and now how could i let things get this out of hand part 1/?
Title: and now how could i let things get this out of hand
Part: 1/?
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Louis/Eleanor
Word Count: 2,394
Rating: PG
Warnings: mentions of sex, slight cursing
Disclaimer: I do not own One Direction (or any of the band members individually), Eleanor and well, you all know the drill.
A/N: hello. this is my first fic (for this fandom, anyway) and feedback would be greatly appreciated :) no, seriously, comments make me feel all warm inside :) i will most probably continue this because i hate sad endings (even if sometimes i wish i would just accept them) but i had a lot of pent up larry/elounor feelings that i just wanted to write out there.
Summary: "“You know that’s a lie.” He did know. It was a lie and it was a big lie and it was probably the most painful lie he’d ever tell Harry." It used to be just that: pretend. But then something changed and Harry knew. Harry always knew. He just never talked about it. Until now.
“It’s not fair, Lou.” Murmured so quietly, almost lost to the sound of the show they were watching on the television. Louis shifted slightly on the couch they were both curled up on.
“What’s that, Haz?” He asked, somewhat distractedly, gaze not leaving the screen. Harry leaned up and waited for Louis to look at him before answering, “I said, it’s not fair, Lou.” Brows furrowed in confusion, Louis tightened his hold around Harry and gently hauled them both up until they were sitting, leaning against the armrest of the sofa.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” He asked softly, knowing that tone in Harry’s voice, knowing what it meant and where this was going. Exhaling softly, Harry turned away, staring at their legs, intertwined and tangled. “Harry?” Louis prompted, squeezing him softly, briefly.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.” Harry blurted out, taking a deep breath when he had finished. He didn’t want to say her name- and somehow, it hurt even worse that he didn’t have to. They both already knew exactly who he was talking about.
“Well...” Louis chose his words carefully, softly rubbing his thumb in relaxing circles on Harry’s shoulder, “Yes... But only because you know I have to-“
“No, it’s different now.” He froze, they both did. Relaxing circles on shoulders quickly forgotten.
“Harry, it’s not. I only meet her when I need to.”
“You know that’s a lie.” He did know. It was a lie and it was a big lie and it was probably the most painful lie he’d ever tell Harry. The younger boy in his arms twisted a little bit more until he was no longer laying on Louis’ chest but rather leaning back on Louis’ right arm. Glancing down at the mop of curly hair beside him, he thanked the heavens that for some absurd reason, despite the fact that Harry was so much taller than he, it was Harry who was curled onto him and not the other way around.
“Harry?” He whispered, burying his face into the younger boy’s curls, inhaling the scent that was just so Harry.
“And...” Harry paused, leaning forward slightly so that Louis’ face was no longer buried in his curls, “You’ve been fucking her.” Louis froze, breath catching, arms tightening around Harry for a fraction of a second.
“A lot.” The younger boy added as an afterthought. He wasn’t shouting, he wasn’t sobbing, hell, there wasn’t even a smidgen of accusation in his tone. Louis almost let himself get distracted by that fact-almost. After all, that was Harry for you. Harry was blunt. He said what needed to be said, no beating around the bush, no cheesy metaphors, just the truth, no matter how painful. It almost made him seem strong-almost. It was then that Harry took a long, shallow, shaky breath and Louis knew that Harry wasn’t strong at all- at least, not in this moment.
Instinctively, Louis tried to pull Harry closer to him, tried to turn him so that he would fall onto Louis’ chest again so that he could look him in the eye and tell him that it wasn’t true-so that he could lie. But Harry, rather roughly, pushed himself out from underneath Louis’ arms and scrambled to the far end of the sofa, bringing his knees together against his chest. Louis sat up almost formally, faced Harry and waited. He watched him bury his head in his arms and take deep, deep breaths and he forced himself to take those breaths along with Harry because right now, that’s what he needed-to breathe, to be with Harry and to just... breathe.
