TORN

Chapter 4: Repressed Desire

Harry sat in his office, staring blankly at the scattered books and papers on his desk. His thoughts were miles away from the academic world he was supposed to focus on. Since his encounter with Louis at the bar, something inside him had shifted. Louis, with his bold, flirtatious energy, had left a mark on Harry's thoughts. But Harry had pushed it aside. Y/N was where his attention needed to be—Y/N was everything that mattered.

In recent weeks, their secret relationship had only grown more intense. What had begun as simmering tension had quickly turned into a blazing affair. They'd agreed to keep it hidden from everyone. It was Y/N who had insisted, and Harry had agreed, knowing full well that their passionate connection was too fiery to remain a secret for long.

It was thrilling—the secret glances, the subtle touches when no one was watching. During lectures, the tension between them was almost unbearable. Sometimes, Y/N sat in the front row, her eyes locked on his, and Harry knew she was just waiting for the moment the class would end. Each time their gazes met, the heat between them was almost too much to handle.

One afternoon, after the last student had left the room, Y/N approached him. She leaned casually against the desk, flashing him a mischievous smile. "It's getting harder and harder not to jump you during class," she whispered, pulling him close.

Harry chuckled softly, letting her wrap her arms around him as their lips met in a heated kiss. "You know we have to be careful," he murmured against her mouth. But his words carried little weight as her hands began to unbutton his shirt, the familiar warmth spreading between them.

Over the following days, they continued to meet in secret—in his office, sometimes after lectures, and even in quiet corners of the university where they were sure no one would catch them. The attraction between them was undeniable, and their meetings became more intense with each encounter. It wasn't just the physical attraction; there was a deeper connection, one that was growing stronger with every stolen moment.

One of these meetings in his office had been particularly intense. They had found themselves on the sofa, their clothes quickly discarded as they kissed and touched, their bodies moving in perfect sync. It was a game of desire and control, one they both enjoyed. Harry's hands roamed over her back, feeling the soft curve of her body as she pressed against him, moving slowly and deliberately.

"You're incredible," Harry whispered against her lips as she leaned into him, their movements slow and purposeful, savoring every second.

Y/N smirked, her lips brushing his ear. "The feeling's mutual."

Their affair was filled with passion and lust, but despite the closeness he shared with Y/N, something was still off. Despite how much he enjoyed their connection, Louis kept sneaking into his thoughts. That moment in the bar—the playful, unfiltered energy Louis had brought—kept replaying in Harry's mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

More than once, Harry had tried to convince himself that these thoughts were irrational. He wasn't gay. Louis had been a momentary confusion, nothing more. What he had with Y/N was real—intense, exciting. Yet, in quiet moments, when Y/N was with him, his mind would drift back to Louis. The memory of that cheeky grin, the way Louis had challenged him so effortlessly, remained vivid.

After one particularly passionate encounter with Y/N, Harry leaned back on the sofa, letting out a deep breath. Y/N lay beside him, her head resting on his chest, her breathing steady as she smiled, satisfied and content. But instead of feeling relaxed, Harry felt a strange restlessness.

As Y/N got up to gather her clothes, Harry reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. But instead of the familiar cool touch of his phone, his fingers brushed against something crumpled—something he had almost forgotten about.

He pulled out the napkin Louis had given him in the bar. "Call me when you figure out what you're looking for," it read. Louis' words suddenly hit him with renewed intensity.

Harry stared at the napkin in his hand. Why hadn't he thrown it away? Why hadn't he just forgotten about Louis? Everything with Y/N was perfect, wasn't it?

But as he read the words on the napkin, the uncertainty he had tried so hard to suppress came rushing back. Louis had triggered something in him, something that no matter how hard he tried to ignore, refused to go away. Even with Y/N, with everything going so well between them, Harry knew that Louis was still very much in his head.

With a sigh, Harry placed the napkin on the table. Ignoring this was going to be harder than he thought. And as Y/N smiled at him before slipping out the door, Harry knew he stood at a crossroads—a decision he could no longer avoid.

The silence that followed Y/N's departure felt heavier than before. Harry sat there, staring at the door, his thoughts no longer clear. He tried to focus on Y/N—on what they had. She was smart, sexy, and perfect for him in every way. But the unsettling weight of Louis' memory lingered, stubborn and unshakable.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it all. He should have been content. Y/N was real, their connection was intense, and yet... that brief encounter with Louis continued to haunt him.

Harry's gaze drifted back to the napkin, crumpled but unmistakably there. Louis' words played over and over in his mind: "Call me when you figure out what you're looking for."

Should he really reach out to Louis? What would it even mean? And what exactly did he want from him? The memory of Louis' flirtatious grin, the carefree attitude, mingled with the stability and passion he had with Y/N.

Harry stood up, walked to the window, and looked out over the campus, now bathed in the golden light of sunset. The thought of texting Louis made his heart race, but there was also that deep uncertainty. He knew that if he took this step, there would be no going back. Whatever happened between him and Louis would change everything.

His phone lay on the desk next to the napkin. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands as he stared at the screen. A simple text—it would be so easy to write something. A harmless message couldn't change things, right?

But Harry knew better.

After a moment of hesitation, his fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to say. He wasn't ready to admit what he was feeling—not fully. But he couldn't deny that Louis had gotten under his skin.

Slowly, Harry typed:

"I can't stop thinking about our conversation... maybe you were right."

The words felt strange, yet honest. It wasn't much, but it was enough to convey what was on his mind. He didn't know what he was looking for—Louis had been right about that. But he knew that ignoring these thoughts hadn't worked.

For a moment, Harry just stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the send button. A simple text, but it opened a door he couldn't close. His stomach twisted as the seconds passed.

Then, before he could second-guess himself, he pressed "send."

The buzzing of the phone in his hand felt like a jolt, almost knocking him out of his thoughts. The message was sent, and suddenly, everything felt different. There was no turning back now. He had taken the first step, and whatever came next, he had to face it.

Harry set the phone aside and sank heavily into his chair. The minutes ticked by, and as he waited, he couldn't stop thinking about what he had just done. Y/N was the right path, the easy path—but Louis was the one who had captured his mind.