Recover (Larry Stylinson AU)

Chapter Four; Louis' Roommate

A/N: So I put this A/N before the chapter because I just want to clarify something. I accidentally deleted Chapter Four, so I had to re-write it. And this is the re-written version, except the ending is different, so you might want to read it again. It is a little rushed, so if you guys see any flaws in grammar/spelling/flow/etc, please point it out! x

It's hard to answer the question "What's wrong?" when nothing is right. 
- Anonymous

The rest of the car ride was filled with bottled up tension. Harry could tell that Louis was worried about whoever was on the phone, and his instincts told him that questioning him about who it was would not be beneficial right now. So, he spent the time absentmindedly looking out the window and watching the buildings and trees blur by.

Finally, Harry saw as the car was pulled into the parking lot of a flat. He patiently waited for Louis to park the car, then uncertainly got out of the car, leaving his milk in the seat. He wasn't sure if he should stay in the car, or if he was allowed to come up with Louis.

Louis, it seemed, was too panicked to do anything other than start sprinting to the flat, so Harry decided to do the same. When he was inside, they were both soaking wet, and instead of taking the eleavator, Louis started jogging up the stairs, and Harry mentally cursed his therapist. He hadn't done anything athletic for a while, and he was already starting to get tired.

When they--finally--reached the floor where Louis' friend was, he almost let out a whoop of victory.

"That was my roommate on the phone," Louis quickly explained while fast-walking. "He's as innocent as a bunny, so I always have to take care of him. And he's always getting into trouble too, so I'm worried about what he's gotten himself into this time."

Harry nodded, and when they reached Louis' flat, he slyly noted that Louis' room number was 569. Louis took out his keys from his pocket, using his other hand to run his hand through his fringe (and Harry did not have a minor heart-attack). When he opened the door, he quickly walked inside and frantically looked around for his roommate.

His flat was nice, if not a little messy. Harry supposed it was the flat of typical male twenety-year-olds. While it was filled with cute things like photo frames and decorations, it was also undeniably messy. There were beer bottles scattered everywhere, and the sofa was filled with half-eaten packets of crisps.

When Harry heard a gasp coming from the kitchen, he went inside and was met by an odd site.

A man. A full grown man. He had blond hair--though it was obviously bleached--blue eyes, and an innocent face. His body was quite small, Harry could tell. But that wasn't the odd part. The odd part was that he was curled up in a ball, on the floor, clutching his stomach. His expression was contorted to one of pain, and Harry felt sorry for the poor bloke.

"Louis?" Harry tentatively called out, and he saw as the man's eyes snapped up to his. Harry was suddenly starting to feel more and more uncomfortable. He'd never been one for meeting new people.

Louis rushed into the room from which he heard Harry's voice, and he almost gasped in shock at his roommate's position. Within minutes, he was at his side and murmuring comforting things into his ear. "What happened, Niall? What's wrong?"

When "Niall" spoke, Harry gleefully noted that he had an Irish accent. "I ... Stomach ..."

"Yes, what about your stomach, Ni?"

"I ... I'm ... I'm hungry."

There was an awkward pause, in which Harry tried his best not to laugh, and Niall looked up and gave him a glare, obviously not pleased that he found the situation funny.

"What the fuck, Niall? You almost had me thinking this was an emergency!"

Niall pouted at Louis' frustration. "But this is an emergency, Lou."

Louis heaved a huge sigh, then got up and glared at him. "Why didn't you go bother your boyfriend or something? Why'd you have to call me?"

"Because you're more fun."

"Fuck off."

"Shit. You're mad."

"Yeah, you wanker. Of course I'm mad! I was driving him home, and then you called me, acting like you were in trouble. I thought you were dying!"

"Well, technically, I was dyin--"

"Don't."

"Fine. I'm going to go take a nap while you calm your knickers, yeah? Tosser." And with that, Niall grumpily turned around, grabbing one of the packet of crisps lying on the couch, and went to his room, making a big show of slamming his door shut.

Louis groaned, then turned to Harry, a light pink blush decorating his face when he realized how weird that must have seemed to him. "Uh, sorry, about that." He let out an awkward chuckle, obviously uncomfortable with Harry's silence. "I'll just, um, head to the loo for a bit, then we can drop you off, yeah?"

Harry nodded, and tried ignoring the way his stomach did funny flips at the way Louis blushed, and that awkward smile on his face, and how he tried to pass it off. But he simply couldn't help it. The things Louis did were so cute, and adorable. 

He really had no idea what he was feeling. Was this what a crush was supposed to be? Or did this resemble infatuation? He couldn't ... He couldn't be in love, could he?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. There was no way. Absolutely no way. He couldn't be in love. Not this soon. That wouldn't make sense. Harry shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts in his head. He was over-thinking this, again.

When Louis was out of the washroom, the two of them walked out of the flar wordlessly, Harry following Louis as he took the stairs again. This time, it was much easier to follow him, seeing as they were going down, not up. When they reached the car again, Harry opened the door, put the milk in his lap, and put on the seat-belt.

All of this was done mechanically, almost as if his body was working, but his mind wasn't in it. And, really, that's what Harry wanted. He didn't want to think. When he thought, he often thought about things that he didn't want to face, and he didn't like that.

Yes, Harry Styles was a coward. He preferred running away from his problems rather than facing them, head-on. He found it was much more easier. He was very ashamed of it, though. He didn't like how he always refused to look at his problem. Even though he would always turn his back on it and run, he didn't like doing it.

That was why self-harm was his biggest, dirtiest secret. It was one of his ways of running. Whenever something upset him, instead of facing it, he would turn to self-harm. He wasn't proud of it. In fact, he was disgusted by himself for doing it. But he couldn't stop.

And, sometimes, he found that he didn't want to stop, and that was the part that disgusted him the most.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts when Louis asked him something. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Taken aback, Harry wasn't sure how to answer. How could he answer, anyways? How could he explain to him that nothing was wrong, and everything was wrong, at the same time? It didn't make sense, but it was true. 

He thought about going for the easy way out. He thought about saying "Nothing," just like he told everyone else. But he didn't say it. In truth, he didn't like opening up to people, because he knew that they didn't really care. If they asked you how you were, they did it out of courtesy. They didn't actually care. 

But ... At the same time, something was different about Louis. Harry found himself want to open up to him, something he'd never wanted from anyone. The thought scared and excited him at the same time. Maybe, this had been a good idea. Maybe, Louis would help him after all.

Maybe, Harry wasn't as far gone as he thought he was.