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

(Harry’s POV)

I’m panting by the time I get back to the apartment, and the door slams behind me loudly. In an instant Liam has stormed out of my room and pushes me back against the wall, causing me to wince.

“You have no right being here. Leave.” He snarls, and I raise my eyebrows. Liam can be serious sometimes, but this is just….

Then again, I deserve it.

“I know. I know that but you need to let me see him, I’m sorry and I need to see him.” I explain putting my hands on his arms. “Please.”

“No. You broke him. He’s a weeping mess and that is on you.” Liam says harshly. I know it’s true, but I just can’t think about it right now.

“Let me see him Liam, he’s my best friend.” I snap, pushing him backwards. In an instant he’s got me pinned to the wall. Forgot how strong he was.

Face a few inches from mine, he glares. “Best friends don’t do what you just did.”

“That’s why I came back you idiot! I ran into a fan and she started talking about Larry Stylinson and I realized that I need to be here helping him, so would you get off and let me?” I growl.

I see his eyes change and he lets go of me, gaze flickering to my shoes.

“You’re-”

“Yeah I know. Just let me see him.” I say, a small embarrassed smirk flashing on my lips.

Niall walks out of my room, rubbing his red eyes and wrapping his arms around himself. You know how I said that he feeds off happiness? He also feeds off sadness. And this right here is why we choose not to be sad. It’s unnatural. We’re not laughing or joking or relaxing. We’re tense and awkward. Yay.

“You better fix the mess you just made.” He mumbles, deflating into Liam’s arms. The taller boy holds him close, rubbing his hair in a comforting way. Liam just gets Niall. He knows how to take care of him and while it’s a very different friendship than mine and Lou’s, it works the same way. They just know what to do with each other.

“That’s why I’m here.” I explain.

Niall nods into Liam’s chest, head finding the crook of his neck. The sight makes me want to hug my Louis.

So I walk past them, noticing the way Niall touches my shoulder lightly as I go. I reach my doorway and pause. What do I say? How do I explain myself? How do I make up for what I’ve just done? I just do, I suppose.

I walk in to see the worst sight I’ve ever witnessed. Louis is curled into Zayn’s chest (and I bite down my lip out of jealousy) with his hands clamped onto his shirt. His fists are balled together, hair frizzled. I can’t see his face, just the pink of his cheeks and his trembling shoulders.

Zayn is rubbing circles on his back (he’s doing it wrong, I’d do it better) and muttering things like “Shhh, it’ll be okay, shhhh.” I step forwards and Zayn snaps his head upwards to see me and immediately his eyes narrow.

He gives me a clear look. What are you doing here?

And instead of answering, my expression just pleads. Please.

He nods.

“Lou?” I ask timidly. I see him jump and bury himself further into Zayn. I hate that I did that. It’s breaking my heart.

“Louis please. I…Zayn can I talk to him alone?” I question, having to ring my fingers out of nervousness.

Zayn goes to say something, but Lou shakes his head, grabbing him closer. So he doesn’t want to be alone with me. Fucking fantastic. It’s only 10 AM and my day has gone to shit. My life has, really.

“Lou…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Please, if you can just listen to me…I’m not mad. Not at you. I’m mad at myself for not noticing, and the others for not telling me, but it’s not your fault. I hate that I blew up like that. I hate that I hurt you and made you cry because that’s the last thing I want. You know that. I care about you and I need you to know that I’m here from here on out.” I say, at a loss for what else I should say.

Zayn makes a motion with his hands as if to say keep going, idiot.

“I’m here. I’m going to help you. You don’t need to be embarrassed or upset or anything because this changes nothing. I’m not going to see you differently. This is the same speech I gave when you came out, and I know that, but it’s true. You’re still Louis. I just know a little more about you and that’s not a bad thing. Please just…just let me help you. Let me be your Hazza and let me do what I should.” I finish, crying by the end.

Louis finally pulls away from Zayn to look at me. His face is devastated and his eyes are puffy. His cheeks are splotched and his hair is plastered to his forehead. And yet, he looks beautiful. I guess guys are supposed to be manly or rugged or handsome but Lou is…beautiful. Gorgeous. Even like this. Especially like this.

“Say something.” I beg. My voice is stuffy and I wipe my eyes out of embarrassment.

“I…” he starts, and I cringe. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, god, no!” I say, dropping to my knees beside him, putting my hands on his arms. “Don’t say sorry. Never say sorry. You…I may not understand it, but I want to. It’s obviously your way of coping and while no it’s not healthy and no it’s not safe, I know you never intended for anything bad to happen. And thank god it hasn’t. I’m here and I’m going to look after you and help you, okay Boo Bear?”

