Larry Stylinson One-Shots

Angst: Refers to a genre of stories with prevalent physical or, mainly, emotional torment of characters.

Smut: A writting style that is sexually explicit. Erotic fiction.

Fluff: A fanfiction in which the story has no plot. Only humourous or romantic nonsense.


32. #31

Title: I Wanna Feel Weightless, And That Should Be Enough by itjustkindahappened on AO3

Summary: Harry knows there is something wrong with Louis because of following reasons;

First, his smile isn’t quite as crinkly-eyed.

Second, he showers for way too long and Harry is never allowed in with him anymore.

Third, he flinches whenever Harry touches him.

Fourth, Harry could swear he was a step away from passing out the other day in that one interview.

And fifth, Louis hasn’t had a proper meal in Harry’s presence for two months.

Or, Louis has an eating disorder and Harry can’t keep pretending to be oblivious anymore.

Word Count: 3,079

Harry knows there is something wrong with Louis because of following reasons;

First, his smile isn’t quite as crinkly-eyed.

Second, he showers for way too long and Harry is never allowed in with him anymore.

Third, he flinches whenever Harry touches him.

Fourth, Harry could’ve sworn he was a step away from passing out the other day in that one interview.

And fifth, Louis hadn’t had a proper meal in Harry’s presence for two months.

And like, Harry isn’t stupid, is the thing. He knows every inch of Louis by heart, every rise-and-fall of his chest and every movement and reaction and twinkle of his eyes.

And Harry knows Louis has been getting thinner. More than noticeably so. His cheeks seem hollow and skin strained. His wrists looks like they could break with a little flick of the hand and Harry is still grieving the loss of his adorable little tummy, because it is certainly not there anymore.

It’s killing them both, Harry knows. This whole hiding thing. He’s hurting from it, too. When he’s walking aimlessly around in Los Angeles and his hands are emptily absent from the longed for heat and light pressure of a smaller hand holding them, swaying back and forth along his sides and the air is running through the spaces in between his fingers, and the hand he so desperately misses is currently across the globe, holding someone else’s. The delicate, manicured fingers of Eleanor Calder, and oh wouldn’t Harry love to be a girl sometimes. Then he would be able to love Louis publically.

But he’s not hurting like Louis is, because Harry doesn’t have to always act strong and tough all the time. Harry allows himself to be weak at times. Harry allows himself to cry when it’s all too much.

Louis doesn’t.

Harry remembers how Louis’ food habits first had started changed during the Take Me Home Tour. He would be snappier and irritable first of all, even towards Harry at some rare points, and he’d binge eat. Preferably sugary or fried stuff. He’d started to put on weight, and it’s wasn’t that noticeable, really. Harry was pretty sure he was the only one who actually questioned his eating.

But then it had just taken a swift turn, he guesses. Harry remembers now how Louis would come out of the bathroom after being in there a little bit too long, and his eyes would be a bit red and his lips a bit wetter and his voice slightly raspier.

Harry wouldn’t say anything.

Slowly, he’d stop one little thing at a time. He’d lay off the binge eating, first of all, and Harry was silently relieved because he thought, this is good. Things are looking up.

But then Louis would start waking up earlier than him, claiming to already have eaten breakfast when Harry asked or attempted to make something for him, which was a little weird, because Harry would always make them breakfast and they’d always eat it together.

He wouldn’t question it, though.

Then came the smaller portions of food every meal, and Louis ignores Harry’s confusedly furrowed eyebrows and grins, throwing them into a discussion about what they were going to do when they get a break, or something Niall said the other day, and Harry wouldn’t do anything because his Louis was smiling and laughing again, and he’d missed it a lot.

It started to become a constant thing to wake up alone. Louis would always be up early all of sudden, and Harry shrugged it off, assuming that waking up in the crack of dawn every day on tour had affected his sleeping habits or something. No big deal.

