Maybe It Wasn't All Bullshit To Me...

Hey guys, so, if you don't believe in Larry being an actual couple, please don't read this story. I really don't wanna deal with everyone yelling at me saying that their just friends, I believe what I want to believe. And this isn't supposed to be offensive to Eleanor in any way, shape or form. I think she's a really sweet, beautiful girl. Okay, continue. :) x

Louis had no idea what just happened.

He sat there on the floor, in the middle of his and Harry's living room, watery eyed and confused. Harry just blew up on him, for the first time ever since they met almost three years ago. Sure, they've gotten into small arguments before, maybe played the I'm-not-talking-to-you game a few times, but this was completely different. Harry was screaming. Screaming to the point his voice was cracking; tears were rocking down his face the whole time, and he physically pushed Louis to the floor, quite hard if he might add. Maybe that explains his throbbing wrist.

The twenty year old had no idea what to do, or what to say. He sat frozen, just staring at the door that Harry stormed out of, and slammed so hard he broke it off the top hinges. The door hung on it's side a bit, allowing Louis to see out into the hall a little.

The silence in the room was killing him. It whispered things to him, making his chest physically hurt. He wanted to cover his ears, but he knew they would either get louder or find their way into his head. He slowly tried to get up fro the floor, but he went weak in the knees and fell right back into place. He landed on his right wrist, which sent a sharp pain up his whole arm. He whimpered in pain, squeezing his eyes tight. This allowed some tears to escape and run down his cheeks, one tickling his nose.

You broke him, he heard. You should be proud of yourself, you asshole.

The dam he tried to build broke into pieces; tears flowed out of his eyes like a river. He pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face, ignoring the pain of his surely broken wrist. He cried loudly, loosing rhythm of his breathing. He cried so hard he ran out of air, and had to gasp for it when he tried to take a breath. His throat was scratchy and he felt sick.

What have I done? He thinks.

“Hazza,” He croaks into the empty, silent room. “Please come back.”

**

-AN HOUR BEFORE-

“Harry? You home, lad?” Louis called out as he shut the door to their flat. He took off his jean jacket and tossed it to the floor, too lazy to put in on a hanger and hang it in the closet properly. When he got no answer, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Harry didn't have plans tonight, or at least, he didn't tell him he did.

“Harry?” Louis called out again, a bit louder this time. He walked from the lobby of their flat and into the kitchen, starting to look for his curly haired friend. As he entered the kitchen, his heart picked up pace as he saw shattered remains of many cups and plates all over the floor. Was Harry hurt? Did someone break in?

“Harry!” Louis yelled, running from room to room now. “Harry Styles! Answer me if you're here!”

He checked everywhere; the bathrooms, the living rooms, the game room, the indoor pool, the guest rooms, but Harry was no where in sight. Louis was scared now, fearing that Harry might have been taken by some crazy fan, or a pedophile. The last room he checked was his and Harry's bedroom. He reached for the handle and turned it, but was surprised when he found that it was locked.

“Harry?” Louis asked, knocking on the door. “Are you in there, mate?”

Louis didn't get an answer, but he did hear something. It sounded familiar to the sound of someone trying to muffle their cries, as if they were crying into a pillow. Louis bit his lip hard.