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When Louis woke up that morning, he knew it was going to be one of those days. He got out of bed and went straight for the shower. He took his time, letting the water fall over his body. His breathing slower than normal, trying to get his thoughts under control. He got out, wrapping a towel around himself. He looked at his reflection, critiquing everything he saw. He knows this isn’t good, that he really should just walk away, but he can’t. When he started to feel the prickle of tears in his eyes, he finally turned away and walked back to his room. He grabbed the box he kept under his bed and took his razor out.
It’s been seven weeks and two days since this last happened. Louis’ trying. Really he is, but it’s just so damn hard sometimes. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does. He’s got a great family that’s so supportive, he’s got his mates, he’s got a pretty decent life. He doesn’t understand why he gets so uncomfortable whenever he’s in a place that’s not his bed. He doesn’t know why he hates himself or why he is convinced that everyone hates him or that his friends are only there because they feel bad for him. He doesn’t know why he feels like he’d be better of dead.
He thinks about all of this as he drags the sharp edge of the razor across the skin on his upper arm. He doesn’t feel anything, so he does it again. And again. And again. Until his arm is a mess of blood and open cuts and he can finally feel it. He can finally feel the relief he’s needed so bad. He puts the razor away and cleans up his arm as best he can with the old towel he keeps hidden with the razor. The tears finally break free and he can’t stop them. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s still bleeding and it’s dripping down his arm to the floor, mixing with tears that are falling faster than he can catch them. So he just lets them fall, putting all his energy into not sobbing so nobody hears him, but he’s falling at that too, so he puts both hands over his mouth to try and muffle the noise. He almost doesn’t hear his phone ring, but he does. He lets it ring three times before he’s able to answer it. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t trust his voice.
"Hey, Louis!"
He’s silent again for only a second though.
"Hey Hazza, what’s going on?" He manages to get out. He be proud if he didn’t think he was so pathetic.
"Nothing, I miss you is all. Wanted to see if I could come over?" Harry asked. Louis wanted to say no. He really wanted to and he felt bad about it, but if he did, Harry would know something’s up and would just come over anyway. That’s the reason Louis loves and hates him. They’ve been best friends for years. He almost told Haz about his self-harming a few times. He’d hoped that maybe he could talk about it, maybe it’d get better, he’d be able to stop, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to take the chance that Harry would look at him differently, that he would think him disgusting. Pathetic.
"Umm… I don’t see why not."
"Great! I’ll be there in twenty," he exclaimed and then hung up.
Louis looked down at his arm, which had mostly stopped bleeding, save for a few of the deeper cuts.
"Fuck me," He said and then went back to the bathroom to clean himself up properly. He went back to his room to dress. He put on a pair red skinny jeans, a white t-shirt with a plaid button up over it. Harry walked into his room just as he was rolling his sleeves up.
Harry smiles widely at him, showing his dimples. His smile was infectious and even though Louis thought it was impossible to smile right now, he felt his mouth split into a grin.
"You just can’t go a day with me, can you Hazza?"
"Nope, you’re too precious."
"Well, did you have an idea of what you’d like to do today?"
"Not really, I thought we could just play video games or something."
"Okay, sounds good to me," he said with another smile.
So they played video games for a while. Louis could still feel the heavy, persistent ache that had settled deep in his chest, he always felt it, but it felt like less with Harry. Harry made good times possible.
But of course all good times must come to an end. Louis had gotten particularly excited about winning a match. He yelled in excitement and threw his hands in the air.
"I am the champion! Suck it Harold!" He shouted, glad that his mother took his sisters out earlier for a girls day. He looked over at Harry, ready to gloat some more, but he had a look so full of worry on his face.
"What? What’s wrong, Haz?"
"Lou, are you bleeding?"
