never see you anymore!” I complain, and it’s true. With Harry’s new job as a judge on X Factor, he’s around half as much as before, and I miss our lazy days.

“It’s work, Louis, I don’t have a choice! And we live together, we’re married, all our free time is spent together! How can you possibly miss me?” Harry asks exasperatedly as he washes the dishes, scrubbing away soap suds.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but there’s a spark of anger in my chest and I know I can’t stop my next words. “Because I love you and I fucking want to spend proper time with you! Time that isn’t sex or breakfast in bed! I want real time with you!” And, okay, not the best way to phrase it.

“Real time? Oh, so now us sleeping together isn’t real time to you? And breakfast isn’t either? Fine then, no more sex, no more waking up early and spending a good half a fucking hour to make you your stupid pancakes!” Harry yells, throwing a plate into the water.

“You know that’s not what I meant! I just want to be like we used to, fuck, but now you have your stupid X Factor and it’s more important than me!” I counter, hopping off the counter to stand with my arms crossed.

“How dare you! You fucking know you’re more important to me than anything! It’s my job, Louis, we’re not stars like we used to be, we don’t go on sold out tours, we have to have money in the bank, okay! Excuse me for trying to get that!” Harry argues, and wow, okay. I can play that game too.

“Oh really? And what’s my job, hm? Didn’t realize my talk show wasn’t a job! Oh that’s right, it is, but you always seem to forget that!” I jab loudly, offended.

“Louis, your talk show is once a week, that’s not enough!”

“Is so!”

“Isn’t! And even if it was, that makes you a fucking hypocrite, because you spend tons of time with your work friends!” Harry accuses, voice cracking with frustration.

“When you’re at work!” I shout.

“Oh fuck off, it’s not my fault my job requires actual effort.” Harry replies haughtily, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s right, I fucking said it! Your stupid show is written by other people, Louis, all you do is read off the jokes and interview a celebrity from a script!” He yells.

Now he’s crossed a line. This is just….no.

“Fuck you! I worked hard to get that show, and I still do, not like you’d know! Novelty wore off after your first fucking visit! Half the people there forget I even have a husband because you’re never around!” I push, pushpushpush.

“I’m not around because I have actual work to do, at an actual job, that I actually have to fucking contribute to!” Harry fumes, stepping closer.

My jaw actually drops at that one, because how fucking dare he? He encouraged me to get my job, told me it’d be amazing for me, such good work, and now he’s the only one who does anything? Fuck him.

I shove him back with forceful hands and seethe “You’re just jealous I got popular again! That’s the only reason you even went for X Factor judge! It’s got nothing to do with money!”

“Of course it does, do you really think I’m that petty?” He spits, shoving me back as well.

I stumble, but right myself and fight back with “I don’t know, I barely see you anymore, maybe you’ve changed!”

“Well obviously you have too!”

Seriously? Fuck him. I clench my fists and reply “Sure, go ahead, put the blame on me once again. I forgot, everything’s my fault!”

He rolls his eyes immediately. “Oh, do not try and play that card again-”

“What card?” I interrupt. “You’re Harry Styles and you’re perfect and never make mistakes and I’m just Louis who screws everything up-”

“Oh woe is me, my life is horrible, pity me!” He mocks.

“You don’t have enough time in your schedule to even feel pity!” I scream.

And then we glare at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, before Harry shakes his head.

“You’re fucking terrible.” He mutters, before throwing down his dish rag and storming out of the kitchen.

I’m left alone and the fight crashes down on me, and shit. Shit. What the hell just happened? We haven’t fought like that in months, fuck, maybe even a year. Since the honeymoon. And everything had been going wonderfully, really, we’d been smitten and our days were filled with kisses and cuddles and smiles and it was all goddamn perfect and then Harry’d gotten that stupid job and now- Well. Now this.

I scrub at my eyes, which are starting to grow wet, and I hear a crash from the other room, probably Harry throwing something in anger. I don’t even care. He can throw whatever he wants, it’s not going to change this. Maybe nothing will change this. Maybe we’ve gone and fucked it all up. Maybe I have.

Because this was my fault. I brought it up, I started the argument, I added fuel to the fire. Harry was an absolute twat, yes, but. I started it. My fault.

And it’s like I’m frozen as shame and guilt and self hatred washes over me, and then my stomach drops, because my eyes catch on a knife on the counter, silver and shining, and. I want it. I want it to slice through my skin and make me numb and take away all of this because I’ve ruined everything.

