(no subject)
Title: Somebody like me.
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Summary: Jealousy. It's something that makes you say things that are far from the truth, but sometimes... sometimes it makes you say things that aren't.
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Harry had never seen himself as the jealous kind, not until she came along. She's beautiful, outgoing and sweet. So fucking sweet that sometimes he thinks he's going to be sick whenever she makes that shy little giggle and bats her eyelashes at Louis as if she's bambi.
Her visits don't last long, two hours maybe, but each second feels like a minute so she might as well have just been there the whole day.
Louis kisses her cheek before she leaves, promising to call her before he goes to bed. He doesn't always keep that promise, though, and Harry finds himself smiling when the older boy falls asleep by his side, phone forgotten. However sometimes... sometimes they're up talking until midnight and all Harry can hear through the slightly open door is “No, you hang up first... no, you.” and in those moments it's all he can do to bury his head under the pillows and pray that one of them ends the call soon otherwise he's going to break from the burning sensation in his chest.
It's not fair. And that's where Caroline comes in. Because Caroline is one of the best listeners he's ever met. She's always willing to be the shoulder to cry on, ready with a cup of coffee (never tea, not when he's upset. He's drank that with Louis too many times for it to be a simple beverage.) and comforting words and hey, if people want to think they're in some sort of relationship, who is he to stop them? It's better be known as a slut than someone who's hopelessly in love with his best friend, his male friend. In this industry, at least.
Harry thinks it'll get easier. It has to. He's seventeen, surely he can't be thoroughly in love with someone when he's still so young. His mum was over twice his age when she found Robin, so it's sort of impossible to find the person your entire world is going to revolve around when you're not even twenty yet, isn't it? But it doesn't get easier. In fact, it just gets harder. Louis talks to her more and more, so Harry sees Caroline more and more, and fuck if it were possible to hurt any more, he's sure he'd quite possibly be dead.
Dying from a broken heart, Harry thinks one night as “I don't know what I'd do without you, El. You're amazing.” reaches his hears from where Louis is no doubt curled up on the sofa in a blanket, their blanket, as the minutes tick closer and closer to one in the morning. how cliché.
“Babycakes, I don't think-” The minute he hears the 'b' word, Harry knows he's heard enough. He's crawling out of bed and getting changed into whatever is lying on the floor that doesn't look like its about to eat something before he's even registered what he's doing. Going to Caroline's. Because that's what he does now, whenever he needs someone who isn't going to make him feel like a twelve year old with a pathetic crush. And if he's scrubbing angrily at the his eyes while he packs an overnight bag, it's because he's tired, okay? He's not crying. Not because 'babycakes' is his name, it's theirs, and no-one elses. Not because, apparently, it's now hers too.
It takes a moment for Harry to debate over whether or not he should leave a note. Louis probably wouldn't care, it's not as if he's been playing the 'best friend' role very successfully at the minute, acting like a whiny little bitch just because he's not the only person Harry likes to spend time with outside of the band now. And with that thought, Harry grabs a post-it from the draw beside the bed and scribbles a quick “Gone out. Goodnight, Louis.” because it's not fair. It's not fair to resent Louis for being jealous when he's feeling the exact same thing.
Nothings ever fair when it comes to them, though. So he tiptoes to the front door, grabbing a beanie on the way and quietly, oh so quietly, leaves through the front door, locking it again before making his way down to the car park.
He doesn't know why he crept out, it's not like Louis' his parent or anything (and thank god for that, because ew.) and he's certainly not going to think about the fact that if he had to see the other boys face after hearing that, he might shatter too far to be fixed.
And really, Caroline deserves a bloody award, (he makes a note to get her some flowers or something after this,) because who else can be woken up at half past one in the morning with a tired, sad smile on her face and the offering of coffee and a chat without one single complaint?
“Why couldn't I just have fallen in love with you, like everybody thinks I have?” he mumbles around the rim of his mug, (it's unofficially his, now. He's used it so many times.) leaning back into the sofa. “It would be so much easier.”
Caroline smiles a small little smile, squeezing Harry's knee in comfort. “I very much doubt that, love.”
“I don't.” and he honestly doesn't. He could put up with the cougar comments, could deal with being labelled as 'the one who likes older women' and he'd take it all with a pinch of salt. But he knows she couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her.
So maybe it wouldn't be easier, after all.
He leaves when it's early. Seven in the morning, to be exact. It's probably not the best thing, he's only had about four and a half hours of sleep and he shouldn't be driving when he can barely keep his eyes open, but at least he's had enough caffeine to make sure he's not going to fall asleep at the wheel.
By the time he gets back to the complex, he's not sure if it's the four cups of coffee making his blood tingle, or the nerves at having to see Louis again. It's only been, about six hours, after all.
He doesn't know what he's expecting when he enters their flat. Raised voices and shouting, maybe. Possibly even Louis gushing over the phone to Eleanor, but silence is the last thing he expected. Until now, Harry's never really known what people meant when they said that silence can be deafening. But it is. It consumes him, surrounds him in an unpleasant bubble of nothing. He doesn't like it at all.
He finds Louis in the kitchen after he's dumped his bag back in his room, only stopping to notice that the note he left is no longer on the pillow. He doesn't really know what to make of that, because his bed is messy, as though it's been slept in. As though Louis slept in in.
