Larry Heartbreak

7. Monday

It took Harry seven full days to find a therapist and get them an appointment. He had called in every favor, poured his heart into researching, until he found a professional who might be able to help them. He had a goal: get Louis to trust him again. Anyone who could help him achieve that, well, he'd throw every ounce of cash he could get his hands on at them.

The week between when Lou had agreed to a counselor and the actual appointment weren't smooth sailing. Their days ping-ponged from Lou avoiding Harry and their home completely, to circling gently around each other with a sort of quiet pretense that things were back to normal. But normal they were not. Louis and his moods were understandably unpredictable. Some mornings Harry would wake up to Louis wrapped around him like a corkscrew, soft hair buried in Harry's neck. Those mornings, Harry tried to lay completely still, prolonging the cuddles as long as possible. But the moment Lou was awake, he was up and pretending it hadn't happened. Other mornings, Louis was gone before morning had dawned and didn't come home until Harry was under the covers in his PJ's, trying not to worry about where his boy was.

It felt to Harry a bit like the seven days between his attempt at the sleepover redo and their counseling appointment were a tenuous agreement between them: Louis wasn't giving up yet, and of course, neither was Harry. But Harry had the distinct sense that a lot was riding on this appointment.

When the day of their first scheduled session finally arrived, Harry was on pins and needles, tiptoeing around his boy all morning to avoid any unnecessary confrontation. Lou was uncharacteristically quiet and reserved. Harry drove and Louis rode in silence, the weather as gloomy as Louis' apparent mood. They waited in the private waiting room in silence, too, sitting beside one another on a plush couch, but miles apart. Harry couldn't stop wondering what was going through Louis' mind, his eyes constantly pulled back to where Louis' leg was jiggling nervously.

When their therapist greeted them, Harry was surprised to find she was a young woman. Her credentials had made her sound decades older than them both, and Harry had pictured a grandmotherly type with thick glasses and white hair. He tried not to look as caught off guard as he felt as they shook hands and followed her into her office.

"Well, Louis, Harry, welcome," she said with a warm smile, as they settled at either ends of a gray couch and she crossed her legs from her chair across from them.

Louis reflected back a smile at her, but Harry could tell it didn't reach his eyes. He wondered briefly if it got to marriage counselors, this sort of tableau of two people, desperately unhappy, laying it all at their feet in the hopes that they could fix what went wrong. But how much sense did that make? That the two people actually involved couldn't fix it on their own?

"So, tell me how I can help?" She asked kindly.

Louis turned to look at Harry expectantly. Harry could imagine Louis wanted to say something like, "Ok bucko, this is your party. Get it rolling."

Harry cleared his throat. They had two hours scheduled with her. He was not going to waste time, no matter how embarrassing it was for him. "I cheated on Louis," he heard himself say. He would never get used to how it sounded. How it was. What he'd done. It just wasn't who he was. Who they were.

Their therapist nodded, not frowning or smiling now. Just... accepting. And she was looking at Harry, waiting. Because there was obviously more.

Harry did have more to say, of course. "I love him more than anything," he said quietly, but firmly. He hadn't practiced this. Maybe he should have. "I want to fix it. I want him to believe that I didn't mean it. That I don't want anyone else. That I want to be with him and only him. I want to make this work... again."

She was nodding still, but had slowly turned to look at Louis. It was his turn.

"And you, Louis?" She addressed him directly. "How can I help you?"