Impossible

But Man Am I Bad At Math

 A/N: FINALLY UPDATED. Sorry it took so long, I love you guys, keep reading, and tell your friends about it? My instagram is the same as this user, so if you promote my story in any way I will give you a shoutout and a spam, okay? okay. I love you guys thanks for taking the time to read my authors note, and this next chapter. -Lexie

Harry-

I think we need to talk

Louis

 

That’s a post-it note I found on my mirror this morning. It’s Saturday. Louis left early this morning, before the sun came up, even, and I was woken up by Niall, who slipped in not long after my roommate kindly left the door unlocked for sneaky Irish boys to bother me.

I’m not entirely sure Louis was even the one who wrote the note (my guess is Niall, who seems the type to mimic hand-writing rather well, for how nosy he is. Maybe I’m misreading his character? Who knows.). What do you think, Bookie? See, get it? Because you’re a fucking book, and I’m crazy. Definitely crazy.

Harry stares at the half-filled paper with such intense discontent rising in him that it made any attempt at relaxing impossible. He fidgeted endlessly, staring at the door with no sense of what emotions were flailing inside him.

Niall had departed several hours before after a day of watching all of Louis’ DVD collection and commenting raunchily every few minutes to keep Harry amused.

Harry taps his fingers along his thigh, sitting cross legged on his bed. Waiting for hours in that same position for his roommate, to hear words that he would probably prefer not to hear.

After a long while, the anxiety finally settles enough so that Harry can doze off, the door creaks open, and Louis steps into the room. The light is on, but the curtain is pulled back, and the shadows from outside threaten to creep in and engulf the room in blackness.

Harry nods himself into full-consciousness, giving his roommate a half-hearted smile. “So?”

Louis seems in a daze, “What?”

Harry reaches into his diary, making no show of what the book is, hiding it behind him before Louis can ask. With the post-it in hand, he stands up, trying to calm his breathing. Confrontation was never his forte, even in childhood. He tries to steady his palms as he shows Louis the note.

“Is this… Not from you?” He hardly waits for a response, “I figured. Oh, I’m glad. I was sure you were going to kick me out of the room,” he is joking, but Louis looks serious and Harry finds it increasingly harder to keep his smiling façade up.

“I did leave it,” Louis mumbles, and looks up to Harry, who, despite being the younger of the two, is several inches taller.

“O-oh,” the two are quiet, and Harry swallows hard, nervous. Rejection is not his forte either, and he wonders bleakly what it is that he can handle in social situations  such as these, and is left with no suitable answer.

“So, I was thinking, anyway,” Louis coughs into his palm, “I don’t want rumors to be spread, or anything…”

Harry holds his breath, and Louis continues.

“But this sharing a room thing, it isn’t working out, is it? I mean, the others are starting to talk and… I don’t want your reputation to be smeared before you have a chance to give yourself a name…”

“Smeared?”

Louis is visibly uncomfortably, and he noticeably saddens as he says, “They’ll think you’re gay, mate.”

Harry blinked, “Yeah?” He sat down, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Louis furrowed his brow, “I mean, I don’t care what they say about me, because I've been with most of these boys since primary school, so it’s nothing if they make fun of me, but… But it’s different if you get caught in the cross-fire.”

Harry folds his arms, “Funny thing about that, though.” He smiles, a bit cheeky, despite his companion’s obvious guilt and embarrassment.

“What?”

“I don’t really care.” Harry admits, “I’m not going to switch my room over some misunderstanding—I mean, right, they’ve been giving you crap, haven’t they? Teasing you and all that?” He falls back on the bed and sighs, “I mean, what is even the point of all that? They’re the ones who took up all the space in the first place—and who cares, anyway, if we slept in the same bed, it’s not like—”

“Harry,” Louis speaks up.

“They can think whatever they want, we’re big kids. Who cares about rumors anyway, right?”

“Harry,” Louis tried again, and Harry talks over him, getting worked up and ranting, making little sense, trying to sort his opinions out.

“Oh, so some idiots in our year saw something that wasn't even romantic anyway, and, right, we’re not gay, so—”

“Harry,” Louis says firmly, “It’s only gay because I am.”

"Oh," Harry blinks, "Well."