Falling For The Bully (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 13 - "When they love him, they leave him."

The shrill ringing of Harry's mobile slices through his dreams. He mumbles awake, experiences a moment of searing pain when he pries his eyes open, and, squeezing his lids shut again, he rolls over and buries his head under his pillow. He taps on the screen of his phone on the nightstand off, and has his arm drop on the side of the bed. Fucking hell, but his limbs hurts.

His legs hurt the worst, though his arms ache through the wrists and elbows and his back hurts all the way from his shoulders down to the base of his spine. He closes his eyes for just a second, listening to Nick's low voice through the walls. Either they are not alone and Nick's having a guest or he's just on his mobile. Harry turns over from his side, and lays flat on the bed. Barely a few moments later, Nick steps in to the room, footsteps somehow clearly audible despite the sounds of everything else going on in the building.

"Morning trouble maker," he grins faintly, slumping down on the carpet, by Harry's side, "how are you feeling? Bit okay now?" he asks, voice concerned and entirely soft.

Harry opens his eyes to see him kneeled down beside him, one hand half-lifted like he was contemplating touching him. Nick huffs out a pained breath, eyeing Harry's posture with slouched lips then huddling in on Harry more tightly.

"Yeah," Harry says, out of habit, only to follow it a moment later with a groan. "...no. Guess not. Everything hurts," he mutters speaking short bursts; the movement of his jaw makes the throbbing, maddening ache in his head worse. "My head's the worst." He forces out, through shaky exhales. "But...legs 'n arms 'n back and stuff hurt, too. I feel like this is some dejavu, the feelings too familiar," he adds, with a light snort of derision that sounds a lot more like he was sniffling back tears than he'd wanted it to.

Nick presses his thumb on the cold skin above Harry's elbow, soothing it in circular patterns. He presses his lips tight in form of a straight line, eyes not reaching Harry's contact, shamefully.

"Your mum called," is all he says to have Harry snap his head towards him on the pillow, then moan at the small sharp pain around his joints.

"What did she say?" Harry makes out, his voice coming soft but has a hint of morning rasp.

Nick sighs loudly, and shrugs a shoulder, looking down at the boy scrawled like a kitten who's whimpering, afraid as they're about to be put into the shower for the first time, on his bed again.

"I'll start with bad news because it's always nice to hear something tad better after, since you've been in a horrible mood, you want to hear something better and it's reasonable and you want-"

"Nick!"

"Yeah. Right." Nick clears his throat, face beaming nervously. "Bad news is a little birdie who goes by the name of Gemma Styles chirped a fairly amount of information to your mother and she wants you home. Like now." Nick explains, and he does not miss the light gasp from Harry's mouth, and the way his forehead crinkles worriedly. "But good news is, I got to get her out of the idea of murdering you," Nick forces a smile, "I think."

Harry clenches his eyes tight, inhaling and exhaling barely evenly. "I'm going to get murdered. She's going to kill me!" He squirms under his voice.

When he realizes he's still on Nick's bed whilst his mum is probably getting the list of doctor's numbers out of his contact lists because she's just damn kind, Harry pulls his head off of the pillow with tiny winces through his clenched teeth.

"Lemme help," Nick reaches two hands, one behind Harry's neck, and the other across his back, forcing him seated on his bum.

"Thanks." Harry mumbles before picking the itching hair out of his eyes. When he brings his hands on his lap and observes at them, he feels himself almost shrink as small as a dwarf. There are bruises everywhere. Every visible place. Some dark shade of blue, and some light and a few almost faded black. They're sprawled from his forearms up to his wrists. Each mark contrasting with his pale skin, making Harry feel as though they're being shoved into his face.

There are arms reaching up, wrapping around his back, warm like a furry coat. He feels Nick's chin on his shoulder, and his steady breath ghosting his neck.

"You'll be okay." He whispers, hot on Harry's skin. Holding Harry tighter in his arms, he feels the tense vanish from Harry's shoulders as they both relax onto Nick's arms and Nick takes the moment to nuzzle his face in the crook of Harry's neck a bit longer.

A few moments later, Nick sighs. "Okay, enough of this. Seriously. Let's get you out of bed."

Harry nods, clinging onto Nick's arm as he forces his bum off of the bed, a sharp wince escaping through his gritted teeth.

When Nick walks Harry out of the room, watching him limp carefully, he furrows his brows when he sees Harry stop.

"Nick... did...did he call?" Harry asks out of curiosity, the tone of his voice worn down and ratted.

The older man looks puzzled for a firm second. He swallows, giving a nod.

Harry opens his mouth immediately, pausing-thinking of what to say. Contemplating on what is right to say. It's not long before their staring is over. He's continued to walk out through the corridors by Nick's tug on his arm, silence flowing in the room harshly.

Nick makes extra sure Harry's done his business in the loo, washed his face and brushed his teeth with the extra toothbrush Nick always keeps incase for their sleepovers.

It's 7:32 in the morning, and looking about midnight judging by the shade of dark blue in the sky.

The boys are sat across from each other on Nick's fairly small dining table, both of them absolutely aware of the tension in the room. Nick really doesn't tolerate silent treatments, even though Harry isn't totally giving him one. Nick just doesn't like the silence. When he watches Harry carefully dig his spoon into his nearly melted Hunny Nut Cheerios, through his hooded eyelids, he stops the circulating of his spoon in his own bowl and stares at Harry about dead in the eye.

When he realizes Harry is gone. Deep into his thoughts of obviously Louis, Louis and more Louis, Nick taps his metal spoon inside the porcelain of the bowl, causing Harry to lift his head in milliseconds, blinking confused.

"Sorry, what did you say?" The curly boy asks, hazily.

Nick drops his spoon into the bowl, crossing his arms over each other on the table.

"I didn't say anything mate. Would it even matter if I said anything though?" Nick tilts his head, brows knitted together, "all you seem to care about is-"

"Nick, please." Harry clenches his eyes shut, palms spread out on the table stretched out wide.

