The Forgotten [Larry Stylinson]

08

Soon Harry found himself sucked into a black hole of nothingness. For a second, he knew what Gemma felt: dead inside. He couldn't feel enough for it to scare him.

-

Once the car had become full of rowdy boys, Harry was starting to regret his decision to tag along. It was way too loud for his liking, and Zayn. He wasn't saying anything to Harry's face, but he could tell by the snickering going on in the back that they had to be saying something.

Then he heard it. The sharp remark that he knew was said just loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough that it could be played off as something else if Harry got pissed.

"I think Louis invited the backwoods freak to make him feel better about having no friends."

Harry clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. Don't be rude, don't be rude, he chanted to himself. Louis reached out and placed a hand on his thigh, and Harry looked down at it in surprise. Louis gave his leg a squeeze before putting his hand back on the wheel.

"Zayn, give it a rest," he began, quietly. "Making fun of H isn't funny. Just stop."

And H. Harry missed Zayn's response, too caught up in his own world. Louis gave him a nickname—a nickname. He bit his lip to hold in his smile as he looked in the mirror and saw Zayn's pout.

He thought back to what Louis said earlier, about how he actually cared about him. Harry was starting to believe that he actually did, that it wasn't some lie he made up to string Harry along like a puppet.

Things could go two ways: down the toilet or get a bit better. Harry prayed for the second one.

"Thank you," he murmured, glancing at Louis, who shrugged.

"No problem," he responded. "Zayn saying all that shit to you isn't cool."

Harry wanted to disagree, wanted to say that he was used to it, but that wasn't right. He shouldn't be used to it, but here he was, still taking crap from people that didn't know what had happened to him and Gemma. He couldn't do it anymore, but he couldn't exactly make it stop, so being used to it had to become the reality.

The silence had gone on too long for Harry to say anything now, and he didn't even know what the right thing to say was. He decided to keep his mouth shut and rest his head against the window, wishing he could have Louis touching him again.

The thoughts that the part deep inside of him created, the ones that wanted to be touched, scared him senseless. People that touched him confused Harry of him, and he was tired of being so surrounded by a part of his life that was never going to go away.

He liked Louis. He just didn't know what to do about it, so he thought it was better to stay quiet and do nothing at all.

When Louis parked his car in front of the mall, Harry had a brief moment of panic. Too many people, too many people, he repeated in his head. But then Louis reached out and brushed his knuckles over his cheek, and Harry momentarily forgot about the anxiety settling in his chest before it came back at full force.