Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/666401.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Zayn_Malik/Harry_Styles, Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Niall_Horan/Harry
      Styles, Niall_Horan/Zayn_Malik/Liam_Payne/Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson
  Character:
      Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlinson, Zayn_Malik, Niall_Horan, Anne_Cox
  Additional Tags:
      Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-02 Words: 5828
****** sick, sick lover ******
by AHLICE
Summary
     Oh — my sick, sick lover! What has become of you — what can I do? Oh,
     my sick, sick lover.
Notes
     I feel kind of bad for writing something like this, but, yeah, here
     it is. I hope you all like this?
When he tried hard enough, Harry could almost remember being happy. And he
meant truly happy: that pressure that used to build in his chest from
containing his inevitable, foolish grin for too long; that constant urge to
dance, to sing at the top of his lungs in the shower, at the dining table, at
school; those days pressed skin to skin with Anne, listening to her chirpy
voice as she whispered lovelies in his ears before sleep. When he tried hard
enough, Harry could feel fingers kneading into his shoulders, promising another
morning to bleed across the obsidian skies with such confidence that he could
feel it, too. Those small, slim fingers prancing across him, threading through
his head of chestnut hair, crossing over his red lips and tickling his golden
brown eyelashes. Such warmth it brought – the warmth the cold, everlasting
years studying abroad at school refused to give. That school that held too many
broken dreams of too-young boys, all eyes sullen and sharp with knives that
ruined innocence.

Harry's body grew too fast for his mind to even think of catching up. Anne
cried, "You're still small, you're still small!" when his limbs extended and
the muscles beneath hardened with the lean density that only well-gifted genes
could give. Her eyes could still peel off every inch of adolescence from her
son until she could find the child with the long-lashed greens that she
couldn't help but adore. Gemma continued to shrink until Harry was a head ahead
and looked down at her almost too easily for her liking. But Harry was still a
child [ "Still my little lad," Anne would say ], still learning all that his
life could offer him, and this was the greatest burden his entire family had to
face.

-x-x-

"How's my baby boy?" Anne's voice was too far away for it to bring comfort, and
so Harry bit bruised lips while tears slipped down his red cheeks and curled
the phone closer to his face. The boyish cries of his peers were distant sounds
just outside the window of the school phone room; he shivered against the
voices and willed everything away but his mum's faded presence. "School must be
hard, I'm sure," she continued when her son said nothing in response. "Hard and
long, hard and long . . ."

"Mum –" sobbed Harry, feeling disembodied to the husky sound that left his
trembling mouth.

" – schools that prestigious are usually difficult, Harry – I've told you this
– but you just have to keep it up. Keep everything up, my little lad. We're
cheering for you here . . ."

A particularly loud cry poured inside the building from just outside. Harry
briefly turned his glassy gaze towards the window. One of the older lads was
entertaining the younger, foolish boys by expertly dribbling a football between
his lean legs. Harry turned back to the phone holder and let out a sigh as soft
as he could. "Home," he began weakly, slowly. Everything was so distant. "Mum,
I want to go home."

"I want you home, Harry, but you know about that."

"Mum –"

"You can come visit during break. We all want our baby boy home, Harry."

Visit. His home wasn't his own home anymore. Harry was stuck, foreign, an
acquaintance to phone up occasionally and then say quick, hushed goodbyes. More
had changed than just his body.

-x-x-

One of the dorm boys snuck in pints, and that was how Harry was coerced into
drinking, some. On the floor of a lad's dormitory that he didn't know that well
at all, Harry's cheeks continued to flush deeper and deeper shades of pink and
wide, green eyes continued to grow wetter as he chugged more and more, not
bothering to taste the bitter beverage that sloshed briefly on his tongue
before disappearing down his esophagus. The three boys before him were chatting
endlessly about something, pints in their own hands, but Harry could hear none
of it. Not that he wanted to, anyhow. The alcohol was beginning to rush through
his bloodstream, making his eyesight hazy and a little blurred at the edges.
But he kept drinking and drinking, even when his stomach screamed no! and his
liver begged please!, and even his mind was telling him that it was about time
to stop.

