all our younger years (l.s.)

6: 1 weeks until the end

The last week Harry and Louis would be spending together began with a meltdown.

It wasn't the kind of oh my god my hair's a mess meltdown or a I'm a hormonal and mentally unstable teenager and I am currently going through a crisis meltdown. It was that meltdown. The meltdown.

The Sexuality Meltdown.

He...should've been handling this way better considering his best friend was gay, considering he'd known that this was a highly plausible situation. The meltdown. The Sexuality Meltdown. This was it, it was happening now, he was much too far to turn back, and he was ready to pull his hair out.

Or punch a wall. Yeah, that would work too.

The thing was, he'd locked himself in his room. Not that he planned on doing anything bad, escaping out the window or something, no, he was okay. He just needed some time to...think about things. Think about the reason why he was having this crisis now of all times.

Conveniently, it'd been right after a sentimental and emotional night spent with his best friend. That was probably what terrified him the most. That it had been some kind of trigger; last night had set off some kind of switch in his brain. The gay switch. The gay switch had been turned on, or at least, the gay switch had always been on and had finally started to work properly. He had one week left to spend with Louis, and this was not how he wanted to be spending it.

Well...that was the thing. He kept telling himself this was a bad thing, a terrible thing, but maybe there was a part of him, deep inside, that was a mildly relieved. That he had a week left to prove something to himself, to act on...whatever this was.

Not that he ever would. He didn't have that kind of courage. But it was nice to imagine.

He estimated it'd be approximately ten minutes before his mother suspected something was wrong; she'd knock on the door, he'd dry the tears he had shed and stop his pacing, they'd sit down and he'd say the thing and she'd say 'I will always love you and support you, Harry,' and that would be that.

Of course, he'd had Louis as a role model for years, and even though he knew this already, he had to remind himself it wasn't that easy for everyone.

When his mum knocked on the door, it had been only seven minutes. Already, she'd exceeded his expectations.

The first thing she glimpsed was the boy lying face down on the bed, arms curled around his pillow, legs drawn underneath him to his chest. Harry heard her sigh once, as if she already knew what was happening.

"Harry, baby," she murmured softly, perching beside his bed and laying a gentle hand on his back. The touch seemed to calm him and heighten his emotions all at once. He hated being a teenager.

"What's wrong?"

He choked out something between a laugh and a sob, because everything was wrong, that was the problem.

"Everything," he snuffled into his pillowcase. "Mum, everything's wrong."

She sighed again, all motherly and kind. "Now, love, what could possibly be so terrible that you're here, so upset, when you should be enjoying yourself with Louis?"

"I can't see Louis right now."

She clucked worriedly. "Oh, baby, look at me."

He withdrew his face from its makeshift nest and blinked up at her through teary eyes; his face must have looked a right mess, all blotchy and red.

"I'm not going to pressure you into telling me anything," she told him, "But I hope you know how much I love you, and that I'll support you in anything you decide to do, yeah?"