A/N:
Double update because I had time and wanted to write something so yay!
Please comment and give me feedback, I love reading your comments and hearing your opinions! :)
❌TRIGGER WARNING❌
•••
"I'm walking on sunshine, woooaahh," Louis sang loudly, waking up the curly headed boy that had no intention whatsoever on being woken up at 7:38 in the morning.
"Louiisss," Harry moaned, his raspy morning voice prominent. "What're you doiingg?"
"I'm singing, Harold! Because I am just so happy right now that all I want to do is walk on sunshine! We are in Miami, Florida, and we spent all day yesterday at Disney World, and we have five more days of this glorious place, and fourteen after that of New York and California. So, Hazza, I am expressing my joy to the world. Also known as you. The world. My world. Or does that sound too couple-ly? Because Liam says it sounds like we're a couple. But we're not. That'd be weird. Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Let's get breakfast in our pajamas! Come on, come on come on come on!" Louis screamed, jumping up and down.
"Woah, woah. I'm up. What is with you, today?" Harry asked, getting out of bed.
"Have you ever tried American coffee? It's so much better than British coffee, which I don't even like. But this coffee is really good and it has lots of caffeine in it which isn't good because I might get hyper later but I'm not hyper now and I think I'm handling all of the coffee really well because I woke up at like 6:30 or something and I couldn't fall back asleep so I explored our hotel room, which is like, really big and then I found the coffee machine in the kitchen and then," Louis gasped in a deep breath before continuing. "I made some coffee and it's really really good! Do you want to try some, Haz? Maybe we can buy some and bring it back to England when we go there because it's really good and British coffee sucks arse compared to this and we should buy some!" Louis finished, putting his hands on his knees and gasping in air deeply.
"Oookay. This is weird. I've never seen you this hyper. Are you sure that was coffee and not whiskey? Or liquor or beer or wine or freakin' cocaine? Because you're acting completely crazy right now. Do you want to sit down?" Harry asked, slowly approaching Louis with his arms held out.
"Why would I want to sit down? I feel amazing!" Louis squealed, holding out his arms and running out of the bedroom and all around the hotel suite.
"I'm an airplane! Woo! Harry, come join me! It looks great up here!" Louis said.
Harry chuckled happily and ran over to Louis, his arms outstretched just the same that the older boy had and he nodded at him.
"I'm ready, Lou."
"Then let's go!"
The two boys ran around the suite, pretending to be airplanes, making airplane noises and they were honestly both happier than they had been in a long, long time.
"Isn't the view great up here, Haz? It feels like I'm walking on sunshine," Louis asked, still flying high.
"It's amazing. Absolutely amazing," Harry responded while looking directly at Louis. He didn't quite know which view he was talking about, but he knew that they were both beautiful.
"It's so nice up here. I feel the wind in my hair. Do you feel it?" Louis asked.
"I feel it. I really, really do." This was getting much deeper than intended and Harry was starting to really think about the meaning behind it.
"I wish I wasn't so afraid of planes, Hazza. I wish I wasn't so stupid and such a scared little boy because then I could fly for real instead of doing this. I wish I didn't have to pretend. I don't want to pretend anymore, Hazzy. I don't want to pretend," Louis said, his attitude changing completely as he stopped, his arms down and his feet now planted to the ground of the lounge room.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, now stopped as well.
"I just wish I wasn't so stupid and afraid. I wish I could be able to fly without freaking out and I wish I could go on flights like this where everything was okay, and I was with you and we were just flying and we were free. I just had the best flight of my life, and we weren't even in the god damn air," Louis said, his voice cracking.
"But we were, Lou," Harry started, his tone becoming very serious. "We were in the air. Sure, we weren't above all the buildings physically, but we were flying. In our own world, we were soaring above anything else, mixed in with the clouds and up higher than any building, any mountain, any anything that can come our way. We were flying and we were free and we can do it any time you want to, Louis."
"But it wasn't real," Louis said, and it was now that Harry heard the slur in his words.
And smelled the alcohol on his breath.
"Louis, are you drunk?" Harry asked.
Louis fell to the ground, sobbing. Harry immediately cowered next to him, taking his small body and bringing him in his lap. Louis sobbed and sobbed, burying his face into the gap next to Harry's bare stomach. They were both in just their boxers, but that was the least of their worries.
"It's okay, Lou. Let it out. Let it all out. And, when you're ready, you can talk to me about it. But only if you want to and you're ready. But for now, just let it out. It's okay," Harry said, his voice as smooth as caramel, his words as calm as a river, his touch as soft as a kitten.
