next to you ❀ l.s.

twenty nine - bathroom floor

His heart hurt.

It hurt more than he would ever admit. Louis's heart ached with every single memory of him and Stan, an avalanche of emotions that had him drowning. He buried his face in his hands, the cold tile of the bathroom floor seeping in through even his thickest pair of sweatpants.

Even worse, his heart was so, so happy. Tangled amongst the pain, stitching his wounds together more thoroughly than they'd ever been healed, were his memories of Harry. Flashes of Harry with french fries and old books and Halloween decorations. Stolen moments under covers and secret touches under wooden bookstore tables.

It was all too much. Everything hurt so, so much.

Harry woke up alone. He reached for Louis, pouting when he found the space beside him empty. The sheets were still warm, though, so he sat up, glancing around the room. The bathroom door was cracked open, allowing a thin column of light to pierce through the darkness of the bedroom.

Reluctantly, Harry climbed out of the warm bed and padded toward the bathroom. He opened the door slowly, squinting and then rubbing his eyes. The white light was harsh and blinding, and he had to blink a few times before his eyes fully adjusted.

He found Louis sitting on the ground in front of the sink. His legs were folded up to his chest, and his elbows rested on his knees, letting him hide his face from the bright light. Even without a visible facial expression, he looked worn and weary: his feathery hair was wild and tangled, and his shoulders were slumped with a defeat that Harry had never seen.

Harry lingered in the doorway. For the first time, he was truly scared of Louis. The older boy looked like a loose cannon, and Harry had known far too many loose cannons in his lifetime. Still, as much as he wanted to turn and run, diving back into the safety of the warm sheets, he just couldn't.

Because Louis would do this for him. Louis was always strong for him.

"Lou." His tone was soft, almost like a child's. "Please don't shut me out. Please --" his words wavered, his voice about to crack "-- talk to me."

Louis didn't lift his head. His words were muffled by his hands. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I can't talk to you, Harry, because if I talk about it . . ." Louis trailed off, swallowing hard. He dropped his hands and looked up at the ceiling, willing himself not to cry. "If I talk about it, I'll scream."

Harry crossed the bathroom slowly, sitting down cross-legged beside Louis on the ground. "So scream," he said simply.

Louis's mind raced with the thousands of reasons he just couldn't scream -- including the fact that he refused to be the reason behind one of Harry's episodes. Never again. "I can't. I won't."

"Please. Let it out." Harry looked uncertain, but his eyes were earnest. "I-I can take it."

"Harry. Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop -- just stop!" Louis snapped suddenly. He tangled his fingers in his hair, tugging angrily on the ends. "Stop . . . stop being so selfless! Stop putting me before yourself, stop -- just stop."

"Lou," Harry whispered, his tone laced with disbelief. "I-I care about you so much. I want to be here for you."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you're nothing like him!" Louis sobbed out suddenly. "I-I just spent so long imagining what my life would look like with him, and now . . . now I can't help picturing my life with you, but it's all so different. And it's better. It's so much better. I want everything I'm imagining with you, but how do I let go of what I thought I wanted for so long?"