I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts)

Chapter 6

Silence had fallen over them.

Louis possibly hasn't taken a breath in the last two minutes. Harry was still standing a few feet away from Louis, with his arms casually crossed and a self-satisfied grin on his face as he observed Louis. Louis, who's world was falling apart right then and there, who's heart was racing in fear, who didn't know if he wanted to cry or scream or maybe finally, finally punch Harry in the face — hard. God, the first thing he needed to do was breathe.

So he did.

Blinking his eyes he inhaled shakily. Then, with a voice thinner than he himself had ever heard it, he said: "What are you even talking about?" It wasn't the most convincing string of words that could have come over his lips, to be honest.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about," was Harry's shrugging reply. How could he be so indifferent in the face of Louis' clear desperation? If Louis ever thought Harry had any redeeming qualities, he certainly didn't anymore now. This boy was a self-centred, cruel monster with no regard for other peoples feelings, least of all Louis'.

Louis swallowed, his eyes lowered to the ground. He couldn't stand to look at Harry any longer. "I really, truly don't," he muttered. And then he did the thing he liked most to fall back on when confronted with overwhelming emotional distress: running away. He turned on the spot and sprinted back to the dorm buildings, not once throwing a glance over his shoulder at Harry's form.

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He proceeded to not leave his room for the next three days.

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Louis was only minimally surprised when there was a loud, incessant knocking sound on his door on Tuesday evening. Even before he shuffled out of bed he had a pretty good idea of who would be standing on the other side, waiting to be invited in.

Sure enough, Niall's blond hair was the first thing to catch his tired eyes.

"Would you look at that — Louis Tomlinson is alive after all," Niall said as he pushed past Louis into the room and settled down in the desk chair, swirling it around so he could keep his gaze on Louis. Niall looked happy enough, but there was an edge to the curl of his lips. "I'll try to not feel all too offended about the fact that you haven't called me back in three days."

Louis sighed and closed the dorm door, certain that Niall wouldn't want to leave anytime soon. Not that Louis wanted him to, anyway. Niall's presence had, foreseeably, an amazing effect on Louis' mood — he didn't feel quite as much as if the immediate doom was about to swallow him whole.

"Hey, Ni," he eventually got out. His voice was raspy, breathy, and he realised he actually hasn't talked to anyone since Saturday morning. That was, in hindsight, a little unhealthy, probably.

Niall frowned, true concern now marring his features. "What the hell happened, Lou? Why haven't you messaged me? Why haven't you been to practice?"

Louis wasn't at all caught off guard by those questions, but that didn't mean they were any easier to answer.

Truth is, he hadn't done anything but alternate between sleeping and crying for the past three days, barely even getting up to use the bathroom or have a drink of water. As a result he felt gritty and over-tired, which was ridiculous in itself, considering how much sleep he got in the last days. Apart from that he looked a fucking mess and had the guiltiest conscience in the history of mankind for skiving his lectures and football practices. To top it all off, none of it had in any way solved the problem he found himself confronted with. Harry. Harry, knowing his secret. Harry, holding Louis' future in his hands. Harry, ready to destroy everything in the blink of an eye. Harry, Harry, Harry.