I Know || Larry Stylinson

One Shot

"Where were you?"

"Nowhere."

"You had to be somewhere."

"I was nowhere, Harry. Drop it."

"What's that mark?"

"Nothing, Harry."

"It has to be something, Louis!"

"I bumped into the corner of the car door."

"On your neck? Multiple times?"

"Yes, Harry, now drop it."

"There's a stain on your jeans."

"I'll wash it."

-----

Harry pressed his forehead against the shower wall, breathing out shakily as he tried to regain his composure. The thought of Louis made him weak at the knees, but not the way it had been before...

Harry licked his lips, swallowing thickly around some saliva before pulling away from the wall, turning off the water flow. He let out a sigh, opened up the curtain, then grabbed the towel that was hanging on the wall. He dried himself off, then slipped on a pair of boxers that he laid out on the counter. Once he was done, the mirror had already cleared up, lines of condensation running down the length of it. Harry stared at himself for a moment, taking in the thinning, damaged hair. The dark, almost purple half-circles under his dull, grey eyes. The sunken in cheeks and acne ridden skin. The boney features with no muscle definition on top. 

The thirty year old was becoming a skeleton of the man he used to be, five years before, when he was still with Louis. Back then, Harry was happy, the most alive he had ever been. But, back then, he was also living a lie that Louis had built around him. He had to build up a wall around the both of them, so it seemed like things weren't as screwed up as they were. 

Harry gathered his used towel and old pair of boxers, throwing them down the laundry shoot. He got out of the bathroom, then went towards the living room, trying to ignore the letter that was sitting upon the middle of his coffee table. He stared down at it, wondering how Louis had gotten his new address, then moved towards the kitchen, wanting to busy his hands with something. Anything. He decided he could clean a little bit before lunch with his sister, Gemma, and his brother-in-law, Leon. First, Harry cleared out the fridge, taking out all of the condiments and checking the expiration dates of the meats and cheeses he had. The milk was starting to turn chunky and the lettuce he had was wilting, but everything else was perfectly fine. That was a surprise. Harry was usually bad about keeping things for too long. Food, drinks, memories, habits, broken relationships. 

Harry nibbled on the inside of his cheek, barely noticing the pain it caused him now, before grabbing the cleaning supplies, deciding that the kitchen needed to be cleaned, anyways. He wiped down the counter tops and the table, mopped up the floors and swept the corners for spider webs, and even cleaned the drain. When he had finished, the clock showed him that he hadn't spent very much time on the mundane tasks. The whole thing took twenty minutes, all of which he still thought of the letter on the table. 

For some reason, the man was certain that the letter was just going to be blank, or have a photo of Louis with some new person. Something to mock Harry for not being able to keep him around. Something to show that Harry hadn't won at all. 

Harry moved from the kitchen to his bedroom, deciding it was a good idea to change into clothes now that he was all dry. He picked out his outfit, making sure to iron his shirt so it looked nice (and to get the thought of his ex out of his head). He changed the outfit in small ways, trying to make it look like he wasn't trying too hard, when he really was. All Harry wanted was for people to just believe that he was completely happy with how things were. But, in reality, he hated being alone. Back when he had Louis, he had high hopes of children and marriage and a future. Now, Harry contemplated just killing himself. There was nothing left for him. He had already fallen in love, had already experienced heartbreak. There was nothing left in life for him to do. No bucket list to complete. He had thought, well, maybe children. But, the thought of bringing children into his misery was a lot worse than being alone.