Finding Louis {l.s}

10

Louis:

"Zayn." He stops in his tracks. He was going to leave - I just know it. I can't blame him, either. Heaven knows I've been overthinking silently at that table, reminding myself over and over of the reasons why I can't eat and why I'm not good enough to be joking around with any of these people, especially Harry, a literal god among men. There's a moment of hesitation, then he turns to me, his eyes darkened and lips in a thin line.

"The fuck do you want, Louis? If you're out here trying to win brownie points with your friends, don't bother. They hate me. Hell, whatever the reason you keep looking at me and trying to include me, you're sticking your neck out for a traitor. It'll only earn you their disapproval, yeah?"

"No. I don't give a shit about what they think of me. Well... Yes, I do. But I care more about some things that overrule feelings like that."

"And what about me makes you "care more", huh?"

"I... Umm... Maybe I'm making assumptions. Taking the piss. Maybe. But I know what it's like to be so alone that it feels like a part of your soul. Also... I see the same deep sadness in your eyes that I see in mine every time I look in the mirror." I pause, suddenly confused at why I said all that.

Even Harry doesn't know about this. He doesn't know that depression has been eating me alive for years. He doesn't know how surprised I am that all this while, I never quite grew the balls to kill myself, rather than up and leaving that big, cold house. Maybe it's because I can tell Zayn will understand. I look into his eyes and I just know. I can see myself.

He stares at me, pressing his thumb into his skin for a moment. He notices my eyes flicker to the attempt to harm himself and lets go, cursing incoherently under his breath. I want to force a smile but instead, I ask him for a smoke. At least he's generous with it. He fiddles with his lighter and I wonder for a moment, if he didn't have it to play with, would he be scratching himself again, right then? I never did try that form of self harm. I was too desperate to look good for Simon, I suppose. I wanted my ex to admire my figure. He would have said such awful things to me if I dared lay hands on his little plaything.

I shiver, hoping he thinks it's from the cold. Zayn stares at me and lets out a small chuckle, pushing off the wall and facing me. I face him as well, a bit confused. Then he says, "you gonna tell me the real reason you didn't have any pizza?"

"What?"

"When the pizza came, you looked at it like you'd never wanted anything more in your life. But you masked that pretty well. Made up a bullshit story about not liking cheese. I almost beloved it. I'm good at hiding how I feel too, you know."

"Just cos I can read you a slight bit doesn't mean you get to do the same to me."

"Oh? Loners, losers, people who stare life in the face and are sucked away by just how deeply worthless it is? We look at others, more. Cling to others more. Their emotions. Their... Joy. We crave it. I think it's an attempt to find some hope. That's why we can be the most loving people, yet not quite find it in us to love ourselves."

"I think you're right."

"And I think you should head back inside. Try to eat at least a bit, stranger."

"Not unless you're coming with me, bud." Zayn laughs at my words. I crack a smile with a light shrug. Two sad people leaning against the wall of a pizza restaurant with a group of friends we aren't really a part of inside... Smoking. It's comforting, yet heartbreaking. I'd like to frame it and put it in an art show. The title would be "I wonder what he's been through", a question both have but never quite get up the courage to ask.

I glance at him, again. He's quite pretty. I can see why Liam likes him. I think about my Harry. I'm not sure why my mind jumps to him or calls him mine but I smile, silently declaring that he's the prettiest thing in the multiverse. In every lifetime and reality, I do belive I'd see Harry Styles on a billboard or walking across the street and think the very same thing.