A condition brought them together, but it's far from what you'd expect.
Harry Styles is a simple, seventeen year-old student - a boy exploring his sexuality with different partners, but who never knew what to be in love is.
Louis Tomlinson is a weal...
A/n: Hope you enjoy this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it.
Love you.
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The next day the butterflies awaken as he does and follow inside of him with every step he takes. These were the kind you know were there to stay for days, weeks, months, and make your heart pound in your chest as you smile like a fool with just one thought. That was a feeling he'd never known before. But him and the weather weren't on the same boat.
When he wobbles into the kitchen for a quick breakfast before having to put up with another tedious, ashen Monday, he's faced with his mother's oddly familiar frown over the mug she was drinking from.
"Good morning." He says light-heartedly, trying to brush off the suspicions coming from her inquisitive stare.
"Good morning, Sweat Pea. You look rather joyous today."
She halts for a moment while Harry gets himself a bottle of water and the pitcher he had his overnight smoothie on from the fridge. He could only hope she was taking a sip from her usual Yorkshire tea and not watching him.
"Did the dinner go well?" She breaks her silence. Harry turns to look at her.
"Hmm, yeah. It went great, actually."
Oh shit. She isn't talking about 'the dinner', but the dinner I was supposed to have with Ricky...
"Really? How did he react?"
He gets a mason jar as he thinks of a believable answer. Since he had met Louis all he seemed to do was lie - even more.
"He honestly didn't care. Probably had someone else already." He babbles against the blue straw.
I should act hurt. Channel the pain you felt when he dumped you. No, don't do it. It's over. Let it go, Elsa. You have Louis now. Louis... Fuck.
Anne pushes back the chair beside her, her face a weighing down with what seemed to be a mixture of disappointment and sympathy.
"Oh, Harry. Sit down, we can talk about it... if you want."
No. Definitely not.
"It's good, mum. I'm not sure if I loved him anyway." It slips of out his mouth. Blunt but honest.
She frowns with her chin up, confused.
"Why do you say that? You seemed to be so in love with him..."
Love? Being forced and controlled and humiliated? Love wasn't that. He knew that now.
"You were right, he's not right for me. And I just want to forget him."
