Larry fics

Whether We're Together or Apart

Louis Tomlinson’s public life is a big, fat, lie. He has a fake relationship with his girlfriend Eleanor Calder who his management set him up with to hide the fact that he and Harry Styles are gay and head over heels in love with each other.

They set Harry up with lots of girls to make him seem like he sleeps around. They want to make Harry, his sweet, lovable Harry, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, seem like a whore who lives to get in pretty girls’ pants.

Louis knows he is hurting Harry by being with Eleanor even though he has no choice. But what hurts even worse is seeing Harry out nearly every night with some new girl on his arm. Louis sees Harry in not-so-dark corners of the London clubs, sucking girls’ faces off. He knows Harry never actually sleeps with them, but it still hurts. So. Damn. Much. More than Louis cares to admit.

So Louis cuts. He cuts because it is the only way he’s found to relieve the seemingly unavoidable, bone crushing pain he feels. He cuts because no matter how famous, or how successful they become, he will never be able to openly be himself. He will never be able to kiss Harry in public, or sit in his lap during interviews. And these little things might be enough to one day kill him.

The first time Louis drags the blade across his skin is right after he returns from a much publicized date with Eleanor at this fancy Italian restaurant on the river. The date itself was fine, he actually somewhat enjoys talking to Eleanor, but on his way home he stopped at a newsstand to purchase the latest paper.

Louis’ eyes began to fill up with tears as his gaze fell upon the newsprint. On the front page of one paper was a picture of Eleanor and him holding hands and kissing. He would have been alright if that was all. But splashed across the cover of another vulgar magazine was Harry, his Harry, snogging some blond wearing fake eyelashes and a top that pushed her boobs up an appalling amount. The picture was sporting the headline, “Harry Styles, Womanizer?”

Louis ran back to his car without buying anything and began to cry; monstrous, ugly, sobs wracking his body. Harry was nineteen, two years younger than Louis, and yet he was made to look like he was shagging girls who could not have possibly been any younger than twenty-five.

Louis couldn’t take it any longer. He hated their fake relationships, but most of all he hated how they were making Harry out to be such a man whore.

With shaking hands and swollen eyes obstructed by large, salty tears; Louis did his best to start the engine in his car and make his way home. He almost thought he would have to pull over a couple of times, due to the fact that his vision was blurry with salt water, but somehow he made it.

He pulled into the parking garage of the building that contained his flat, which luckily was accessible by way of an alley around the back. This was most helpful when Louis wanted to avoid the pas, which was nearly always except when he was accompanied by Eleanor.

Feeling hopeless and full of desperation, Louis launched himself out of the driver’s seat, violently slamming the door behind him. Practically running, he stumbled into the lobby and jabbed urgently at the button for the lift.

Ironically enough, Harry’s flat was also located in Louis’ building, but Harry had the penthouse up on floor thirty-two and Louis was down on floor twenty. The building they inhabited was mostly home to business elite and other high class citizens, so they didn’t really have to worry about young teenage fans mobbing them or anything of that sort.

When the lift doors dinged open signaling their arrival on floor twenty, Louis tripped and stumbled down the hallway. He fumbled for his key and it took him probably twice as long to open the door as it normally would.

Once inside, Louis raced into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door even though he was the only one living there. He then stripped off his clothes and jumped in the shower where he proceeded to crumple to the floor with the hot water pounding on his back.