More than halfway through, one lad with purposely messy dark hair – an unusual
style that Harry was too far gone to laugh about – and scruff on his angled jaw
said something to him with a smile, though Harry didn't pay attention long
enough to hear. All he did was level his eyes on the earring in the guy's ear,
nodded loosely [ no matter if it was a question or not ], and raised his drink
to take another gulp. It burned slightly on the way down and for some reason
that was funny, so he laughed. By this time there was a hand on his thigh,
squeezing and releasing in a weird rhythmic pattern that Harry refused to
really notice. But that was before a hand gripped his chin, turned it almost
forcibly, and cupped a pinkened cheek before the face beside him grew closer
and closer until lips were against his.

Even in the haze of alcohol and an unattentive mind, Harry understood that he
was being kissed, and by one of the boys in the dormitory, too, while two other
dormitory boys were there, probably watching. He felt a little numb, though,
and that was his reasoning for sitting there, still, as a tongue crammed its
way into his mouth and tasted the beer in his breath. Another foreign hair
grabbed at the curls on the back of his head, pushing him harder against the
hungry kiss, and a groan of neither consent or disapproval escaped him. Then he
was on his back, shirt being lifted off of his lean torso, and the kiss broke
only momentarily as he was completely freed of it. Nothing was working well for
the younger lad; his arms felt like dough, as did his legs, and his mind was
giving him no leeway as to make his own decision. Instead, the kiss persisted,
eagerly, virginal, almost, and with the patience of a child – this was when
Harry's large hands found their way on shoulders way too broad to belong to a
female and dug its fingernails into the shirt-protected skin.

Finally his mouth was free, and Harry inhaled desperately. His shut his eyes
tightly for a moment as voices began to finally fill his previously deaf ears:
there were he wants it, and he's so wasted, and even a few how far – you – can
go?, egging the other lad on, as he lied there, shirtless and dazed, trying to
compose himself long enough to make sense of what was going on. There were more
than two hands in his hair, pinning one wrist down [ albeit weakly ], and
grabbing at his jeans all around him, moving erratically and foolishly and too
fast for Harry to react. "I'm stupid," he thought to himself bitterly, angrily,
almost: "I'm a shitty idiot, a shitty idiot, a shitty fucking idiot . . ." This
was the moment where he finally realized through his stream of irrational
decisions and thoughts that he knew he had no control of what was going on
anymore. He was stuck, at the mercy of his equally irrational peers, able only
to groan and grumble and maybe throw up, if the alcohol reacted that badly to
him in the next hour or so.

"Do it, Lou," a voice stuck with a heavy Irish accent called from closest to
the door. Or, at least, that's where Harry thought the direction of the voice
came from, but from drinking too damn much he didn't even really remember where
the front door to the dorm was. "Just kiss 'em!"

"Look at his face," another said evilly. "He wants it."

Harry opened his eyes enough to stare at a blurry, white roof. Heads of hair
danced in his line of sight every once in awhile, but otherwise there was
nothing but a bare, bare roof, aside from small, aging cracks. "A shitty
idiot," Harry thought to himself once more, and this is when his eyelids shut
and tears found their way out from underneath them. There was brief, shocked
silence before unintelligible murmurs raised from the dead, low and hushed and
panicked, sort of.

"Look at that – you blokes made him cry!" A voice Harry never heard before
said. "We gotta stop this now; shit – he's already so far gone. . ."

"Anyone remember his room number?" An almost disappointed lad asked half-
heartedly.

"We can't take him back like this – he's gone, gone – keep him in here, Zayn."

"What?" The voice that most likely belonged to Zayn nearly shouted. "I can't do
that–"

"Why not? You got him in this mess in the first place!" The initial voice of
reason argued. "Just keep him here and make sure he doesn't choke on his barf
in the middle of the night." Shuffling surfaced next as one of the lads got up.
"This party is over. Go to bed."

"Shit," probably-Zayn muttered over and over to himself. There was more
shuffling and a door opening east of Harry's slightly-still body. "Fucking
shit."

Harry heard or saw nothing more.

-x-x-

When walking into the cafeteria, Harry noticed three boys eyeing him with
almost guilt in their eyes, and that's when Harry knew who was responsible for
his hangover and stolen-kiss and lost shirt a few nights before. The blonde one
quickly bowed his head, unable to make eye contact for too long, but the messy,
dark-haired lad [ the kiss stealer? ] still continued to glance, along with the
older brunette, who looked the most guilty out of all of them.

