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

(Louis’ POV)

As I walk harshly down the hotel hallway, I feel tears well up again. God, I shouldn’t have done that. What was I thinking? It was just…hearing them be so casual about it…almost teasing…it was too much. They have no idea. They have no fucking idea how hard it is for me. Seeing Harry flirt with girls, seeing him even talk about them. So much as a glance towards a babe and I get so hurt I want to scream.

I suppose a more accurate word is jealous. Green’s not a good color on me, I can tell. Just knowing that other people, girls, can have my Hazza and I can’t? Kills me. Freaking kills me. And him with his stupid charm, and his stupid charisma? I can’t stay away from him. I’m not even safe in my head; my brain just follows him around like a magnet.

God, why does my life have to be so hard? Normally I don’t go all ‘woe is me’ but seriously? I had to be an idiot and self harm, I had to get addicted to it, I had to be gay, and I had to fall for very, very completely straight as a ruler Harry Styles? My best friend? My Hazza?

What the fuck is wrong with me. No really. What. The. Fuck.

My hands shove into my pockets as the elevator that I don’t remember getting in hits the lobby floor and I rush past everyone, head down, worried one of our security guards will be ambling about down there.

Thankfully no one stops me and I walk outside, cool air blowing over me, having a calming effect. But I’m not calm. I’m still a freaking mess.

I walk aimlessly for who know how long before I see a convenience store. For a second, my steps falter. Would they have something sharp in there? A razor? Well, yes, naturally. But I don’t have time to pry out small blades from a disposable so I frown.

But then I remember reading something, all the way back from when I was 15. Why the hell I’m remembering now I’ll never know, but Jesus Christ I am. It was something on that website with all the information on self harm. Cutting, etc. And it’s the etc. part that’s important. I remember the text underneath, clear as day.

Someone who cuts may also self harm in other ways by choice or out of desperation. The most common other way to self harm is by burning. Said person will either use a lighter directly to their skin, or will often heat up a metal object (bobby pin, hair clip, possibly even razor blade) and press it to their skin. It’s different than cutting, but has the desired painful effect.

So that settles that, I think grimly.

I rush into the store, giving a small polite nod to the guy behind the counter. I go straight to the back, hoping to god there’s something thin and metal. I nearly whine with relief when I find a package of paper clips. I grab them with haste and go back to the counter.

I pick a thin red lighter as well, and toss them both on the counter. The man rings them through, and I bounce impatiently. I hand him the money, more than the total but I mutter for him to keep the rest, take my newly bought items and leave the store.

I’m anxious and eager to do whatever the fuck I’m going to, but I know I can’t do it in public. There’s people walking by, what would they think? And god, what would a fan think if she (possibly he, I suppose) saw? That can’t get out.

So I walk, head down (and wishing I’d worn a beanie something because geez I look recognisable) and stumbling. It’s then that I find the park, small and in a corner behind some brick buildings. Absolutely deserted, naturally I suppose, as it’s a Monday morning around noon, and I fall onto the bench.

With shaking fingers, I open the little box of paper clips, sending them cascading to the ground around me. I don’t have the goddamn energy to care, and I just grab one that fell on my knee.

Taking the lighter out, I flick it and watch as the flame appears. For a fraction of a second I just stare at it as it dwindles, but then I hold the paper clip in its heat. The colored metal stains black and I can tell within a second or two that it’s hot.

I drop the lighter, roll up my sleeve and gently (not without pre-wincing with nerves) press it to my skin. I jump and whimper as the nerves in my wrist burn and spark, the pain very unlike cutting. My eyes tear up as the pain dulls.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. So that was…different. Not bad, just different.

I look down and examine the now burning red skin, pretty sure that a boil or something will be there soon. Once again I just don’t care.

Suddenly I want more, much like when cutting, so I grab the lighter and reheat the clip, this time a little less as I’m not sure how hot I want it to be. I press it down onto my inner wrist and bite my lip in order to stop another cry. It hurts, god it fucking burns, but I don’t take the clip off because I need to fucking do this. My life is a mess and I just don’t care anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Comes a familiar voice and I freeze, my entire body going ice cold.

I spin around and see Liam and Niall staring at me in angry disbelief. Then I go hot, red all over, and my breathing speeds up. Telling Zayn was one thing, I’d been scared then. But now, having people know against my will, I’m going to have a panic attack.

