Pour Your Heart Out /larry ao3 repost/

lessgoooo

 might have been afraid that if I really loved someone and needed her, one day she might suddenly disappear without a word, and I'd be left all alone.

- Haruki Murakami

He smiled, but his eyes said pray for me.

- Unknown

∞

Louis.

The name etched permanently into skin. The name that caused his dad to leave, the name that caused his mum to cry. The name that Harry has tried scrubbing, itching, scraping off his skin. The name that Harry hides from the world, the name that causes him the most shame. The one name that Harry Styles hates with his whole being.

Louis.

Every night as Harry lies in bed, staring at the offending word, he prays that Fate made a mistake. He wishes, wishes hard, that it's a spelling error and one day Louise is going to appear and make his life so much easier. He wishes that Louise would appear and make his dad come back and make his mum stop crying. He wishes Louise would appear so he can stop hating himself.

But Harry knows he is stuck with the name etched into his arm forever.

Forever.

Harry wishes it would just disappear. He's never going to seek out his soulmate; he'd rather have no soulmate over Louis. There's no way he's going to disappoint his family like that.

Harry used to have large, grandiose, beautiful dreams about his love life and how one day everything would be perfect. He would have his wife, the love of his life, his soulmate, in his arms, surrounded by their gorgeous, energetic bunch of children.

Harry used to wonder what his soulmate would look like. If she would have long or short hair, whether she'd be lean and muscled, or curvy and soft. Harry often came to the conclusion that he didn't care what she looked like as long as their love was endless.

But now Harry doesn't know what to do. His plans for the future have crumbled, his hopes for a happily ever after have vanished. He doesn't know what to do because the name on the inside of his left wrist is Louis. A guy's name.

∞ before ∞

"Niall!" Harry laughs loudly, trying to fight off his best friend's hands. "Stop it—oh my god! Niall Horan, we're going to be caught!"

Niall cackles, but doesn't stop his hands from attacking Harry's head of hair. "I'm trying to make it look better, Haz. If you quit squirming around and squealing, then we won't get caught."

Harry knows his attempts to escape are pointless so he stops putting up a fight and lets his best friend style his curls to his liking. He slumps against the lockers and allows his eyes to scan the hallway. The tiled floors reflect the bright fluorescent ceiling lights, bright enough to blind someone, probably. The cream walls are dressed up with various posters for the End of the Year dance and flyers for brand new student-run clubs that will be coming to the school next year. Classes let out ten minutes ago and there are only a few students left milling the halls. Some are wandering around, looking for trouble to cause, others are trying to find their friends.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Serge running his hands against the wall of flyers above the water fountain, tearing down the posters that lived there. He looks full of rage and hate as he stuffs the papers into the nearest trashcan, hatefully spitting out the words "stupid fags" as he walks away.

Harry swallows hard and tears his eyes away, being careful not to make eye contact with him as he passes Harry and Niall. Harry doesn't see it, but he hears Serge and his army of minions celebrating the "selfless" act of good Serge just did, tearing down the posters advertising the new LGBT club.