Nick watches Harry, lips parted face mocking his prostate. "No," he shakes his head, "all you fucking care about is him. Louis. And I don't give a shit if we're discussing this for the billionth time. Until you actually sink my words, the truth, into your brain, we're always gonna be talking about-"

"He has no one." Harry flutters his eyes open, boring his gaze into Nick's, a flash of guilt and pain peeking out of the glassy orbs. "His friends are all twats! His parents barely see him, and all he has is me. He says I keep him strong, that I keep him-"

Grimmy scoffs bitterly. "Oh, cry me a fucking river Harry. I think you're forgetting that he left you yesterday. All alone in the alley, with pain and blood all over you," He spits out each syllable.

Harry presses his lips against each other, tucking them inside. He places his spoon gently on the table, and steps out of his seat. Dragging his feet, he shuffles around corners and appreciates the silence left behind him. He hits the light switch outside the bathroom and enters the brightness, slamming the door behind him quietly.

Nick thinks Harry's overreacting, being dramatic, but this isn't all about Louis. Nick may think so, but he doesn't entirely know what's going through Harry's brain. Sure, Louis takes a huge mass in Harry's brain, but not completely. Harry's entire being doesn't also revolve around the fact that he is gay at all. Harry is so much and not being straight is not one of his prominent personality assets.

He grips the edges of Nick's about to tear apart into small crumbs of a sink, avoiding looking up at his reflection in the squeaky clean mirror.

It's stupid really, trying to run away from himself, his conscious... reality. But nothing makes sense at all. His undying love and care for Louis being on top of the list. Harry could try. He could try and attempt to fix things but somehow on the way, only end up expanding the broken parts even more. Harry wouldn't have realized that if that hadn't became a routine.

He lifts his head up, peeking at his arms stretched on either side of the sink. This time though, he doesn't feel himself wishing to just disappear into a small dust and fly away with the blowing wind. He also doesn't feel the usual lump forming on the very top of his esophagus. He doesn't actually know what's right to think. Yeah, if you ask a random person; how would you react if your secret boyfriend left you bleeding to death in an alley, you'd receive a whole crowd of answers that might not all be entirely considerate. But Harry knows what he's doing, or what he's gotten himself into, he accepts it even. And that's probably why he doesn't feel any hatred towards Louis.

Turning around, he inhales a long air through his nose before softly huffing it back out and opening the washroom door.

Flicking the lights off quietly, he examines the dining table he had left earlier, seeing it almost spotless clean from where he's standing and walks to the end of the corridors, into the living room.

He sees Grimmy, leg stretched onto the coffee table, his fingers tapping obnoxiously against the screen of his phone.

Harry slips beside him on the couch leather couch, shuddering silently as the cold leather contracts with his bare arms.

The curly boy can't stop himself from peeking an eye on Grimmy's phone, and leans in, resting his chin on his friends shoulder."I think it's best if you use one thumb only."

Nick pulls his under lip in between his teeth, pushing his left thumb away from the screen and only focusing with a single thumb, doing as Harry has told. A small smile stretches across his face as when he realizes Harry's little tip is working. "Thanks mate. Didn't know you were a big Fruit Ninja master, heck didn't even know you played it," Nick exclaims, eyes hooded and finger going in all the right directions on his phone.

Harry's grin widens. Reaching for his flop of morning hair, he pushes it to the back, across his forehead and replies, "nah. Louis taught me a couple of tricks, 's all."

He remembers a quick flashback to two weeks ago, when he gave his mum a back massage for almost an hour just because Louis had told him, "mothers dig a little son and mother time. Just keep continuing and she'll be too relaxed to not let you." It was when Louis had convinced him with all of his will and bats of eyelashes to have Harry sleep over at his.

Sleeping over at his. God. Yes, God. No one but him will ever know how terrified and aghast Harry was when the three and only words, "please sleep over", had escaped Louis' shiny, pink lips after a long make out session.

By his older sister's countless 'now that you're in high school and all' tips and warnings, sleeping over only meant two things.

One, you'd start off with telling each other stories from the past (Harry really didn't want to get into that). Then, you'd watch a film and wait until you fall asleep after the many junk food you would have had consumed.

And two, this time you'd start off with telling each other how hot and attractive you each are, and wait until you both are aroused enough to start shagging senseless.

The topic itself, and the disturbing slang; shagging, just made Harry shudder and stomach turn into twists. Because, Harry very much prefers the term 'making love'. Go ahead and judge him, he knows how much of a sap he is. Though, he doesn't whine about it either.

Harry blinks, tilting his head to the back when Grimmy snaps his fingers in front of face obnoxiously.

"You my friend are in deep shit." Grimmy snorts, shaking his head before stretching his legs out to stuff his phone into the tight pocket of his blue jeans.

Harry bites his bottom lip unconsciously, sweeping his fringe to the side whilst his older best mate takes the moment to mock Harry's acts.

Nick rubs his palms on his knees, finally facing Harry on the couch. It takes a few seconds of staring and analyzing the corners of Harry's busted lip, scarred jaw and scratched forehead before he eventually speaks up.

"I don't wanna go through the whole he's bad, you can do better concept-"

"Then don't-"

"-but I will." Nick's brows raise up. "Because you're my best mate and I happen to like, I don't know, care about you. 'm not sure if you knew that but seriously Haz. Shove me away all y'want 'm not going anywhere. I'm going to help you sort this unhealthy relationship of yours and I don't care how many times you huff and puff. Now," Harry's eyes follow Grimmy who stands up on his bare feet, brushing the wrinkles off of his jeans, "up on your feet love. Up, up, up." He repeats playfully, bending down, throwing Harry's arm around his shoulder and gently pulling him on his feet.

Harry rolls his eyes, smiling faintly before tucking his head in the curve of Nick's neck, "I can walk you know."

Nick hums as he walks Harry out of the dining room and down the corridors to the bathroom, "that explains the limping."



* * *


"Oh God," Harry scrunches his nose, looking down at the pair of jeans and dark green jumper Nick had chose for him from his own closet. "I look like, like-"

"You look fine!" Nick yells from the dining room.

