A/N: My first Larry fanfiction... Hope this doesn't turn into complete rubbish.
trigger warning.
If Louis had to describe his life in one word, he would say—complicated.
Complicated.
Everything about Louis was confusing to himself and others. He didn’t know who he was yet, or who he wanted to be. He didn’t understand himself. But above all, he didn’t understand his sexuality.
Louis had been struggling to come to terms with his sexuality since year seven. It’d become quite obvious to him at that point… Girls just weren’t his cup of tea. Sure, they were cute, and somewhat entertaining, but they didn’t arouse him like boys did. And it confused Louis.
Shouldn’t he like girls? His best friend—Zayn—could hardly get enough of them. He was always talking about how fit they were, how nice their bodies were, ect. Louis would feebly agree, even though he didn’t crave women like Zayn. He would rather have a nicely-toned man as opposed to a full-figured woman.
And it drove him mad.
He constantly tried to convince himself that it was just a phase. All boys go through some type of confusion—right? It’s natural. A part of growing up. That was a soothing thought to him for about the first year, but then things weren’t changing and he had to slowly come to the terms with the fact that he was gay.
Gay.
The word had such a negative connotation in Louis’ mind. Gay people were universally hated, always struggled with their image, and were never fully accepted. There was always that group that picked on them, that threw rude insults their way. Louis knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that—he already had poor self-esteem. So what did he do?
He kept it a secret. In fact, he kept three little secrets. And that was the first.
He hid it from everyone. His mum, his dad, his sisters, Zayn—no one knew. Louis was quite good at acting straight and hiding his little secret, so no one ever suspected. He’d even had a few girlfriends, and they were pretty good distractions. They kept Louis satisfied, and helped hide his secret.
But Louis was still so bitterly unhappy. He hated that he couldn’t love who he wanted openly, he hated that he couldn’t be himself. He hated that he had to keep everything a secret—it hurt him. Louis slowly began to lose that self-assurance he always possessed. He stopped feeling comfortable in his own skin, he stopped being happy.
In short, Louis became depressed.
He didn’t even realise the change that happened to him until much later. It didn’t occur to him that he might, in fact, be depressed until he began thinking of self-harm. The idea took root in his mind and blossomed until he started to put it into action.
His first cut was like a dose of relief. It released those pent-up emotions that made him go mad; it provided an escape from the life he didn’t want to live anymore. His cuts cried red tears, but who was there to listen?
No one.
So his razor blade became his only true friend. It understood Louis; it knew all his secrets that he didn’t dare tell anyone else. In his darkest hours, it comforted him. In his most desperate moments, it provided him an escape.
And so, self-harm became his second little secret.
No one knew, and Louis wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want any pitiful looks, or quiet reminders that he was going to be okay. And he definitely didn’t want help. Louis shuddered to think what his parents would say if they ever found out.
But if Louis Tomlinson is good at anything, it’s hiding his secrets.
He wore long sleeves almost all the time to cover the tell-tale signs. No one ever questioned it; Doncaster never really got that warm, so it was completely normal. And what Louis couldn’t hide with sleeves, he hid with bracelets. All-in-all, no one would ever guess that Louis Tomlinson self-harmed, because he was just that good at hiding. Just like his sexuality, Louis felt that no one needed to know.
Now, Louis had one, last dark secret. One that disgusted him past words.
Louis Tomlinson was madly fond of the new boy that had moved into the flat next to him. He had come from Cheshire a few months back, and ever since, Louis couldn’t keep his eyes off him.
His eyes. His incredible, moss-green eyes that made Louis weak in the knees. They were deep and calming; Louis pictured getting lost in them. When the boy was happy, they would sparkle. When he was upset, they darkened to an almost forest-green colour that was eerily beautiful. And even though Louis hadn’t ever talked to him, he knew these things and he was disgusted with himself for doing so.
His curls. The way his chocolate locks swept across his pale forehead. He would tousle them when he was bored, or nervous, and every time he did, Louis could feel his chest contract. What would it feel like to run his hands through that luscious hair? Louis often found himself imagining all the things that he would do with his hands in the boy’s hair…
His skin. Pale and fine, like ivory. So paper-white to the point where he could see the veins pulsing underneath his skin; an amazing webwork of pathways. His skin looked so… kissable. Louis wanted to mar that perfect skin with his lips; he wanted to mark the boy as his. Everything about this boy was simply delicious.
And Louis was itching for a taste.
The fact that he couldn’t get this boy off his mind deeply disturbed Louis, because this boy was almost three years younger than him. Three. It felt so dirty to be so enchanted by him that Louis often made himself sick just with the thought. The poor kid probably didn’t even know Louis lusted after him like he did—Louis knew he was straight. Well at least thought he was; Louis had seen him snogging a particularly attractive girl outside his door late one night, He had to ball his fists as he passed so he didn’t slam them into the walls out of frustration, because he so desperately wanted that to be him.
But it never would be.
So Louis shoved those thoughts down and tried to distract himself with his work. Louis was a bus boy; he washed dishes at a local diner. The money was shit, but at least he could pay his rent at the end of every month and he could usually get decent food. When he couldn’t afford any—Louis liked wosits and pot noodles enough to eat that constantly. The rest of the money he made was stored away for university—if he ever decided to go. To sum it up, Louis did anything—anything—to keep his mind off that boy.
And so, this boy, Harry Styles, became his third little secret.
But holding so many secrets for so long isn’t healthy. Without anyone to vent to, he’s crumbling.
All these secrets are breaking Louis Tomlinson.