fighting love » l.s.

thirty - guilt

After a light make out session, the two boys were sitting on the couch watching TV. Louis's arm was slung casually over Harry's shoulders, the fingers on his other hand tangled with Harry's. His eyes were trained on the TV, but his focus kept drifting to the curly-haired boy in his peripheral vision.

Meanwhile, Harry was tucked safely beneath Louis's arm, savoring every moment he could bask in Louis's warmth. He snuck a glance at Louis, trying to take in as much of the older boy's appearance as he could in one, long gaze. His high cheekbones, his feathery brown hair. Those bright blue eyes, of course. Louis was indisputably beautiful.

And Harry was terrified. The boy sitting beside him was perfect, and he was far from it. As if on cue, his wrists started tingling as a harsh reminder of the night before. Louis had done enough for him already; from now on, Harry was going to make sure everything was perfect.

Everything had to be perfect.

"Harold," Louis said, his eyes still focused on the TV but a smile playing on his lips.

Harry snapped his head back towards the screen, heat creeping to his cheeks. He'd been caught. "Yes?" he replied innocently, trying to hide the guilty look that crept onto his face.

Louis turned toward the younger boy, raising his eyebrows in question as he rubbed his knuckles lightly against Harry's upper arm. "What're you thinking about? Hmm?"

"Nothing," Harry shrugged unconvincingly, still avoiding the older boy's gaze.

"Harold."

"Just thinking about us," he shrugged again. "Nothing important."

"Anything you think is important. Tell me."

"It's nothing, Lou," Harry whined, leaning his head on Louis's shoulder to avoid the older boy's knowing gaze. "A lot has happened between us already. That's all."

"I know," Louis replied, his stomach flipping at the memory. "It's a lot to wrap your head around."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, thoughts flicking back through the many memories between them in such a short time -- some good, some bad. Some beautiful, some tragic.

"I know we said we'd talk about it all this morning, but I think it's gonna take more time than we thought," Louis chuckled, still trying to shake the guilty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

"It's okay," Harry replied honestly. "Everything will come out eventually, right?" When he saw the amused twinkle in Louis's eyes, he grinned, adding, "No pun intended."

"Sure," Louis rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the TV with remnants of a smile still on his face.

Harry tried to refocus on the screen as well, but he had one question weighing on his mind. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Will you tell me about your dream?" He whipped his head in Louis's direction in an attempt to gauge his reaction.

Louis sighed, not pleased but not quite annoyed either. "I don't think you want to know."

"Of course I do! You know about mine," Harry pouted.

"This is different," Louis shook his head, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth as his eyes studied the younger boy. He knew the effect that the truth would have on Harry, and after the events of the previous night, he wasn't sure he wanted to say anything.

"Why?"

"It just is, Harry."

"But, why?"

"Please just drop it."

"Louis, I'm not gonna --"

"My dream was about you."

Harry's heart dropped to the floor. Louis was having nightmares about him? He never thought that the dream could be about him. His mind was racing, thoughts coming at a hundred miles a minute as he tried to put the pieces together the only way that he knew how: where the whole thing was his fault.

As he opened his mouth to apologize, Louis cut him off: "And before you start telling me it's your fault, I'm gonna tell you it's not. It's not at all your fault."

"Of course it is," Harry exclaimed, removing himself from Louis's grip so he could face the older boy completely. "If it's about me and all of the awful things I've forced you to put up with --"

"Harry Styles," Louis interrupted him again, taking the green-eyed boy firmly by the shoulders. "Look at me right now. It's not your fault. It's not your fault that I care about you so much that seeing you get hurt is my worst nightmare. It's not anything you did, love, and it's not anything you can control."

"But --"

"No, Haz, I'm serious. I won't have you believing for one more second that this somehow makes you the bad guy. You're the kindest, most wonderful person I've ever met, and you don't deserve any of the terrible things that have happened to you. And I'd rather have a nightmare every single night for the rest of my life than let you get hurt again in real life."

Harry was speechless. So he answered the only way he knew how: "I'm still really sorry that you have to go through that, whether it's because of me or not."

Louis sighed, taking in Harry's sad eyes and furrowed brow, realizing that it was going to take a lot more than a few words to change the younger boy's view of the world. "Come here," Louis said, pulling the curly-haired boy to his chest and wrapping his arms around him as if he could protect him from the world outside. "You're amazing. Someday you're going to see that."

And Harry wasn't so sure about that, but if Louis believed in him, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do anything.