Football became a reoccurring activity. Once, he’d been out all day, practicing and exercising, and when he came home to a reeking plate of lasagna, he would mostly just move around the food on his plate while talking to Harry, and excused himself early with at least half the portion lying untouched on his plate.

Harry had asked then. “Is something wrong?” he had said, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Louis had given him a bright smile. “Not at all, I’m just not hungry right now. I’ll make something small later.”

And, okay, that’s fine. Harry wasn’t hungry sometimes, too. It was normal.

He’d pushed away the little voice whispering to him that he’s been exercising all day, shouldn’t he be starving?

Then came the “I’ve already eaten” and “I ate at Niall’s/Zayn’s/Liam’s” and most importantly, the taking distance from Harry physically at any cost.

He would let Harry hold his hand, and he would snuggle up to him when they were watching a movie, and they’d exchange a kiss now and then. But that was it. Louis would promptly roll over and lay on his side of the bed every night, he wouldn’t shower with Harry, or have sex with him. Apart from maybe a messy hand job somewhere here and there, Louis would stay away completely from any form of sexual activity and this, Harry couldn’t just push away or shrug off, because normally they’d be going at it every chance they got. Bathroom stalls, planes, tour bus, changing rooms, wherever really. And then all of sudden, they didn’t.

Then, Louis would even be craving privacy while getting changed before a concert. Harry did not understand what was happening.

(Or, well. He kind of did. But it just didn’t go together with his picture of bubbly, lovely, happy Louis. So he kept pretending to not having a clue.)


There is three final incidents which occurred that does it for Harry and fully snaps him out of the feigned oblivion.

One, Harry enters the kitchen to make himself (and maybe Louis) some tea, and Louis is standing there leaning on the kitchen counter, and Harry opens the cabinet door to take out two chocolate bars, tossing one at Louis, who catches it.

Louis reads at the back of it, brow furrowed as he sees the calorie count. He then discreetly puts it away when he thinks Harry isn’t looking. Which is, well, weird, because Louis loves chocolate.

Number two, Harry walks in on him standing on a scale in the bathroom in only underwear one day, and Louis freaks out and pushes him out of there and locks the door and everything Harry can think of as the door slams shut is poking collarbones and visible ribs.

And third; all the members of One Direction has been out for a very important dinner, three course meal, very fancy, and naturally, they all had to eat. Even Louis. Harry knew that there was no way Louis could skip this dinner without anyone noticing. And Harry knew that Louis knew.

Harry watched Louis being his bubbly, funny self throughout the whole dinner, but he’d eat slowly and he’d swallow with something much alike pain shining through his façade.

When desserts were finished, Louis excused himself to go to the bathroom. As soon as he was out of sight, Harry raised from his seat as well. “I need to go, too,” he mumbles and hurries away the same direction without waiting for an answer.

There is one locked stall in there out of six. Harry can hear, Jesus, he can hear Louis gagging and coughing, followed by the wet splattering that confirms exactly what Harry fears.

A strong feeling of nausea washes over him, and he has to lean against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cold, spotless tiles. Louis does this. His Louis does this. His Louis is hurting to that amount. Harry wants to kick down the door and pry him away from there and hug him while stroking his hair, telling him it would all be okay.

Would it, though?

Because Harry is pretty damn sure he has no clue how to handle these things.

Breathing heavily in and out a couple of times, he straightens himself up and leaves before Louis can get out and see him.

He has a big, fake smile plastered on his face as he returns to the table, but the sound of Louis purging, throwing up his food, rings in his ears for the rest of the evening.

That night when Louis is asleep, Harry shuffles over to Louis’ side. He’s been starting to sleep with a t-shirt on, and Harry slowly lifts it up in the back. His spine is almost delicate; Harry traces the disturbingly visible bones in his back and the poking shoulder blades, trying to hold back a quiet sob.

He presses himself closer to Louis, intertwines one of his hands with his, and falls asleep with a worried crease in between his eyes and the last thing he can think of before drifting to sleep is fucking hell.


