Hold me close {{Larry one-shots and drabbles}}[ON HOLD]

You make everything all right

Numb. That's all Harry feels. It's one of those days, when everything seems to move slowly, things seem unnecessarily complicated and people seem unreasonable. He isn't angry even then, he doesn't hate them; he hates himself. Hates himself for feeling like this, that he can't even feel anything now. Anything would be better rather than this suffocating feeling of something crushing him from the inside. He wants to scream but he hasn't got the strength, he wants to get angry, hit out at someone but it seems too much for his mind and body. So Harry walks around in a daze, merely listening to what people say, not processing, not understanding anything. It's like he's hearing echoes continuously.

When he does want to talk, when he finally makes the effort, despite the weary feeling inside he realizes that  nobody is listening. It's like they've tuned him out and Harry wonders if it's payback for ignoring them. But he isn't ignoring, he just doesn't feel like talking, doesn't feel like interacting. He doesn't want to smile; he doesn't want to pretend that he is interested when he's not. All he wants is someone to just tell him that he isn't ...that he's all right, that everything is going to be okay.

Things like even breathing seem like too much of effort and sometimes Harry wonders if anyone would even miss him if just stopped breathing. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn't. . He likes to believe the second conclusion though,even when his head screams at him for being stupid for  thinking that. Stupid. Another one of the many things he is. He's a worthless, emotionless freak. It's as if he's watching from the side-lines as people laugh, smile and go through their day when even waking up is so difficult for him.

Harry smiles, he laughs but not one of them is genuine. When he's with people that continuous, crushing feeling dissipates, only to return once again in full force as the laughter stops. So he tries to smile, tries to laugh so that he can keep away the feeling for a little while. It's like he's afraid to let his guard down.

Not even hurting himself makes this feeling go away. Harry realized that long ago after a mad rush with the razor which left his thighs sore, red and bleeding freely. The temporary relief was just for a few moments and then it was back again. The truth is that he's so tired to do that and there's this mocking voice in his head, reminding him of how pathetic he is, how utterly weak he is.

He wants to feel better; he doesn't want to be like this. But then it's so difficult to break free of the bonds that surround him. He feels like he is slowly disappearing little by little, his life is being sucked out by some invisible force. His body feels tired, sluggish and doesn't obey his demands, his head keeps up a steady stream of words; reminding him constantly of what he failed to do, what he will never be able to do.

So he lays on the bed with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling trying to find mindless, invisible patterns in the paint. It's something that he hopes will distract him. He doesn't hear the door opening, he doesn't hear the sound of f someone  approaching the bed. He's brought back sharply to reality when he feels arms wrap around him.

Louis inhales deeply, his head buried into Harry's curls. It's only moments like these when Harry feels small, his lanky body somehow fitting into Louis's. It's like pieces of a puzzle fitting into each other. Harry feels a strange sense of calm wash over him and he turns around clutching onto the front of Louis's shirt like a lifeline.

"What's wrong Haz?" Louis asks as his hands rub circles into Harry's back, the touch sending sparks shooting into Harry's skin through the thin T-shirt. He merely hums as he tries to breathe in Louis's scent; a mix of cologne and a woodsy smell, something that's so unique, so Louis.

"Haz?" Louis pulls Harry's face towards him, the cerulean blue eyes holding Harry's green ones in a trance. Louis has the most beautiful eyes Harry has ever seen on anyone. Clear blue that always to reflect what exactly Louis feels. When he's happy his eyes are luminous, the blue shining with mirth, the color turning into a dark, stormy blue when he's angry, almost black when he's kissing Harry hungrily, when their bodies are pressed close together in a messy tangle.

Right now the blue is clouded with concern as Louis looks down at Harry his hand slowly tracing the younger lad's jawline. "What's wrong love?" he asks his voice gentle, a smile on his face. Harry suddenly feels lighter, the crushing weight slowly loosening its hold on him. It's not disappeared completely, but he feels something, not the constant dull ache of numbness.

"Nothing Lou, just hold me will you?" Harry whispers as he fits his head into the crook of Louis's neck, hands tightening a little more on the fabric of Louis's shirt. Louis hums in response as  he gathers Harry a little bit more closely to him. It's been gnawing away at his mind for days now that something was wrong with Harry. He would be smiling, talking but then there was this undeniable tiredness in his eyes and in his body. Louis had almost broached the subject a million times the past week but he always stopped mid-way not knowing what to say, how to continue.

But he couldn't take it anymore and he had finally asked Harry. He hadn't got a satisfactory answer though, but then for now he is content with it. His heart surges with a  wave of affection for the curly-haired boy as he places a gentle kiss on Harry's forehead.

Harry feels safe, loved, wanted when Louis  is holding him like this. That mocking voice inside his head is silent and his body seems to be energized as if he was waking from a long, deep slumber. Louis does that to him. Somehow everything is easy with Louis, it's as if he's becomes whole again every time Louis touches him. He isn't worthless, he isn't a freak.  He is Harry; Louis's Harry and that made everything all right.

Louis made everything all right, made him all right like he always does.

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