“Hi.” Harry's voice is croaky, and certainly not because he spent the better half of his time at Caroline's crying over somebody he'll never have, thank you very much.
Louis doesn't reply but Harry can see how his shoulders tense up. And really, what right does he have to be angry? Still, Harry tries again, moving further into the room and flicking the kettle on before speaking. “Wasn't expecting you to be up yet... it's only seven th-”
“Did you have fun with her?” Louis interrupts him, bitterness creeping into his voice on the last word. Harry doesn't need to ask who 'her' is. They both know who he's talking about.
“I suppose so, yeah.” and he was supposed to stop there. He wasn't supposed to say any more, but then: “Why do you even care? I'm sure you were having more fun talking to Eleanor.”
Harry regrets speaking the words the moment they passed his lips and he presses a hand over his mouth as if by doing so, he can take them back. But he can't and Louis' pretty pissed off, if the way he stands up, chair legs scraping back angrily against the floor, is anything to go by.
“At least Eleanor was born in my fucking decade, Harry!” Louis shouts, his voice slightly magnified by the size of the kitchen and his ears turning pink at the top. If circumstances were slightly different, Harry would think that it was sort of adorable.
Shaking his head, curls falling into his eyes for a split second before being brushed aside, Harry scoffed lightly, both hands now at his sides. “You really brought up the age thing? Of all the people to do that, Louis, I didn't think you'd be one of them.”
“And I didn't think you'd be the type of person to sneak out to be with your whore.”
And ouch, that hurts. Because Louis knows he's not that person. He's not the type to have sex with whomever he pleases just because he can, and Louis has always been the one person he could go to when the media's image of him got a little too much to handle. He knows that. But clearly he doesn't care about that right now.
“Fucks sake Louis, she's not a whore!” Harry protests, fists clenching at his sides, because at the end of the day, Caroline's his friend.
“Oh yeah?” Louis' closer to him now, not a foot away as his voice raises in volume. “She wouldn’t look twice at you if you weren't famous, she's only with you for what she can get out of it and when she's had enough publicity, that'll be it. Over. Christ, you probably couldn't hold down a regular relationship for more than a week!”
“I might if being in love with you wasn't so bloody hard!” Harry blurts out, brain catching up with him a second too late.
And fuck.
Because this wasn't supposed to happen. No, this wasn't supposed to happen at all.
“You-” Louis starts, his voice still angry until, “wait, what?”
And he's really confused. He's confused because Harry couldn't be in love with him. He couldn't have just said that because he's Harry. And he's Louis. Plain old Louis Tomlinson from Doncaster and there's no way in hell that Harry could love somebody like him. Not when he's seventeen, not even an adult (in the eyes of the law, anyway.) but could have any person, boy or girl, that he wanted without a fuss.
So why him?
“Forget it.” Harry shakes his head, biting his lip so he doesn't say some other stupid thing. “Pretend I didn't say that, please?”
And for a minute, Harry thinks he might comply. That Louis' going to drop the subject and they'll go back to their normal, everyday selves. They'll cook breakfast (or rather, Harry will cook while Louis hovers by his side, pretending to help while chatting away at a million miles per hour.) and watch a film and half way through Eleanor will call, making Louis smile and they'll talk like the stupid, in love couple that they are while Harry retreats to the bedroom and wallows in self pitty. It's their routine and since she came on the scene, Harry's hated it. But right now, he'd give anything to have it back. Only, it seems Louis has other ideas.
“What did you say Harry?” he asks, and Harry's pretty sure that the air between them just became a little more dense because he's certainly finding it harder to breathe, what with Louis standing so close. And when did they even get so close to begin with? He doesn't really know. He doesn't really know anything in that minute so he stays quiet, not wanting to screw this up. “You said you were in love with me, didn't you?”
Silence.
“Didn't you, Harry?”
“Yes.” he croaks out, mentally kicking himself for sounding so pathetic. “but why do you even care?”
It's the second time he's asked that question this morning. The second time he's been reduced to feeling like he means nothing to the other boy, despite knowing that's not true. He's his friend.
And that's it.
Louis laughs lightly, breathlessly, and Harry thinks in that minute he might really die. Because Louis' laughing at him. And it's the worst reaction he could have possibly imagined. Only, “You really don't see it, do you? You really don't know.”
It's all Harry can do to simply ask “know what?” without crying. Because he's not going to cry, dammit. Not in front of Louis. He can wait until he's alone, he hasto.
Shaking hands are placed either side of Harry's face, cupping his cheeks as they draw closer and Harry thinks please, no. Because he doesn't think he can take much more of this. They're sharing the same air now. Breathing so closely that Harry can faintly smell the Colgate toothpaste Louis no doubt used this morning and- “You don't know that I'm in love with you, too.”
But Harry doesn't have long to process the words before soft lips are brushing over his, a whispered “I always have, it's always been you.” reaching his ears before the lips are back with more pressure this time and Harry might honestly cry.
Because it's the best feeling he's ever experienced. It's Louis. And sure, he's cautious. He doesn't want to get hurt and they're going to have to talk about this (because really, how does Eleanor fit into this equation now? He doesn't think he can share Louis, not now. He knows he can't.) but for now, he's fine with the kissing.
The kissing is really good.