love will tear us apart - larry short story -

i - unravelling

i - unravelling

--

it starts when harry can't look at louis without thinking "i'm sharing him. i'm sharing him with so many people, but mostly i'm sharing him with her." he knows the thoughts are toxic and deadly to everything they've worked so hard to build, but he's young and in love and he has to share. 

--

it gets worse when harry writes that song, the one that had rough drafts written in his journal and was stained with tears and alcohol he nicked from zayn and niall. the song that's recorded privately, that won't ever end up on the album because he's so fucking obvious. 

louis hears the song the same way everyone else does. it gets leaked, the audio files slipping out of the studio and into the public. their management teams scrambles to throw together an excuse (it was written for taylor, harry wants taylor back, he misses taylor, he's heartbroken over taylor), but harry wants people to figure it out. he wants them to decipher the words, hear the pain and the emotion behind them, maybe put two and two together to help get five. 

he wants people to say, "maybe it really is for that tomlinson, this time." 

louis comes to him the day after, when he's done with publicity for something harry can't keep track of. 

"harry."

"lou."

"harry, you know i love you."

harry swallows and carefully puts down the plate he had been drying. he wrings the towel between his hands and looks out the window over the kitchen sink. he knows louis is standing behind him, wearing one of his sweaters and niall's favorite beanie that he "lost" last week. 

"i know you do." the words are true, but they taste like a lie. 

"then why-" louis's voice does something akin to cracking, and he clears his throat weakly. "why did you write that song?"

the towel falls from harry's hands. he doesn't notice, just rests his hands heavily on the counter and tries to breathe. "because i'm scared," he says carefully. 

"of what?" louis sounds small. he sounds scared, too. 

"of us." 

--

louis starts to feel it when their tour shifts over to north america, and things increase in difficulty by tenfold. they're writing and recording their third album, and while every word harry wrote for that song hurt, the ones he's written that actually make it onto the track list are just as painful. louis almost can't sing them, can't be in the room or booth when zayn or liam or niall sing them. 

he's heard every word from harry, though. harry sang every song to louis; when they were driving down long stretches of road from one state to the next, when they were quickly changing clothes backstage, when they had the luxury of making love in a real hotel room. 

louis knows what every word of every harry-written song sounds like when it comes from the boy, which means he hates when the other boys sing it instead. those are harry's words; he should be signing them. 

but then they start recording "strong", and harry's up for the first chorus. his voice shakes the first go around. he's frowning the second time, and it makes his words clipped and harsh. his hands shake the third time, and louis can see his eyes shining through the glass of the recording booth. 

paul calls a ten minute break, and harry comes flying out of the small room. his eyelashes are dark and clumped together, the skin just under his eyes damp. he drops into the seat next to louis and curls up under his arm. 

"it's okay, love," louis whispers into his hair. his heart beats a little too loudly. 

"it's not," harry hisses into his wrist. he's trying to keep himself from crying, louis can tell. he's going to have bite marks on his skin, dents in the ink and scrapes around his tendons. 

"don't do that," louis says. he moves harry's wrist from his mouth, gently pulls the taller boy's head up to tuck under his chin. he runs his hands soothingly up and down harry's back and kisses his long hair. 

"i'm so tired," harry chokes out. 

louis knows that he means it in every sense of the word. tired of hiding, tired of crying, tired of waiting, tired of sharing, tired of running around, tired of not getting enough sleep, tired of sharing a bed with nothing but cold sheets and the memory of one last farewell kiss. 

louis knows, because he's tired too. 

-- 

"strong" is recorded. so is "something great", and "happily", and "right now", and "through the dark", and all of the other ones that make their hearts ache and the boys show up at their doors with bags of chips and bottles of alcohol and lists of movies they need to watch. 

but whatever is holding them together, be it magic, faith, or love, has started to unravel. and it's getting harder to deny, harder to hide, and harder to ignore.

--