Liam rips the lighter and clip out of my hand and Niall just stares, both of them obviously too stunned to speak. I can’t make eye contact with them. I just can’t.

I go to pull my sleeve down, remembering they can see, but in a second they’re both in front of me, and Liam has a death grip on my arm (which is painful as hell) and he pulls up my sleeve angrily.

“What the fuck Louis. What the actual fuck.” He asks, eyes going wide as saucers. Funny, I was asking myself the same thing only a few minutes ago. Doesn’t feel like it.

I try to pull away, fighting off my tears, but he holds fast, not letting me go. I risk a glance at Niall and see that he’s teary himself, making me hate myself more.

It falls to silence, the only noises are passing cars and distant voices. My breathings heavy and there’s a sob threatening to escape my throat, and I know I won’t be able to suppress it much longer. No one else was supposed to know.

“Why?” Liam demands, louder this time. “Why the hell…would you…why?”

Finally I rip my arm away from him, tears spilling over. “Leave me alone.” I said, and my voice cracks.

“We’re not going anywhere! What were you…how did we not….” Niall trails off, covering his face with his hands as he cries.

“Leave me…fucking hell!” I nearly yell, and that sob finally breaks free. My head falls into my hands and I cry, weep, sob, whatever you wanna call it. All I know is that I’m broken.

I feel arms around me, knowing they’re Niall’s. I don’t want to, but I give in and fall into his small chest, breath hitching over and over. I then feel another pair encircle my waist and Liam’s hugging me, forehead against my shoulder, his presence more calming than anything.

“I’m sorry.” I sob. “I’m s-so sorry.”

“Shhh, breathe Lou. For god’s sake, just breathe.” Niall coaches, and I have the errant thought that Harry would do that better. The thought makes me cry more.

I don’t know how long I cry for, just that I continue to bury my face in Niall’s neck. When I finally come to my senses I push them both off, raking hands through my now ruined hair.

“This is so screwed up.” I mumble to myself. My voice is wrecked from sobs and my eyes are puffy.

“You know what? Yeah, it is. What were you thinking Louis?” Liam asks harshly, but I know I deserve it.

“I don’t know.” I finally admit. “I don’t. I’ve never known.” A tired sob muffles my breath.

“How long have you…done that?” Niall asks timidly. I don’t look up.

“Since I was 15 or so.” I say, my heart heavy with the admission.

I’m just too tired to lie. Too tired to keep up an act, and way too tired to deny them any knowledge. I’m just so tired.

“How did we not know?” Liam asks, and it sounds like he’s chastising himself.

“I have ways of making sure. If it’s on my wrist I wear a jumper. If it’s on my legs I make sure not to walk around naked like Harry.” I try to joke, but it’s stone cold.

“There’s more?” Niall asks in shock.

I nod, sniffling.

I see Liam look at his watch and curse. “Look, I feel like an asshole but-”

“I know. We have an interview.” I mutter dejectedly.

“I’m so sorry Lou.” Niall says, trying to meet my eyes, but I just can’t do it.

“Forget it.” I grumble. I regret it instantly, knowing it was the wrong choice of words.

“We’re not going to forget anything! We’ll be watching you like a hawk, you understand that? You’re not doing that anymore, there is no goddamn way. We’re not letting you hurt yourself. You’ll fall apart, Louis.” Liam says.

The words hit me and fall into place. I stand quickly before I lose my mind and begin to pace back and forth, hands on my head.

I didn’t want them to know. I know they’re hurting now and that’s exactly why. Zayn I could trust with the information. Zayn keeps a relatively cool head. He cares, I know he does, but he keeps calm. But Niall’s blaming himself, quite blatantly. The way he looks at the floor is clear. And then there’s Liam, who’s outraged and angry and blatantly Liam.

Wait.

Hazza.

I freeze, fear seizing me. Harry can’t know, he can’t, he absolutely cannot. No. No, never, he’ll never find out, god, it would ruin him. It would literally kill him, fuck. Bloody hell, my life is set to ruin me too.

“You can’t tell Harry.” I say loudly, blurting it out. “Zayn knows so whatever but god you can’t tell Haz. You just can’t.”

“Of course we have to!” Liam explodes, then mutters an apology.

“No, Liam. You can’t. It’ll kill him. It’s rip him apart. It’s enough that I’m b-broken, please don’t break him too. If he knows…if he…I won’t be able to stop. If he knows I won’t.” I say, stepping back once I’ve made the silent threat.

