Hate That I Love You

Chapter 15

"Stop!" Harry moaned, trying to keep Louis who kept moving like a child.

"It hurts!" Louis protested, his head still spinning.

Harry rolled his eyes then, took his hand and placed it on his still uncovered ass; it was almost automatic for Louis to smile. "When I hurt you too much, squeeze, okay?"

"Okay," Louis smiled.

Harry shook his head then slowly placed the ice-filled handkerchief on his cheekbone which had swollen too much. Louis groaned slightly, narrowing his eyes slightly and squeezing Harry's buttock.

"Yeah, but don't take it off," Harry complained, still holding the ice to his cheek, kneeling on the mattress, while Louis sat sprawling on the bed.

"I've done worse with that," he chuckled. "So don't complain."

Harry smiled then, continued to focus on his cheekbone and silence fell again. He just held the ice still and when Louis squinted, to relax him, he stroked his neck and part of his hair with his other hand. Those gestures had the power to make him sigh softly all the time.

"I like the shirt," Louis whispered at one point, looking him in the eye, referring to the shirt Harry wore with his name and which, even during sex, he hadn't taken off. "In the sense it suits you."

"Oh yes?" Harry asked absently, not looking into his eyes.

"Well, that's it, yeah," he nodded. "Red suits you."

The curly haired boy stared at him puzzled for a moment, momentarily detaching the ice from his cheek. "Sometimes you say weird things," he said.

"I have this ability, yes," he muttered. "I hate silence."

"Oh, I noticed that. All you do is talk ... talk and talk," he asserted, setting the ice back with, perhaps too much force.

"Ouch!" he screamed, still squeezing his backside.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "I didn't mean to" he bit his lip hesitantly "Does it hurt?" he asked, whispering.

Louis saw guilt in his eyes and this made him smile barely. "A little," he replied. "But it's just a bruise."

"And your stomach?" he asked again.

"That was painful at the time," he wrinkled his nose. "I couldn't breathe, I feel a little sore, but nothing too extreme."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"It wasn't your fault," he shook his head. "I think I've crossed the line," he shrugged.

"Well, let's say you went looking for it," Harry grumbled. "But he was an idiot anyway."

"You shouldn't be with someone like him," said Louis, suddenly more serious. "He loses his temper too easily. He could get violent someday."

Harry laughed. "Xander doesn't even have the guts to push me meekly, and besides, he'd never turn against me, he knows I've been kickboxing for years."

"Really?" he asked, surprised. "You?"

"Yes, Tomlinson. Me," he nodded. "It will seem strange to you to hear it, but as a child it was even more noticeable that I was gay."

"But continue?" Louis chuckled. "I understood that from the first day I met you."

"You met me when I was born, you idiot," he scolded him. "But anyway, in the school for jocks where my parents sent me, there were too many people with the stench under their noses, little ones who thought they were omnipotent and all kinds of bullshit."

"Are you telling me you had your group of bullies?" he asked, surprised.

"Such a thing, yes," he shrugged. "Zayn was in public school, so he had no way of helping me, like he always did. So he took me to kick boxing, and I did it for years, until I went to college. But I have to say that I'd really like to go back to do some training on my own. "

"So you managed to prevent them from bothering you?" he asked him.

Harry sighed, letting himself fall on the bed and sitting better on the mattress, with his knees close to his chest. "I was different when I was younger," he explained, head down. "I was a half hippie, who believed in non-violence, in true love. I was a dreamer, a delusional one who believed that the world was a better place. Or that, at least, it could still be saved."

"I remember it," Louis smiled. "You always walked around with that damned smile on your face."

"And I guess that's why they stopped nagging me," Harry chuckled. "They didn't enjoy it anymore because I didn't react as they expected. I felt invincible in those days. I had defeated a bunch of bullies with a smile, what nonsense."

"What made you change?" he asked at that point, turning more towards him.

"Life" he shrugged. "College. My father," he sighed deeply. "Finding my dying mother with a bloodstained razor blade," he said finally.

Louis opened his mouth slowly, looking at him intently. He didn't say anything, though, he didn't ask him questions, he waited for Harry to be ready to continue telling. He waited to see if Harry wanted to continue.

But, strangely, Harry wanted to.

"I was seventeen," he said, head down. "I went home after a long day at school and, I don't even remember why, I absolutely had to talk to my mother. I rushed to my parents' room and found her. It wasn't a good scene, not really, especially after I understood that she herself had cut her veins... tried to die." Harry lifted his head up, sighing deeply. "She was depressed and none of us had ever noticed, which is absurd because damn it, it's my mother, how did I not notice it? Not noticing the absence of her smiles, her non-existent desire to leave the house. It's called hysteria dysphoria or something. I don't think she'll ever smile again. It's a form of depression that mostly affects women, especially those who care too much about the judgment of others and, my mother - she was so terrified of it. She was a Styles, after all, had to show herself in a certain way, she couldn't tarnish the family name. What idiocy. I would have preferred to spit on the family crest rather than find my mother in those conditions. My mother has told me she had no reason to live, said she lived with a man who didn't love her and she didn't love, she had an unhappy life, made up of appearances, of falsehood. A life that had destroyed her. And when I told her she had me for reason one... she said it wasn't a good enough reason." Harry closed his eyes, sending a silent tear down his cheek. "I'm not enough."

Harry kept his eyes closed until he felt something brush his cheek and collect the tear that had just wet his face. He opened his eyes and found Louis a short distance from his face, with his hand resting on his cheek that smiled faintly at him. "You are enough" he whispered, stroking him. "You. Are. Enough," he repeated, spelling out word for word.

Harry tried to smile but, shortly after, without even ordering anything from his body, he walked over to Louis and hugged him, placing his head on his chest. Louis, trying not to let his surprise come through in that gesture (he was sure that Harry had included not hugging among all the rules), he squeezed him in turn, kissing his hair several times.

"Thanks," Harry whispered, squeezing Louis' waist even tighter.

The boy didn't answer, just placing his "healthy" cheek on Harry's soft hair and squeezing him in turn.

And Harry just ignored the sound of Louis's heart beating madly.