Harry huffs, kneeling down and rolling the cuffs of the jeans up a few layers because at least maybe this way he wouldn't look like some homeless person who just wore anything they've found in the dumpster. "You haven't even seen it yet!" Harry yells back.

Nick doesn't respond and the flat is gone dead silent for a few seconds just before Harry's gotten on his feet and walking down the corridors to the dining room.

When he sees Nick, tying the laces of his brown sweat boots, Harry frowns again, "'m sorry I'm complaining. I should be on my knees-"

Nick tilts his head up, raising a brow and grinning as his fingers are tying a messy bow with the laces.

Dirty Grimshaw...

Harry rolls his eyes, "-thanking you for letting me stay the night, and being so kind. No one would do the same thing, that's for sure so I'm really thankful of you Nick."

Nick gets on his feet, checking his masterpiece of tied laces before sliding the coat closet and picking out two heavy jackets. He smiles as he throws one to Harry, and shrugs one on himself.

"Don't thank me kiddo, you've done some great things in the past and all, this counts nothing compared to what you've done for me. So shut up and get that on, we have explanations to give to a poor women who's about to pass out in the near time."

Harry swallows, thoughts tangling in his mind as he throws his arms in the jacket before stepping out of the flat followed by Nick.



* * *


"His mate, uh, forgot his name, he said he tried to help but the poor boy is just as weak as Harry, much less even. The three bastards shoved themselves into the unlocked house like fucking terrorists or some shit. They knew Harry was in there, I don't know how, for people who hate your son Anne, they sure are also obsessed. Anyway, since I happen to live close to that mate of Harry's house, I picked him up. Believe me, he was an absolute mess when I saw him but I managed to take care of it. Called the cops too, but unfortunately the pricks were too fast. Got all their names though." Nick nods, lies flowing on his tongue expertly. He hates lying to Anne. It's become a routine though, and sadly he's gotten used to it. Fluttering his eyelashes, he blinks at Anne who watches him worriedly across the coffee table.

"Thank you Nick," Anne says, tears trickling in the back of her eye lids.

Grimmy notices that and immediately stands up from the sofa, shuffling beside Anne. He grabs her shaky, cold hands into his palm, gently coaxing it with his thumbs.

"'s alright Anne. We've got him all cleaned up now. Harry's a big boy, you know he hates to be taken care of. I've known him quite the amount of time to say that leaving him alone once in a whilst can rather be less problem for him, and you." Nick searches Anne's eyes that are both focused on her lap. He knows he's not being ignored and Anne's listening to his words from the sudden relaxation on Anne's face and goes on. "I'm sure if Harry came home one day without a busted lip and teeth about to fall out, it would be a miracle. But, Anne, he's growing. He's seeing the obstacles in life and he's going through it all. With our help, and his own determination." Nick's words flow quietly in the air along with the chilly November wind.

Anne finally lifts her gaze up, "but this can't go on Nick," she whispers, shaking her head as she sniffles onto her palm, "I don't want to be worrying every night whether Harry's ended up in the parking lot bleeding to death, or under a tree with broken limbs-I don't want to worry about all of that!" Her forehead crinkles, along with the frown on her face.

Nick nods, biting his lip. They don't say anything for a few seconds. Just sitting on the bench in Harry's backyard, listening to the wind wash over their worried, fuzzy minds.

Nick isn't stupid. And so isn't Anne. Anne could be naive, but when it comes to her children and knowing what's right and wrong, she can't be stupid. Nick knew his words wouldn't make sense to Anne. No matter how hard they both try, stay up at night, look around in the evenings or even walk to Harry's school in the middle of school time to check upon Harry and his well being, Harry will never be safe. The thing that makes them mad the most is how stubborn Harry can be. Especially when it comes to Louis Tomlinson.

Anne thought that maybe, finally Louis has feelings for Harry in return, that she wouldn't, Nick wouldn't have to worry as much about whether they will have to be extra careful like they used to. But they figured they were wrong as this Louis of Harry's is a bipolar one, not knowing his feelings towards Harry and messing things up even more each day.

Nick sometimes things it was probably better when Louis was just Harry's secret crush he pined over and didn't give a single damn when Louis would bust his jaw open. It sounds bad but if you think about all of this rare drama in Harry's life, it is actually reasonable.

Nick rubs his hands over his face, and huffs through them. He looks down at Anne, who's arms are crossed over the blanket around her back. He brings a hand behind her back, and rubs gently in circles before helping her up on her feet and getting her inside.

When Gemma comes down the stairs, joining Anne and Nick on the kitchen table, she tells them Harry's sleeping and that she's already informed the school he's spending the day home for personal reasons.



* * *


Harry's breathing through his nose with an even rhythm, his chest rising and falling carefully. But except, Harry can't sleep. Not when there is two bandages over lapped on his nose by his mum, itching to be ripped off. Not when his ribs feel like they are about to crack into dozens of pieces when he inhales only a little air. Maybe I did deserve all of this, Harry thinks as his eye lids lift, eyes squinting with the heavy pain on his thighs. Hell, I deserved it all, Harry confirms in his head. Still, he doesn't regret anything. Maybe it is his fault he crushed on his bully. It even sounds stupid when he says it in his head. Because who even crushes on their bully in the first place? No one. Just me, Harry thinks, because he was stupid, an idiot who couldn't put things together and know that a bully always hates their victim. This isn't a fairytale, Harry thinks. Why did he have to be such a hopeless romantic? Why did he have to believe in love? Love isn't a true thing. Nobody falls in love. Not with the right people, at least. Harry was just a dummy who had hopes and believed in love. That was all. Harry didn't commit crime. Harry isn't a murderer, or a culprit. He didn't do anything to deserve all of his right? All he did was fall in love. Why did falling in love have to be so hard? Not the falling in love part, the part that came after it. Why can't he just be happy after making a choice? Is Harry that horrible? Ugly? Unattractive? That nobody ever stands with him? Why does everybody have to be so rude?