And it’s right there, shit, all I’d have to do is grab it, and I’d feel okay again, I would, and there’d be more scars, and I never missed them, but now I do, now I want more, want to fall back down into that pit because maybe it would fix this. Fix it all.

My fingers reach out to play with the handle, twisting the blade on the counter top, watching the light reflect off it, and I’m in a trance like I used to be, when I needed it, craved it so bad it hurt, and it’s scary but settling, in a sense, and.

I nearly pick it up. I nearly bring it to my wrist and cut across, nearly make myself bleed red. But I don’t. I startle out of it with a gasp and slide it away from myself forcefully, real tears now brimming over. I thought that was over? I thought I was okay, I thought I’d never feel like this again, feel broken and dependent and conflicted, but here I am, and.

I want Harry. I know we’ve just fought like hell, and I know he’s furious, but. I want him. He always knew what to say, always knew how to bring me out of it, and I feel so fucking alone right now, I. I take a shaking breath and back away from the knife as fast as I can, not letting myself make the mistake.

Instead, I spin and walk down the hall, padding across the carpet to where I know Harry will be, in our room, probably with a pillow over his face. I pass the bathroom and have to steel myself before I do something idiotic like go in there and pry out one of those gloriously thin razor blades-

Wow, fuck, what is even happening? I hurry past and reach our bedroom door, which is firmly shut. By now I’m crying, pathetically scared, so I knock timidly on the door and wait, holding in a sniffle.

“What.” Comes Harry’s voice, deadpan.

“Can I, um. Can I come in please?” I ask, voice thick. I don’t have to see him to know he’s thinking it over, brooding.

“I’d rather you not.” He says.

I stifle an upcoming sob and hug my torso, not knowing what to do. “Please.” I whimper stupidly, a last ditch attempt.

I hear a deep sigh, and then Harry’s calling out “Fine.”

I sag and open the door, seeing the room dimply lit, Harry sitting on his side of the bed, facing me with a pillow hugged to his chest, visible anger from earlier remaining. Alright, then. I tentatively come closer and I know the exact moment he notices that I’m crying, because his glare falters slightly. I climb onto the bed and sit cross legged, distance still between us.

Neither of us speak for a moment, because I don’t know how to put any of it into words. That’s scary, just like the rest of this, making me cry more silent tears, staring at my hands, which fidget at the bedspread, unsure.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks after a little while, more of a statement than a question. I glance up to see him trying hard to remain cold.

I still don’t know what to say, so I shrug weakly, choking on my breath a little. I feel myself revert back to how I used to be, and my fingers travel to my wrist, pinching harshly at the skin there, and the pain is still familiar, and.

And then Harry’s tugging my arm away, stammering “Oh, Lou. Are you. Is it. Back?”

All I can do is nod as a sob finally escapes. Harry is quick to get rid of the space between us, pulling me in close, cradling me to his chest. I nestle into his neck and cling to him tight, still feeling lost.

“I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry.” Harry murmurs, kissing my hair and holding my wrist.

I cry into him and shake my head, mussing my hair. “No, it’s. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

“We were both stupid, shh, it’s okay, we’re okay, Boo.” Harry soothes. I sob again and he holds me tighter.

“We’re okay?” I ask, because I ruined it all, didn’t I? I ruined us.

“We’re alright, I promise, everything’s alright.” He tells me, and I sag in relief, deflating into him.

He lays us down gently, enveloping me so I feel small, which is what I always needed, when I used to crave for the blade. His lips find my forehead and he strokes my neck as more tears brim over with a wobbly noise.

“Shhh.” He coos, holding me tighter. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and struggle to explain. “I just. I want to cut and bleed and hurt and I don’t know why, fuck, I thought I was better.”

I curl into him at the admission, shame making my cheeks flush. But he settles his head beside mine to kiss my chin, saying “You are better, sweetheart, you don’t give in anymore.”

“I almost did.” I whimper. “There was the knife on the counter, and, shit.”

“Oh, Louis, it’s okay.” He assures me, despite the sudden sadness in his eyes. “You didn’t cut, you didn’t fall again, you’re fine, you’re perfectly fine.”

“I don’t feel it. Wanting to slice into my skin because we fought isn’t normal, that isn’t fine.” I growl, no longer angry at him, but myself instead.