After what seemed like too short a moment, Harry’s head shot up sharply and he stared at Louis with slightly watery eyes. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” He asked gently- and Louis had a split second to marvel at the fact that Harry could still do anything gently at this point before- “And don’t fucking lie to me.” Still gentle, though, Harry was still gentle.
“I’m sorry.” Louis tried to say, but his voice had cracked and faded and he was sure that Harry didn’t get that so he cleared his throat and tried again, this time making sure to speak up, “Harry, I’m so sorry.”
Because he really was. Louis was sorry. So very sorry that he didn’t know what else to say. He chanted the words over and over again like a ritual, HarryImSorryImSorryImSoSorryImSoSorryHarry because he didn’t know what else to do.
It was a mistake but was it really? Eleanor was different and he liked her and she was fresh and beautiful and she wanted him. It was a mistake but was it really? Should mistakes feel that good? Is it still a mistake if we keep coming back to it? It was a mistake... yes it was at first but is it still now? The first time it had happened, they were high on laughter and on sugar and he hadn’t thought twice about leaning forward and pecking her lips quickly. But she had. She had stopped laughing and for a moment, Louis just stared at her, a bit of chocolate icing on the corner of her mouth. And then the next moment she was grabbing at him and he was licking that icing off her mouth and she had whispered his name against his lips and Louis remembers thinking Thisisamistake which is why he pushed off her and stood off to the side, rubbing his eyes.
He loved Harry and he knew this with every bit of being that he was and his eyelids were bursting with images of Harry and his smile and his eyes and even the things you shouldn’t be able to see but Louis could like his heart and his comfort and his love and his everything.
But then a hand was placed on his shoulder and he opened his eyes and was met with long, wavy locks, instead of short, curly ones, and a heart-shaped face instead of the angular, defined, handsome jaw that he had grown so accustomed to.
“This is what everyone expected to happen, you know.” And he felt a slight burst of anger at that thought. Had everyone really been that against him and Harry? Had they really plotted against them, even bringing in Eleanor, this nice, amazing, funny, beautiful girl into the situation? There were so many things he needed to fix, so many things he wasn’t allowed to do, so many things he had to keep up with and everything was just so complicated. And it was hurting both of them, Harry and he. But he never realised until now that it was hurting someone else too. Eleanor. He stared at her, a sudden realisation coming down over him. And he could see it in her eyes. She wanted him. And she was leaning closer, closer, closer, slowly... so close now.
“It must be tiring, Louis...” she breathed, and it was hot on his skin, “I’m sorry.” She had whispered and that was the last straw. He was kissing her and she was kissing him and it was different, different from Harry but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind because right now all he wanted to think about was Eleanor and how she felt. Different, but still good. Good... but still different. He couldn’t decide which and he didn’t want to at the moment.
And even when he woke up the next morning with her long limbs draped heavily across his torso, he still didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he wriggled out from underneath her, got dressed and went back home to Harry. And when he walked into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Harry, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, he knew that Harry knew. Because Harry didn’t ask where he was last night, didn’t ask why he smelled of sex and of Eleanor, didn’t ask how he could have done that to him. Instead, he handed him a plate of eggs and went to sit by the counter.
And that’s what happened every time. Because though Louis still loved Harry and he knew that no one could ever be capable of replacing him, he still yearned for the relief from his tiresome relationship. No, not tiring because of Harry, tiring because of the secrecy. And in the beginning, that was it, really. He would go to Eleanor when he was tired of the secrecy. But then it evolved and soon, he was coming to her when he was tired from rehearsals, or tired from the gym, or just bored or- or. Louis was confused. Harry was confused. Eleanor was confused. This whole relationship-if you could even call it that- was confusing. A constant debate on whether or not it was rooted on a mistake.
But as Harry’s face visibly crumpled in front of Louis, as his face broke in what could only be pain, Louis knew. It was a mistake, a huge mistake, a fucking fuck fuck fuck why did he have to be such an idiot mistake.
