The Larry Book [ completed ]

The Worst Things Beautiful

By : shewantstoplayhearts ( ao3 )

Summary:
We are beautiful souls. God Dammit, we are fucking young, we are alive, and we are true. We're young enough to say "fuck the world" and throw our souls into love. We will never be this young and free again. It's just you and me and me and you and the entire world."

Or, the one where Louis' suffering from depression and Harry wants to save him.

( This one's beautiful crying tears of joy 🌚 )

"Louis you can't keep calling here."

"I know, I get it," Louis doesn't get it, not really, but he knows that's what Zayn wants to hear. He tries to keep his voice under control, and he hopes that Zayn can't hear that he's fighting back tears as he says, "I just really need my best friend right now."

There's a silence, and then,

"Just your best friend? Because you know I can't give you anything more than that anymore."

He nods, even though Zayn can't see him. "I know. How's Liam?" Liam. Liam. Perfect fucking Liam. He doesn't blame Zayn for choosing Liam over him. Liam is smart and hardworking and doesn't need to stay in bed for days at a time because he can't handle facing the world. Liam is everything Louis is not.

"He's fine." Another sigh from Zayn. "Louis, it's four in the morning. What do you need?"

"I just...I need..." he trails off, then admits quietly, "I don't want to be alone anymore."

There's a sharp intake of breath, and then Zayn's saying sadly, "Oh Lou."

He hears Liam's voice faintly in the background, then there's a muffled sound like Zayn's covering the mouthpiece with his hand so that Louis can't hear whatever it is he's saying back to Liam. Louis hangs up then, because it hurts too much to think about the time when Zayn wouldn't have even considered doing something like that, because there had been no secrets between them.

Louis wonders what happened to "best friends forever" and all the promises they'd made each other in their twelve years of friendship.

He resigns himself to the fact that he won't be getting any sleep tonight and pulls on his shoes and coat, slipping out the front door of his flat and heading out into the cold London night.

He wanders the streets, marveling at how even London can look like a ghost town at this time of the night. Everywhere he looks is empty, void, vacant. He finds it ironic that the city that had lured him in with false hopes of a better life is currently reflecting how he feels inside. He doesn't feel so alone right now though, not when the buildings and park benches are alone too.

There's an ache in his heart. It's been there for a while now, but he feels extra aware of it tonight.

He passes by a park and briefly considers drowning himself in the fountain he spots just inside the gates, but decides against it. Knowing his luck, his body would be found by some little kid in the morning, and then he'd be responsible for ruining a childhood and emotionally traumatizing the kid. I may be a lot of awful things, he thinks sourly, but I am not that much of an asshole.

He doesn't stop to think about the fact that the thought of killing himself had entered his mind, because he knows that if he dwells on it for too long he'll just end up feeling worse about himself.

He finds himself sitting cross legged on the sidewalk, his back pressed against the glass window of a bakery as he watches the remains of the night drift higher, fading into lightness. He knows he should get up, that sitting on the sidewalk like this isn't something people his age are supposed to do, but he can't bring himself to care. He's been walking for hours by this point, and he's too worn out to stand up.