Harry exhales shakily, pulling his hand between his thighs and out of the blankets to rub the tears trickling in the back of his eye lids away. He brings the pad of his hand in between his teeth, attempting to hold his cries muffled. Except he's loud, and it's happening again. His panick attack and he needs Louis. He needs him so much. He needs him to stay happy, to breath evenly, to close his eyes and think positive about the upcoming days, to know that things will be better, to make sure there won't be another day he'll have to hug his pillow tight and sob hard on it, he need Louis so fucking much. But he isn't here. He was never here. He never wanted to be here. Maybe it was Harry and his stupid self that made him stay. That forced him. God, Harry's so fucking stupid.

And now he's even more stupid because he's crying so hard. He feels a lump of emotion pressing agaisnt the raw edges of his throat and he begs his body to not betray him, to just i stop the tears running out. Harry and his body hasn't been on good terms with each other for a long time though, and before he knows it he's full on crying, tears falling down nonstop. Harry lets out something between a whimper and a wheeze and then the dam is broken and he's full out sobbing. He sounds like a dying animal because his throat is incapable of the correct noises as he tries to drag air into his lungs. The tears are coming too fast and too thick and they stream down his face and drip off his chin, wetting the collar of his shirt as he shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes. He folds forward, drawing his legs up to his chin and hiding his face against them. It's too much; he hates himself so much that it's exhausting. He feels like a rope being drawn so tight that little threads of him are snapping apart one by one.

In an instant he is completely enveloped Nick and Anne, Gemma standing aside covering her mouth from crying out loud, tears already broken down. Their voices alternate between begging to know what is wrong and telling him it's going to be okay. It isn't even about Louis anymore. Louis is just another thing on the list of things Harry has ruined by being himself. Just another thing he's ruined by being gay, and stupid, and gay. Just another person he's lost because his brain is wired wrong and he's disgusting. Here he is sobbing like the pitiful creature that he is and he hates himself for it, but that just makes him cry harder. Every breath feels like he's trying to swallow sandpaper or nails or something and the pain doesn't feel good anymore.

Less air starts reaching his lungs with each breath he takes between each jagged sob. His throat is so swollen and inflamed and he feels like he can't breathe, but the tears won't stop. The more desperately he tries to pull air in the less seems to come and that just scares him more. Soon he can't even sob he's just clinging, trying desperately to hold himself together and drag air into his lungs.

Harry is dragged back by his shoulders, out of the little ball he's formed himself into, and laid back against the pillows. Nick and Anne work like a team without having to exchange a word. They each grab one of Harry's wrists and cross his hands across his chest. Harry's hands fist in the material of the sweatshirt he's wearing. They drag the covers up to Harry's chin and then wordlessly they begin tucking the blankets in. They tuck him in under the shoulders and then tuck him in all down his body until he is completely cocooned in the duvet. Silently they take their respective positions. Nick lays himself on top of Harry wrapping her legs and his arm across him, and allows his entire weight to rest on Harry's body. Anne grabs a million tissues and begins catching Harry's tears as they fall, her upper body curled around Harry's head on the pillow.

If anyone were to come in they would think the four of them are completely insane. Nick attempting to squish Louis, Harry sobbing like a strangled cat, and Anne near tears herself, hunched over Louis. Gemma on her knees in the corner, watching them like a massacre movie tears rushing down her face. Normal people need space to breathe when they're crying, normal people don't want to feel trapped when they're upset. Harry is not normal. When Harry is upset, when he's hyperventilating like this, he feels like a bomb on the verge of blowing up. He feels like he's seconds away from exploding apart, sending shrapnel in every direction, destructing into a million little pieces. He can't let that happen though, he can't let himself break apart because he knows damn well that he'll never be able to put himself back together. He'll never be able to find all the pieces, he'll never be able to reassemble himself.

He needs to keep himself together, he needs to keep himself from exploding. It's why he wraps an arm around himself when he's sad or lost or hurting, it's why his first instinct is to curl into a ball. It's why Nick is laying on top of Harry now, trying to make himself cover as much of Harry as he can, to make himself as heavy as he possibly can. Nick knows that when it all gets too much and Nick feels like he can't hold himself together he needs Nick to help him. It's been that way since they were kids and Anne learned quickly, finding her place by Harry's head to help Harry feel even more encompassed.

Harry can hardly breathe under the weight of Nick and the wall that Anne's body forms, but he doesn't feel claustrophobic, he feels safe and protected and compressed. He can't stop crying but he stops sounding like he's being choked by the tears. As he feels the weight of Nick with each breath, he finds that each breath comes easier. He's not going to break into shards, he's not going to explode and float away into the air like ash. When he's finally breathing his ears pick up their voices whispering soothing things, and he knows they've been doing it the whole time, even if he couldn't hear it.

He knows they need to know what's going on. He knows he has to make a choice now. When he shuts his eyes and takes a long, shaky breath, they just tell him they love him. He's empty and exhausted and he needs Louis. He will always need Louis. When he falls asleep thinking about horrible words, that start with the letters G and Q, being thrown at him while he's told exactly how much of an abomination he is.



When he wakes again the weight of Nick is gone from his chest but there is a hand stroking his hair, another clutching onto his hand and a warm body on either side of him. He looks over to see Nick sitting up with a textbook in his lap, his hand moving absentmindedly across Harry's fringe while he reads. There are dirty plates on the bedside table meaning they ate dinner in here with him even if he was sleeping. Harry turns his head and sees Louis. His Louis. Louis, he's head over heels for. The boy he fell in love with and can never let go of. The boy who's the reason he's in this place.

When Louis sees him with eyes finally open, he tilts his head forewards, "how are you feeling?" He asks softly.

Harry nods and swallows thickly. Instantly Nick is holding a glass of water near his chin and Harry raises his head to drink through the straw that Nick has provided. He lets the room temperature water slide down his throat and it's some relief from the incessant burning. He lets his head flop back on the pillow when he's done and Louis' hand goes back to his hair. He's still swaddled in the blankets and he has to free an arm to rub at his eyes.

