fighting love » l.s.

fifteen - harold

Louis and Harry spent the rest of that day together watching movies and drifting in and out of sleep. Harry pretended not to notice when Louis declined about thirty calls from Eleanor, and Louis tried to ignore the feeling of guilt that arose in his stomach every time he turned his phone off when he saw her name flash on the screen.

So finally, Louis gave in and answered her call, and Harry pretended not to care despite the sharp pain that filled his chest. Louis spoke softly, telling her that he would see her tomorrow and take her out to a movie. He tried to ignore the sadness in Harry's green eyes as the curly haired boy looked away from him, trying to hide his emotions from the older boy. Louis promised himself that Harry would get over him, and they could go back to the way everything was before. He promised himself that this was for the best.

And after a few weeks, they settled into a routine. Louis came to Harry's house almost every day after school. He brought his video games and tried to teach Harry, but the boy was absolutely useless with a controller. Besides, Harry was content to just watch Louis play, as long as the blue eyed boy's elbow was resting on Harry's knee. They still spent Fridays with the other boys, and then Louis took Eleanor out on Saturdays. Everything was pretty much back to normal.

Liam refused to let Harry walk the halls alone, so no one had bothered him since Nick. Harry protested every time Liam insisted on walking him to class, but he secretly felt much better having the older boy around. A part of him hated the way Liam looked at him like he was a child, but he'd never had someone looking out for him. No one had ever cared this much.

And even if he had to ignore the fact that Louis was dating someone else, Harry wanted nothing more than to be with Louis. He was getting a bit less jumpy with Liam and Niall, but their touches didn't compare to Louis's. While he could simply tolerate their hands on his body, he desperately craved the feeling Louis's skin against his. And he didn't understand it.

Although he tried to ignore it, Harry could feel himself starting to spiral. He was an emotional rollercoaster: whenever Louis was with him, he was on cloud nine, but as soon as Louis checked his phone or hurriedly excused himself from their lunch table to go find Eleanor, his chest ached. Every Saturday night, he tried to distract himself, but he couldn't stop picturing Louis and Eleanor doing all of the things that he and Louis should be doing. He always ended up sitting at home listening to sad music, not bothering to muffle his sobs since his mother wasn't home.

He wasn't good enough for Louis, and he had accepted that. It wasn't Louis's fault. Harry let himself pretend that Louis cared for him when they were together, and every time the blue eyed boy left, Harry's heart cracked a bit more.

Harry wondered if he was in love with Louis, but he wasn't sure. He didn't think love could hurt this much.

And he didn't tell anyone, but he didn't know how much longer he could keep living like this.

One Sunday night, the two boys were sat on Harry's bed with his laptop in front of them. Louis's head rested on Harry's shoulder and Harry could barely pay attention to the movie with Louis so close to him. His feelings were Louis were a constant reminder that Louis could never love him back -- he wasn't pretty enough, funny enough, smart enough. And it hurt.

"What are you thinking about, love?" Louis murmured, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Harry shook his head slightly, not wanting to disturb Louis. "Nothing."

"You're not paying attention to the movie, Harold," Louis scolded quietly, reaching over to squeeze Harry's knee playfully.

"My name's not Harold," Harry huffed, pushing Louis's hand off of him.