“What,” Harry’s voice is flat and emotionless, and it’s not a question. Louis shifts up so he’s not laying so much on top of him, so he can see his eyes. Louis doesn’t like what he sees there—or doesn’t see, really. Harry’s entire face is void of any emotion, no thoughts flickering in his eyes like they usually do.
“I—I love you,” Louis repeats, for lack of anything better to say. Harry’s eyes grow duller, if that was possible, and a short, mirthless laugh falls harshly from his lips. He pushes, rolling Louis over so he can sit up, turning his back to Louis and putting his head in his hands, his feet swinging onto the floor.
“That’s great, Louis,” Harry tells him, his voice full of something bitter, and it tastes awful on Louis’ own tongue, “Really nice.”
“What are you talking about,” Louis whispers around a dry tongue, the organ heavy against his teeth. His stomach is sinking, because this is not the reaction he had expected.
“’I’m not gay’,” Harry mimics, the pitch of his voice rising nastily, “’I don’t like men’. I’m a man, Louis.”
“I—I know that,” Louis tells him, not sure how to respond, “I guess—I guess you’re the exception to the rule.”
“Am I?” Harry asks, and another bitter laugh leaves his lips—Louis never wants to hear that sound again, “Or do you just tell that to every guy you fuck.”
“Is that what this is about?” Louis says incredulously, “Me fucking you?”
“No, no,” Harry tells him airily, and Louis doesn’t feel very convinced, “I just think it’s weird, you know. Soon as you pull your dick out of my ass you have the right to treat me however you want, yeah? Tell me you love me, because damn that was good, and damn you want more, so fuck if you aren’t going to sweet talk your way back in there, right? ‘I love you’ is the fastest way in, yeah? Even if you don’t mean it—it’s a one-way ticket to Harry’s ass.”
“That’s—what?” Louis is speechless, “Why would you—what makes you think—”
“Don’t try to tell me I’m wrong,” Harry cuts him off, reaching down for his pants and slipping them back over his thighs, “Because I know I’m right. You could never love a man like me. Hell, you said it yourself, Louis—you could never love a man, period.”
And he’s picking up his clothes, and the tears are stinging behind his eyes as he tries to keep himself composed, keeps his back to the bed so he doesn’t see Louis’ guilty face. And it burns. It burns in his veins and his chest and his stomach. His whole body is on fire, and not in the blissful way it had been moments before—in the gut-wrenchingly painful way that only heartbreak can cause. He doesn’t say another word as he stumbles toward Louis’ door, begging Louis desperately with his mind to stop him—to call him back to bed, to wrap him up in his his arms and kiss away his fears and stroke his hair until he falls asleep to the lullaby of Louis’ “I love you”.
But he doesn’t, just as Harry knew he wouldn’t, and that hurts more than anything else. Because the silence is a confirmation of his previously voiced thoughts. If Louis had called him back before his feet had touched the carpet of the landing outside his door, Harry thought he might’ve been able to turn around, to crawl back under the covers and let himself fall into Louis’ lies, to cocoon himself in them and make them his reality, because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
*~*~*~*
“Right, so, we should get somethings straight,” Liam begins, pacing in front of Harry and Louis, who sit at opposite ends of the couch, “Because I’m a little confused, and so are the rest of the boys.”