Harry lifts his gaze, eyes meeting Louis' glassy blue ones. In this moment, Harry realizes for the billion time, he hates himself. He whimpers, and there is no sound. He sinks back down into the covers, eyes melting with Louis'.

The tension is thick in the room, Nick can see that. He shuts his textbook and places it beside the dirty plates.

"Feeling better?" Nick asks.

"M'sorry," Harry manages to croak, though it's barely audible and sounds as painful as it feels.

"You have nothing to say sorry for," Nick says instantly, not missing the stink eye towards Louis' way.

"Nothing," Nick confirms, "and keep resting your voice," he adds, handing Harry his phone, open to the notepad.

Harry lets out a huff but shuts his mouth and types instead, ignoring his dear Louis by his head unintentionally, 'I'm sorry that you are always stuck holding me together."

He hands the phone back to Nick, frowning when he sees him read the text let his jaw fall down.

"How could you ever say that Harry? We're mates, we help eachother at our worst. Do you seriously think there's going to be a time where I leave you? Honestly Harry, you should know better." Nick says, voice hurt and with fond. When he finishes, he realizes just how much his words can be related to Louis' situation and no wonder the tension is suddenly awkward and deadly silent again.

Harry's staring ahead of him, whilst Louis' fingers are now out of Harry's hair and playing with each other rather boringly.

Nick rolls his eyes and tips his head down, pressing a very gentle kiss on top of Harry's head. He murmurs a silent 'if you need me, I'm down stairs.' by his ear and walks out of the room even though he isn't sure it's the right idea.

When the door shuts, the tension doesn't change the slightest. Harry really doesn't want to argue. He won't do that right now, he can't. Maybe talking would be nice. Discussing. But even that feels too much for his burning, scratchy throat. Harry might hate himself more than he would've ever thought, but when it comes to his body and pain, he knows he needs to treat himself. He knows his limits.

"How are'ye feeling?" Louis asks, voice low and gentle.

"Few broken limbs," Harry whispers, "everything hurts," he mutters, speaking short bursts; the movement of his jaw makes the throbbing, maddening ache in his head worse. "My head's the worst. People are...are too fucking loud," he forces out, through clenched teeth. "But...legs 'n arms 'n back and stuff hurt, too. Doctor says it's growing pains," he adds, with a snort of derision that sounds a lot more like he was sniffling back tears than he'd want it to.

"My legs hurt too, sometimes," Louis ventures, finally, and it dawns on Harry that it isn't just his own heart pounding in his ears that he is hearing; he could hear Louis' too, a little softer and far more rapid. He blinks, half-surprised-he knew he can hear other people's breathing when it was quiet, when Louis was working with him and trying to focus his skill; he'd just never focused on it for very long outside of training-and fixed Louis with a wary stare.

"The doctor-one of them, anyway-said that rubbing them could help. I'd...rub your legs and back and stuff for you. If you wanted, I mean. I know you don't...don't like people touching you very much. " Louis trails off matter of factly, scratching the back of his head and looking a little uncomfortable and a little hopeful, the way he always does when he is trying to help someone and pretty sure he is screwing it up.

Harry hesitates, closing his eyes again for a moment and listening to the sound of Louis' breathing, still steady underneath all the other sounds. He opens his eyes again after a moment, trying to scowl at Louis and completely aware that the most he really manages is a tight, pained, almost fearful expression. He feels anger twist in his gut at that; he hates being afraid, even if it is only because of the changes his body is going through and not because someone was hurting him, and he usually responds by lashing out. He might have, had it been anyone other than Louis sitting in front of him; the caramel haired boy seems so intent and earnest, and Harry finally huffs out another little sigh.

"Guess it's okay, if you think it'll help," he mutters, and Louis gingerly sets one hand against his upper arm. Harry blinks at the feeling of Louis' warm, steady hand against his arm-and it is a blink, not a flinch; he's stopped flinching when people touched him after the first month of middle school when he started being shoved around the change room stalls and lockers-and fixes his gaze resolutely on the far wall.

"Okay," Louis says, and Harry can sense him bite his lower lip. And then, again, "Okay." The hand on his arm remains there, still and hesitant, for a long moment. "Can you lie on your belly, while I do this?" Harry looks at him sharply, feeling himself tense up even further despite his best efforts; that is asking a lot, it really is, because even if it is Louis it would be hard to just lay there on the bed unprotected and in a position where it would be hard to get up, to get away, if he needed to. Especially because Louis is going to be touching him, and maybe that blink a few seconds earlier was closer to a flinch than he'd ever admit to anyone but himself.

But it is Louis, and deep down he knows that Louis wouldn't hurt him. Thinks Louis wouldn't hurt him. It isn't the sort of knowing that you do with your head, either. He has never been wrong about that sort of thing before, and he doesn't think that his instincts will start getting him into trouble now; with a low grown punctuated by a little growl of frustration as his stiff, aching body protests the change in position, he rolls over onto his belly and curls his arms over each other in front of his head so that he can rest his head in the crook of one elbow.

This still doesn't keep him from jerking in surprise when Louis' hands curve around his left calf, thumbs pressing into the tight muscle along the back of it. It feels...strange. He isn't entirely sure if it hurts or not, the muscle that had been rock hard only a moment ago being forced to relax by the warm, steady pressure of Louis' hands working from his ankle up to his knee and back down again. He makes a low sound in his throat, slightly muffled by his own arm, as he realizes that this gave him something to focus on other than the dull roar of the building's constant cacophony; the sound doesn't go away, but it seems to drift into the background, not nearly as important as the ache being soothed out of his leg.

By the time Louis has shifted his focus to his other calf, Harry is making little noises of pleasure each time his boyfriend thumbs dig into his leg, pressing on the knots in the muscle until they are forced to unravel. He can hear Louis' still-rapid breathing, and the quick, slightly irregular sound of his grunts; the older boy seems to be as unused to touching people as Harry is to being touched.

"Is that mostly where it was hurting? Around the knees and down...down along here?" Louis' fingertips trail across the backs of his knees, then down along his calves just lightly enough to raise goosebumps along his limbs; he shifts slightly, uncomfortable without fully understanding why.

