AN: I’ve had this rejected chapter of my Larry fic halfway written for a while. Billie asked for a nice one shot so I figured I’d finish it. I hope you guys like it!
Harry was confused. Of course he was. He had thought he was in love with his best friend. Who was a boy. A straight boy. But he couldn’t be, it didn’t make any sense. He had let it slip once, but since then has kept that specific infomation stored away deep in a vault in his mind. It was just a phase, he had told himself. When you love a friend so much, it feels romantic.
"Harry," the boy jolted out of his trance at the sound of Louis’s voice. He had been scrubbing the same pot and staring out the window for the past few minutes, causing his friend to question him.
"Uh yeah Louis?" He replied, putting the pot down and grabbing the large glass bowl they had used for pasta night with the guys the other day.
"You alright?" There was concern in the older boy’s eyes. He didn’t like the way Harry had been acting recently, quiet and somewhat distant, even occasionally snapping at the other boys for no reason. Louis hoisted himself onto the counter, indicating that he was in for the long haul and willing to wait and listen to what Harry needed to say.
"It’s nothing, I’m fine." He smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes.
"That’s a lie," Louis crossed his arms.
"No, really. It’s fine," he reassured him. "Just drop it, ok?"
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
"You torture yourself, keep everything bottled up. Just tell me, Curly. I love you, you know that." Louis brought his arms around him and squeezed, as if reassuring himself of his own existance.
Harry knew what Louis meant when he said he loved him. It was the same way all of the guys meant it the other hundred times they said it. It was “I love you” as in, “you’re one of my best friends and I enjoy spending time with you,” not “I want to spend the rest of my life with only you,” and it ripped at his heart every time he heard it.
"Yeah, I know. I love you to, man." His voice hitched at the end of the sentence and he covered it with a cough, grabbing a glass and running it under the tap before taking a sip. Louis simply waited, hands on the edge of the counter, legs swinging.
"I really do love you though," Louis almost whispered. He didn’t know if this was a wise move, but since when was he wise? He needed his old Harry back, the boy who made him smile every time he entered the room and didn’t just wank him off and kiss him, but not screw around. He needed the banter, he lived off the banter.
Harry ceased his washing, looking into Louis’s eyes. There were three small wrinkles between his eyebrows as they furrowed, his eyes slightly sad. Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have too be so God damned caring and sincere? If there was a God, Harry knew for certain he was laughing now, screwing with Harry’s emotions for his own cruel pleasure. Louis didn’t love him the way he needed him to. He loved him, but it wasn’t enough. Every time Harry thought about what was going on in Louis’s brain he felt as though a bit of him died. He hadn’t been able to keep up the facade of happiness and contentment, and Louis had obviously noticed.
He sighed. Fuck it.
"But you don’t Lou. Not the way I need you to. Not the way I love you. I can’t take it anymore, the way I feel about you and not getting it in return is literally killing me. Every time I see you it’s like a get a defibulater to the chest, like the very sight of you restarts my heart. But every time I remember you don’t really love me, it stops. A person can only die and be brought back to life so many times before it starts to take its toll."
He looked into Louis’s eyes, willing him to understand, to not hate him forever.
"I’m dying inside, Louis. It’s not just that I love you; I’m in love with you. Every time you do something stupid like wrap your head in toilet paper and pretend to be a mummy, or walk around the house in nothing but your underwear and braces I feel like I’m going to die because I love you that much. So much that every time I see you with a girl, even a just a fan, it makes me want to rip her to little pieces and hide you away forever, lock you in a tower or something where no one but me knows where you are."
He had moved toward Louis, less than half a meter between them.
"You know why I’m never around when you record your vocals for the album? Because your voice is so beautiful it makes me cry, literally cry Louis. Your solo in Moments actually makes tears come out of my fucking eyes. That’s how much I’m in love with you. Every single day I think about that, and every single day I remember that I’m just falling hopelessly in love with my best friend who would never, could never, love me back."
He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He’d done it, he’d ruined the best thing in his life and the worst part was it actually made him feel better. That was until he realized that Louis would bolt any second, revolted by the thought that their casual sexual endevors had been anything but casual for Harry.
"You’re a fucking idiot sometimes."
Harry looked up. Louis’s voice wasn’t angry, or disgusted. It was… happy?
"Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I felt the same way? Did you ever once ask me? No. Because if you had I would have told you that I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. Ok, maybe not when we met in the loo, but the day we were rejected and then brought back to the X Factor? Yeah, that did it for me. There have been times that I wanted to kill you because of all the stupid shit you’ve done, the crap I’ve had to get you out of, but I could never ask for a better friend. I would never trade even a second of my time with you. You’re impulsive, and selfish, and immature, but you’re also sweet, and caring, and such a mama’s boy."
They both laughed, throats coated with held-back tears.
"Don’t cry Curly, because you know I hate it."
Harry looked at him, smiling, and punched him in the shoulder.
Louis mocked hurt, holding his hand to his heart.
"Why would you ever say such a thing?"
Harry laughed and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Louis’s torso, fitting his body between the boy’s legs dangling from the counter and buried his face in his chest.
"You should have told me sooner."
He mumbled into the fabric of Louis’s t-shirt. The older boy chuckled.
"You should have told me."
He grabbed the sides of Harry’s face and pulled it up, leaning in and gently pressing their lips together. They both smiled into the kiss, Harry squeezing the other boy tighter around his middle, as if afraid he would disappear. Louis moved his face to rest his cheek against Harry’s the short stubble on their skin scratching together noiselessly.
"I’m in love with you Harold," he whispered in his ear.
"I’m in love with you too Louis," the other whispered back with a smile.
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