Larry Stylinson

They say, love is love. Yet we're judged. They say, words don't hurt. Yet I'm in pain. They say, be yourself. But you can't. They make it impossible. They tell me, Louis Tomlinson, to be someone I'm not.


2. I'm Not.

   I awkwardly held the wooden guitar in my hands- I had never really played one before. I could feel the soft, pleasant heat coming from the blazing bon-fire. Laughter filled the air, making the atmosphere relaxed. I was smiling-so were the other  four boys sitting around the fire- but mine was fake, painted on. My heart was crumbling inside my chest.

   "Excuse me," I started, getting the boys' attention. "I, um..." I trailed off, not really knowing why I spoke in the first place, once he lost me in his eyes. I felt my face grow a few shades redder as Zayn, Liam, Niall, and Harry grew quiet and looked my way. I got up quickly and walked away from the fire. This is what happens when you let your dreams diffuse into reality, Lou!, I thought. I refused to let my most recent dreams come true, though. It would screw up my life, for sure. Actually, this dream I've been having, I've been wanting, has been reoccuring for a good two years now. I wanted to let obsession come true, very, very badly. 

   I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I jumped, then sighed, relieved to see who it was. "Zayn," I breathed out.

   He laughed, a musical sound, and sat down on the grass. I did the same. "You've seemed tense all day, Lou. What's wrong, bad dream?"

   I grimaced at the word dream, but not wanting to give anything away, my head shook no.

   Zayn nodded, understanding. He's always been that way, and I was beyond grateful for it. For the rest of the time, Zayn and  I sat in silence. Not the awkward kind, just a comfortable, content silence.


   Harry sat on the couch, channel surfing. The blue flickering light from the T.V. danced across his face, playing with his features. "What'd ya wanna watch?" His voice slurred a little- I didn't see anyone drinking at the bon-fire. Then again, I wasn't exactly very focused then, either.

   I shrugged as popcorn kernnels clinked against the tin bowl I was pouring them into. "Whatever's on. I don't really care."

   Harry nodded slowly, but he didn't look like he really grasped the information. 

   I placed the bowl in the microwave and shut the door. With a few beeps, I set the time and the microwave roared to life, whirring and spinning, with the popcorn sounding like mini gunshots. Harry continued clicking away on the remote, channel after channel. It was starting to get under my skin a little.

   When I walked over to the couch, Harry scooted over some to make more room for me. I handed him the bowl of fresh, warm, and buttery popcorn, and he happily took it. I sat down next to him, so our thighs were pressed up against each other. I gasped. I stole a quick glance over at Harry, but either he didn't notice or care, because he showed no signs of registering my noise.

   Harry finally settled on a channel. He brought the blanket that was draped over him up to his chin, and got a little closer. His entire left side touched my entire right side. I felt chills run up and down my spine.

   His sparkling green eyes fluttered shut after a few minutes. Once I knew he was asleep, I allowed myself to stare at him. His eyelashes casted small shadows on his cheeks. A loose curl dangled in front of his face, making him look like a child. I bit my lower lip, unsure of myself. 'No," I whispered to no one in particular. "I-I'm not..." I trailed of as Harry stirred slightly, shifting his body wait. His head came to rest on my shoulder. I drew in a shaky breath. This was going to be hard.

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