Don't Let Me Go - Larry Stylinson One Shot

Don't Let Me Go - Larry Stylinson

Harry's POV

He doesn't know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

The thought kept repeating itself in my mind, hammering at the fuzzed nerves. I brought the bottle back to my lips once more, swallowing the last drops and adding it to the small pile of glass in the corner of my hotel room.

My laptop sat open on the table, the white and blue of twitter glaring out at me. I'd just sent the tweet out an hour ago, and the fans had found it.

The song.

I'd written it months ago, the night Louis had released a very specific tweet. The tweet that still stung me every time it appeared in my mind.

I remembered his anger from that night, his fists coming at my face. That night, something let loose in Louis and something broke inside me.

Bullshit. That's what he'd called us. I didn't see it until I had woken, hungover and heartbroken.

He's told me countless times in the following days that he'd only said it in anger. That he didn't mean it.

All I could think about was how I ended up in my room that night, absolutely wasted with nothing to keep my company except a cheap hotel pen and a pad of paper. It was the first night in months that I'd slept alone. It was a very cold night.

So, alone with my pen and paper, I wrote. I was so afraid that night, so afraid for everything that had become my life. I didn't think anything would ever be alright again.

Nobody came to my door. Nobody bothered to check if I was alright. I was all alone.

I wrote everything that was in my heart, not giving two fucks if management saw or not. I fell asleep that night on the floor, the sheets of paper balled tightly in my fist.

No one saw the song after Sam and I recorded it. It sat quietly on soundcloud, quieter than the storm of heartbreak that clouded my soul. Louis and I were okay; although effects of the fight lasted months, things eventually went back to normal. But I couldn't help feeling wounded from that night, and nothing could quench the ache that Louis might not be mine forever.

We fought that night because Louis wanted a break. He was tired of having to hide, of not being able to sit beside each other, even of the small comments on twitter that threw shade at his sexuality.

From that night, not a day has passed that I haven't been afraid for history to repeat. Louis could easily tire of me, realize that I wasn't worth the hiding…

I no longer felt secure.

I hadn't spoken a word about it. I've been too afraid, afraid that he'd speak the dreaded words. Afraid that I'd find out that he actually thought of us as "bullshit".

I popped another bottle open, tipping it back and swallowing as much as I could. My phone sat on my disheveled bedspread, coming alight. I stumbled over, picking it up. I squinted at the screen, attempting to focus enough to read the text. The only thing I could make out was 'Boo'.

I held my phone in my left hand and dragged my index finger across it, trying to unlock it. It took me a couple tries, but I punched in the right combo and went into my contacts.

I scrolled through until I found the familiar name, and hit 'call'.

Louis' POV

My phone buzzed in pocket. I stopped mid-conversation and pulled it out, glancing at the name. 'Hazz', it read. I smiled at the cashier and muttered a quick "thanks" before exiting the shop and stepping out onto the street. I hit the 'accept' button and lifted the phone to my ear.