[warning: sensitive topics, use of the f slur]
❁
[ʜᴀʀʀʏ]
Two Days Later
It had been two days since we had our last "session". We had gotten into a fight later that night, and he hadn't talked to me since; he only came back to bring me food and give me clothes to change into.
I was flipping through a magazine he had brought me when he entered the room, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. I didn't stop slipping the pages, I didn't even look at him. I assumed he was just making sure I was alive. There was no need for me to pay him any attention until he spoke up.
"I need to talk to you. Will you listen to me?"
I didn't look up. "Well as long as it doesn't take longer than an hour. I have a dinner date scheduled."
"Sarcasm, huh. Thought that was my card?"
"I thought you wanted to say something meaningful, guess we were both wrong."
He seemed to slouch, shoulders slumping.
"I want to talk more about it."
"You sure? You told me you never wanted to speak another word to me. Remember?"
He nodded softly, brown fringe flopping over his eyes before being pushed back by a gentle hand.
"I know, but I still have to try and convince you."
"Yeah, I hear you Lou." I said, waving him off.
He sighed and shook his head. "I don't want to be heard. I want to be listened to."
I put the magazine down, finally, and looked up him. I crossed my arms over my chest and crossed my legs.
"I don't think that's going to happen. After the fight, Lou, you're temper is just-"
"It's what, Harold? Out of control? Yeah, maybe it is."
"I didn't deserve what you did. I was trying to help."
"What I almost did." He corrected, I rolled my eyes. "Trying to help? By calling me that awful word?"
I cringed, remembering it slipping past my lips.
x
The last two slices of pizza laid discarded in the box, the pepper that came in the corner thrown across the room from a silly attempt made by Lou to get Harry to eat it.
They were both lying on the floor. Harry beside the bed and Lou beside the door. They laid the opposite directions, both staring mindlessly at the ceiling. They had spent the afternoon doing their usual; Lou had told a little bit (nothing to get them anywhere much), and Harry had listened as long as Lou could go.
Lou had gotten a tight throat and said "maybe tomorrow, yeah?" to which Harry had let out a simple "yeah." Then, Lou proceeded to order a pizza and bring it down, along with a bottle of wine. He said he had had it far too long and needed to empty it one way or another.
They shared the bottle, each of them having a good amount of glasses. Harry was more of a lightweight and therefore got drunk faster. He was bordering tipsy and drunk while Lou was bordering tipsy and sober.
Somehow sexuality got brought back up, Harry expressing that he felt no need to put a label on his sexuality, and that he was simply a "lover". Lou once again stated that he was gay, just for the sake of equal sharing.
"I had a girlfriend for a long time, and when we broke up I got a boyfriend. I had more boyfriends after that, don't think I ever went back to girls." Harry had stated, Lou giggled.
Okay, maybe he was tipsy. (Definitely tipsy, now that he thinks about it.)
"I know you don't prefer labels, and that's totally cool," he said, alcohol starting to make his veins buzz. "but, sounds a bit gay to me, mate."
It's like something in Harry changed, as if a switch flipped. He sat up, using his hand to [clumsily] spin himself toward Lou, who sat up as well.
He raised his hands slowly, as if in surrender. "I wasn't saying you are, I was just say-"
"No, no. I get what you're saying. You think I'm gay. Even if I was, you'd have no chance." He had said, arms crossing a jaw drawing tight.
Lou sputtered, seemingly choking on air. "A chance? You think I'd want a chance? Mate, that alcohol sure is getting to you."
Then, Harry turned soft. His green eyes turned wide and innocent, and he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. "You wouldn't want one? Am I not pretty enough, Lou?"
Okay, maybe he was drunk. (Definitely drunk, now that he thinks about it.)
Lou shakes his head, emotions running through him like hot water. "Of course you are, Harry. You're so very pretty, but you do understand-"
If only Harry could stop interrupting him. (Drunken brat, he had thought to himself as Harry shuffled to his knees.)
"What I understand is that you wish I was gay, but don't think I'm good enough anyway. Hmph." He said, glare turning icy. "It's fine, I'm not like you anyway."
Lou cocked his head to the side, not like him?
"You're not like me?"
"Nope."
"How's that?"
"I'm not a faggot."
x
The word seeped through my lips like poison. Tears had seeped through them just the same after Lou told me he never wanted to speak another word to me, slamming the door as his goodnight.
"I-I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."
"Don't be, it's nothing I can't handle. Shouldn't be something if you can't handle being called it."
"Lou, you're not..."
"A faggot? You know, there once was a time when that was a cigarette. There was also once a time when "gay" meant "happy", which I think is funny becuase often times people who are gay are the furthest from that."
"Lou-"
"Oh, you're right. People who are gay and people who don't like to label themselves, my bad."
I looked down, twisting my thumbs in random attempts of winning a thumb-war with myself.
"I really messed up, I was drunk."
"Sober enough to remember it, though."
Okay, a joke. A joke to lighten the mood. "Good thing you're around to always point out the obvious."
He shrugged, "good thing you're around to never notice the obvious."
I deadpanned, and he giggled.
He giggled.
I smiled softly and he looked at me.
"What are you smiling about, curly?"
My smile grew. "You giggled."
"Did not, my throat was scratchy. That was a cough."
I shook my head, "you totally giggled, admit it. Come on, Peter Pan."
His jaw dropped, "Did you just call me..."
"Peter Pan? I believe so."
"Oh, you're going down."
That was all the warning I got before I was tackled onto the bed, Lou on top of me. He quickly straddled my waist and pinned my hands above my head.
"You're strong for how small you are."
"I work out." He smirked, holding both my hands with one of his tiny ones, using the other one to trail a finger down my side. "Tell me, Haz, are you ticklish?"
I looked at me, this was a trick question.
"Don't you dare."
"Say I'm not Peter Pan."
"I don't like lying."
"Alright, you had your chance."
With that, he dug his finger into my side, making me bark out a laugh. Another followed that one, and before long I couldn't catch my breath.
"A-alrig-ght I-I gi-ive" I stuttered out.
He stopped and gave me a minute to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling like normal once again.
"So, you don't like my nickname, got it."
He gave me an evil smirk, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "How would you like it if I tore you into shreds?"
I shivered, a cold chill going down my spine. Why was he kind of hot?
I titled my chin, so I could whisper into his. "Not sure if I'm into that? Kind of kinky for me, Pan."
He let out a small growl, a playful one.
He tighted his grip on my wrists, his hot breath hitting my neck and making me shiver once again. He bit my neck playfully, and then I felt a smirk forming against my skin. Oh no, he had gotten an idea.
I felt his hips move, slowly, against my lap.
Oh no.
He grinded against me lightly, giving me time to tell him to stop.
I didn't.
"I'm" thrust "Not" thrust "Peter" thrust "Pan" thrust.
I looked up at him, I knew my eyes were glassy. He's so damn hot, and, oh. My pants are tight.
Oops.
He leaned down, hips still moving. His lips were less than an inch from mine as he breathed out, "say it."
I looked down at his lips, daring to break eye contact.
"You're not Peter Pan." I said, softly.
He smirked, and I couldn't help myself. I leaned up and softly captured his lips with mine. I felt the grasp around my wrists slip away. The dainty hand that had held them was now pressed against my cheek.
I tilted my head as he parted his lips, my tongue meeting his. His easily won the short battle for dominance. Once we needed breath, we pulled away. I opened my eyes to see him already looking at me.
"Yeah, you're not Peter Pan."
He smiled softly, nodding.
"You're definitely Tinkerbell."