inferno // l.s.

forty

tw for anxiety attack in the beginning. i apologize if it's shit. life has been shit lately.

—-

it's become an undeniable fact, proven over time and thanks to heavy discussions with calum, that louis is 110% in love with harry.

it makes his stomach tie itself into constricting knots. it makes his vision blur. it's almost as if his head is sounding a really loud, ear busting siren just thinking about it. he's had love for harry for quite some time, but actually coming to the realization that he is in love makes him feel like this. not the "i think" — now it's "i know."

it's not a bad thing. at least it shouldn't be. it's not wrong to love harry when harry has been one of the best things to ever walk into his life. it's right. it's so, so right.

so why does this hit him like a goddamn bus? why is so shaky, so nauseas, yet so relieved that he's feeling this way? it's a back and forth cycle of i love this, i hate this, what did i do to deserve someone like him?

that question alone makes him gag. he leans forward and retches for what felt like the hundredth time. his throat feels on fire. it feels like glass is cutting his mouth and his chest feels like something is trying to crawl its way out of him. he's been throwing up for the last thirty minutes and it seems like it's not going to stop any time soon.

harry has been nothing but everything he needed. the stability, the solid ground, he's the perfect mix of a lover and a best friend.

he is this really colorful bright flame and louis is a moth hopelessly attracted to his smoke, embers and ashes. his own fire was almost burned out so long ago that he never expected such a small spark would make it roar again.

is he being dramatic? certain emotions that overwhelm him to the point that's all he feels, but ten times stronger, has always been one of his weaknesses. he should be shouting this off of rooftops, hanging his head out of his car window and screaming to the universe that he's in love, but instead, it's making him vomit. the tables have turned.

"fuck," he sniffles. he wipes the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath, so he wouldn't upset his body much more. he puts his head in his hands and rubs over his face. "snap out of it."

calum told him that he fully expects louis to still question his feelings and intentions. he fully expects louis to think, overthink, and not use his head at all. he had to remind louis that for a period of his life, he was traumatized by someone he loved. he was abused, pushed aside, and walked over. comparing the good to the bad isn't always safe. trying to make something good, bad, just because he's terrified, is not the way to go.

"don't put these feelings on the back burner, especially if you're confident in them," he told louis. "don't brush them off. embrace them. allow yourself to feel them, allow yourself to breathe. trust your gut and roll with it."

anyone else that knows louis would think this was the best thing ever, but louis' mind is telling him to lock his door with four extra locks, staple his curtains into the wall, then ram his head into said wall.

he heaves a breath before puking into the toilet again, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his head on them. he pulls at the roots of his hair, the tiniest whimper breaking out.

a cool washcloth is placed around the back of his neck. he didn't even hear the door open, or footsteps, or the faucet run over the sounds of his puking and his mind going 99 miles an hour.

"had a feeling, so i came back home," is murmured as arms wrap tightly around him, keeping him still. "'s okay, baby. you're okay."

harry gives the boy a squeeze, feeling the boy trembling under his own arms. he soothes him with soft reassurances, moving a hand to lay it on top of one that was tangled in nothing but caramel colored hair. stroking louis' knuckles with his own, he carefully unglues said hand from his scalp and holds onto it. louis keeps a deathly tight grip on his hand as he leans back into him, chest still rising and falling in broken patterns.