Harry was surprised when he didn't feel too much resentment for the boys. There
wasn't much he felt anymore, aside from hunger and sadness, probably, and
resentment was the last emotion on his mind. So – to their surprise – he tried
at a smile, and then turned away, hoping it'd be for good.

-x-x-

"You're a sweet boy, Harry, a sweet, sweet, sweet boy . . ." His mum's voice
sang in his ears and rang in his head. He leaned against the wall and let his
eyes close, feeling light-headed and like a child again, back at home and just
about to go to bed. "I love you, Harry."

"How much?" cried Harry.

"I love you more than anything," she cooed. "More than anything, Harry. I love
you, my sweet, sweet boy." Tears were now pouring down Harry's flushing face,
and he continued to beg while she continued to sing; she sang and she sang
until he was reduced to sobs, clutching that phone for dear life – it was his
life, his life line, his salvation, his goddamn salvation. "You'll be here
soon, my sweet boy, you'll be here soon, and we'll cook all kind of dishes;
we'll visit the rest of the family, you can sleep in your mum's bed while
you're here, Harry, and we'll wake up early together and cook breakfast. Would
you like that?"

"Yes – Yes."

"You'll come home soon, Harry. Soon." And their conversation ended for the day.
No matter how many times Harry wiped his face, the tears wouldn't stop coming.
They'd just come down and down and down and Harry knew it was because
everything was just a lie. A pitiful, pitiful lie that he knew his mum told all
the time.

-x-x-

"You say your name's Harry?" Louis Tomlinson asked in the middle of Home
Economics. He leaned too close into the younger lad's personal space and rested
his elbows on the lab table, a very soft smile playing on his bright face. "You
seem too harmless to be here, huh?" Harry said nothing, just remained folded
into himself on the wooden stool, and tried at short glances in Louis'
direction. "Harry."

Soon the teacher was trying to prevent a fight from breaking out in the back of
the class by some rowdy boys, and this gave Louis more leeway to pressure
Harry. "I'm Louis. Friends with Niall and Zayn? – you know them, yeah? – I just
wanted to apologize." He waited, blue eyes leveled on the side of Harry's face,
waiting for him to ask why are you sorry?, but nothing ever came, so he
finished with: "For – um – that night. You know."

"Yeah." Harry finally spoke. "No problem."

Louis seemed genuinely surprised. And then he smiled giddily, reaching in even
closer in Harry's personal space. "Your voice is a lot deeper than I expected."
He hesitated. "Not bad though, mate. Not bad."

Louis was enthralled for the rest of Home Economics.

-x-x-

"You're really fuckin' smitten with that curly boy, aren't you?" Niall teased,
digging a finger or two into Zayn's thigh. "Smitten, smitten, really fuckin'
smitten." Zayn grumbled a few foul words and shifted away from Niall on the
bed, placing an open textbook between them, but Niall slipped the textbook onto
his lap and moved in closer. "Just admit it, babe, you're bad at keeping
secrets."

Heat filled his cheeks when Zayn thought of that day when Harry was dazed,
large, green eyes like diamonds, cheeks as pink as cherries, lips redder than
life, just staring up into his eyes like he couldn't understand anything but
the shape of his face. And when he managed that kiss – that fucking kiss, my
god – his whole world was like something else, something far, something lost
but comfortable, too comfortable. Zayn couldn't contain himself; he was itching
to see that face again, to pin that long body down and press himself into every
inch of skin that he could find. He had to admit he was smitten, trying to gasp
for air when Harry took all of it away. The taste, oh my – the taste of Harry's
mouth.

"Louis told me he isn't mad, yeah?" Niall elbowed Zayn to get his attention
back. "He probably doesn't remember much, anyway. . . Zayn. I'm talking –
listen!" Another sharper elbow to the ribs made Zayn snap at the blonde boy,
and Niall laughed wildly, clapping his hands together in joyful abandon.
"You're too far gone over this lad!"

It was probably true, but Zayn didn't bother to feel guilty about it. "We need
him to come back," was his last comment before he scratched at his scruff,
retrieved his textbook, and returned to studying. We need him back.

