World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

40.0

THE MORON

“No! You moron!” he yells at me.

“What the hell?”

“You were not supposed to say that,” he stands up and starts walking around the room, “Not yet!”

“Wait,” I frown, “I’m trying to digest this.”

“No! I’m the one trying to digest it,” he points his finger at me.

“But you knew it already,” I cross my arms, obviously mad at his stupid self.

“No, I didn’t know anything,” he sits on the couch with his eyes fixated on mine, “Or I didn’t think you’d say it.”

“What were you trying to make me say then?”

“That I was the reason why you changed,” he freaks out again, “Not that you lov… Not that!”

“Why can’t you even say it?” I’m starting to get pissed.

“Because it’s too soon,” he sighs, “It’s too soon and it’s not even real yet.”

“But I do lov-”

“No! Stop it!” he cuts me off.

“But I do!” I stand up and then sit on the bed again, “I fucking do and so what?”

“No, you don’t!” he insists, “So don’t say it anymore.”

“I love you,” I say really fast just to make it impossible for him to stop me.

“No,” he pouts, “You don’t.”

“I love you!” I repeat, “I love you,” I raise my voice, “I love you!”

“Shut up, Harry!” he groans and then buries his face between his hands.

“This is not the answer I was expecting,” I sigh, “At all. From all the answers possible to that statement, this is probably the worst one.”

“I’m sorry,” he looks at me, “I really am but no, this is not right.”

“Why isn’t it right?”

“Because I already told you, it’s not real!”

“Why isn’t it real?”

“It’s too soon, Harry,” he gets closer to me and tries to put his hand on my arm but I don’t let him.

“Don’t touch me,” I mumble.

“You don’t feel it yet. You are just excited, you are confused because this is the first time you are experiencing this. That doesn’t mean you lov… That doesn’t mean you feel it yet.”

“You don’t know what I feel,” I roll my eyes at him, “How could you possibly know how I feel?”

“I just do,” he tries to talk but I stop him.

“Well, you don’t! This is mean,” I stand up to walk around the room in an attempt to ease the anger I’m starting to feel inside me, “This is disrespectful and mean,” I repeat, “It’s so mean I can’t even look at you right now.”

“What? How is this mean?” he looks regretful.

“Because I fucking opened up to you, I took my heart and put it out there for you to see what I feel and you make me feel awful, you make me feel rejected,” I cover my face with my hands, “And I hate that. I hate it because that’s my biggest fear. This has always been my biggest fear, to be rejected like this.”

“Oh, bubu,” he tries to get close to me, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare touching me, you stay right there,” I warn him.