The College Experience [Larry Stylinson boyxboy]

Chapter Twenty One

Trigger Warning: Mentions of self harm (but no actually self harm, there never will be any in this story!) 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair- his long curls tumbled down to just below his shoulders now. He slipped his headphones on and leaned back in his chair, swaying a little as Cherry Wine came on his playlist, picturing his head resting on Louis' shoulders, gently swaying to the music. He ached to dance with his boyfriend under the stars, shivering in Louis' arms, pulling closer to his boyfriend, closer to his warmth. 

Harry's phone buzzed with a text from Louis, wanting Harry to meet him outside his old residence building in fifteen minutes. Harry smiled, and texted back that he'd be there, biting his lip a little as replied. 

Harry opened his desk drawer, and pulled out his little silver basket of makeup. He liked to play with it sometimes when he was bored- his favourite was the highlighter, he loved the subtle champagne shimmer that made it look like he was in a soft candlelit cafe. He brushed a little over the cupid's bow of his lips, mesmerized by the gentle highlight and the way it pulled the attention to his lips, even though the dark silver hoop through his bottom lip already did enough of that. 

The door popped open while Harry still had a makeup brush in his hand and his mirror held up in front of him. He slipped off his headphones, and mumbled a quick, "Thought you had class, sorry," putting his makeup hastily back in the drawer. 

"Thought you were a boy, sorry," Dax said, rolling his eyes as he pulled a beer out of his mini-fridge. "Enjoy your girls' night," he smirked, grabbing his jacket and heading out, leaving Harry alone again in his room, trembling hands setting his makeup brush down. 

It had been a rough first week for Harry in his new room. His new roommate, Dax was everything Harry wasn't- rough and loud and always surrounded by other guys who thought everything he said was hilarious... who thought everything he said about Harry was somehow funny, even as Harry bit his lip to keep from tearing up. Living with Dax meant snide little comments on everything, but mostly it was about his long hair and his pattered blouses. Harry knew Dax and his friends made fun of everything and made fun of each other, that they just had a rough sense of humour that they were all used to, but Harry couldn't adjust to it. 

Harry reached for his phone, but it was next to a pair of scissors and he found himself reaching for those instead. He didn't want anyone to walk in on him, so he he slipped on a hoodie and put them in his pocket, heading out of his dorm and stepping outside into the chilly November night. He walked for a little bit, trying to get further away from his residence building, before pulling the scissors out of his pocket and frantically cutting chunks out of his hair, the long curls fluttering to the pavement. He gasped in pain as the scissors got tangled in his hair, but he tugged them out and kept cutting. He didn't stop until he couldn't feel any hair brushing against his shoulders. 

Harry dropped the scissors and heard them clanging against the pavement as he held his trembling palms up to the soft moonlight and lamplight. Long strands of hair were still in his palms and Harry ran his hands frantically along his scalp as he felt everything that was missing. He'd been growing his hair out for years. 

Harry dropped to the pavement on his hands and knees, feeling the sharp sting as his hands hit the gravel. Sobs wracked through his body as he scrambled through the hair on the ground, telling himself over and over that it wasn't real, that it wasn't gone. Harry pressed his face into his hands, tugging on what was left of his hair, pulling away when he realized his hands were wet. He looked down and realized they were covered in blood from dropping down onto the pavement hands first. 

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself and rocking back and forth a little, trying to sooth himself. He heard footsteps and thought about moving, not wanting anyone to see the scene he'd created, the mess he'd made.  

"Is everything alright?" the voice asked, the footsteps getting closer. 

"Louis?" Harry asked, turning to look over at the older boy as he approached, his eyes wide and scared. 

"Oh my God, oh my God are you-? Harry, are you okay, please be okay. Oh my God, fuck, talk to me please, did someone hurt you, did you hurt yourself, what happened? Shit shit shit," Louis said, dropping to the ground next to Harry grabbing his arms a little rougher than normal, pulling up the sleeves of his jumper frantically to check his wrists, which were bare, clean. 

"I didn't... hurt myself Lou," Harry said slowly, realizing what Louis was panicking about. 

"Why are you bleeding then?" Louis said, raising his voice in panic as he saw the scissors on the pavement. "Was it on your legs? Tell me please." Louis ran his fingers gently across Harry's thighs, checking for blood. 

"I didn't do that, Louis! Calm down," Harry said. Louis was breathing at at frantic pace, his blue eyes wide and his hands scanning over Harry's body to check to for injuries. "It's just my hands, love," Harry said gently, holding out his palms for Louis. "I scraped them on the pavement. I'm okay, it's okay, hunny." Harry felt a little weird calling Louis pet names (he wasn't sure if he'd ever used a pet name for Louis come to think of it) but Louis looked like a nervous wreck. 

"Promise me?" Louis said roughly. "I need you to fucking promise me that you're not lying to me, that you're not bleeding anywhere else." 

"I promise," Harry said softly. "It's just my hands, Louis. It's just my hands." 

"You cut your hair," Louis said quietly. "Oh my God," he said, squinting in the dark finally noticing the clumps of hair that were surrounding the younger boy. "Oh my God," he repeated, running a hand gently through Harry's hair, which was still longer than Louis, but the curls only reached his jawline at their longest point now, instead of before where it tickled his collarbones. 

Harry nodded, hot tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over, clumping his lashes into little triangles.

"Okay, okay, it's okay," Louis murmured to himself. "We'll get you somewhere safe, we'll clean you up, we'll get you a real haircut to fix it up a little. It's okay," he repeated, kissing Harry's forehead, pulling Harry into a hug, and Harry melted into it, breathing in Louis' scent as he curled into the warmth in the crook of his neck. 

I'm not okay, Harry was screaming in his head, but he couldn't seem to say it, he just wanted Louis to fix it, to put him back together again. He wanted to be okay.