A Sick Ecstasy - A Larry Stylinson Fic

Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the people in this story, I only own the scenario.

Warning: Language, allusions to self harm, may be triggering. 

Harry was tired.

He got enough sleep, more than enough, having “lazy days” of sleeping in, more often than not.

But he was tired of this, tired of coming home and finding Louis on the sofa with some new catch; it was a different guy every time, Louis never liked to stick to just the one, maybe he was afraid of commitment.

Not that it was any of Harry's business; he was Louis' best friend, not his mother.

He had learned over time to mostly avoid the living room, lessen the blow of seeing his best mate grinding some random douche.

Harry was tired of having no self-control, going against his better judgement, getting his hopes up, deluding himself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, Louis felt the same about him, only to have his heart broken every time; tired of being all too willing to do whatever Louis wanted, tired of being underappreciated.

Harry wished he could just stop feeling, so as not to feel the crushing torment of heartbreak and disappointment every time Louis told him that he'd met someone, usually at some nameless club, when the older boy was drunk out of his mind. But he could feel, and it wasn’t all bad. Sure, he could feel pain and heartbreak, but he also got to feel the sweet ecstasy, the high he got of feeling the blade slice through his skin, whatever hormones rushing through his blood. He would be deceiving himself if he said he didn’t feel a sort of sick pride afterwards, tracing the raised lines with his fingers, reminders of what he’d been through.

He would be lying if he said Louis noticed the pinkish scars decorating Harry’s arms; lying if he said that it didn’t hurt him to know that his best friend didn’t see how unhappy he was, beneath the false smile he wore in the presence of the older boy, and lying if he said Louis realized how happy Harry was when they were together, alone.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't expected things to be different after the night they shared together, much unlike any other night they’d spent in the company of each other. Louis had been so kind, so gentle, whispering loving words into Harry's ear as he fucked him slowly, pressing soft kisses to every patch of skin, telling him he was beautiful and how special he was, fingers laced in Harry's hair.

Harry would be lying if he said it hadn't been the best night of his life. He would also be lying if he said he hadn't locked himself in the bathroom the next day, sobbing quietly into his hands in the corner of the room, after he arrived home from work to find Louis on the sofa, moaning into some random guy's mouth, hands groping blindly. He would be lying through his teeth, crossing the boundary from white lies into complete fabrications, amongst the likes of compulsive liars, if he said he didn’t care about Louis more than anything, if he said that Louis didn’t mean the world to him.

None of these things would matter if he wasn’t completely enamoured with the older boy, if he wasn’t head over heels in love with him; but he was.

And Harry wasn’t a liar; he had no choice but to accept these things, these agonizing truths that ached him to think about, and that was where the problem lay.

To put it kindly, Harry was simply exhausted.

*

 Turning the lock in the door, Harry took a deep breath, bracing himself for the sight that most likely awaiting him when he entered the flat. Harry took a tentative step inside, only to be greeted to the sound of silence, albeit the quiet buzz of the television, and the hum of the water pipes, and all those other things, but there was no human sound. This could be good news: either Louis had gone out for the night, or he wasn’t dry humping some stranger from a café in the living room.

“Lou?” he called out, biting his lip.

“In here,” Louis’ voice came from the front room. Harry took off his Converse and coat, pressing the cool back of his hand to his forehead, willing his stupid heart to stop pounding, for God’s sake, it wasn’t like Louis had said anything remotely fascinating, just letting the curly-haired boy know of his whereabouts was no reason for his heart to start beating as though he was having a fucking heart attack, even Harry knew that.

“Hey you,” Louis smiled up at Harry as he walked into the room. Louis was sprawled out on the sofa, clutching a cushion in one hand, TV remote in the other. “Good shift?”

“Err, yeah,” said Harry. Uncomfortable with awkward small talk, he ran a hand through his rain-soaked hair to stop himself fidgeting. “Gonna go have a shower, what’s for dinner?”

“What do I look like? Your fucking wife?” Louis asked, but his tone was playful. “Cause this ass doesn’t look too good in a dress, trust me,” a cheeky smile spread across Louis’ face.

Harry was disturbed at the emphasis Louis put into the last two words, not wanting to know how his flatmate was so sure of this, probably something from one of his many sexual experiences. Not wanting to hear any more on the topic, Harry slipped out of the room, and made his way upstairs, tapping a pattern into the banister with his fingers as he did so. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

He hoped there would be enough hot water for him to actually have a shower; Louis enjoyed taking baths and he wasn’t exactly considerate in how much hot water he used. Also, Harry was slightly sweaty, despite the chilling rain outside the warmth of the flat. There was a sound from behind him.

 “Harry?”

Harry turned on the spot, not quite at the top of the stairs, a cheesy smile on his face, to find Louis at the bottom of the stairs, feathery hair ruffled.

“Just wanted to let you know that Alex is going to pick me up in about 20 minutes, we’re going to Envy.” Louis said, and Harry knew all too well that Louis would come home about four hours later, with some asshole eating his face off. Seeing the look on Harry’s face, as his smile dropped, Louis, completely misunderstanding, asked if Harry would be interested in joining them. “It’ll be great, you can find some fit bird and get some actiooon,” Louis winked. Harry chuckled, Louis still didn’t know that Harry was gay, let alone completely fucking besotted with him.

“I’ll pass, I’m meeting up with Niall anyway,” Harry lied, obviously well enough to convince Louis, for he didn’t notice the way Harry’s voice faltered slightly. Or the tears forming in his eyes.

“Oh okay, that’s fine then!” Louis smiled, with a shrug. “Just be careful before you come into the living room, okay?” Louis winked again, and Harry’s stomach did a flip.

“Will do,” murmured Harry, turning on his socked heel, and running up the rest of the way to his bedroom, flopping down onto his unmade bed.

Shit.