FINGERTIPS ║ Larry Stylinson

38 ║ The Fear

October 17th

"So, aren't you going to say anything?" Louis whispered painfully.

Louis was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, looking up from his fingers to stare at Harry. The younger boy was sitting on the office chair, turning on himself a bit, silent. He hadn't said a word yet, although he had arrived about fifteen minutes ago. He had simply stayed there, away from Louis, his plump lips sealed and his ears pretty much closed. He had entirely ignored his boyfriend. Louis had originally decided he wouldn't be the one to give up, but as he had seen the minutes go by, he had understood Harry wouldn't say anything. He didn't want to waste the short time he had to spend with his boyfriend. But he couldn't understand perfectly why Harry seemed so mad at him. They had – somewhat – fought, yes, maybe they had. But was there really anything to be mad about? Tamara was his ex girlfriend, it was in the past, their whole relationship was in the past. Their kisses and intimate moments had been erased from his mind. The pleasure he used to get whenever he was with her seemed really, really far from the present time. Now, only Harry mattered and he wished he could realise that. Maybe it was the lack of "I love you", Louis' fear to let the words slip out of his mouth. Maybe it was the reason why Harry was mad. Should he ask? Should he be honest, face his fears and ask Harry if he was the only problem in this complex situation? The bravery he needed to do that was missing though. In another hand, they couldn't stay there, fully silent and wasting their time. Wasting some precious minutes and hours they could easily use to figure things out, talk things out. He looked back down to his fingers, playing with the seams of the blanket. His hands were trembling a bit from the frightening pace his heart was beating at.

"Harry, I am not going to stay here, silent and wasting the only time I can spend with you during the week! So talk, please. Just, yell at me, slap me, I don't know, do something."

Harry's head snapped up when the word "slap" left the older boy's lips. He frowned, his eyebrows almost meeting and wrinkles all over his forehead. He hated the fact Louis even dared to think he would ever be able to hurt him, in any way. Louis was so precious, so fragile, so tiny, the simple thought of ever hurting him accidentally ached his heart painfully. He would never. The hate and guilt would probably kill him slowly.

"I am not gonna hurt you, never, I am not Tamara."

Louis sighed loudly. What was the problem with Tamara? Why was it so important and why was he being so dramatic about it? He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly. He didn't want to fight, not about anything and even less about Tamara. Was it only jealousy? Was Harry trying to make sure Louis would never go back to her?

"She didn't hurt me, Harry. You don't know her, why do you hate her so much? Why are you so jealous?" he asked.

The large frown deforming the younger boy's face hadn't left yet. He stood up softly, stretching his arms in front of him and walking toward the bed slowly. Louis grabbed his wrist gently and pulled him closer until the curly haired boy sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I am not jealous. She hurt you. She did, and I know it Louis. You can't deny it. Not with me. I may not be able to see with my eyes, but I have hands to feel you." he started.

He slowly felt around until he grabbed Louis' shirt, climbing fully on the bed, suddenly closer to his boyfriend. They were now sitting one in front of the other, both cross-legged. Louis looked at him silently. He didn't know if he should say anything of if Harry wanted to keep talking. Harry moved a bit closer, his knees knocking onto Louis'. He slid his hands under Louis' shirt, the older boy shivered a bit at the sudden contact of Harry's burning fingers against his cold waist. Harry's teeth clenched as he wrapped his large hands around his waist. He swore there was nothing else than bones, almost like his skin was so thin it seemed nonexistent. It felt like he was touching Gerald the skeleton from his old biology classroom. Louis felt his heart speed into his chest, his boyfriend's fingers was soft and warm.