Wide Awake (One Direction / Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 38

I DO NOT OWN THIS STORY! ALL RIGHT GOES TO *IamADirectioner*

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3941498/IAmADirectioner Go check her out :D

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry's POV:

He thinks I can't see it. Can't see the fatigue in his movements, can't see the lethargy held clenched in his jaw, can't see the sleepless nights in the bruise-like bags under his eyes, but most importantly, can't see the fear trembling in his sea-colored irises. The fear of sleeping. The fear of having nightmares, and maybe harming me, or the boys. And maybe something more, but primarily, it's fear.

Louis hasn't slept a week now. Crumpled take-away coffee cups litter the kitchen counter. I don't think it even matters if he knows I'm there, even if I'm awake. All I can do is restrain him. Perhaps end his nightmares, for the time being. But then they keep coming back, haunting him.
I'm not sure Simon knows about these bad dreams. If it would make any difference in his attitude towards us, though, I'm not sure about either. But I'm sure of one thing; Simon hates us being homosexual. It's clear when he speaks, the touch of something close to disgust that lingers there.
I want to call him, want to ring him up and explain the whole situation for him, in hope that he'll understand. He won't be so annoyed. And my mum. I want to call her up, too, and demand an answer, instead of her putting me through the agony of being unsure whether she accepts me or not. The pain of her lifeless words still hurts. Not a lot, but in pulsating throbs that only appear every once in a while. I thought she'd understand. I thought she'd be happy for me, and proud of me. Maybe Simon was right. Maybe I am naive.

No, I tell myself. You're not naive. Well, maybe you are, but that's not a problem. Mum will come to accept me; she's my mother, she has too.

But my own thoughts haven't any meaning in my brain, as they shift around restlessly, and the need to ring her up increases.
But she won't take it too kindly to be woken up at 3:30 a.m. No mother would. Unless there was an accident, and, since there hasn't been, she'll be irritated as her panic washes away, and sleepy plus irritated equals to not-a-good-time-to-talk-about-something-important.

The moonlight falls straight on to the pillows on my bed - I've left one curtain open - and on to a fragment of Louis's face. He has his eyes closed, and I know he's feigning sleep, even though he's perfectly motionless. Anyone who came in here - even the other boys - would suspect he was sleeping. But I've been watching him, and I know he's perfected the art of pretending to sleep. Atleast, of perfect sleep, because Louis doesn't sleep like that. He twitches and turns, cuddles and kicks, never keeping still. It does bring a disadvantage to sleeping next to him, but I've grown accustomed to it.

I fix my eyes on him, not staring in a creepy way, but in a thoughtful manner. I think back to when Louis revealed the reason for hiding his nightmares, when he finished talking, looking like a hopeless being, lost forever.

*Flashback*
I lie down next to Louis, although it's not really lying. I'm almost sitting up. I gaze down at him, as Niall, Liam and Zayn begin slipping out.

His eyelashes are thick and shiny, contrasting with his bluey-green eyes. With his hair all ruffled, he looks boyish, childish even, and I feel a surge of protectivity.

"I will never, ever stop helping you, Lou," I say. My voice is low, but I put emphasis on it. "Never."

Niall, the last one inside, peers at me, smiling funnily. Then he glides outside, and closes the door.