Pretty in Plastic (l.s)

xvii

Harry walks down the stairs, scratching his lower belly and rubbing his eyes. It's three in the morning, and he can't sleep. Liam left after spending another hour with Louis, even offering to have another hang out some time soon, and Louis went to bed shortly after.

Now, the doll is laying on the couch. He's cuddling the stuffed bear Liam got him, and Harry watches Louis snore peacefully into the fake fur. A part of him remembers what Liam told him, and the same part is telling him that he knows what he wants. He knows he wants Louis, he wants to leave Kala, but another part is telling him different. He doesn't deserve Louis, he isn't who Louis should be stuck with, and he thinks back to Kala telling him that she's the only who can love him.

He forces himself to look away from Louis, and he moves to the back porch. He shivers at the chilly air, and thanks God it isn't windy. His feet curl when they touch the moist wood beneath him, and his hair stands on end.

He looks at his hand, and sees the torn up journal his mother bought him years ago. He wrote so much in it: songs, poems, entries, and stories. He touches the leather cover, and traces the letters he carved into it. They spell out his name, and he opens to a random page.

She's so rude to me. Gemma says that, the guys say it. They say I can do better, that I can find someone who won't tear me down so much, and I always say back: who?

What she says is right: I'm poor, I'm temperamental, I'm jealous, I'm possessive, I'm not confident, and I'm weird. Who else will want me? She loves me for me, and she expects nothing more than what I've already given her. She knows I won't do better because I can't, and she loves me anyway. She can find so much better, but she stays by my side. She loves me, I know it. She just doesn't show it often, and she prefers tough love. I'm okay with that, I understand.

"That's not true." Harry jumps, and slams the book shut. He looks to see Louis peaking over his shoulders. The doll's on his toes, and his eyes are bagged with exhaustion. He doesn't seem drowsy, though. He's wide awake, and he's watching Harry with a fierce expression. "That is not true."

"H—How much did you read?" He stutters out, and chooses to ignore Louis' statement. "Why were you reading it? It isn't yours to read."

"That's about Kala, isn't it?" Harry gulps, and grips the journal harder. "What she says to you isn't love."

"Louis—"

"That's disgusting. That's what it is." He's fuming. It goes quiet, and Harry nibbles on his lip. He sees the glare on the doll's face, and notices the small shiver run through his body.

"Let's go inside, and talk."

"No," Louis says and clenches his fists, "I can't wait another second."

"Huh?"

"What's so wrong about me?" Louis places a chilly hand over his chest, and Harry frowns. "What don't I have?"

"Lou, it's cold."

"I may not be as smart," he keeps ranting, "and I may not have as much as experience as you, Liam, Niall, or Kala. I may have spent my whole life as a doll, but I'm enough."

Harry's heart stops when he realizes where Louis's taking this. The familiar hurt swarms the doll's face, and tears build in his eyes.

"I may have been a toy, but you loved me."

"Oh, Louis..." Harry whispers.

"You told me your secrets, you showed me your wounds, you talked about your day, you cried when you were upset, and you— you always promised to have me by your side." Louis sniffles. "I know you, Harry. I know you like pretty manicures, flowers, dresses, nail polish, and you like boys."

Harry swallows, and looks away. He can't muster up anything to say, and he can't even deny it because it's true.

"You hated sharing me because I was yours, and you hated when someone spent more than a minute with me. Anne called it being possessive, and jealous." Harry chuckles. That's true, too. No one could have Louis, but him. "You pout when you're ignored, you isolate yourself when you're sad, and you're the most beautiful person ever when you're happy. You're the prettiest, ever."

Harry blushes, and rubs a cheek against his shoulder. He still isn't looking at Louis.

"Liam told me I'm not your toy anymore," Harry now looks at him, "and he's right. I have feelings, I can do whatever anyone else does, and I won't accept the same treatment I got when I was plastic."

He straightens his shoulders, steps closer to Harry, and Harry takes a deep breath. Louis stares up at him with a determined look, and holds Harry's face between his hands. "I know who I am, and I know you. Do you know?"

—————

Harry sits in his room the rest of the morning, staring at the body length mirror in the corner with a frown. He has the shirt Louis picked for him on, and he's never been more comfortable. He lifts his arm, and looks at the ruffles that sway with the movement. He hums, does random poses, and looks away. His eyes fall on his nails, and his mind drifts to what Louis said: you would look good with pink, and blue.

He curls his fingers over his palm, stares at the untrimmed cuticles, and he seriously contemplates going to a salon. He knows Louis will want his nails done, too. It could be bonding time, and Harry knows they need that right now. Besides, Louis will only help him find confidence and solace while getting their nails done.

What about Kala?

His heart races a little, and he scratches the stubble on his jaw. She'll hate it, he knows it. She'll see them, curse him out, and pick at them until he decides to smother them with acetone. She'll scream, argue, and demean him. She'll think he's gay, too feminine and flamboyant, and he'll care too much about her opinion.

He cares about Louis' too, though.

Louis would love it. He would probably argue to do it himself if he could, and Harry would let him. The doll will smile, and be so proud of him for taking that step forward. He'll encourage Harry, tell him he's the prettiest ever like earlier, and will get matching manis with him. He'll think Harry's being brave, true to himself, but Harry somehow finds himself focusing on Kala more.

Harry huffs, and drags his fingers over the sleeve of his shirt, and looks in the mirror again. Maybe that should change.