“Hi, love,” Louis greets as he enters the kitchen. He’s just come home from ‘visiting Zayn’, and Harry is preparing dinner.

Harry’s heart is pounding nervously in his chest, because he knows he needs to confront Louis about this whole thing now. He can’t stay in denial anymore, and he quite frankly feels like utter shit for not doing anything sooner. They can’t keep living like this.

“Hi,” he says and Louis pecks his cheek before sitting down at the table. “I made you dinner,” Harry continues. He keeps his eyes fixed on the chicken in the frying pan, not quite ready to meet Louis’ eyes yet.

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Louis says quickly. “I ate at Zayn’s, I’m fine. Save some for tomorrow, though, will you? I’m leaving early so I’d need something to—“

“You, know,” Harry interrupts without taking his eyes off the stove. He feels a tight knot in his stomach, knowing that Louis lied to him with so much ease and that he probably has eaten practically nothing at all today, except that little sandwich before leaving. “I called Zayn today. He said you weren’t there and as far as he knew, you had no plans to, either.”

This makes Louis go quiet, and Harry’s chest aches. “Haz…”

Harry sighs deeply and takes the frying pan off of the stove, turning around to look his boyfriend straight in the eyes. “I know what you’re doing, Louis,” he states simply.

Louis is biting on his thumbnail and looks down on his lap. “Doing what?”

He refuses to look at Harry when he sits down opposite of him, resting his elbows on the table and knots his fingers together. “So you skipped breakfast and had a sandwich for lunch. Louis, when was the last time you had a proper meal?”

“Yesterday at the restaurant,” Louis says pointedly, finally meeting Harry’s gaze. His eyes are passive and he crosses his arms.

“Correction,” Harry answers. “Last time you had a meal and didn’t throw up afterwards.”

Louis flinches like Harry just punched him at those words, and his eyes are blown wide. “Excuse me?” he asks, voice shaking and Harry wants to hold him.

He doesn’t, though. This is serious. This is not the time for cuddles. Not yet.

He rests his hands in his palms, green eyes boring through blue ones. “When. Was. Your. Last. Meal. Without. Purging?” he repeats, emphasizing every word and Louis seems to shrink in his chair.

When Louis doesn’t answer, Harry decides to continue anyway. “Because Louis, I don’t think we’ve sat down here and had a real dinner in about two months,” he pushes.

Louis still won’t answer. His gaze is flacking between Harry, his lap and the clock, as if he’d hope it would save him from this evidently uncomfortable conversation.

A part of Harry wants to stop. To just shrug it all off again, apologize, kiss Louis for a long time and then go to sleep.

But he needs to think about what’s best for Louis now.

So he narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “So if you’re not with someone of the boys… What are you doing on your days?”

“Exercising,” Louis mumbles, barely audible, but Harry catches it.

“Exercising,” he echoes and Louis nods. “Why?”

“It’s good to exercise,” Louis says with a shrug. “Feels good. Kind of need it, honestly.”

“You need to exercise like six hours a day?”


Louis is showing nothing but complete honesty, and Harry wants to cry. Louis thinks he needs six hours of exercising every day. “You don’t,” he mumbles.

Louis snorts. “Let’s not pretend we all saw what was going on during this tour.”


“I ate McDonald’s and similar shit every day.”

“So you gained some weight. So?”

Louis blurts out a bitter laugh. “I was fat, Harry.”

“You weren’t.”

“Yeah, I was. Don’t even try to spare my feelings. You’re just afraid to admit it because you’re my boyfriend.”

“Well, your slight overweight certainly has disappeared now,” Harry points out, completely ignoring Louis scoff and roll of the eyes. “What you’re doing – it’s not healthy.”

“It’s not like I have a problem,” Louis interjects. “I’m not—I’m not ‘sick’ or whatever. I’m basically just on a—“

“If you say ‘diet’ I will literally lose my shit.”

“Honestly, I don’t get the issue here.”