"Yeah," Harry whispers, shifting again when Louis' hands finally leaves his legs. "Can you see..." he wiggles the fingers of one hand, vaguely, trying to indicate Louis' ability and wondering if he can see everything that hurt, momentarily distracted from speaking by a particularly loud sound from somewhere several rooms away. He winces, teeth grinding, and almost missed the sounds of Louis shifting his position until the his hands come to rest on his lower back, thumbs pressing to either side of his spine and rubbing firmly.

Despite the distraction that the sound-and the pain that it sends through his already throbbing head-causes, he still makes a little, happy sound when he feels the ache that has settled into his hips begin to ease as Louis shifts to use the heels of his hands instead of just his thumbs, putting more of his weight behind it. He can feel muscles that has been tight for what seems like his entire life beginning to loosen as Louis' hands work steadily up along his spine, seeming to take the time to be certain that each section of his back is relaxed before going further.

It is nice to be touched by someone other than a Doctor, his mum or Nick, though he isn't sure he'd know how to say so if anyone ever asks. It is just comforting, in a way that very few things are, and he caught himself actually feeling safe despite the vulnerable position. Or maybe-he thinks as Louis' thumbs rub under the bottom curve of each shoulder blade, fingertips brushing against the thin material of his shirt each time his thumbs slide upwards-maybe he feels safe because of the position he is in, the fact that he knows he is safe because his boyfriend, Louis isn't going to hurt him, will keep him safe if anyone else will come along-not that he needs saving, or maybe because he needs saving, of course; the important part is that Louis would want to keep him safe.

"Can you sit up now?" Louis asks, finally, after pulling his hands away again. Harry feels a vague sense of disappointment that things had ended so quickly, but gives a grunt to indicate that yes he can and moves to pull himself into a more upright position. "Okay. Since...uh...since you can sit up, I can finish rubbing your shoulders and arms for you, if you want. I mean, because they still sort of look..." he makes a short, frustrated sound as Harry settles into position, slumped forward slightly with his hands in his lap and his legs splayed out in front of him. He makes a low, happy sound that is somewhere between a moan and a grateful sigh when Louis' fingers dig firmly into the muscles of his shoulders, working out the knots there and easing the pain in his head slightly.

He opens his eyes, wondering vaguely when he'd closed them, when he hears the older boy shift to sit beside him, hands curling around his forearm and thumbs working the tension from it just as easily as they have from everywhere else. He watches with mild curiosity, allowing his boyfriend to move and manipulate his arm, finally working his way up to the elbow and gently working some of the stiffness from it by flexing and extending his arm, rubbing lightly at either side of the joint in question. He closes his eyes again, letting his head drop forward onto his chest as Louis scoots-remarkably graceless, for him-around to his other side to take hold of his left arm.

A few moments later, when Louis assures Harry if he feels a bit better now and Harry tells him much, much better, Harry attempts to slip back inside the covers but the older boy quickly grabs his hand, holding it on Harry's lap. They don't break the eye contact, looking into each others eyes, as Louis gets himself comfortable in front of Harry's crossed legs on the bed.

Louis leans forward slightly, running the fingertips of one hand up along the back of Harry's neck and into his hair that's heavy with sweat in the roots now.

"Sometimes, Lottie gets headaches too," Louis says, his tone careful as he runs his fingers through Harry's hair-which is, admittedly, not very long, comparing to last summers; it had grown some, but when he'd first got to school in the beginning of the semester and was teased by Louis and his friends that he looked like the ugly baby of a Tarzan whilst Harry was walking down the street, he'd decided it would be easier to simply steal a pair of scissors from his mum and deal with it that way. It had ended with a very bemused Anne lecturing him on not stealing things-and not trying to cut his own hair.

The younger boy has no idea what to make of the tingling sensation Louis' gentle touches cause in his scalp and along the back of his neck. He shifts slightly, uncertainly, almost ready to ask what Lottie had to do with anything before Louis speaks again. "She says it helps if I rub his head, or...or play with her hair like this, so I thought maybe it would help you, too?" His tone is questioning, almost hesitant, and Harry notes-after a moment of concentration-that his heart rate has sped up again as well.

"Mmph." Harry notes that it isn't exactly the sound he'd intended to make, but it is hard to focus his thoughts with Louis' fingertips working gently through his hair, over his scalp, and finally around the outer edges of both ears. "Feels nice," he mumbles, finally, swaying slightly as his older boyfriend continues to run his fingers through his hair; it is soothing, and it seemed to work far better than trying to actually plug his ears in terms of getting rid of the headache all the sound had given him, distracting him from the pain and the noise.

He relaxes, surprisingly warm and in far less pain than he'd been in for ages and almost ready to simply flop backwards onto Louis and go to sleep right here on his bed, despite the fact that he knew they'd both wake up cold and stiff if he did so. Louis makes the decision to get up and go back to bed somewhat easier when-after running his fingertips up along the back of his neck and through his hair once more-he pats Harry lightly on the shoulder and stands up before offering the younger boy a hand.

"Thanks," he says, after a moment, looking down up meet Louis' after he rests his back against the pillow Louis had apparently tucked for him earlier. Louis smiles hesitantly, squeezing his hand lightly before letting go; Harry catches his hand again, squeezing it in return in a frustrated attempt to convey his gratitude properly.

It takes a few seconds of guilt and long thoughts before Harry speaks up.

"'m sorry you got to see this." Harry looks down at this lap, eyes focused on the white bed sheet folds and jaw about to tear apart from nervousness. "I wish you didn't get to-"

"Harry what are talking about?" Louis' sweet voice comes out raspy as he takes Harry's hand into his, kneeling down on the floor by his bedside. "I should be apologizing for causing you all of this in the first fucking place!"

"Louis-"

"No Harry, no matter how many times I say I'm sorry, I always end up fucking up and I know I will continue fucking up. I just need you to believe me right now. I swear to you I didn't mean to leave you in the alley! I swear-"

When Louis starts rambling, swearing on Harry that he had no intention of leaving him back in the alley, Harry's brows ease down, furrowing curiously. He whispers quietly, "then why did you Lou?"

