Larry Stylinson: These Arms Were Made For Holding You

Chapter 9: Louis

It had been nearly nine weeks and things were... fine. . It wasn't that he wasn't great, he was. It was just that I didn't feel like anything more than a friend despite everything we would do together and out past. He'd told me he'd broken up with his boyfriend a few days following my confession and more than anything, I wanted him to love me like I loved him."I really have to go," I tell him for what must've been the twelfth time in fifteen minutes. "I have practice and I'm pretty sure you have rehearsal," I remind him.

"Yeah, but I'd rather stay here with you," says, snuggling into my side and glancing up at me. It was a rather adorable sight, him snuggled up with his beautiful green eyes peering up at me. "You don't make me lie 'bout everything," he murmured. I know I wasn't supposed to hear it with how quiet he was, but I heard it nonetheless.

"What was that, love," I question, hoping he would open up.

"Nothing, Lou," he tells me, smiling absolutely brilliantly. I really wished he would open up and confide in me, but I knew he wouldn't. Not now anyways. His phone ringing at an obnoxious level brought me back to reality. He quickly reached over to the side table, glancing over the caller ID before answering the call. "Hello, Simon," he greeted. Simon, his manager, seemed to have said something that made Harry absolutely livid, as he clenched his free hand into a fist and squeezed his eyes shut, and took a deep breath before responding. "No, I won't do that," he answered, calmly. But he wasn't calm. Not even close. "Simon, it may be my career, but it's also my life so please for the love of God, let me live it as I choose," he asked, rather calmly. When he finally hung up, his face fell from his usual calm demeanor to one that looked like he could kill someone at that moment. And he probably could've.

"Everything alright, darling," I question. He simply shakes his head, lying down on my chest. In the past few weeks, he'd stopped calling me darling and had gone back to Lou. This moment was the most intimate we'd been in a while. And who was I to complain when he was being affectionate.

"Nothing's alright. It hasn't been since we broke up," he whispered. I gently ran my hand through his curls, pulling gently at them. He seemed very content in the moment. But too soon was it interrupted by my alarm which I'd set as a you really need to get your arse to practice now reminder. "You really have to go now, don't you," he asks, quietly, making no movement to actually get off of me.

"I really do. I'll text you later, yeah," I ask as he slowly peels himself off of me. I grab my sweatshirt from where it lays abandoned on Harry's bedroom floor and slipping it over my head. "Goodbye, love," I whisper, gently kissing his cheek before disappearing off to practice. I could have sworn I saw him smile slightly after I'd put the sweatshirt on, but had brushed it off in the moment.

It wasn't until nearly two days later that I realized it wasn't my sweatshirt I'd grabbed, but Harry's. And I wasn't the only one who'd noticed. The fans, they'd noticed. And it hadn't done anything to help our situation.