-x-x-

Harry counted approximately 22 days since Anne called; it was driving him a
little insane. Louis Tomlinson kept him busy in second block, and all three
boys continued to stare and observe as he entered the cafeteria with his lunch
tray, head low and trying not to attract much attention in a school full of
rabid hounds. His chest was completely empty, and it was difficult to sleep or
think or breathe with an empty chest. There was nothing to look forward to
anymore, and if it had come to that, then what was there to live for?

This was a troubling thought Harry came back to reflect on all day after first
pondering it, and it was painful. He showered thoroughly that night, got
dressed in his nightwear, and put himself to bed, listening faintly as restless
lads ran up and down the hallways with their crazed hollers, free-spirited and
not empty in the chest. It was when the sounds died down an hour or two later
when someone was shaking his shoulder and forcing him into complete
consciousness.

"Wh–a–at?" Harry sighed, peeling his eyes open to blink in the darkness. The
figure was hard to see, but, for some reason, Harry recognized it anyway; he
stared, tight-lipped and oddly on edge, as the figure stood and stared back. He
opened his mouth to speak, but the slow glide of the hand across his shoulder
and right beneath his collarbones trapped his voice in his throat.

"Harry," the voice was painfully familiar. It was the time to fight it if he
didn't want it; it was the time to scream and shout and maybe even fight if
things got too personal. Harry did not of it. His voice was back, but he chose
not to speak. His rigid posture weakened and eventually softened.

The voice had the audacity to apologize before it went in for a kiss.

-x-x-

"I just . . . did it. He was gloriously soft and – and – gentle and his moans
were so small and long; I just . . . went for it. Wow. I just did it. I did."

The two other lads leaned in closer and closer until Zayn's was whispering and
they could still hear him. Niall's expression was stuck between shock and
interest; Louis was both interested and trying to stop the grimace from
crossing his face.

"He just . . . let you?" Louis pestered. "Just like that?"

Zayn looked as incredulous as Louis did. "I mean – yeah. He didn't say anything
at all, he just kinda. Let me."

Something about that really rubbed Louis the wrong way. Really rubbed Louis the
wrong way. He wanted to persist and ask Zayn if Harry really did anything back,
but he didn't want to seem too interested, as Niall was reacting, so he leaned
back again onto his bum and pondered it. Harry never seemed completely there in
the first place; did Zayn just, in a way, rape Harry? Louis didn't want to
believe it, but it seemed more and more probable as Zayn continued to talk
excitedly about his night. Harry just . . . let him. Just lied there and took
whatever Zayn had to give.

"We should invite him back over," Niall suggested finally. "If he's as good as
you say he is . . ."

And Niall didn't need to finish that thought.

-x-x-

Louis never thought too hard about his sexuality. It didn't really matter what
he was kissing, as long as he was kissing, and loving, and loving it, too. So
as Harry sat among his two other friends, picking up a pint and nodding as Zayn
spoke silent words to him, Louis didn't think much about the fact of their
intentions with a male. What he did think a lot about, though, was Harry, Harry
and his apathy about Zayn's affection, Harry and his apathy to everything and
anyone, really. The younger lad was just sitting there and fluttering his
eyelashes, accepting every offer and suggestion without a second thought.
Almost like he didn't care what happened to him, as long as something happened.
So maybe that was why he was here, Louis thought gravely. Maybe that was why he
was sent away: to find that lost initiative.

The older lad of them all didn't realize how quickly things escalated until
Niall was kissing Harry, open-mouthed and lazy and mesmerizing, almost. Their
tongues danced between widely-parted lips; Niall's hand found its place on the
place just below Harry's jaw, head tilting just enough for easier access. Zayn
watched, completely enthralled, mouth hanging slightly open in awe. Louis was
surprised himself – mostly surprised because the kiss from the two youngest
boys was turning him on in ways he didn't expect to happen. Sharing had never
been in his train of thought until this sight was directly upon him – and a
hypnotizing sight it was.

"Harry," Niall said pointlessly along the corner of Harry's lips when they
finally untangled their dancing tongues. Both lads' cheeks were flushed, and
Niall's clouded blue eyes were trapped in the greens of Harry's, needy and
feverish. Suddenly he pulled Harry's shirt over his head with great urgency,
tossed it near Zayn's frozen, crossed legs, and picked up with their kissing
left off. Almost uncertain hands dragged down Harry's torso and towards the hem
of his jeans, where they remained while he played his Harry's tongue.