Harry is at loss for words. “You—you don’t get the issue,” he splutters.

Louis shrugs. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal to want to lose some weight.”

“Lose some weight—okay, here’s the issue, Louis. The issue, is that you think you need to actively move for six hours or more every day. The issue, is that you can’t tell me the last time you had a real meal. The issue, is that I heard you making yourself throw up all that food yesterday. The issue, Louis, is that you are practically skin and bones, and you look like someone could easily just snap you like a twig, and that you will barely touch me anymore. You’re distant and you’re hurting and this is not making anything better.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Louis finally exclaims, raising brutally from his chair, and Harry knows he’s broken down the walls. “There’s so much fucking pressure, Harry. I try so, so hard to be strong and confident like always, to be a good person, to be content and selfless and somewhat mature so people won’t have a reason to complain or hate me so goddamn much. But—But I can’t. I try to be the perfect boyfriend, even if it’s for the wrong person, I have to deny personal space, and freedom, and I have to deny you, and… It’s all so much pressure. People are still talking about what an astounding arse I am, and have for that matter, and have opinions about my looks, and don’t even get me started on the whole damn ‘tummy’ thing. It’s weighing me down, yeah? It makes me feel heavy. And I can’t do it. I can’t feel heavy anymore, I can’t take it, I can’t—but there’s nothing I can do to change anything. I’m trapped, Haz.”

His voice thickens and his eyes turns glossier as he keeps ranting, letting everything out. Harry just lets him.

“And every piece of food, it just turns into this huge lump in my stomach and it makes me even heavier. So if I just don’t. If I don’t eat. That lump isn’t there. I feel light and empty and it’s the best fucking feeling I have ever felt.”

Tears slowly starts to run down his red cheeks, and Harry feels the impulse to get up and kiss them all away. His throat is thickening with tears as well, because this is Louis, his Louis standing in front of him with so much agony. This is what has been building up inside of him this past time, and Harry, Harry had done nothing to prevent it.

“Is it worth it, though?” he asks quietly, standing up from his seat slowly. “Is it worth ruining yourself? Is it worth shutting everyone who loves you out?”

“You don’t understand—“

“No, I don’t,” Harry agrees. “I don’t understand. But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of helping you, to be there for you. You should’ve—just talked to me or something. Yelled, even. Fought, bloody lash out on me, I don’t know. Just not kept it to yourself.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Harry stops a few inches away from Louis, their chest almost touching. He takes the shorter man’s face in his hands ever so gently, as if he’d break if he held too tight. “Yeah,” he says softly, stroking away a few tears with his thumb. “But I wish you would’ve, just to make the frustration go away for a while.”

Louis hiccups and brings a hand to his face to dry his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “This really sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It really does.”

It’s silent for a while, and Harry has completely forgotten about the chicken getting cold by the stove and to be honest, he couldn’t care less. Louis needs him.

“Just—just don’t leave, yeah?” Louis says, and he sounds so small and Harry swears that he will do whatever to see that smile of his again.

“Course not,” he just says.

“Okay. Okay, thanks. Just. Thanks,” Louis breathes, eyes falling onto Harry’s lips. “I love you, you know.”

Harry lets his lips brush gently against Louis’. “I love you too. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t,” Louis interrupts quietly but firmly, “put any of this on you. Don’t. You’re lovely.”

The kiss is wet and gentle, and it tastes like a promise. It has been so long since Harry got to feel Louis in this kind of way, be this close to him. He is not as soft as he used to as Harry runs his hands down his back, he feels hard bones in more than one place and it’s all a bit heart shattering, but he doesn’t want to think about that.

“So,” he mumbles. “There’s chicken and rice on the stove that’s probably pretty cold now. Would you want some?”

Louis considers it. Purses his lips thoughtfully. Sighs. Smiles. “Yeah. Okay. Just a little, though.”

But Harry beams at him and lets go of him to get two plates.

Small victories, indeed.



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