I'm Trying •• Larry Stylinson••

8

The Next Morning

Louis woke up to an unfamiliar silence, the kind that hung heavy in the air, thick with unsaid words.

He was still lying in Harry's bed, the room dim with the early morning light creeping through the blinds. Harry was curled up beside him, a peaceful expression on his face that was a stark contrast to the chaos from the night before.

Louis' chest tightened as he studied Harry's features—how young he looked in that moment, even though he was anything but. Harry had his flaws, his battles, but in that moment, he seemed so utterly human.

Louis gently brushed his fingers through Harry's hair, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He's worth it. Every damn part of it.

The events of the previous night were still fresh in his mind—their fight, the explosion of emotions, the way Harry had clung to him as though he was afraid Louis would disappear. It wasn't a perfect moment, but it was real.

And maybe that was the problem. Louis wasn't used to things being this real. Not like this.

Harry stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open, meeting Louis' gaze with a hint of confusion before it cleared.

"You're still here," Harry said softly, his voice hoarse, still touched by the remnants of sleep.

Louis nodded, his smile widening. "I'm not going anywhere, Haz."

Harry let out a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with relief. "You always say that like you think I'm going to fuck things up."

Louis' thumb gently stroked Harry's cheek. "Maybe because I'm afraid you will."

Harry's expression faltered, the mask of cocky confidence slipping away for just a moment. "I don't mean to, you know. I just..." He trailed off, unsure how to articulate what had been haunting him.

"I know," Louis said quietly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I know. I get it."

Harry looked up at him, those familiar green eyes searching his face, still holding some of the vulnerability that had been there last night. "I don't want to keep pushing you away. I don't know how to do this. To... be what you need me to be."

Louis chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over Harry's lips. "You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be here. With me. That's all I need."

Harry looked at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Okay. I can do that."

———

A Few Days Later

Things weren't perfect.

They never were, and they likely never would be. But they were better.

Harry had been staying with Louis for a few days now. It wasn't ideal—Louis' apartment was small, cramped with barely enough room for both of them—but it worked. It was the space they needed to figure things out, to stop running from the weight of what they had.

And Louis found himself looking forward to the mornings now, even the moments when Harry would wake up groggy and still half-dazed, his hair a wild mess. Harry had a way of making even the simplest moments feel important.

They still had their arguments, their moments of frustration. Harry would drink a little too much, sometimes, or go silent when he couldn't handle the weight of a conversation. But each time, Louis would be there, patient but firm, reminding him that they were in this together.

That he wasn't going anywhere.

It was a slow journey. But it was a journey Louis was willing to make.

———

Two Weeks Later

It was late when Harry returned from a late-night walk to clear his head. Louis was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, with a book in his hands, though he hadn't actually been reading for the last half hour. He had been thinking, worrying—about Harry.

When Harry opened the door, his face softening in the dim light, Louis set the book aside and stood, crossing the room to him.

"You okay?" Louis asked, the question heavy with concern.

Harry gave him a small smile, shrugging slightly. "Just needed to get out of my head for a bit."

Louis reached for his hand, pulling him gently into a hug. Harry rested his forehead against Louis' shoulder, and for a moment, they just stood there—silent but comfortable.

"I'm still figuring this out," Harry whispered after a moment, his voice muffled. "Figuring us out."

Louis kissed his temple, holding him close. "We'll figure it out together, Haz. One step at a time."

Harry pulled back slightly, lifting his head to meet Louis' gaze. His eyes were softer now, no longer clouded by self-doubt or the weight of his own walls.

"I love you," he said simply, his voice steady but full of sincerity.

Louis' heart skipped a beat. He had known this, felt it, but hearing it—hearing Harry say it, without hesitation, without fear—meant more than anything.

"I love you too," Louis replied softly, his thumb brushing over Harry's cheek.

And this time, it felt different. It didn't need to be complicated. It didn't need to be perfect. It was real.

And that was enough.