Simply Love [Larry Stylinson]

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

Louis

 

October 23, 2013

 

It’s been a week since I kissed Harry the first time, and six days since I kissed him the second time. Seven days since I’ve had a proper conversation with him without directly swearing at each other, and seven days since there’s been any voluntary interaction between us. At least on his behalf. I haven’t exactly initiated anything in terms of conversation, but I’ve been mentally begging for the courage to do so.

I don’t know what drove me to kiss Harry, I really don’t. He looked so… I don’t even know. It was a rather rash decision, Harry being so horrendously sick and all, and look where that got me. Two days after, I fell sick with pretty much exactly the same cold. No one was suspicious, luckily, knowing Harry and I shared a room. Harry’s only just gotten over the cold, so it looks like I’ve for a couple more days with it, too.

We’ve got our first show in Sydney tonight and a further three nights straight after that, then a daylong break and to Melbourne for three shows. After that we set off to Tokyo. I’m excited, of course I am, but I want to have a bit of time off to sort things out with Harry. If that would involve not playing in Japan, I honestly admit that I’d take it. When your best friend who also happens to be the love of your life is not speaking to you and is (reasonably, I guess) beyond pissed at you, it’s hard. Sure the other lads are still my friends, but I don’t want to go to them for help. I trust them with my life and more, but that’s why I can’t go to them. They’ll make everything okay, take Harry and I back to being just friends, and I’ve already made it obvious that that’s not what I want. I want to be friends, yes. But more. I want to be the most with him. Everything. His everything. Christ, I’d settle down with him. Adopt a child with him, be the one who he comes home to every night, the one who he trusts so hold him when he’s feeling his lowest. Most of all, I want to be his, and I want him to be mine.

Right now I’m set on moving out of bed and getting my ass to soundcheck, but it’s not working in my favour. This cold or flu or whatever it decides it wants to be has me feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus, and I’m stressing, which isn’t a good combination. I’m exhausted and feeling like shit and my best-friend-possibly-hopefully-maybe-more is totally and utterly vexed at me.

With a groan, I slip out of bed and grab a hoodie off the end of the bed, relishing in the warmth it gives as I pick up my glasses and slide them onto my face, too lazy to bother with contacts right away. I’ve been freezing my ass off despite the sweltering (for English standards) weather, and the boys have been having a field day chewing me out for it. I trudge to the small kitchen and grab a slice of bread to put in the toaster. I switch on the kettle and snatch a mug from the shelf, dumping a complimentary tea bag in the cup. I sink down and sit with my back against the cupboard door, the handle digging into my back weirdly. I ignore it, however, staring at my hands that rest atop my knees, pulled to my chest. I feel like this is a very depressed position, but I don’t care. I just cannot believe I made the mistake of kissing Harry. I can’t believe I risked our friendship for my own needs. Harry’s right, I used his sexuality against him, assuming he immediately liked me. Kissing him was a dick move, and now thinking about it, I regret it. Not the kiss – no, I loved that – but taking advantage of him like that. I didn’t intend to make it like that, but I did so by being me. By being a man. God, I hate genetics and gender and… well, I could go on for a while, because right now, there’s a hell of a lot of stuff with which I’m greatly displeased. Harry, however, is not one of them. I’m more pissed at myself.