Larry fics

but bear this in mind

Harry always only had one thing he could trust, one thing he held on to with quivering fingers and burning skin and never let go of, and that was Louis. Louis, with his eyes as blue as the ocean and his smooth, feathered brown hair and his soft little tummy that Harry’s head lay upon under the duvet while he ran his hand up and down it until they both fell asleep. Louis, whose side slid into Harry’s like a puzzle piece, whose hair came up right below Harry’s nose and tickled it when Harry pulled him into a hug, whose head fit perfectly into that place where Harry’s neck met his shoulders.

Louis always promised that as long as he was there, everything would be okay. He promised that he would be there forever.

Louis lied.

~

Nobody saw it coming. It snuck up on them all, slipping its icy fingers beneath Harry’s blazer and sending a chill up his spine. It gripped Louis by the back of the neck and pulled at the hair there. Something was off, something was just not right. Harry found Louis leaning back along the patio with empty eyes and found himself observing as Louis’ hands were no longer held so firmly and his eyes dimmed.

It wasn’t long before it had its talons wrapped tight around Louis’ neck, strangling him into obedience, pulling his hair until he turned around and did what it wanted him to. Louis was its prey; Harry just sat and watched.

On days when Louis was in a crowd, it seemed to latch onto his chest and suck the liveliness right out of him. His face would turn pale and eyes blank and his reach to the fans would elongate and thin out and stretch and stretch and stretch until it wasn’t there anymore. He’d look at them with pressed lips and white cheeks and turn from the cameras and push everyone away, even Harry. Harry’s skin itched for Louis’ hands, but Louis was having his own trouble keeping from passing out, so Harry would have to wait.

When they were back in the car, Harry would turn to see Louis with his forehead pressed to the glass and fists clenched tight around his wrists, and his hands trembling. Nights like that were the nights that Louis would retreat to the bathroom for hours unless Harry tugged him down onto the bed first and kissed along his collarbone and rocked back and forth and gently traced Louis’ curves until he finally began to breathe again, and then Harry would cuddle Louis into his warm chest and play with his hair until he fell asleep.

But that only worked for a while. Harry soon found himself in bed alone, pulling the sheets up to his neck and trying to ignore the cold emptiness next to him where Louis’ body should have been. Harry would wake up and Louis would be there, awake, lucid, with red-rimmed eyes and pressed lips and sleeves pulled down over his hands. Harry would try to talk to Louis, get him to speak, ask him what’s wrong, but Louis would never listen, would never speak, just looked blankly ahead and hugged his own chest.

It took days after each encounter for Louis’ eyes to turn blue again and for his grin to reappear onto his face. On those long lines of promo and signings and travelling and being pushed and shoved and screamed at, he barely spoke, barely ate, only did enough to keep him upright and healthy. He’d retreat away to their hotel room or the tour bus at unusually early hours of the night, and he’d usher Harry away and tell him to go have fun. Harry would go and come back buzzed and find Louis curled into a tight ball beneath a blanket with his sleeves tugged down low, as always when he was upset.

Harry would be so scared, he was always so scared, to pull up those sleeves to find gashes, pulsating against the healthy skin around them, red and sore and bleeding. It scared him enough to make him delusional—he’d become wary whenever Louis wore anything resembling long sleeves. His eyes would grow to rest only on Louis’ wrists, for fear of finding a burning secret there, but he never did. What glimpses he did catch were only smooth, unmarred skin. He’d always let out a deep sigh then, but he’d always get a churning at the pit of his stomach whenever he saw Louis with his sleeves pulled down again, and the fear would come back.