Zayn was soon behind Harry, groping across his uppermost nipples, and then down
to his remaining two, the fact that he had four of them turning him on more
than it should. Louis, paralyzed, continued watching as Zayn possessively
turned Harry's mouth away from Niall's and kissed him next, this one much more
urgent and rougher than the blonde's. He bit, teething and sucking wherever he
could. When he pulled back briefly, Harry's lips were a bright red, purple,
almost, and his eyes were glazed. Desperate to get the attention back on him,
Niall's hand found their way between Harry's legs, groping at a growing
erection; Harry gasped suddenly, and then a low moan played in the back of his
throat. He rested the back of his curly head on Zayn's shoulder, letter his
eyes flutter close. "Ahhh – God . ." His back arched away from Zayn and against
Niall's expert hand, jerking when those fingers wrapped around the form of his
length.

"You're so good, Harry, so fucking good," Zayn whispered seductively against
Harry's sharp jaw, making cute little baby kisses over and over again on the
same spot until he was satisfied it got enough love. Louis wanted so very badly
to just go over there, just go there to that moaning, arching Harry and touch
that hair, or that exposed chest, or anywhere – really – but he was stuck,
stuck in his very spot in something between fear and amazement. His two good
friends were about to shag this newcomer – this odd and beautiful newcomer with
eyes so bright and green, with lips so kissable and red, with a body so long
and lean, that it was a shock someone so lovely was here, with the rest of
them.

This wasn't possible, but it was. It really was. Niall really was pulling
Harry's jeans and drawers off until he was completely naked and exposed to
three sets of eyes. Zayn really was holding the younger lad's hips and pressed
what was most definitely a clothed erection against his bum. They really were
taking turns giving that groaning, begging mouth love. This was all . . . real.

And when Louis saw past his attraction, saw past his growing hard on in his
loose pajama pants, saw past the superficiality of the situation, saw past the
events that played out for the past month, and looked – really looked – into
Harry's eyes, he saw nothing.

-x-x-

"Harry, my love, how have you been?" Anne breathed.

"Mum," was all Harry could say.

"Have you been holding all well like you promised your mummy? Have you?"

Harry promised – oh, he promised he was. And when Anne told him she was proud,
he felt nothing else mattered. Nothing actually mattered. He pressed the phone
against his ear and listened to that silky voice, laced with so much love and
care. That voice that lulled him into peaceful slumber. That voice, that voice,
my – that voice. "I miss you. I miss you, really."

"You know I miss you, Harry. You know."

Harry smiled until his cheeks hurt before Anne saw him off and hung up. He held
the phone for a moment longer, hoping – just a little – that her song would
suddenly fill his ears again and lift his spirit. But no song, no cute little
sing-song, came, and he slipped out of the phone room broken. He walked lazily
across the green lawn of the school, hands in his pockets and eyes looking dead
ahead.

Louis – who had been waiting 'round the corner – followed almost instantly
behind the taller boy, legs turning over quickly to catch up. "Harry," he
called, and the younger lad paused, turned to look, and then continued his trek
back to the dorms again. "Hey."

Harry purposely slowed to let Louis reach him, and then returned to his normal
pace again. "Hey," Louis repeated, clearing his throat. When Harry offered not
much of anything, he persisted. "You . . . I mean – are you feeling alright?"

"Never better," was the first sarcastic response Louis had heard from Harry,
and the older lad laughed, surprised. Harry, startled, looked at Louis and
watched as he did so, and then, an eyebrow raised, asked, "What?"

Louis' laugh faded, and he was left with a grave look, almost. "Nothing. I just
thought that – I don't know – I never hear much from you. You're only
passionate when you're on the phone." He pointed to the phone room, and Harry's
face whitened.

"You were listening in on me!?"

"Not at first! – You just talk too loudly that it's impossible not to hear."

Harry's face faltered, darkened, and then turned back ahead. Louis patted his
back in an awkward attempt of familiarity. "It's okay. I miss my parents, too."

Harry wanted to say that Louis wouldn't understand, he'd never fucking
understand, but it made no sense, it wouldn't be coherent and leveled, so he
said nothing on that matter. "Yeah."

They returned to the dormitories in silence.