And Harry was crying now, and all Louis wanted to do was to wrap his arms around him and so he did-he tried- but as he leaned forward and reached, Harry stood and started pacing. Louis took a deep breath, arm still raised towards the seat Harry had so quickly vacated and shut his eyes. There it was again. Everything Harry, bursting behind his eyelids, everything-ending in that very vivid image of the younger boy’s face crumpling in pain just moments ago. Louis forced his eyes open and turned, calling out to Harry in a broken voice making him realise that he had started to cry as well because fuck he couldn’t lose Harry- he fucking can’t.
But Harry was pulling a jumper over his plain white t-shirt and crossing the living room to reach for the beanie on the coffee table (there was a heartbreaking moment when his hand hovered over Louis’ beanie but then he shook his head, rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm and grabbed his own beanie) and all Louis could do was keep repeating it, HarryImSorryImSorry Please ImSorryImSorryImSorry HarryPlease in a voice that was too shaky, too desperate, and cracked too many times than he’d like to admit.
And the more hysterical Louis’ cries became, the harder Harry cried because try as he may to ignore Louis, it just wasn’t possible. Harry cursed whoever god was watching him right now because all he wanted to do was leave but he couldn’t fucking find his fucking keys. He tried blocking Louis out but he couldn’t. No, each apology shot straight to Harry’s heart-broken, still-and it drove him crazy because he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take hearing another shaky breath, another sobbing apology because he might-just maybe-give in.
So as he spotted his keys lying on the kitchen counter, he lunged for it, and started walking briskly to their front door. Images of her and her hands on him and them tangled in the sheets were being thrown at him from the deepest recesses of his own mind (he had tried for so long to keep it there, hidden in the dark) and so he faltered for a while, stumbling over his own feet before taking another deep breath to steady himself. He stood at the door now, leaning his forehead against the cool wood, hand wrapped around the doorknob and he realised belatedly that Louis had stopped. The room had gone silent.
Louis didn’t know what to do anymore, he honestly was so lost. He wanted to run after Harry, wrap his arms around him, sob into his chest but at the same time, he couldn’t, was too afraid to, was so very much too ashamed to. But the moment Harry started walking towards the front door, it all suddenly-and rather painfully-came crashing down on him.
This was, Louis knew, the ultimatum. This was the very end.
He never thought it would come to this. Harry never left. No matter how big their stupid fights were or how drunken their slurs of “get out of our house” and “i’m fucking leaving you” were, Harry would never leave. He would always just retreat into his room, locking the door behind him (only to be opened once again to pull a sobbing Louis inside) But. Now.
“Harry,” Louis tried and his voice was cracked and still too quiet so he tried again. “Harry.”
The curly-haired boy glanced at him, head still resting on the panel and for a moment their eyes locked. Louis was stupid enough to allow himself to believe that he would be forgiven. But then Harry leaned back and pulled the door open before stepping outside, slamming the door behind him-not quick enough to miss Louis’ last desperate shout-“HARRY!” And now Louis slid down to the floor, real sob wrecking him apart. It was the kind of sobs that were loud and desperate and broke your heart and just tore you to pieces and Harry, standing outside their door cringed as he heard his name being repeated over and over again in hysterical breaths.
He started running. Away from their flat, away from the compound and he nearly crashed into someone coming up the stairs. And, oh, surely the world couldn’t be this cruel. But as he tried to steady himself, he came to the conclusion that the universe truly hated him and wanted to fuck up his life more than it already was. She was there and he could smell her (the same flowery scent that Louis dragged into their flat on those dreadful mornings after) and he hated it, hated her, hated everything. She tried to steady him because, Harry assumed, he must look like shit-all red eyes and breathless and psychotically clawing at his keychain. Finally, he had freed it, shoving the thin key into her hand, mumbling something along the lines of “fuck you can keep the flat” or “fuck you can keep him” (he wasn’t really sure which one) before he was off again, running to his jeep, laughing humourlessly at the fact that it was raining. Perfect.
~end of part one~