Larry fics

Think I Love You Better Now

Think I Love You Better Now

Larry Stylinson. Louis has three important secrets. He self harms, he’s gay, and worst of all? Crushing on none other than Harry. What happens when the boys find out? Rated M for triggers and smut later on.

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(Louis’ POV) 

So I’d admitted it. Only to myself and only in my head but I had indeed admitted it. I’d figured it out 13 days, 7 hours and 20 minutes ago. I’m gay. Yep. Gay. I’d been in denial for who knows how long and it felt nice to finally just be honest. In my head, of course. I couldn’t say it out loud yet. Hopefully I could at some point.

At first I’d thought that maybe I was bisexual. It had been Harry who’d made me feel that way. We’d always been close. Incredibly close to be exact. The fans had dubbed us Larry Stylinson and we both found it hilarious. It had started on X Factor when I jumped onto him while still on stage. Maybe even back then I’d felt a spark, but I’d hid it away. And over time we just grew close and closer. Maybe we weren’t like other friendships. We cuddled on the couch, pretend made out on camera. We were constantly whispering to each other in public and even though it was usually pointless things, I couldn’t and still can’t help the smile that flashes across my face when his breath hits my neck. And then there was the butt touching and living together and nicknames and holding hands and even the occasional kiss usually while drunk. Yeah, okay, definitely not like other friendships. But I’m not complaining.

So anyways, I’d thought hey, bisexual. Because the butterflies I felt with Harry weren’t something I could ignore. But the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t fit. I thought I found women attractive. I could appreciate beauty and curves and all that. But it wasn’t the same as all the other boys. They saw girls the way I found myself looking at guys. Instead of being drawn towards boobs I was pulled towards abs, and scruff and just…men. I’d never been one to think being gay was wrong because it isn’t. But of course when I’d come to the conclusion thatholy shit I check out guys more often than not, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Some people aren’t accepting. And how could I know who? The boys might not think of me the same. Okay, lie. I knew how accepting they’d be. But of course irrational fears spilled over and every time I came close to saying it out loud, I ended up choking on the words. They got caught in my throat and I just couldn’t do it. And what would the fans think? God, they might hate me. I’m sure some would be accepting but others? I didn’t know. The press would go nuts with it. And what effect would it have on One Direction? What if it ruined us? I couldn’t do that to them. And what about Harry, hmm? What about my Hazza? What if this changed the way he was around me? I don’t ever want that to happen.

So it had to stay inside my head. Like everything else.

I’d been self harming since I was 15. I don’t remember why I started and I don’t remember why I didn’t stop. I got addicted before I knew what was happening and instead of dealing with feelings like a normal person, I grab a razor and slice into my skin. I know it’s bad. Believe me, I’ve read so many horror stories about going too deep that it nearly scared me out of doing it again. Nearly. I need the pain. I don’t deal otherwise. I can’t imagine what I would do if I couldn’t ruin my skin. It’s never happened before. But when I cut, I feel that pain. It’s real and it overwhelms me. It overpowers anything else. It overpowers heartbreak or sadness or worry. It just does.

So that’s how I ended up here. Sitting on the bathroom floor of our latest hotel room, razor in hand, blood on wrist. I would say ‘oops’, but I don’t even care anymore. It started with my wrists, all those years ago. That was what I’d read about and so naturally that’s where I tried first. It’s still my favorite. But being famous and all, I can’t let fans see that. So when it gets warm out or I need to do something with a short sleeve top, I make sure to do this elsewhere. Usually my legs. Thighs are the best if you want to see blood. And I do. But nothing is as good as my wrists. The blood there bubbles into beads before rolling off and it’s hypnotizing.