One Direction Oneshots (boyxboy)

Giving Up is the Hardest Part (Larry)

Im not sure how long I stared at the blank wall but it was too long. My eyes slightly stinging from the salty tears that had traced liquid lines down my face. My head pounded and i wish I could just close my eyes and sleep, and never wake up. But obviously my terribly, shitty, hell of a life had better ideas for me.

There was the hollow sound of knuckles knocking on the wooden door as loud as the pounding of drums in the sickening silence of the house. But I made no sound, or no move towards the door, I only stayed still and hoped the disturbance from my constantly depressing life would go away. But, congratulations! I was wrong again. The door creaked open slowly but my back was faced toward it so i couldn't see who had entered my room.

"Harry?" A voice said, deathly low.

I closed my eyes. Not wanting to so much as glance at the owner of that voice. Not wanting to fall apart at the simple blink of those horrifyingly broken blue eyes. I knew they were rimmed in red without having to physically see that they were. I knew this because i had heard his crying through the thin walls last night much like he had heard mine. We listened to the sound of our own sobs until we had no more tears to cry. And then we listened to the silence. We were connected in our misery in some way but that is where the relations stopped. We were separated by much more than a 2ft thick wall that was carefully placed between are two individual rooms that gave us a false since of comfort that we confided in them for. Of course now that the wall was out of the picture, there was still 6ft of tension that stood between us like a fucking mountain. And I wanted desperately to be on the top of it with him but I knew that it would never happen.

"I'm sorry."

His voice was feeble. But it was not exactly truthful. If it was then i wouldn't be fighting his image out of my head and wallowing in my tangle of blankets that i had blew my nose in and cried in for the past couple of hours. The temptation of running away to a place far away where pain doesn't exist wouldn't sound so appealing. But I knew a place like such was nonexistent to the living. We were trapped in a world where serenity and peace were just lies filled with pain and heartbreak. And there was always that suffocating heavy feeling that starts in your chest and sprouts and spreads, like a disease, to every part of your body feeding you artificial happiness until it shuts down all of your defenses and its cycle is complete. And you are left a weeping, gasping, miserable mess who is too weak to move out of his bed to satisfy his own needs of food and a shower and refuses all forms of human communication. That is depression. It is just a deceitful demon with a mask on who makes it seem as if your falling in love instead of the bottomless abyss that threatens to swallow you whole.

I heard the sound of rustled fabric as he shifted his weight between his feet. I imagined him biting his lip and staring at the pitiful pile of blankets that covered my even more repulsive body. It made me think of the previous night when all it took was 6 words, 6 syllables, and 20 letters all cleverly and painfully strung together in a sentence to make my whole world fall apart: "I don't love you like that."

And I know you're probably thinking "Oh silly Harry, there are plenty of other fishes in the sea." But as i mentioned earlier, it was the way these words were so thoughtfully constructed into sentences that hurt me as equally as much as the meaning behind the words themselves.

The night had been calm. Just like any other night, if I wanted to be cliché. But do catch this. The night HAD been calm. That obviously changed when Louis walked into the house really late that night.

>•>•>•>•>

I had been waiting up all night for Louis to come home. I had to tell him. I stared at the clock. At the blank television. I prepared myself for rejection even though no amount of preparation would help me when and if the real thing actually happened. I played with my fingers and ran them through my hair. I practiced what I would say to Louis and what his reaction would be, and what my reaction to his reaction would be. And it was never good.