-x-x-

Harry woke up to Anne moaning, all sultry and low, "Oh – my sick, sick lover!
My sick – si – oh – " and couldn't go back to sleep as he listened, almost too
intently, as she continued with her whimpers and groans and moans, and wow,
Harry thought to himself, palming the erection that had already begun to grow.
"What has become of you? Oh – ah." She doesn't stop for almost an hour, but
Harry was quickly reduced to nothings as he climaxed only about halfway
through, listening to the rest in a daze of euphoria.

"He's sick, isn't he?" Anne laughed as that man lifted her up by her waist and
spun her around, grinning at her as she grinned back. "You're sick, Robin,
sick!" And then he told her sick just for you, and they were quickly laughing,
holding one another like the world was a whole other enitity they never
bothered to notice. Harry chewed at his cereal harshly, taking open-mouthed
bites while Anne and Robin took open-mouthed kisses. "Mine, mine," she said in
between, brushing lovely locks of dark brown hair from her face, remnant of a
beautiful and unspoiled youth still in her face. "You're all mine, my sick
lover."

"What can I do?" Anne asked as Harry held her tightly from behind, new-grown
body so lean and tough, like a man's, but not quite, just not quite. It isn't
right, it isn't, and Anne told Harry this as she twisted in those long arms and
he caught her lips with his, needy and virginal. Not quite, not quite hangs
over their heads, it isn't right, it isn't right filling their ears between
shocked and desperate gasps in the kitchen.

"My baby boy, my sweet little baby boy," Anne said as Harry woke up in his
dormitory bed, cold and lonely and wishing he were dead.

-x-x-

"You're interesting, Harry."

"Oh?"

"Very. Very interesting, you are. Quite a character."

Louis brushed a hand over Harry's curly fringe, smiled at the soft, silky
texture, and let out a joyful laugh. They lied, side by side, naked and sweaty
and bare, and Louis felt like he'd seen something Niall and Zayn didn't during
their lust-filled threesome. Louis felt like there was a connection there; a
connection that he had wanted all along. Looking to his side, at Harry's
flushed, smiling face, he felt happy. So happy. This is what he knew he wanted
all along, and Harry had seem just as interested. Just as intrigued with Louis'
football, Louis' laugh and jokes and soon, bed.

Louis grinned stupidly. "A character – yeah." He continued to brush that
lovely, lovely fringe, and whisper sweet, sweet words as Harry drifted into
sleep. It's not entirely there, Harry briefly said to himself before slumber
reached him, but nothing ever has been.

-x-x-

Louis made Harry promise to not shag the other lads anymore, and Harry – to his
surprise – agreed. They sat, as close as they could possibly get, during Home
Economics, during lunch, where a confused Niall and slightly heartbroken Zayn
watched in the corner of their eyes, and after school, after Louis had a
successful game of football against some other boys from the opposite dormitory
building. Harry actually felt himself losing something that he had been
desperate to lose for years. Something that had been tying him down, keeping
him in this hazy, distant past that everyone had moved on from already. Harry
felt a small percentage . . . free. Wow – Harry thought he'd never feel this
way, but his chest was tightening with happiness, almost, and he didn't want to
fight it this time. No, he looked at Louis' grinning face and grinned back,
full heartedly, because he had plenty reason to.

He had plenty reason to.

-x-x-

"Mine," Harry sighed, holding tightly onto Louis as they sat, close, in Louis'
dormitory, watching a movie that neither really understood the plot to. Louis
leaned into his arms, heart skipping a beat at the sudden declaration, loving
every second of this. Of him. Louis gave Harry's lips little kisses, and Harry
returned the kisses until they were meeting each other's mouths harder and
longer than their previous ones.

"Yours," Louis agreed. "All yours."

Harry pressed his face into Louis' shoulder and tried not to cry, but it was
hard, because he'd never had someone before.

-x-x-

Louis continued to sneak behind Harry and listen as he spoke to his mum on the
phone. His voice was at a frequency he'd never heard it before: all wanton and
desperate, absolutely desperate, for something, something Louis didn't
understand and never would. But he listened anyway, because it intrigued him;
intrigued him in a way that kept him coming back to listen. And sometimes he'd
watch through the little window, too, as Harry held the phone for dear life, as
Harry cried and rocked himself and smiled wildly, sometimes. There were
expressions Louis had never seen, a side of Harry he knew he may never witness.
He understood, on those nights, that he never knew even half of Harry that he
thought he did.

