Breaking Louis Tomlinson {Larry Stylinson AU}

Chapter Eleven

a/n: yay so heres the update i spent five hours writing this my hands are cramped sigh whatever

71 votes last chapter wow nope bye 

and we're almost at 10k im going to punch my cat 

so heres harrys  backstory bc i know some of you have been asking about when it was going to happen but i had to work it in the right way and here yay

dedication goes to @YouHaveToFallToFly for her cute messages on my message board and her even cuter comment last chapter wow im framing it on my wall

IF YOU WANT A DEDICATION AND I HAVENT GIVEN YOU ONE YET P L E A S E INBOX ME I WANT YOU ALL TO GET ONE 

kk ily all 

The smell of frying eggs and bacon woke Louis up early that morning.

He grumbled into his pillow—he really didn’t want to get up; he was so warm—but his stomach was practically whimpering because of the scents wafting into his room. Louis wasn’t ever one to miss out on a breakfast, especially when it was practically screaming his name.

So he rolled out of bed with his duvet pulled close around his shoulders and his tattered slippers on his small feet. Louis’s hair was a tousled mess and his eyes were still heavy with sleep, but he didn’t even care enough to try and make himself presentable in front of Harry. Harry, who would surely wake up looking like a sculptured god straight from above without even putting in an effort. Harry was so goddamn perfect Louis wanted to scream and tear his hair out.

Sure enough, Harry was cooking in just his boxers (Harry never wore clothes in the morning; Louis was used to this sight, but it still made his breath catch every time) and looking heavenly with the sun slanting in on his bare chest. The tattoos that splayed across his creamy skin had an odd, eerie glow to them. Louis liked to think of Harry’s skin as the paper for the story he told through inky patterns. What each of the designs meant to Harry surely had a meaning—a meaning Louis would love to find out, curled under the duvet with Harry, his fingers tracing the inked skin.

Harry turned around when he heard the tiny pitter-patter of Louis’s slippers in the kitchen. His face looked quite weary and not at all the usual, cheerful Harry Louis had grown accustomed to. It slightly upset Louis in a way he didn’t understand.

“Morning, Lou,” Harry sighed. He leaned against the counter, his chest and bare legs displayed for Louis’s roaming eyes. He tried not to stare too much, but that’s like holding an ice cream right above a child’s head who clearly won’t reach it. Teasing. Yes, that’s what Harry was. A tease.

 

“Hi, Harry,” he answered back carefully. There was a heaviness around them—not like their usual, unforced conversations that used to come so naturally. Harry was eyeing him nervously and Louis was trying not to stare too much.

“Listen, I want to talk to you… About everything,” Harry after a brief pause. He flipped the bacon before continuing—it sizzled in the pan loudly. Louis’s stomach gave another loud growl.  “I’ve kept you in the dark while you laid out all your emotions for me. I haven’t told you a thing. And you deserve more than that, Louis, you really do. Because once you know who I am, you’ll know why I do the things I do.”