is death an option? / larry ✅

1.1

The Part Where I Get Into My First Fight Ever

I was completely, utterly, absolutely pissed.

It was mostly at Louis revealing to me that he'd be giving up entirely on his life, but also at Zayn, too, for once again managing to make me feel like some type of subpar friend within our triangular relationship. I felt like I was out of control, something that rarely ever happened because I'd done my best to avoid those types of situations.

It wasn't as much Zayn as it was Louis, and I realize that now. But, there was nothing I could physically do about Louis' decision. I couldn't and WOULDN'T be the type of person who guilt–trips, or gives a final ultimatum over things that someone simply didn't want to go through with.

But, that didn't mean that I couldn't confront Zayn.

In the moment, I was out of my mind in infuriation, and didn't quite realize how ridiculous it must have seemed for any onlooker who saw me–obviously angry as the stomped down the street of the so–called "ghetto", a weird, white boy who clearly couldn't defend themselves properly. Now, I understand, and I get why Zayn's sister instantaneously burst out into a fit of laughter upon seeing me storm up towards the Malik residence's front door, flinching only slightly at the sight of Spitball.

After she's finished, she gradually looks me over and questions the reasoning of why I'd come by so late. She doesn't say it as politely, though–more of a "the fuck you over here for, cracker?", but. I ask her if she would call for Zayn, and, of course, she's hesitant.

Then, finally, she shrieks out Zayn's name in a way that forces me to jerk harder than I'd done whenever I had saw Spitball. Zayn must have been somewhere close, because, as I recall, it doesn't take too long for him to appear in the creaky doorway, staring down at me with a surprised expression.

To be honest, I wasn't even mad about what Zayn had done, anymore. Most my anger–fuel was directed towards Louis, I'll admit it.

So, the argument that led up to my bloodied mouth went something like this (I'll include each and every single stupid thing I said, as well as how Zayn had absolutely made me feel like the World's Biggest Idiot™):

Zayn: What's up, man, you comin' inside?

Me: Louis told me that you told him about the movie. You're like Julian Assange, man. I don't even know if I can work with you again. It's like you're trying to one–up me in the friend department.

Cue the point where Zayn stares at me like I've grown another head before he starts defending down the crumbled staircase that his sister and Spitball occupied. He approached me, and I was fucking terrified, as I was, and still am, a pussy.

Zayn: Okay. Yo', shut your ass up, man. You're really coming up to my house, bitching and whining about some fucking bullshit? You're really that petty?

Me: *Stares, because I honestly don't know the answer to that question*

Zayn: Don't nobody give a shit about you, Harry. You go around, kissing everyone's ass, wanting them to care, and they don't. Then, the one person who actual cares about you, who actually wants to be friends with you, you're treating like shit!

Me: *Fucking flustered AS HELL* It's not even like that, dude!

Zayn: I don't think you understand–his life is over after this! And you come here, bitching and whining about a fucking movie, about some irrelevant bullshit? Man, I'm so close to knocking your shit loose.

Me: *Clearly not realizing how hard Zayn was actually able to punch* Yeah? Well, do it.

Zayn: Oh, you want me to?

Me: Yeah, I don't care. I want you to, Zayn! Hit m–

And, yes, you can laugh. You can do the same thing that Zayn's sister did–chortling and gasping for air as I was knocked down to the dirtied street beneath my feet by the force of Zayn's fucking HEAVY–HANDED punch. You can choke on virtually nothing upon comprehending that I'd been hit so hard that blood actually began to pour from a cut that my teeth had tore into the inside of my cheek.

To make the situation far worse, after Zayn had knocked the living shit out of me–causing a bruise that didn't form until an entire day after the collision–he simply walked off, stalking into his house without another word.

So, yeah. I felt fucking pathetic.

I was able to gather myself after what felt like a couple of hours, but was probably only a few minutes. The duration of time that I spent clutching my jaw on the ground was filled with Zayn's sister's relentless cackles of glee. Once I had gotten up, Zayn's sister informs me that I should be glad that it was Zayn, and not her, because if it had been, she'd be whooping my ass up and down the block.

And, you wanna know something absolutely pitiful? I was still pissed after I left.

After getting my ass beat, and probably ruining my friendship with Louis, I was still fucking mad.