Watermelon Sugar Die

Hurt People Hurt People

Louis crushed Harry in embrace. "Good to see ya, man. I can't believe you want to fookin' stay with me, brother. It's going to be off the hook. You know there's probably a pap behind the bush somewhere out here sayin', "See, we told you they was fookin."

Harry patted his old band mate's back. "When have I ever cared what they say about us? Every time someone utters the word "Larry," I sell another record. Where's Eleanor? Is she okay with me staying with ya for a bit?"

"I actually got us an AirBnB out in the country. The paps are parked outside me house on a semi-permanent basis right now. They know Eleanor done gone and left me again. Back to living at her mum's for now," Louis admitted.

"I'm sorry to hear that man. Tough break. You know I've always liked her."

Louis put Harry's bags in the trunk of his car. He lit a cigarette and sucked in deeply. "I've put that poor girl through some shit, ya know. It's like I tell her when thousand and thousands of women are throwing pussy at you, one of them is eventually going to hit you. Man, you know better than I do."

Harry nodded sadly, "I know man, but still. You have put her through some shit."

"I try to hang out in me house. I don't open me DMS, but you know ten thousand times more so than me that it ain't just fans and kids trying to fook you on the daily. Like it's girls you work with. Me therapist was trying to get with me, like trying to suck me off and shit," Louis said.

"You didn't have sex with your therapist...did you?"

"Yeah," Louis confessed, "I did. Just a few times. When I told her I couldn't see her anymore, she called Eleanor. Talk about patient confidentiality violations."

Harry pat Louis on the back and grinned, "You'll have to write another album and dedicate it to her."

"For real! Maybe you can help me. You're selling some fookin' records. But first, brother, come check out his house. It's a damn mansion." And it was. There was an Olympic sized pool, a sauna, six bedrooms, and a theater room with reclining seats. "Harry, check out the candy on the table. That's for you."

Harry's rolled a pink sucker in his hand, "Lollipops?"

"They're watermelon flavored," Louis chuckled. "I though you'd hate that."

Harry punched his arm lightly, "I do. I'm sick as shit of watermelon anything."

Louis asked, "That song was about goin' down on a girl, right?"

Harry sat upright and formed his words carefully. "It's about the intense feelings people experience at the initial stages of falling in love. "

"No shit?" Louis looked doubtful.

"Nah. It's 100% about eating pussy," Harry laughed. How good it was to be around his old friend again. He didn't have to be Harry Styles, the world's super woke sweetheart when he was with Louis. Harry could tell him anything. Almost anything, anyway. 

Louis took note of Harry's suddenly thoughtful expression, "What's made you call me, dude? Don't mistake my question; I'm bloody happy you did. I ain't see you in a minute. But what got you wanting to rekindle the bromance, so to speak? You ain't shaggin' your therapist, too?"

Harry shook his head. "My therapist is an old German man with skin tags all over his neck. But for real, I feel like I'm hurting a lot of people in my life, and I can't seem to stop."

Louis jumped up and slapped Harry's shoulders, "Exactly, man! Fookin' look at me Eleanor. Exact shit you're talking about! I can't stop meself from hurtin' her! I don't want to do this shit to her. She is the last person in the world that deserves a shit arse boyfriend like me, and I tell meself I'm going to a good boy, but there I go, only thinking about me own needs."

"That's very apt to my situation," Harry sighed, "in ways you can't even comprehend, friend." Louis handed Harry a cold, Red Stripe beer, and they clinked their brown bottles in solidarity.