Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

thirty-one

The combination of sadness, drinking, and horniness eventually becomes a blinding issue.

It's Tuesday night when Louis finally breaks and says something about it. Seated on the armchair he rarely uses anymore, he's typing a lab report on his laptop and hating life because he would much rather be doing almost anything else.

Harry emerges from his room smelling of wine and looking sad. Perhaps more sad than usual. But the wine isn't a good sign and neither are the skinny jeans. He lifts his arms up to style his hair, peering into the mirror hanging in the foyer, and his shirt rides up. Thus a strip of lace is visible above the waistline of his jeans. Lingerie just like Louis noticed weeks ago when he bent over to put on his shoes.

Not good. He's visiting Roman, Louis presumes, because that's really the only logical explanation. Not that Harry is logical, but he's definitely predictable. Louis already knows exactly how this night will end. If he doesn't step in and say something, that is.

So Louis' measly effort at confrontation doesn't go very well at all. He makes an attempt at appearing casual and asks Harry where he's going. Harry gives an inconclusive answer, something to the effect of I'm going out.

Louis asks so awkwardly, he kind of wants to die as soon as he forces the words from his lips. "Are you... Are you going to see him?"

"Yes," Harry snaps, terse and irritated. Sad, drunk, probably horny, and now annoyed. Add it to the list.

"Oh." He has no good excuse for keeping Harry here, no good argument to compel him to stay. He feels so foolish when he says, "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to stay in with me and maybe watch a movie?"

Harry scowls at him, which is truthfully unexpected. He may be exasperated by Louis' antics but usually he's never infuriated enough to be socold.

"Why are you so obsessed with keeping me away from Roman?"

Louis gapes. He hadn't known he had been that transparent, though in hindsight his distaste for the awful human being is more than obvious. And now Louis is sitting here thinking, how can he not see it? How can he not see how bad Roman is for him? Maybe he sees it and he just doesn't care.

"What?" Louis' voice sounds affronted as it leaves his mouth, but it's weak in a way too, like even the words know he's lying about the incredulity. "I'm not- Why would you think that?"

"Whenever I talk about him you get all weird," Harry accuses, folding his arms over his chest. He's still scowling but now looks more petulant like a child and it's weird but this is a thing that happens when he's drunk, and god, how is Louis supposed to deal with this when Harry is drunk? "And whenever I go out to see him you try so hard to get me to stay here with you. Do you like me or something? Are you jealous?"

"Wh- what?" No. Louis does not like Harry as anything more than a friend, at least that's what he has decided to tell himself, and god damn it, this situation is about so much more than that, anyways. Louis is trying to keep Harry safe, for fuck's sake. "No, H, that's not it. What the fuck. I'm just- He hurts you, Harry. Why the hell do you keep seeing him?"

"I love him," Harry argues with conviction. Then, "He loves me."

I'm only sleeping with him because I'm afraid if I say no he won't love me anymore.

God, Louis is just... Louis is just furious. He doesn't know what the fuck to do. Harry is so desperate to be loved by someone, by anyone, that he will return to a monster time and time again, to offer up his body as some sort of peace treaty, some sort of trade off. Like, if I let you defile me, will you love me? If I let you have me in the most intimate way, if I let you have everything, will you love me then?

Maybe he doesn't get horny when he's drunk and sad. Maybe he just gets insecure. Maybe that's why he goes back to Roman every time, because he's so afraid that what little love he supposedly has will disappear if he doesn't consistently tend to it by sleeping with him.

"He hurts you," Louis repeats again, and he's always saying this, isn't he? He hurts you. He hurts you. It never seems to sink in, no matter how many times Louis tells him. "It doesn't matter if he loves you, or supposedly loves you, Harry. He hurts you."

Harry's eyes are filling with tears, and he stumbles to the side, bumping into the wall slightly. He's more drunk than Louis thought, and now he's even more worried because with absolutely no inhibition it's so incredibly easy to take advantage of him, and Louis is so sick of it, so sick of Harry returning in the middle of the night sobbing, so sick of having to comfort him, so sick of seeing him in pain, so sick of watching him suffer without end.

So he resorts to begging, "Please stay here, Harry, c'mon. Please don't see him tonight..."

Harry retreats quickly, pulling himself up from where he was slouching against the wall. He meets Louis' gaze with a cold stare, and even colder words. "You can't- You're not my boyfriend, Louis, you don't get to fucking decide what I do or don't do."

All the breath leaves Louis' lungs. "I'm not- I- What?"

But Harry is already pushing past him and stumbling out the door, slamming it hard behind him. No longer the shy, tentative roommate but something else entirely.

Something awful, maybe. Something broken.