Louis cried hysterically, gasping in little bits of air whenever his body deemed it necessary, letting his nose run onto Harry's boxers and his tears fall onto Harry's skin, but Harry didn't care. He'd bathe in blood if it meant that Louis would feel better.
The two of them just sat there, on the hard floor of the lounge room, Louis sobbing uncontrollably and Harry calming him and petting him and just loving him, until and hour had passed and Louis' sobs started to turn to sniffles.
It was a wordless hour, with the exception of Harry's "let it out's" and "it's okay Lou, I'm here's".
Louis finally stopped crying, and he sat up from Harry's lap, mumbling out incoherent apologies for getting Harry's boxers wet and for crying on him and for being stupid and for hating himself.
Louis and Harry leaned back on the side of the lounge (couch). Louis took a deep, shaky breath, before speaking.
"I just wish it was real."
"Why?" Harry questioned.
"Because if it was real, then that would mean that I wouldn't have anxiety. And I wouldn't be scared of planes, and I wouldn't have gotten bullied, and I wouldn't have cut myself, and I wouldn't have tried to kill myself in Grade Eleven, and again in Grade Twelve, and I wouldn't have to defend myself from my father every time he tries to convince me of how straight I am, and I would actually be happy, and I wouldn't have a best mate who must think I am the biggest freak in the world, and I would have a boyfriend and I wouldn't be such a fucking screw-up and I wouldn't be fucking sitting here on my fucking ass, crying to you about absolutely nothing and absolutely everything at the exact same fucking time," Louis said, burying his head in his hands and bringing his knees to his chest.
Harry was nonplussed. He didn't know about either of the attempted suicides, or that Louis wasn't happy, or that he thought that Harry thought he was a freak. Which he didn't, of course.
"You-you're not a freak," Harry whispered.
Louis snorted in self-hatred. "Of course I am. I'm a depressed faggot with scars everywhere on his body who has absolutely nothing to live for except his best friend. Even though he knows, deep down inside, that the friend would be much happier without him."
Harry's heart just broke. Completely shattered. Every single bit of love in his body, every bit of happiness, had just turned to hate and sadness. Except the love for Louis, of course.
"Lou," Harry started.
"You're not a faggot," Harry said, wiping tears that had fallen from his cheeks and sitting up a bit straighter. "You're not a faggot and you're not a freak and you know that I don't think anything but the best of you and if you truly do not know that, I'm about to tell you."
"You, Louis Tomlinson, are the best person I have ever known. You are not a faggot, and if you are then I am, too. You are definitely not a freak, just because you have a few ripped pages in your book, it doesn't mean that your book isn't still a book. And I didn't know you attempted suicide, twice, holy shit, but Louis, I wish you would have told me. I would have done something about it. But I'm glad you're telling me now. Because I promise that while I am here, you're never going to feel that way again. You are not a screw-up. No one thinks that you're a freak or a fag or a depressed screw-up. I'm so sorry about your dad, but I'm here to protect you. You are so perfect, Louis, and I don't even think you know that. And if you want, you can see someone about your depression and anxiety and just talk about your past with them, you know? Because I can't be the best at giving advice," Harry said, looking Louis dead in the eyes.
"I-I'm not a freak? I'm not a depressed, suicidal fag? A-are you sure?" Louis asked, his drunken innocence obviously bleeding through. But Harry was going to take advantage of that.
"No. You're not a freak, you're not a fag, and the very second we get home, we're going to get you a therapist so you can talk to them about your depression and suicidal thoughts so you won't have either of those anymore. How does that sound?" Harry asked.
"That sounds lovely, Haz. But, you should know, 'm already home."
Harry chuckled. "Oh really? Is that so? Do you want to move to Florida now?"
"N-no," Louis said, sleepily. "I'm with you. You're my home," he said, as if it were obvious.
Harry froze. "O-oh," was all he could muster.
"I'm sleepy, Haz. Can we go to sleep?" Louis asked.
"Y-yeah. Of course. Let's go," Harry said, shaking himself out of his daze and standing up, picking Louis up, bridal style.
He carried Louis to bed and tucked him in, sitting himself next to the drunk boy.
"Hey Harry?" Louis asked when he was laying down.
"Yes, love?" he responded.
"I'm glad I'm not a faggot freak."
"Y-yeah. But hey, Lou, don't say that word. It's not very nice."
"Which one?"
Harry thought for a second. "Both."
•••
An hour later, Louis woke up with a pounding headache. Harry was just sitting there, watching Louis and thinking.
"Hi," Harry whispered.
"Hi," Louis said back.
"Do you remember anything that happened an hour ago?"