I see a small smile appear at the nickname. Both of us are ignoring Zayn, but he’s still rubbing circles on Louis’ back. But we’re in our own world like usual, eyes connected, green meeting blue, captivated.

“You’re not upset with me?” He asks timidly, voice cracking with a held back sob.

“Hell no. I’m not. I love you and I need you to know that I’m still your best friend and that isn’t going to change. We’re still Larry Stylinson.” I tease, winking at him.

And then Louis’ flings himself into my arms, head nuzzling into my neck. I barely have time to catch him because I’m on the floor but I manage, his legs folding to lay on mine. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close and protecting him. Protecting him from his thoughts and mine and the world’s. That’s what I have to do. Just knowing that Louis was in such a terrible state all this time….

I bury my face into his hair, inhaling the fruity shampoo scent that is just Louis. I feel the sob before it manages to escape, but soon I’m crying into his hair, and I feel him start to shake as well. Great, a cry fest, yay. But I just don’t understand why all this is happening and it’s overwhelming and crazy.

But crazy is who we are. We’re dysfunctional and weird and broken in half but together we work through that like we always have. It works. It always will.

“I’m here.” I whisper into his ear, ignoring the way it gives me shivers when he exhales onto my skin.

“Don’t leave.” He mumbles into my skin and kisses my adam’s apple, making me want to ravish him. I know that’s not the mood but god he’s just so fucking perfect.

I open my teary eyes to see Zayn, Niall and Liam standing in the doorway, sad smiles on their faces. Zayn has a hand on Liam’s shoulder, keeping him grounded, but Liam still has his arms around Niall, holding him there tightly. I don’t know why but the sight is rather adorable, as while Liam is indeed Daddy Directioner, he doesn’t go all momma bird on us often.

I kiss Louis’ hair repeatedly, pulling him closer by his hips.

So the secret’s out. I finally know. And my world is in ruins around me but I’ll put it aside for him because he’s my Lou Lou. My job is to help him and that’s what I’ll do. I’m not happy about this, and I’m not glad, but having it out in the open feels better. Louis self harms and we need to help him. Such a simple sentence, but it entails so much. One of those things being a feeling of hope.

I hold on to that.

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

(Louis’ POV)

Normally on Sundays we get the day off. It’s a day for us to either be travelling, sleeping, or in most cases, eating and watching movies. This Sunday is different.

Since Harry found out about my problem yesterday, we’ve both been emotional wrecks. I hate the pitying looks he gives me when he thinks I can’t see. I hate the way he forces me out of my insecurities by making me wear short sleeved tops, usually saying “You don’t need to hide anymore, Boo.” and kissing my forehead. I hate the way he stares at the multiple cuts and burns like they’re going to ruin everything. I suppose they already have. But then again, I secretly love the way he shoots me caring looks every now and then. I secretly love the way he makes me fight my fears and leave my arms out in the open. And I do indeed secretly love the way he hates my cuts. Cause I hate them too and if hating them will help me stop, then I’ll do it passionately.

Currently I’m sitting on the couch, wearing just a striped T-shirt, flicking through crap telly. We’re leaving this city tomorrow morning, leaving just tonight to relax before we’re back to doing concerts for thousands of fans. I can tell you now that I’m terrified of performing again. Mostly scared for Harry’s actions because lately he’s following me around nonstop, always with a hand on me, always with his fingers tracing shapes on my skin.

Hazza’s in the kitchen making me lunch right now. Naturally, I offered to help, but naturally, he declined. I’m pretty sure he’s making fajitas by the amazing scent wafting into the room. He’s been taking care of me nonstop and while it is a little annoying, I can’t help but smile. He makes me meals and snacks, rents us cute movies, and cuddles with me.

Last night he slept in my bed, spooning me. I wanted to stay awake as long as possible, just relishing the fact that my Haz was there with me, no more secrets and zero judgment. But eventually exhaustion had taken over and I’d passed out. I’d woken up with a start a few hours later when I had an incredibly vivid nightmare. I’d been running in the dream, from what I don’t know. I couldn’t find my way and it was dark and my wrists were bleeding like crazy and all I remember is just wanting to find my Harry. I guess I woke him up by calling out for him, and he managed to snap me out of it, then calm me down with small whispers and fingers massaging my back just the way I like it. The way that only he can do.

This morning I had tried not to be awkward about it, but my nervousness and embarrassment showed. And yet Hazza had assured me that it wasn’t a big deal, and that he loved me and wanted to make me breakfast.

Loved me.

