More Than a Best Friend

Chapter One

Most people would be able to tell you the exact time, date or at least the exact reason when they first took a blade, or anything sharp enough to cut through the skin, to their skin. Harry on the other hand, wasn’t even sure of the year, let along the reason.

He knew there was a trigger, he knew he found the sharp piece of metal in his drawer through blurry, crying eyes. And he cut, one small red line appeared a second or two later, fading his pain a bit, but soon the relief was gone, so he cut again and again until his cries stopped and he felt better.

It was easy.

Too easy.

And Harry always liked easy.

The second time he laid hand on a blade, the old scars already faded and he was genuinely afraid to do it again. But drunk Harry wasn’t exactly one to think at the moment when the blade touched his wrist. One part of that night still is a blur, and the other is a haze. All he remembers is waking up to a strong hangover, pounding in his head and three deep cuts on his left wrist.

By the third time, he had a razor blade, just in case, he wasn’t planning on using it – not really anyways. It was just that sharpened, not-really-blades were too much of a trouble. Harry had just come home to see his mum talking to his best friend’s mum Jay. They told him Jay, her son Louis and his sisters were moving away. The 14 year-old boy just couldn’t handle it.

Then, he lost track of the times he cut and scars never left his wrist.

 ~

Harry was always good at hiding secrets and twisting the truth a little. Once, when he was a child, barely six years old, he ripped his mum’s favourite blouse, he swiftly blamed it on his sister Gemma. Anne believed him, Gemma wasn’t allowed to go out for a week, and the always cheeky boy got away with it. It wasn’t until years later Gemma used it as a blackmail against her younger brother and with twists in the story, Anne was handed the truth.

Harry tried acting, and it was safe to say it wasn’t exactly his thing, but no one bothered to comment since his only experience was when he was eleven at an anyways shitty school play. But despite his overall failure in acting, Harry was a good actor when it came to hiding himself.

Three years of everyday torture, of muttering ‘I’m not going to kill myself’ as he walked home from school, and no one noticed, no one noticed the depressive behaviour, the cuts. It slowly drained Harry. Maybe he wanted someone to notice. Maybe he knew exactly who would. If he was still here.

Louis.

~

It’s a funny story really. They grew up at the same time, door to door, almost. There was barely two years of difference between the boys, and they could’ve easily been best friends if they met sooner, and there was hundreds of possibilities, but somehow faith stepped in and just as the older boy was about to introduce himself to Harry, Harry would get called home because it was getting late. Or just about when Harry was ready to ask Louis about that toy he was eyeing as Louis played with it, Louis would be called in for lunch.

Harry was six, and Louis was eight when they first talked. Their only communication until then were a couple of waves at each other as their mothers exchanged a word or two on the street.

The only issue Harry ever had as a child was his clumsiness. And if it wasn’t for that, something would probably stop Harry and Louis from meeting again, so with time, Harry learned to accept the fact his balance was definitely not right.

Harry just learned to ride his bicycle without training wheels, and the times he fell equalled to the times he tried to blame Gemma for any mischief he had done, which Anne lost track of somewhere around a hundred. This time, Harry twisted his ankle as he fell of the curve and onto the street. He was lucky their street in Holmes Chapel was nowhere near full of traffic. And he was lucky Louis was there, watching the younger boy.

“Are you alright?”, a child’s voice asked Harry, as someone lifted the bicycle off of his leg.

“Ankle. Hurts a little.”, Harry replied, turning his head to see Louis’ smile.

“You can get to my mum. She’ll help.”, the older boy replied as he helped Harry up, lifting him by his upper arm, while trying to hold the bicycle in stand with his other hand.

That was the start of it all. The start of this huge chunk of Harry’s life that kind of just flew out of the window once Louis moved away, leaving Harry missing a whole part of himself. Leaving Harry feeling just a little bit lost and helpless. He always counted on Louis being there, ever since they met, and Louis was always there. And then suddenly, he wasn’t.

~

It was the second time Harry cut that Louis noticed. He was the only one to notice, or if anyone else did, they said nothing. Lou on the other hand, stared at the scars for what seemed like forever as Harry’s life flashed before his eyes. He was afraid of Louis’ reaction. He was afraid of the feeling it gave him. He was anxious.

Louis just examined the scars, at one point finding himself tracing over them with his fingers. He found himself in this pool of emotion, he would always found himself drowning in some kind of mix of emotions when it came to Harry, and he couldn’t quite grasp what to focus on. The slight anger that wished to shout at Harry because what he did was potentially dangerous or the consuming sadness that was mostly caused by the shine of tears building up in Harry’s eyes. Or the feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he was fairly certain it was pure love for the younger boy that caused it – he wanted to help him, somehow, he wasn’t even sure did Harry really need the help, and he wanted to be there for him, but with the terrified look on Harry’s face, he couldn’t tell if Harry want the same or the complete opposite.

And so, Louis said nothing.

And Harry apologised. A few times over until he was sure the older boy registered the apologies. Then he muttered something about being drunk and not completely aware of what he was doing. He wasn’t exactly planning on saying that, it seemed as a lie and it actually wasn’t. But later on, the aspects changed and Harry learned exactly what led him to the cuts on his wrist. And what he said to Louis then and there, the whole speech about alcohol and being a bit depressed, turned out to be as untrue as it gets.

~

It was somewhere along the way Louis picked up these strange feelings for Harry. He was well aware of them, and he was certain Harry wasn’t. So he just kept quiet. It’s not like asking your best friend if he has a sudden urge to sometimes just grab him and give him a proper song was an everyday situation. So, instead, Louis wrote those off as teenage curiosity about his sexuality. And after he got himself a girlfriend, he felt as if his theory was confirmed. Except, the feelings were still there.

And so it went on, the denying, the considering, all of it in Louis’ head. Once him and his girlfriend were over he really planned on saying something to Harry. But then his mum informed him they will have to move and Louis just slowly gave up on the idea. He was never interested in guys like that, he wasn’t even sure was he interested in Harry like that. And besides, he was leaving.

It was months later, already in Doncaster, when Louis lost contact with Harry that he had realised he truly had those fluffy, one of a kind feelings for him. ‘Had’ being a rather questionable word in that statement.

But they barely even talked to each other anymore and he was living two hours away, so he once again chose to keep quiet. He wasn’t even sure how did it happen, eventually the time the boys set up, at first every day, to call each other, message each other was preoccupied by something else. And they both missed each other, yet neither of them managed to phone the other and simply let out the ‘I miss you’ from their hearts.

~

As weeks went by, both of their lives changed.

Louis was faced with new friends, one of who reminded him of Harry a lot, and it made missing Harry a whole lot easier and a whole lot harder at the same time. He learned to live his ordinary life like he did before, or at least close enough, part of him was stuck, because he just really needed Harry.

Harry was faced with his same old, same old life, just without Louis. He was left with dealing with his ‘problem’, if he was going to refer to it somehow, alone. And so he exchanged one pain with the other until both of them were gone. And it worked.

It seemed as if Harry and Louis couldn’t live without each other.

The thing is, they were both aware that was true and both too afraid to admit it.