"I think I remember everything. I-I'm sorry. I just- I had this dream. Or really, it was a memory. It was the night in Grade Eleven when I tried to commit suicide the first time. I held the bottle of pills in my hand and I remember that earlier that day, we had made plans to go to the cinema that weekend. I wanted so badly to just end it, end all the pain. But I knew it would kill you if we didn't get to go, because you had been talking about seeing that film with me for months. So I decided that I would take half of what I had originally planned on taking, and if it didn't kill me, I wasn't meant to die. Turns out that the dose I took was just a pill over the normal dose, so I fell asleep and woke up three hours later, feeling fine. I guess I'm glad that I didn't die that night, but sometimes I really wish I did. Anyways, I woke up from this dream hysterical crying, and I jumped out of bed and paced around for twenty minutes or so before I walked into the kitchen and straight for that little refrigerator where they keep all the booze. I took, like, all of the mini bottles and just downed them, and then made myself some coffee and poured it down the toilet so if you had asked, I would just say I drank some of it. I don't know why I remember everything, but I do. Maybe it's for the better that I told you, like about the attempts and my depression and all that. Because I really don't know if I would have, otherwise," Louis finished, looking at Harry.
"I-" Harry started. "I just, I don't know what to say. Why didn't you wake me up? We could have talked about it, instead of you getting drunk. That's not healthy. And I just wish that you had told me, both times. I would have done something, anything, to get you to stop. I would have just stood in the room with you, five feet away if you wanted. I would have hugged you or cuddled you or even fucking kissed you if that's all it took. I would have done anything. And Lou, about what you said earlier, I would not be happier without you. I'd be fucking depressed and I would hate myself every day because I know there would have been something, anything, that I could have done to get you to stop. You make me smile every single god damned day that comes around and without you, I would just be nothing. I'd have no reason to smile, or be happy, or live, for god's sake. I'd be nothing without you. I need you, Lou," Harry said, tears forming in his eyes, threatening to fall.
"I'd miss you so much," Louis said.
"I'd miss you more. I swear it, I would kill myself just to not be away from you. I wouldn't be able to handle it, I'd go insane. I don't know why I need you so much, but just being away from you for five minutes makes me feel so sad, so empty, so worthless. I can't explain it- how I feel or why I feel it. But I just do," Harry finished.
"I think I know what you're talking about. I feel that, too. What is wrong with us?" Louis asked.
"We're human," Harry chuckled. "And we're messed up humans, but we're humans. We're just swimming around in our glasses, talking out of our asses, pretending that we're all going to make it. We're just human."
"Yeah..."
Harry grabbed Louis' hand and intertwined their fingers, pulling him back so they were both laying face-up on the bed.
"Louis, I want you to promise me something," Harry said, completely serious.
"Anything."
"Promise me that the next time you feel that same way, like you did in Secondary school and College*, you'll tell me. I never want you feeling that way again. Ever."
"O-okay. Yeah. I promise."
"Good. And one more thing?" Harry added.
"Yeah?"
"Promise me that when we get home, you'll see someone? Like a therapist? Please, do it for me?"
"Harry, didn't you here me before? I am home. Home is where the heart is, and my heart is with you. I'll consider seeing someone. I think I need to. I want to get better, I really do," Louis said.
"Lou..." Harry whispered. "You're my home," he said, putting Louis' hand, which was still entangled with his own, over his heart.
"I love you," Louis said.
"I love you," Harry confirmed.
•••
And when the two boys spent the rest of the day laying in bed and just talking, talking about life and politics and American coffee and yoga classes and anything that they felt like talking about, they were truly happy, in that moment. And when they went on another flight all around the suite, they both cried a little during the landing. But they were truly happy. They were walking on sunshine. In their home or in the air, they were flying high either way, truly happy.
•••
A/N:
*College is a British term for 12th grade. That's why they say Uni when they're talking about after high school.
Wowowowow this chapter is so freaking deep and sad and I may or may not have cried while writing the airplane scene and the last paragraph because damn that is deep.
I don't even know I'm so sorry this is so sad. I was just watching Grey's Anatomy and I was like, "let's go write a chapter and see what happens" and I s2g this chapter was supposed to be a happy chapter, hence the title, and Louis was originally supposed to be buzzed from coffee but I don't even know. I was just thinking during the airplane scene how deep it could turn, and I was like, "you know what, screw it" and I just made it deep and sad.
This was written on my computer so I'll edit it later when I get my phone back.
My writing playlist has songs like If I Could Fly (hence the airplane scene), Fool's Gold, and Long Way Down, and all songs on that playlist came on so I was a mess while writing this.
I love to hear your feedback so please comment!
All the love (and tears)
Zoe xx
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