#larry stylinson
#lourry
#i hate you fi
Louis stared blankly at his plate, his half-eaten breakfast gone cold. Across from him sat a full plate, untouched, waiting for Harry, who was very late to breakfast. Louis sighed, picking up both plates and dumping his uneaten food in the trash, while covering Harry’s and putting it in the fridge. He climbed up the stairs, not really knowing what to do with himself. He paused outside Harry’s door, unsure if he should knock or just go in. He took a deep breath, deciding to knock just in case Harry didn’t want him coming in for some reason.
“What do you want?” Harry’s voice croaked, breaking slightly on the last word. Louis’ eyebrows shot up, confused as to why Harry sounded upset.
“Uh… You didn’t come down for breakfast—are you alright?” He asked hesitantly.
“It’s not like you care,” Harry spat back bitterly, and Louis sighed again—he didn’t think he’d done that before he met Harry. Instead of answering his flat mate, he pushed the door open to reveal Harry still in bed, the only visible part of him a mop of unruly, curly hair peeking over the top of the covers. Louis approached the bed, stopping awkwardly at the edge and looking down at his band mate.
“That’s not an answer, Harry,” Louis told him softly, and Harry jumped, turning around to face Louis with red-rimmed eyes. Louis’ stomach dropped. “Harry, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t tell you,” Harry whispered, his eyes glittering with unshed tears, “I can’t—”
“Okay,” Louis answered, “That’s fine. Don’t tell me.”
“Will you—will you stay with me for a little while?” Harry mumbled, a blush rising to his cheeks. Louis was shocked by the request, as it was quite out of character for the other boy, and he paused a moment before nodding slowly. Harry was obviously hurting, and Louis was willing to—for one day—put aside their differences in order to help him. Louis pushed back the covers, sliding into the bed next to Harry, feeling a little awkward—it was weird that he was the one comforting Harry, and not one of the other boys. Harry watched him get comfortable with sad eyes, waiting for Louis to get settled. Once he was, Harry shimmied forward, ducking his head to rest against Louis’ chest, tucked under Louis’ chin. Louis froze, not sure what to do with Harry curled up against him. “This is the part where you put your arms around me, twat face.”
“Are you really insulting me right now?” Louis asked incredulously, wrapping his arms around him anyway, “I’m trying to help you—”
“I don’t want your help,” Harry told him, pressing his cold nose against Louis’ collar, “I want you to be quiet and hold me.”
“You’re going to have to tell me what this is about eventually,” Louis answered softly, staring blankly at the wall over Harry’s head, “I can’t really do anything for you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“I still hear talking,” Harry whined, “I’ll tell you later, but right now, Louis, please just shut up.”
Louis sighed again, but fell into silence. He felt Harry press closer, his leg coming up to hook around Louis’ hip, keeping him close. Harry’s breath ghosted over Louis’ collarbone as he exhaled heavily, Louis tensing further at the sensation.
“Would you please relax?” Harry huffed, the vibrations of his words echoing in Louis’ chest, “What is making you so tense? Jesus.”
