Larry


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2. I'm so sorry harry

He’s walking up the stairs to the front of the flat that he and Harry share- or more or less used to. Louis made sure he wasn’t there too often for reasons he wasn’t even able to admit. As soon as he opens the door, expecting to hear some sort of noise since Harry’s car had been in the driveway, it is silent. Louis stands in the foyer, nervously jingling his keys before cupping them to silence and listening. It is so quiet that even the silence is screaming. He uncomfortably shifts, taking a deep breath before shuffling further down the hall, his shoes causing the floorboards to squeal. Perhaps he is sleeping? Louis eases himself with this thought, and loosens his shoulders and rolls his head about.

 

“Harry?” He calls out, rather sheepishly for the days earlier happenings. He cringes at the thought of seeing Harry absolutely wrecked as he screams and his face strains with his tears. His vile curses at Louis were well deserved- and perhaps this was why he had returned to their flat- to apologize to the curly haired boy. Although he didn’t think it would do much. With no answer, he cranes his head into the boy’s room to see his bed neatly made- an absolute unseen miracle; he never made his bed. That is the second thing off to pair with the aching silence that filled every crevice of the flat. So Louis makes his way into his room, to take note that the bathroom door is closed. He grins distantly- that is it- he’s taking a shower.

 

He stands there for a few moments, as though he expects to see Harry waltz out of the steaming room in a towel. But then he realizes that there is no sound of water running, and chills begin to run up his spine.“Harry?” He again calls out to the closed door, and an unknown panic builds up in him. He doesn’t like this.So he moves for the door, rattles the knob until the door swings open. A thick feeling of dread quite literally wafts from the room, and he stands in the doorway.His eyes sweep over the large suite, the white wash of tile nearly blinding in the sunlight dripping in sadly through the window over the bath. And then he sees him.

 

He doesn’t comprehend what he is looking at- is that Harry? Asleep in the corner of the bathroom? What an odd lad.But then it slaps him in the face so hard his stomach twists and the color drains from his cheeks. He buckles to his knees with a guttural and horrified scream. His milky skin has become corpse white, his head lolled to the side in an uncomfortable way, his eyes half open and glazed. His usually plump pink lips blue.Louis pulls himself to the sink to vomit in it as the tears come pouring and more shameful and pitiful screams part his lips as he crawls to the boy’s limp body. “Harry, Harry. Harry.” He chants messily as his nose begins to run and his tears are fogging up his sight until his limp body is just a wet mass.

 

He sees the note clutched in his lifeless hands and his head bows with a heart-wrenching sob. He reaches out tentatively, his hands trembling terribly. His fingers brush against his cold skin and again he wretches onto the floor.No matter how hard he tries to wake himself up from this nightmare, he realizes it is none other than the horrid bitch of reality. He takes the note in his hands and reads, his hand over his mouth as he sobs harder and harder.

 

He looks up momentarily at his still face, before clutching the note to his chest and pulls the lifeless body into his arms, repeatedly kissing his still buoyant curls. “I’m so.. sorry.” He sobs wetly into his curls, clutching and rocking him back and forth in his arms. “I love you, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

 

The painful line of how Harry wished Louis was there holding him stung into his mind and his head lolled back with a anguished scream. The irony was too much. He was too late, his Harry was gone. The light of his life, the one fate brought him on a silver platter, was now laying here- limp in his arms. And why? Because of him. His cries rose an octave as he was driving himself further into this mortifying state with these thoughts.

 

It’s ironic how we never realize what we want- what we need until after it’s gone. And Louis is having this reminder painfully stabbed into him over and over until he doesn’t know he can bare the guilt any longer. His Harry was really gone. The one that sang like an angel, the one that laughed loudly like a fool, the one he fell in love with madly; was gone. He bowed his head, nestling his face between his shoulder and neck, repeatedly kissing the cold skin there. “H-Harry please. No,” his cries are muffled against his skin, “come back. I-I-” his words are cut off by another anguished cry.

 

And then he realizes what he must do as he reflects again on the note. he door to his love was propped open, awaiting him. He knows now, that this life was coming to an end- the curtains are closing. How is your show supposed to go on when the thing that kept you going is gone and the next show is shining brightly ahead of you.

 The glances wetly up at the popped open medicine bottles lining the counter, some toppled over and gleaming like orange yield cones. He grabs for one unopened capsule, popping the top off with one hand as he still holds Harry in his arms.His crying has more or less seized as he focuses hard on what he is about to do. He does not bother leave behind a note- when someone found them they would know. Sure, he was leaving the others boys, and his family- but they did not anchor him here like the boy in his arms had.

 

Another pent up sob breaks through as he begins to aimlessly dry swallow these pills. One after the other goes down, more quickly than he thought he could manage. He’s surprised when he’s downed the whole bottle, and his body alights with the strangest chills that cover him from head to toe. He lets out a breath, scooting backwards with Harry, leaning against the cold tile wall, holding Harry close to him. “I’ll be there soon, baby.” He whispers into his hair again as his focus begins to falter and head becomes light.

 Memories begin to flash muddled through his mind of their first kiss, of Leeds and he cries with a solemn smile on his face. “I’ll see you soon.” He again chants, squeezing his eyes shut as he realizes his whole body has grown numb. “Soon.” He says out trembling and the curtains close.

 He’s not sure how he knows he’s dead because he doesn’t at first- it just feels as though he’s stepped into a lucid dream.Yet then that iconic light at the end of the tunnel glimmers ahead, but comes racing forward suddenly, and the silhouette of a very familiar figure is standing in that light. And he knows that he’s smiling although he can’t see it figuratively. And he knows he himself is smiling; that same smile as the first time.

THE END

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