You tell him, and I keep doing it.

“You can’t possibly ask us to-” Niall starts, but I talk over him, louder and surprisingly calmer.

“I can and I am. Keep your mouths shut.” I demand.

Nobody says anything for a while. In fact, nobody looks at each other for a while. But when I finally meet their eyes, both nod, a hesitant acceptance.

Good.

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

(Harry’s POV)

By the time we’re all sat in the SUV, it’s clear something’s happened. I was worried absolutely sick about Lou, knowing damn well how upset he can get. I’m not sure exactly what I was so scared of, just scared. I waited with Zayn, the Bradford boy making me stay. I argued with him for what seemed like forever, but for whatever goddamn reason, he wouldn’t let me leave. Finally, after what seemed like ages of cold worry, our phones vibrated with a simple text.

Found him. Make sure you’re ready, the car will be there in 20 –Niall

I’d calmed then, managing to smile with relief, and took the world’s fastest shower before throwing on a plaid shirt, jeans and converse. It took me a second to realize I was subconsciously colour matching Louis. The fact made me grin.

And now, sitting in the car, I’m biting my lip with nerves. Liam and Niall are acting weird as hell, but won’t tell me why. Both glance repeatedly back at Louis, strange fear in their eyes. Lou glares back every time, and the other boys back down slightly. And Zayn seems to already know what’s going on, or has figured it out, and I feel like I’m going mad.

I’m sitting next to Lou, our knees touching and sending electricity through me. I brush it off as nerves. I put a hand on his leg and he jumps, looking at me with wide eyes.

“You okay? We were joking before mate, I’m sorry we crossed a line. Where did you go?” I ask, and he seems to calm a little.

“I know you were. Sorry I snapped. Just off this morning I guess. And I went to the park. Liam and Nialler found me.” He tells me, and sends a glare at the other boys who are sitting in front of us. “Just needed some air.”

“Okay…” I say cautiously, still feeling like I’m missing something.

“Really, I’m fine Curly.” He says, a small smile on his face. He leans in and kisses my cheek, making me blush.

“Good.”

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

We’re halfway through the interview, cameras on us and questions flying, but I can’t keep my attention off Louis. I know I seem distracted but that’s because I am. There’s something different. I don’t like it.

“And if you could date anyone in the band, who would you date?” The interviewer asks, winking at me. Normally I’d be all over her, she’s rather hot, but I’m just…not. My mind’s on Louis.

“Erm, I’m gonna go with Liam, because he knows his romance. Tell your girlfriend not to kill me.” Niall answers with a laugh.

Liam grins, although he’s restrained. “Yeah I’ll go with Niall.”

“Hmm, I seem to change my answer every time.” Zayn chuckles. “I’ll say Harry.”

I don’t even wink at him like usual. My eyes are trained on Lou, and the way he’s picking at his sleeve with upset written on his features.

“I’d date Louis.” I say loudly, and his head snaps up as his eyes meet with mine. “Because he’s so gorgeous.”

Everyone laughs it off as a bromance moment, but for some reason that bugs me. I see him smile, timidly, and I know his walls are cracking.

“Harry.” Is all he says for his answer. It’s more than enough.

“Alright, so another fan question we got is from a girl names Andrea,” The interviewer says and we all say hello to Andrea, “and she wants to know the last time you guys cuddled.”

I blush a bright red. Well that timing was just brilliant.

“Last week, with Niall during a scary movie.” Zayn answers, and the two laugh, probably remembering whatever they’d seen.

“God, that was terrifying.” Niall chuckles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Liam?” The interviewer questions.

“Erm, I’m not sure.” He brushes it off, like they often do.

“Louis?” She says.

He’s obviously torn, and I wrap an arm around him, anything for my Lou Lou to smile.

“Last night, we did. There was a storm and neither of us like them much.” I say confidently, and I feel him relax a little in my embrace. Good.

“Neither do I!”The interviewer laughs too loudly, visibly undressing me with her eyes. I don’t know why but I cringe.

“Yeah, well.” I say, maybe too harshly, and I see Liam shoot me a firm glare.

But she doesn’t notice, and moves on to more questions. And I go back to studying Lou, not bothering to care about the audience. There’s something wrong with him. I need to know. I just do.