He’s said that a lot more too. Not that we didn’t before. But usually it was before bed, or in a more joking matter before we hang up the phone. It’s a clear fact between us. I love Haz, he loves me. But now it’s on a whole new level. Earlier on the tv show cut to commercial and out of nowhere he just went “Lou, I love you. You know that, right?” and I’d stared at him in surprise before nodding and saying “Of course.” and that’s where we left it.

It felt unfinished.

“Hey babe, lunch is ready!” He says out of nowhere, and I jump hugely, heart nearly stopping. God, I forgot how quiet he is.

“Shit, Haz. Warn a lad next time.” I say, trying to brush off the nerves.

“Sorry Lou.” He tells me, then passes me a plate with cheesy fajitas on it, presumably filled with peppers and mushrooms.

He sits beside me, no plate of his own, and curls up just so, making sure his leg is leaning against mine. I begin to eat my food and realize he’s watching me. I know why and it’s driving me insane. So I try and focus on the fajitas but soon I feel my blood start to boil out of frustration.

“Stop it.” I warn, putting my food on the coffee table and quirking an eyebrow.

“I’m not doing anything.” He defends, pretending to be interested in the television, but he’s stupid to think I wouldn’t see right through it.

“Yes, you are. You’re worrying about me.” I begin. He bites his lip much like I do and looks at the floor.

“I’m not-” Haz tries to say, but I talk over him.

“You’re freaking out and overreacting and you need to stop. I appreciate your concern, believe me I do, but I’m not fragile. Stop looking at me like I’m going to fall apart at any second. I can handle myself and you following me around literally and metaphorically is doing nothing good for the situation. In fact, you’re making it awkward. I love you Curly, you know that, but you need to relax a little.” I finish, watching as he shakes his head slowly, still not meeting my gaze.

“I can’t relax. I can’t. I know I said that this wouldn’t change anything but it does, Lou. Not our friendship or anything, but with how I feel. Knowing that you’ve been in your own personal hell all this time changes this. Knowing that you’ve been hurting yourself over and over changes this. Knowing that you felt as though you had no other choice changes this. And-” Harry tries to say, standing up to pace around like he often does.

“I didn’t feel that way.” Once again, I interrupt him mid-sentence and he pauses.

“What?” He asks, confused as to what I’m referring to.

“I knew I had a choice.” I tell him, blushing at the realization that I’m opening up to him. I’ve never said this aloud before and yet here I am, telling the boy I love. Telling Harry who has been here all along, waiting by my side for me to lean on when I need it. But I never did. Until now.

“I knew that I could choose not to. That I could talk about it, or let myself…let myself feel. Feel all these fucking ridiculous emotions that were tearing me apart and deal with them but I just couldn’t.” I explain, voice cracking and throat becoming thick. “So it was the preferable option. Easier. I didn’t have to….”

“Feel.” Harry supplies. He’s sat down beside me on the couch, legs crossed, eyes trained on my wrists. For the first time, I don’t bother moving them away.

“No. Well, yes. When I…it’s a different type of feel. It’s physical, not emotional. It overpowers everything else and makes all those stupid emotions go numb and even though it doesn’t last a long time, it still works.” I mumble.

When I look up, green orbs meet mine. For a minute my heart stutters at the intensity of the look he gives me. I’ve never seen his gaze so dark. It’s somewhat scary, yet like always, utterly gorgeous.

“So you chose not to think.” Harry says, not breaking eye contact.

“I…yeah. Yeah, I guess.” I mutter, and look down.

Suddenly I feel self conscious and blush deeply. I’m desperate to make the ugly mess on my arms go away because this is all my fault. I’ve ruined everything and Harry’s studying me like a bug and I don’t like it.

I go to take my arms away, fingers moving to cover the burns and cuts, but Harry’s hand shoots out and grabs it.

My eyes flutter up to look at him in shock, as his fingers are gripping my wrist tightly. He’s staring at the markings, studying them, and I hate it. I don’t want him to see this side of me. I’m broken and cracked and my walls are breaking and I cannot have that.

So I try to yank my arm away, but he holds steady. I try again, and soon we’re wrestling for my arm, and I can’t help it but I’m crying, my nose stinging, Harry’s nails digging into my skin. I whimper and he sniffs, making me realize he’s near tears as well. But we keep fighting for control.

“Stop.” He orders, and I freeze. I’ve never heard him so commanding. “Now.”

I freeze. His fingers reach out tentatively, wavering in the air, but I don’t pull away. Harry’s voice has a hold on me, much like his hand. His eyes are dark and his eyebrows are furrowed. His tongue is touching his lip, frozen with concentration, one of the most dauntingly attractive things I’ve ever seen. He looks like he’s in a trance.

So when his fingertips finally brush over my skin, I nearly gasp.