HABITS | larry stylinson

HABITS

h.a.b.i.t /ˈhabɪt/ noun  a settled or regular tendency or practice, especially one that is hard to give up.

The smell of cigarettes took over the small hotel room Harry was staying at. It wasn't something exorbitant like he was used to, but it was enough given the situation. It has been three months since Louis told him to go away. The same sharp words stayed there. In that small hotel room, as if they were being shouted over and over again.

"Don't search for me. Don't call me and don't even think about asking for me, understand?"

Harry wishes he had understood, keep going with his life, and who knows, maybe he could go back to Taylor? Deep down, he craved that none of that was more than just a dream or an illusion.

That Louis was no more than that: An illusion. Even with all the pills and medicines, nothing seemed to wake him from this nightmare.

One more word in the paper, one more pill in his mouth. As if it was a band Aid capable of curing the wound that Harry insisted on deepen.

Fuck. Louis showed up at the wrong place at the wrong time. How to forget the "Hi" and "Oops" of the first time that the green met the blue? Harry was terrible at art, but he knew that the mix of Lou's blue eyes and his green eyes would make the most perfect color in the world. Maybe a bluish-green?

Pathetic. That's what Harry would call himself. Sit in the middle of a hotel room hurting himself for several days in a row. One call. One call was all he wanted. He just wanted to hear Louis's voice asking for forgiveness for all the mess he had caused.

Harry wanted to make the tears stop once and for all. He needed everything to stop.

"Hurting yourself won't make me come back, so don't do that. If you do, I need you to know that I will be very, very disappointed, okay Hazza?"

Louis was disappointed. Harry had disappointed him at the moment he had swallowed the first pill. Even far, far away the problem was still the same: Harry. The boy who gave too much. The boy who cared too much. The boy who loved too much.

The boy who believed too much.

Even with all that ephemeral pain that crushed his soul, the hope was still there. Harry wanted to believe that at any moment, for some stupid reason of the universe, Louis would take away his words. "Nevermore" was a long time. Too long for Harry. Time that he didn't have.

One more pill taken.

One more word written.

"Maybe when things get better I can give you what you deserve, okay? I know I'm going to be selfish for what I'm going to say right now, but I need you to listen carefully"

One more word in the paper

One more pill in his mouth

"I love you. Harry Edward Styles, I love you. More than any star and more than any ocean."

One more word in the paper

One more pill in his mouth

"I need to say this really quickly because they can show up at any second now. Don't search for me. Don't call me and don't even think about asking for me, understand?"

While the tears were scrolling down his cheeks, a single drop of blood scrolled cautiously on the paper sheet that kept all the most painful and sober thoughts of the curly-haired boy.

Mixed with the screams and spasms that began, everything stopped.

The pain stopped.

It was only Harry's body, strained in that hotel room by the side of the last letter Louis would ever receive from him. From the love of his life. From the one he believed was the sky of his stars.