A Change of Heart (Volume I)

Chapter 13.

"Tell me you don't feel anything.." Harry dared him. "I know it's fucked up, I don't understand it either, but tell me, and we can go to bed, go home tomorrow, and follow through with the original plan."

Okay, Harry was definitely in the right state of mind to be speaking so clearly. But it still seemed insane for him to actually like let alone love someone like Louis...

Louis shivered, feeling Harry's delicate touch remove him of his shirt, and then himself of his, tugging at his quirky bowtie and flinging it aside. He kissed at Louis's neck, and felt Louis's breath come out in a shallow gasp. Harry took a step forward, and Louis backed into the bed, falling onto his back with a soft grunt, as Harry towered over him, arms on either side of him as he leaned down to softly press his lips to Louis's. He brushed his nose along the side of his, and Louis jerked away, abruptly. Harry blinked, confused.

"We can't!" Louis practically yelled, crawling out from underneath Harry to the other end of the bed. Harry furrowed his eyebrows together, his chest tightening with hurt. 

He swallowed thickly, slowly becoming aware of his own lack of sobriety. He wanted to be numb; he could feel himself getting upset over Louis again. "I thought..."

"You thought wrong."

Harry bit his lip and looked down, all the blood rushing to his face in a level of paralyzing mortification, he thought he was going to pass out. Of course Louis had had plenty of meaningless sex in his adolescence, and the one time Harry was being more vulnerable than he had ever been

his

life

Louis was rejecting him. He didn't want him. How fucking embarrassing. How fucking embarrassing not being worthy of someone as lothario-like as Louis. He hated himself. He hated Louis. He felt like a wine glass that had strategically placed itself appealingly in front of an alcoholic and the alcoholic suddenly developed a disdain for it. Because it wasn't good enough for him, when he had no standards that Harry even knew of, to begin with. 

If his self-esteem could have even plummeted further, it definitely did, as he slowly lifted himself up from the bed, unsure what to do.

"I..."

"We're not really married," Louis repeated. "You have to remember that. You can't make this seem like we're consummating our love."

Harry blinked back tears, trying to make sense of it all. "But...the dinner...and..." He looked up to meet Louis's eyes back on the bed. "You don't..."

Louis tightened his mouth into a straight line and shook his head. Harry blinked harshly, swallowing again. It hurt so fucking bad. Louis looked down, and sighed deeply. He hadn't want it to end on that note. They were just supposed to have a nice dinner, to take Harry's mind off the drama earlier in the week. And now they had more baggage to carry back home to England than they had brought over to Paris. 

"Say it," Harry suddenly demanded, his eyes focused on Louis's.

"What?"

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Just...tell me you don't love me. That's what I need to know."

"Harry, you're drunk; it's not going to make a differ--"

"It makes all the fucking difference!" Harry shouted. "Say it!" he demanded, and Louis got up from the bed, gesturing Harry to shut up or they were going to get noise complaints. Louis held a finger to his lips as he approached him, practically begging him not to be the melodramatic bag of emotions he was being right now.