Louis' face falls, the frown disappearing. He swallows, and Harry sees the way his Adam's apple clog.

"I-I, I didn't mean to Harry. You know I wouldn't ever mean to-"

Harry slides his fingers out of between Louis' hands, eyes sharp with inconsideration. "But you did Lou. You left me there. River couldn't give a tad bit of damn if I died right there in his hands. If you didn't hear the cops on their way were you...were you just going to watch me bleed to death?" Harry's chest heaves breathlessly. It isn't the same as earlier when his panic attack had kicked in, corrupting his emotions all over. He only feels his chest tighten, nothing too abnormal for Harry. But the wetness behind Harry's eyelids and trickle of tears piling up is dangerous. He doesn't want to cry in front of Louis. He just wants to talk, is all. And it would be really helpful if his emotions didn't betray him, just once.

"Of course I wouldn't leave you Harry and I apologize so fucking much for being such an idiot. I shouldn't have ever left you there-"

"But you-"

"But I did. I wish I didn't and I know I can't go back in time and fix things but I swear Harry, if I could I'd grab your hand and get you out of there. I never meant to leave you there. I just- fucking River was there and everybody-"

Harry gives a small nod, pressing his lips together, not able to bring his eyes to join Louis'. "I understand."

Louis makes a grab for Harry's hands again, face utterly surprised about where this conversation is going to go. Louis holds Harry's fingers into his palm, eyes begging to be met with his. Harry doesn't flinch, but he doen't hold back either.

It hurts Louis a little bit inside. Mostly because no matter how many times he backs himself up, Harry is right. Why did Louis leave him? No proper boyfriend, or human at that, would leave another person lying, almost bleeding to death. But then again, Louis is messed up. Louis is horrible. Harry deserves better. At least he knows that.

"So what's going to happen Harry?" Louis makes out, voice low, almost whispering.

Harry sniffles, his hand feeling rather warm and slippery in Louis', "I dunno. I don't know anything." Then, Harry feels a hint of mad, anger erupting deep in himself, when he remembers flinching, and tucking his head into his arms everytime his cheeks were met with a punch. "Do you think it's fair Lou?" He lifts his head up, brows narrowed as Louis watches him silently, his own eyebrows furrowed sharp as well. "I know you say sorry, tell me you shouldn't have done it, but is this what's always going to happen? Do you think it's fair, for me, that I always get to watch...watch the boy I care and love the most in life act like a...like a stranger who joins bunch of culprits wanting nothing but death off of me. Christ Lou, I don't want to complain, I never want to complain. You know I love you so much, but," Harry sighs, chest heaving in a fast pace, "Nick and I talked earlier. He told me all of the bad things you've brought in my life. He called you a son of a bitch. He swore, and made so many nasty comments but you know why? 'S because he cares. Nick makes me feel like, like I'm important. Not because he made you seem so shallow and unworthy in front of my eyes, but because when I need help, he's there. And again Louis, I don't want to complain, but you-River, have pushed it and made my life so fucking messed up to the point I don't even want to live anymore, I feel like It's the only way I can survive. For my family at least, because they certainly care. I-I'm thinking of homeschooling," Louis' lips part, gentle gasp escaping as his chest tenses up. "Nick suggested it was best for everyone."

Louis's grip tightens in Harry's palm. He slips off of the chair beside Harry's bed and kneels down on the floor. "Are you sure Harry? It-it's so sudden, have you made up your mind?" He asks almost breathless, eyes searching Harry's much relaxed ones.

Harry licks his lips, nodding slowly.

"What about me?" Louis makes out.

Harry's lip curves into a lazy smile, "what about you Lou?"

"I'll barely see you."

Harry's smile stays still on his lips, it's not his genuin smile, far from that. "But what's the difference? You see me at school all the time, and what's the difference if we're acting like nothing is going on between us, and you're just one of those people who are beating and counting the days of my death. Sounds pretty fucking stupid to me." Harry looks away.

"Harry," Louis whimpers, "d-do you still love me?"

The question feels like layers of bricks falling onto Harry's face. His face stays still, watching the wall but with less comfort. He attempts, and moves his head slowly. When his eyes meet Louis' sincere ones, Harry opens his mouth. "I've never stopped loving you Louis. Never will either." Harry responds voice light and soft against the thick tension in the room. "Sometimes I hate myself for it, but I just can't turn back. I can't turn back from you."

A small droplet of tear sheds from Louis' eye as his eyes bore into Harry's glassy green eyes. Bringing his lips down, Louis places a gentle peck on Harry's knuckles. The soft feeling of Louis' lips, sends cold shivers around Harry's neck, making it stiff and unable to breath all over.

"S-stop Lou, please just-" Harry doesn't want to cry. Not in front of Louis. He needs to put a stop to this. Needs to obey Nick's words and do what's best for him and his family.

Louis shakes his head, his cheeks wet and shining, it hurts Harry like never to see him like this. "No," he mumbles, like a little kitten who's been pushed around.

Harry finally brings himself together, pulling his hand out of Louis' and not missing the choked sound that comes from Louis. Harry can't bear to make their eyes, he keeps his eyes on the boring, cream wall, knowing exactly what Louis looks like in this moment. It hurts Harry so fucking much to do this.

"Harry, where is all this coming from?" Louis sniffles, rubbing his eyes with his sleeves.

There is no response.

"What's this all supposed to mean?" Louis pleads, "please respond." His voice croaks.

Harry sighs frustrated. He wanted it to be something he could get over with, but Louis makes it so hard for him and the pain that he creates is too much. Harry turns back to Louis. His eyes taking in all the features on Louis' face. His dark, messy, chestnut colored hair, his skyblue eyes, his thin plump lips, and God, those sharp flushed cheekbones. All of the perfections, making Harry realize why even fell in love with Louis in the first place for the billionth time.