Louis’ breath hitched and he looked down to his arm. His cuts had opened up and were bleeding again. There was a big, wet, crimson stain on his sleeve and he wasn’t sure how to explain it. He mumbled some bullshit and ran towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He pulled the shirt off, putting it under a stream of warm water and looking for something to stop the bleeding on his arm. He didn’t know what to do. He was starting to cry again. And then the door opened. Louis stood there, frozen, tears starting to fall, looking at Harry, who looked from Louis’ arm to his face and back to arm again. Neither of them said anything. Louis pushed past Harry, but before he got any farther, Harry grabbed his waist and pulled him back.
"No, no Harry! Let go of me! Get the fuck off me!" Louis screamed. He was trying push Harry away, but Harry just held on tighter.
"No, Louis. Shhh. Stop. Louis stop!" Harry shouted over him.
Louis stopped shouting and he just cried. His legs got weak and he could feel himself go limp against Harry. He was crying and his arm was still bleeding so his t-shirt was ruined too. They slid down the wall, Louis sat in between Harry’s legs and cried and cried and cried. Harry just sat there, rubbing his back and petting his hair. Trying to tell him it’s okay, please stop crying, it’s okay, I love you.
"I’m trying, Haz, I promise I’m trying."
"I know, I know and it’s okay. I just don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself."
Louis froze again. He kept his face buried in Harry’s neck when he asked, “what do you mean?”
"I’ve seen them, Louis. I’ve seen your scars."
Louis gripped Harry’s shirt, feeling the tears fall faster now. This is it, he thought, he thinks I’m disgusting, he’s going to leave me.
"I don’t know how long you’ve been doing this,but I just figured, you know, you’re my best friend, you’d tell me when you’re ready. But then you didn’t. And it hurt, but I figured that this was something you just had to deal with."
Louis wanted to say something, but he didn’t have any words. But Harry kept going anyway.
"You know every time I saw a scar that wasn’t there before, it was like someone hit me in the gut with baseball bat until I couldn’t breath anymore. I wanted to help. God did want to do something, but I thought that if you hadn’t told me, then you had a reason for it, so I didn’t say anything. Fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t say something, maybe if I had, I could’ve helped some how."
Harry heard Louis mumble something into his neck, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was that he was saying.
"What was that? I can’t hear you," He said and pulled Louis head up so he could look him in the eyes.
"I didn’t… Want you to think… I was disgusting," He said through deep breaths. Harry felt tears at his eyes now. He was so confused. How in the world could Louis think that Harry would ever think bad about Louis. Harry couldn’t do that even If he tried.
"Louis, I could never. It’s not even possible for someone to think something like that about you. How did you even get that idea in your head?"
"I don’t know! I don’t know why this happens, I don’t know why I am the way I am!"
Harry wiped away at the tears falling down Louis’ cheeks, even though it wasn’t helping any because they were still falling rapidly. He rested his forehead on Louis’, closing his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to tell Louis that he thinks the world of him, so he decides to just show him instead. He moves his hand around to cup the back of Louis head and brings his lips to Louis’. Louis doesn’t respond at first and Harry thinks he’s made a terrible mistake, but then Louis lips start to move with his. Harry tries to put everything he feels into the kiss, every ounce of love he feels towards Louis.
When they break for air, he says it too, just in case Louis doesn’t understand. “I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved another person, Louis.”
Louis starts crying again and Harry thinks he’s said the wrong thing, but then Louis says something. “I love you, Harry. So much. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to have to deal with my bullshit. I mean look at me, I’m pathetic.”
"No. Absolutely not," Harry says, looking him straight in the eyes. "You are not pathetic. Not in any way, shape or form. You are the farthest thing from pathetic, in fact you’re perfect."
"But I’m not Haz. I’m not perfect."
"You’re perfect to me."
Louis didn’t know what to say again. So he just kisses him once, twice, three more times. They sat there for a while just to calm down. Harry helped Louis clean up and bandage his arm. Louis made him promise that he wouldn’t tell anyone and in return he promised that if he ever felt like cutting again, he would talk to Harry. Louis had to throw out his t-shirt because there was no way the stain was coming out.
When Louis’ family got home later, his mother found him and Harry cuddled together in Louis’ bed, sleeping. She smiled and said “about time.”