“Well, maybe it’s been lying under the surface, you know? Maybe it lingers. Maybe it’s gonna come back sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fight through it.” Harry says slowly, reaching up to wipe away some of my tears with his thumb.

“Y-Yeah?” I choke, unsure.

“Yes, baby, we’ll fight through it together like we did before, like we’ve always done. I’m here, I’ll get you through it, I swear.” Harry tells me with kisses to both cheeks.

“You’re not mad at me?” I ask.

“For this, or for before?”

“Before.”

“I’m. Yeah, still mad. But this overrides that, alright? You’re more important than my stupid bitterness. That whole fight, all of it, it’s over, done, pointless, okay? Let’s forget it. This comes first.” Harry answers.

I feel a bit lighter, sounding a small “Really?”

Harry nods. “Of course. When has it ever not?”

I just shrug a shoulder, before cuddling into him, nosing at the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar cologne.

“Thank you. I just really need you, and. Thank you.” I choke out, emotions swirling once more. I feel off balance.

“I need you too. More than any dumb fight, you got that?” Harry says firmly, and it’s my turn to nod.

“Mhm.” I hum unevenly.

“Good.” He murmurs.

We fall quiet for a little while, listening to each other’s breathing, Harry rubbing my back, me pressing the occasional kiss to his neck in thanks. But I know one of us needs to apologize, so I speak up first. My fault, after all.

“For the record, um.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t mean what I said, earlier. All that shit. I know your job is important, and I know I was being unfair. I’m sorry.”

Harry sighs and touches his lips to my hair. “It’s okay.” He replies. “I was being a dick. Your job is perfect, and you do really well, and you do put a lot of effort in. I shouldn’t have said any of what I did. I’m sorry too.”

I shrug again, voice muted when I admit “I just miss you a lot, and. I worry about losing you.”

“Why would you ever lose me?” He questions, sounding utterly confused.

I keep my face tucked into him in order to hide my obvious upset. “Because your schedule is so busy now, and you still need to find time for friends and stuff, and. That’s gotta come out of somewhere.”

“Lou…you think I’m going to stop spending time with you because of other people? Because of my job?” He asks ludicrously. But…it is true.

“S’already happening.” I mutter into him. “S’fine, I know it’s not your fault. I’ll deal.”

“No, it’s.” He struggles, shaking his head. “No. Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t even. I thought you knew I’d rather be with you? All the time? God, I’m sorry, I’ll, um, I’ll talk to the producers and see if I can move some of the shooting and meetings to, like, one day? That way I won’t have to leave so often, and we can have more of our lounge about days?”

“We don’t do much lounging about.” I snort. We both know I’m using it to cover up how emotional and grateful I am. Neither of us mention it.

“True. But does that sound good, love?” He clarifies, pulling apart slightly to meet my eyes.

“Yes.” I smile sadly.

“Good.” He breathes, before kissing me, soft and slow. I let my eyes flutter closed, and move with him in practiced movements, content. When he breaks away, he nudges our noses together and adds “I love you, husband. Don’t go forgetting that again, okay?”

I look away sheepishly. “I didn’t forget, I. Worried.”

“You do that too much.” He comments knowingly.

“I know.” I sigh.

He kisses me again, shorter this time, and I let my head fall back down onto the pillow once more.

“I love you too, Hazza. Don’t forget that either.” I tell him sternly.

“Never.” He swears, green eyes honest.

I nod and turn into his bicep, nuzzling into his collage of tattoos, determinedly keeping my eyes shut to fend off more tears. It’s just, I feel so fucking stupid, so needy, weak, even. I just. I really thought I was over all of this, really thought I was better and recovered and all that, and yet here I am, wishing I had something sharp in my fingers instead of Harry’s shirt, wishing I was bleeding instead of crying. It’s so pathetic, I don’t even-

I’m broken out of it by Harry cupping my cheek, making my look at him blurrily, breath hitching.

“Let me make it all better, yeah?” He murmurs gently, stroking away wetness.

“Yeah.” I shudder.

He sends me a smile for my benefit and rolls on top of me, trapping me there. He mouths up my neck and across my jaw, before capturing my lips with his own. I sigh into the kiss and tangle my fingers in his hair, something we’ve discovered will never not be thing of his. I feel him smirk as he deepens it, tongue flicking out to lick into my mouth slickly.

And from there on out, it’s a lot of kissing, and not so much breathing, but my brain is too dizzy to think about anything but Harry.

Maybe I’ll be okay.