And although it made absolute sense, since he only knew Harry for 4 months, it
hurt all the same.

-x-x-

The days were growing much, much warmer as their break approached, and every
once was more antsy than usual. Especially Harry, who couldn't just sit still
on some good days. His movements were more animated, laughs more genuine, and
when asked by Louis or Niall or Zayn what was on his mind, he'd dreamily say,
"I'm going home."

It bothered Louis some that Harry – his perfect lover – was so excited about
going home, but those worries would disappear when Harry held him at night like
no one else mattered in the entire world. And then he'd kiss that twitching red
mouth, look into those greens, outlined by pretty lashes, and he'd not worry at
all. No worries, none, just none. Because there was Harry, that beautiful boy,
and Louis could say he was his, and Louis was Harry's.

"I'll miss you when Monday comes," Louis whispered against Harry's shoulder
during lunch.

"Me too," Harry replied, full halfheartedly, and Niall made an exaggerated
gagging noise that lasted a few seconds too long.

"You guys are revolting," Zayn said, half-joking. His eyes flickered onto
Harry's before he looked away, pained, knowing full well he lost something
[ someone ] to Louis for good.

"Jealous?" Louis laughed, and the boys tried at chuckles. Louis looked up at
Harry with his remaining smile, and whispered, once again, "I'll miss you when
Monday comes."

Harry's large hand found their way around Louis' waist underneath the table and
he smiled back, wordlessly replied, again, Me too.

-x-x-

The day of packing and heading back home for the 2-week holiday was insane and
bustling. All the boys had their suitcases lined up outside of their dormitory,
clearing out whatever they could to take with them. Louis, after packing his
own things, helped Niall and Zayn get their stuff together, too, keeping
conversation light as they worked. "I'm so tired of this rubbish place," Niall
offered as he zipped his large, packed suitcase with a short grunt. "I miss my
mum and dad so much."

"You and I both, mate," Louis said distantly as he got on all fours and pulled
some old socks from underneath Niall's bed. Zayn walked in with a few bags in
hand and looked between the two, watching them work.

"I'm about done packing and my bird is here, so I'm off, mates," Zayn said
proudly.

"Perrie?" Niall asked, looking up at his friend. His blue eyes flickering
dangerously. "Does she know about curly-hair?"

Zayn's face paled. "No. And it'll stay that way." He nodded at Louis in
farewell, who nodded back, wiping his dusty hands on his gray sweatpants. "See
you guys after break."

"Until next time," tried Louis.

It was about 20 minutes after Zayn left before Niall was also done with his
things. "Thanks so much, mate. You've been a lot of help. Really." They hugged
briefly – Niall being more emotional than Zayn – and Louis watched with a
pleasant smile as Niall tugged his things out of the room and down the bustling
hallway.

Louis hadn't seen Harry all day. There was too much going on and too many
people needing help for him to stop by his dorm, so he finally decided he'd
check up on the lad. He left Niall's empty room and weaved his way through the
hallway, muttering excuse me, until he got to Harry's room. But when he opened
the door it was already clean and painfully bare.

He hoped to God Harry didn't leave already. He needed to see him off. He
couldn't go away without seeing him at least once. Just once. Louis rushed out
of the room and grabbed his own suitcases before rushing as fast as his short
legs could take him through excited boys and down the crowded elevator to the
first floor. When he got out and into the foyer room of the dormitories, he
could see lots of cars and parents hugging their children just outside. Shit,
Louis thought desperately, scanning the crowds erratically. He let himself get
pulled outside and into the mess of things, clutching his things and just
looking.

Finally, when a large looking male moved out of his line of sight to get into a
car, he saw Harry's arched back in the distance, smiling at an older woman with
dark, dark brown hair largely. Her slender hands were on his face, and her
mouth moved as she was telling him something sweetly, eyes full of all this
love. Louis continued to watch as they hugged one another a little too
passionately, and he could've sworn Harry was crying – sobbing, really –
shivering in what appeared to be his mum's gentle arms.

Louis was stuck in place, as people rushed back and forth around him, shouting
and screaming and crying and so much fucking joy. It was then, when Harry's mum
mouthed words to her son, and Harry mouthed words back, face flushed from
tears, that Louis realized why.

And this was why:

Louis Tomlinson would never compare to Harry Style's sick, sick lover.
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