half truths ,, l.s

8

LOS ANGELES, 21 CALIFORNIA. JANUARY 2016.

A week later, he swears he can still feel the greasy, salty noodles sloshing around in his stomach. He can't, he knows he can't, but it still feels like he can sometimes. He's been exercising in their home gym more than he already typically does, and Louis hasn't said anything about it but he's started to make himself busy in the room. Harry hates being watched while working out almost as much as he hates being watched eating (hence the home gym), but Louis normally just sprawls across the floor with one of the dogs while on his phone. Occasionally, he'll tell Harry that his form is shit or he's running weird, but he never actually moves his gaze from his phone so Harry knows Louis' just joking.

He also goes back to one meal a day, which -- he knows is really fucking stupid. He's wasting so much hard progress because of one fucking meal, but he keeps telling himself just for a little while, just for a couple of days, but it's already been a week and he hasn't gone back up to two.

Louis does notice this. Not exactly, but he does start becoming a bit more observant. Saying things like, did you eat breakfast this morning, love? There's no dishes , and when Harry tells him honestly no, that he wasn't hungry, Louis quirks an eyebrow at him and say, really? 'Cause you didn't eat dinner last night.

Of course Louis is going to notice this; there aren't as many excuses to hide behind as there were on tour. So now he gets up an extra half hour before Louis does to make himself a plate of food and only to throw it in the bottom of the trash so Louis can't see, so there will be dirty dishes and missing food, and Louis doesn't question anything after that. All it takes is a bit more effort on Harry's end to make it work.

And then there's the ever-looming threat of the movie shoot coming up next month, which honestly scares the fuck out of him because he knows he can't do it. He can't go around prancing on beaches when he's not eating enough, and he's sure they will force him to do a physical evaluation before they start shooting, so Harry drops out. He drops out of Dunkirk , a movie that could have massively impacted his career and brought him to new levels he's never been a part of before.

Moments like this, when Harry's losing significant pieces of himself and his life, is when he wants to tell Louis everything. He can't keep going on like this. It's been far too long. He's almost twenty-two. He hasn't been able to eat completely normal since he was around sixteen, and he's been purposely depriving himself of food for what -- about a year and a half now? Maybe more? Has it really been that long?

Louis is laying with his back against Harry's chest, Harry's arms wrapped around his middle as they watch TV in bed. The dogs are towards the end of the bed sleeping soundly, and for a stupid second, Harry convinces himself to just go out with it. There's not point in keeping it a secret anymore, is there, and Louis can help him, or maybe get him the help he needs, because Harry needs some fucking help with this.

Instead, all he says is, "Hey Lou?" Louis shifts slightly and hums in response. "I, uh. This morning, um, I gave up my role in that movie."

Louis stills, and Harry closes his eyes in shame while he tightens his hold on Louis. "That Christopher Nolan movie? The -- what is it called -- Dunkirk ? That war movie?"

"Yeah. That one."

"Why?" Louis asks, sounding genuinely shocked. He goes to twist to look at Harry, but Harry keeps his eyes shut and rests his forehead on Louis' shoulder. "You were so excited for that."

And yeah, he was. He really, really was. "It just didn't seem like a good time, I guess."

Louis laughs shortly. "Time is all we have right now, Haz. We're finally on break, this is your opportunity, I -- can you look at me? Please?" Harry opens his eyes, and he doesn't realize he's about to cry until he does so. "Harry," Louis murmurs sadly. He moves so he's sitting facing Harry and he runs a hand through Harry's short hair. He went as far to cut his hair for a movie he's not even going to be a part of anymore.

"You didn't even talk to me about it," Louis says quietly. "You -- I don't get it. You were really excited about it. What changed?"

Harry opens his mouth to respond but realizes there's no point in saying anything that's not the truth and closes it. He shrugs stiffly and tries not to squirm under Louis' worried eyes.

"You've been working out like crazy to get in shape for this role," Louis assumes, "and now you're saying you don't want it. I don't get it."

Harry looks down, but Louis immediately forces him to look at him in the eye by gently holding his jaw. "I don't know," Harry says, even though he does. "I just. I don't want it anymore. Chris isn't mad, he says there will be other roles."

"But why, Harry? Why?"

Harry's face crumbles before he can stop it and then he's crying into Louis' neck, sharp, hot sobs racking through his body. He clings onto Louis with everything he has, because he fears he's going to ruin them one day, too. That their relationship will be sacrificed in order to allow him to keep doing what he's doing. Louis holds him just as tightly and he whispers quiet words like I love you and it's okay and you're alright, whatever it is, you're alright.

When Harry stops crying and he's just breathing shakily into Louis' wet collarbones, Louis keeps stroking his hair and holding him tight. Louis rubs his shoulder before he tentatively asks, "Does this have anything to do with -- whatever it is that's been going on with you lately. Are you pulling out of the movie because of that?"

Harry nods once. Answering seems innocent enough.

"And does it, like. Does it have something to do with you? With your head?" Louis presses a kiss to his temple, a silent apology of not knowing how to word things more eloquently.

Harry nods again, more hesitant this time. It's the truth. Louis deserves to know that this isn't his fault.

Tentatively, Louis asks, "Do you think it's like, depression? Or," his voice shakes terribly, "or something else? Something worse?"

"I don't know," Harry whispers hoarsely. He could very well be depressed, he has no clue.

"Harry." Louis sounds hurt. "Can you please see someone about it? A therapist or something? Because if it's --if it's like, I don't know, bipolar disorder or really bad depression or, shit, like, something way worse, you can't mess around with that. You can't let it get worse. I can't let you do that to yourself."

Harry doesn't say anything. Louis lets out a shaky breath, and Harry knows he's probably crying and trying to keep it together.

"Would you be willing to see a therapist, babe? Please?" And yes, Louis is definitely crying, his voice coated with tears. "If you won't talk to me, you need to talk to somebody."

"I don't know," he repeats. "I -- maybe. I don't know."

"Okay," Louis whispers, still stroking his hair. "Okay. That's all I ask. Please think about it. Please, please. You need to take care of yourself." After a few minutes, Louis finds his hand and squeezes it. "I'm sorry for accusing you of cheating. Shitty thing to say. I know you wouldn't."

Harry nuzzles his face into Louis' neck. "It's okay."

"I just knew something was wrong. That something's been wrong for a long time now. And I couldn't figure it out." He pauses before dropping another kiss to his head. "I was talking to Liam about it a few nights ago. He brought it up, the possibility of you being, like, mentally not okay, and it just made a lot of sense."

"Mentally not okay," Harry repeats, a small smile on his face. He's not okay, far from it, but he likes that Louis' trying to protect him still. After all this, after everything he's put Louis through, Louis will still try to make things sound better than they really are.