Larry - one shots

Just a little bit of your heart

The chilling cold seeped through his skin like icy tendrils, encasing him in its relentless, numbing torture. The thin, tattered shirt and joggers provided no shelter from the whirlwind of ice pelting towards the ground as the sun slowly died; it's golden rays casting a warm glow over the despondent, frostbitten boy.

He didn't react.

Not to the cold, or to the sudden darkness blanketing one half of the Earth - the only form of light being a small lamp radiating an orange gleam. No, he didn't react for he was numb. His bloodshot eyes remained screwed shut, salty rivers streaming steadily down his face and falling silently to the dusted concrete below.
Deep, obsidian crevices adorned his face: he hasn't slept peacefully in days - the second he closes his eyes and tries to relax, he's haunted by his face. His beautiful face.

He couldn't bring himself to hate him. He couldn't hate his emerald eyes, his alluring curls or his irresistible smile that brightened a room effortlessly.
The only thing he hated was the image of his gentle, nurturing hand gripping hers for all the world to see, and the smiles plastered on their faces, as well as every local newspaper. Louis had burned his copy - dousing it in alcohol to watch the small flames engulf it until nothing remained but ash. It hadn't eased the pain.

His phone lay discarded (and now broken) in the crystalline blanket freezing the concrete he was sitting on, frozen on the article his twitter had exploded with. Tweet after tweet about Haylor and how envious people were of their relationship, and how lucky Harry is. Louis understood, he really did. She was perfect. Gorgeous blonde hair contrasted perfectly with ocean blue eyes and perfect cherry red lips. Louis hated how perfect she was - the complete opposite of him. His boring brown hair and dull eyes, his thin lips and hideous body, it's no wonder they put Harry with her. They were a power couple and the media lapped them up like they'd been stranded in a desert their whole lives. There's also the fact that she is a girl and Louis is not.

He couldn't help but compare himself to Taylor, and how if Harry was with her he could genuinely be happy. He could be free. All they have ever wanted was to be free but their management won't let them.
However he wants Harry to be happy, and if that means he ends up with someone else then he'll push aside his pain. He'll find a way. He just doesn't know whether he could cope if Harry left him so soon.

A loud slam sent his train of thought crashing but he did not move. He was motionless, a broken figure curled up and victim to the merciless Winter washing over England in waves; he didn't even react to his boyfriend's melodic voice piercing through the silent atmosphere and echoing in the abandoned house. "Lou," Harry called out as he walked through the door and into the darkness of their home. Louis wanted to smile at the eagerness in his lover's voice as he searched for his partner but the image of their hands intertwined haunted his mind. He couldn't face him, yet he couldn't move.

~

An exhausted sigh escaped his chapped lips as Harry released his bag and sent it crashing to the wooden floor in the hallway. Snowflakes coated his damp hair from the downpour of ice, the heavens finally having graced London, and his cheeks were painted a brilliant pink from the biting cold he endured during his walk home. Long, slender fingers locked the door as he called out again for Louis into the shadows, hesitating momentarily when his boyfriend once again did not reply or throw himself contentedly at Harry's awaiting figure like he usually did.
Worry clouded his mind like a fog, partially suffocating and unrelenting as he hastily checked each and every room for any sign of Louis. He grew increasingly anxious the longer he searched only to turn up empty handed. The only indicator he had even been in their home was the mug full of coco pops left untouched on the kitchen table, and the embellished marble surface covered with sheets of lyrics and unedited thoughts. His hand flew to his hair, tugging at the curls as he sprinted past the glass doors leading to their garden, eyes momentarily catching sight of a hunched over figure in his peripheral. He ground to an abrupt halt.
Wide eyes locked on the sight of his Louis curled in on himself in the snow, wearing only a t-shit and joggers. Immediately, his arms were throwing open the glass doors and his legs were lunging forward into their garden and over to Louis, sinking to his knees in front of him.