"L-Lou," Harry swallows, the name buzzing around his tongue, "just, please don't make this hard. I'm not saying anything-" Harry sighs really loud, cupping his face between his palms, he lets out shaky breaths before, "we need a break."

"What?" Louis reacts too quick, voice concerned and unamused.

Harry removes his hands out of his face, "break Lou. I want a break. Just, please don''t make it hard. I just want to-"

Louis' lets out a strangled puff, "b-break? Br-reak for what? Harry, you're joking? You're joking right?"

Harry frowns, his face apologetic. It's enough for Louis.

"But why?" Louis snaps and suddenly he's on his feet, hands going around his neck and pulling the ends of his hair behind at his nape.

Harry stares at Louis, dumbstruck and hurt. "Are you seriously asking me why? Do you not see me?" Harry gestures his body on the bed, "is this not enough reason? Or do you want to see me in a hospital bed, struggling to stay alive with plugs sticking through me, to understand that we need a break?" Harry points out, sound freakishly angry as he motions his body.

Louis' face softens, "Harry you know I didn't mean that. I just, when you're here telling me you want a break after us, trying so hard to go strong, it's just.-" Louis groans, rubbing his hands on his face, "I don't want a break Harry."

Harry's looking at Louis intensely, wondering for a second how the hell could he ever get over this beautiful boy. Especially when he's begging him like this.

"Say something Harry."

"I-I don't really know..." Harry stammers. "I just can't go on like this. I'm either going to end up dead one day, or I'm going to have to do this. We need a break Lou. I'm not saying I'm going to shut you off or something. We're still going to be friends...I guess."

"Harry you're already sounding as if we're never going to have any contact whatsoever after this, can you just please tell me, if there's any other way to fix this? I don't want a break Harry," he frowns, coming closer to Harry on the bed.

The boys stare at eachother for a few seconds, both of them confused and terrified. Before they are both aware of what they are going to do, or heck what they are both going to say, there are pair of warm and thin lips attached onto Harry's chapped, cold ones. It was unexpected, Harry can't give in. He shouldn't-but oh Harry missed Louis' touch.

They're both tired and exhausted. Louis tries not to put his weight on Harry's broken limbs, he holds himself by Harry's hips. His lips desperately wanting to be moved by Harry's. It's a success when Harry sighs into Louis' lips, parting them just the slightest. Louis is eager. It's just a kiss. He's given and received more rough ones, but it's Harry and really, it's isn't just a kiss. Louis tilts his head, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth, nibbling on it gently as Harry gasps, his chest rising up and down nervously. Louis finds it adorable, even in such a fragile, intense state. When he brings his knee by Harry's hip, not really deciding to push things further but allowing what his body is craving for, Harry presses his cheek onto the pillow, removing his lips from Louis', unintentionally leaving a filthy kissing sound.

Louis holds back a whine, swallowing and pausing for a brief second before lifting himself off Harry and awkwardly standing on his feet.

"Louis go." Harry mumbles on the pillow, with a straight tone.

"Why?"

Harry brings his chest up, not flinching at the burning feeling around his limbs and prompts himself on his elbows, "because!"

"Because what Harry?" Louis screams back, and Harry wishes he hadn't considering his mum, Gemma and Nick are downstairs and they could shove themselves inside any second.

Harry wants to respond, he'd respond if he didn't know how much he would sound conceited after his response.

"God damn it Harry, because what?" Louis pleads again, his voice weaker than before.

Harry feels confidence and impatient, his chest heaves quick again, his mind foggy but super hyper with anger. "Because you don't care about me enough to protect me."

The words should've felt like bricks off of Harry's shoulder. They should've made him comfortable but God, Harry feels so selfish now. Selfish and cruel enough to complain and rub it into Louis' face like a mad man.

A few pauses later, Louis scrunches his forehead. "I'm fucking trying Harry. You think it's easy for me? It's only been a few months and I'm still trying to put things together. I've never felt this way, I'm still struggling and trying to work us out. I know we went through this before but you don't get it Harry. It's hard for me! You don't think I want to protect you? Of course I do! You mean to me Harry, you've taken a big fat space in my life, but when you're here telling me you want a break, I can't handle it. It's too much! And it would be very much helpful if you understood. I thought you understood."

"I do understand. I understand everything, except for how much you care about people's opinions!" Harry pours his heart out, finally, gripping hard on the bed sheets spread across his waist, "you care so much that you can't even do what your heart tells you to do."

(A/N; This scene was inspired by the song 'I hate you don't leave me' written and produced by the lovely Demi Lovato.)

Louis opens his mouth, attempting to disagree, Harry dives before him, "no, listen. If you hadn't cared about River and everybody else's opinion so much you wouldn't be in this position, we wouldn't be in this position right now. So just do both of us a favor and make up your mind because I swear to you, I can't take it anymore. I can't handle another comment, another punch, another day with an aching body and useless reasons to give mum and Gemma. I'm hurting her Louis. I'm just so weak. I can't do anything anymore. I fucking surrender! Please just make up your mind!" Harry is in tears at this moment, eyes wide and angry.

Louis doesn't attempt reaching for him. Harry's words had dug right into his body like daggers. Louis needs to say something. He needs to respond before Harry goes completely insane. Could he have gone death? Harry needs to get a word out of him. Anything, because at this point it really won't matter.

But when Harry approves he won't receive a word out of Louis, he licks his lips before shutting his eye lids.

"Louis. Get out."

Turns out Louis isn't death at all, when Harry lifts his eyes back open, a tear trickles at the back of his eyelids, the door had closed.

Harry hated Louis. He hated his guts and attitude, but the one thing he hated the most was that even though he had all of this hatred toward him, and disliked so many things but adored them all back equally, he could never not accept Louis. Though, Harry wanted him to make better decisions. He still never expected Louis to return his feelings, he never expected him to go through everything with him, never expected him to be patient and handle Harry's bullshit, but the one thing he expected from Louis was that one day or later, he would leave him.

Because when they love him. They leave him.



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Comment and a vote is much appreciated :)

-Aleyna