Harry and Louis’ friendship changed because of ‘Larry Stylinson’ rumours. Now they get sucked into, literally land in the world of fanfictions and they have to live out the storylines of written fanfictions. It will push them to the brink of their sanities and then it’ll break them, brutally.
(other chapters)
Arc 2 ~ Heart Wars
Part 5 ~ Angst
Warning: none, I think
~L❣H~
Louis never woke up – that’s what Harry distinctively knew. Harry was the only one who got a brief flash of lucidity whenever the greyness surrounded him. He could tell by the way he jolted, by the way his body shook as if it were electrocuted, when the last sentence disappeared, when the last sentence was acted out. Louis never moved – Louis never came to like Harry did.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
He didn’t want it, didn’t wish for the clearness, the clarity of his mind but after each story finished he’d feel the fanfictions release him and for a few breathtaking moments he became aware of who he was, of his current situation and an instant later his brain was taken over by thoughts, words that weren’t his own again.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
Sometimes Harry would try to move his limbs and other times he’d pretend like he didn’t wake up at all, like he wasn’t an outsider to this world of fanfictions - an outsider who had given up on searching for an escape.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
He usually had no time to reflect on the plot of the stories – before he could he was a blank puppet in the hands of the writings once again - but the most disturbing images stuck to him. They grew in quantity, piled up drastically until he awoke with hundreds and hundreds of memories that he could have never dreamed about, that others had created for him, for themselves. And even though his spirit was broken entirely he would still regain consciousness after every single fanfiction.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
Harry wondered why – why he deserved to be punished, what he did that was so wrong that got him sent into the fantasies of fans – or haters that enjoyed seeing him in pain. Why Louis and him were chosen to live through this. Why?
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
He realized he screamed a lot when everything was grey– he screamed until his voice would crack and he was whisked off to another fanfiction. Harry never tried to hold on, never attempted at fighting against the words. That’s not what Louis wanted – Louis was happier not knowing how often he got called ‘Boobear’ in earnest.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
There were stories with Caroline Flack that hit Harry especially hard – a few of those had happy endings that made Harry regret all that happened between them and he wished he could go back, could travel through time like he did in a few special fanfictions. A massive amount of stories had Nick Grimshaw and him getting together because Louis didn’t want Harry as his lover anymore. None were pleasant to go through, to experience at all.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
The first fanfiction in which he fell in love, was made to fall in love with a stranger, with a girl he had never seen before, surprised him enough to stay alert even when the greyness had already faded to see the title and first few lines of the story that came after.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
Tons and tons of stories had him become romantically entangled with a fan - a fangirl. Most of those girls were completely in colour, precisely described in text – even their eyes. In the fanfictions with a random girl as the main character either she or one of her close friends had coloured eyes. It freaked Harry out to see green, brown, black, grey or golden eyes after experiencing Louis’ magnetic stare grow duller - everyone always had grey eyes. Everybody but for one person’s in each and every story aside from Louis’ blue and Harry’s green ones - Harry even remembered the brown-eyed girl in the first school fanfiction, the first one in which Harry had raped Louis.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
The abstract concept of there being one person that was different from it all, one being that had coloured eyes fuelled Harry’s will, brought his heart to life again. Harry started noticing the little differences, barely spotted them but they eventually made him become himself again: the differences in writing style, the differences in his own characterization, the difference between the girls he was forced to sleep with and the guys, the difference between the guys and Louis.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
Harry hadn’t meant to cling onto them, onto the small differences but he raked his brain each time the greyness encased him, mentally went over the fanfiction he had just come from to find something that was different from the one that preceded it.
~H❣L~
…
~L❣H~
Harry had no idea if he was strong enough, had no clue if he wouldn’t break again but when he recalled a girl with coloured eyes amongst a sea of grey-eyed concert attendants in a story that had him have a very terrible threesome with Zayn and Louis, he distinctively knew that his head would stay his. He waited patiently until the greyness let up and simply stayed. He remained where he was mentally – he stayed rooted- and began reading the words that were offered to him.
~H❣L~
My gift to You
Listening to the song Wake me up when September ends is really appropriate right now. Louis pushes one earpiece further into his ear, securing it against the harsh weather. Or maybe it should be titled Wake me up when the fucking cold ends. Bloody hell.
It’s windy enough to completely destroy his hairstyle and the rain doesn’t help his hairspray-secured fringe. With shivering hands Louis readjusts his beanie, making sure his ears are covered.
Louis hates the cold season and everything that comes with it. He hates the snow that is sure to fall in masses this winter, hates his birthday and Christmas, hates that couples snuggle up to each other to warm up. He absolutely loathes the cuddling that he had to witness on the bus. How dare happy lovebirds show their love so openly? Who gave them the permission to?
His steps fasten as he nears his old school building. It still looks as menacing as when he left it more than two years ago. Louis had thought that when he approached it after having attended university successfully for 4 semesters that it wouldn’t intimidate him that much anymore. Wrong.
His class reunion is long overdue and he excused himself from last year’s due to personal reasons. It wasn’t a lie – because his personal reasons were at the reunion and he hadn’t wanted to see his personal reasons.
Now Louis is 20 though and hiding from his fears is no longer an option. He pushes open the door leading into the English Academy for the Rich and Richer, only to realize that he never learnt to pull it even though bold red letters told him to since his very first day of school. He almost laughs at his stupid brain.
Goosebumps rise on his arms as he walks through the weakly-lit corridor and he puts his Iphone5 with its earphones into his pocket. Louis squeezes his eyes shut so as not to relive things he’s worked so hard on keeping under wraps. He tugs at his scarp nervously as he sees his old classroom ahead of him. Light spills out of it in a scary flash.
Stay strong, Louis thinks to himself and because he can’t quite resist, slaps his own backside. You’re fabulous, he yells inside his head before putting a huge grin on his face and entering a room filled with the familiar faces of his old classmates.
The first face that he sees is his. Not because he’s wearing flashy clothes like Danielle Peazer or because he’s exceptionally broad like Paul Higgins or because he’s standing on the teacher’s desk like Stan Lucas.
No, Harry Styles is leaning against his old desk - which is right behind Louis’. He must have grown even more because Harry’s quite a bit taller than Louis now and he’s wearing white Converse, tight black trousers and - Louis can’t even stay in Harry’s presence for longer than 5 seconds.
His feet act before his mouth can let out a string of curses directed at his ex-boyfriend. Louis just runs and only becomes aware of what he’s doing once he ripped open the gym’s doors and sunken to the ground, panting.
The orange pullover. Harry is wearing the orange pullover that Louis gave him on his own birthday, a day before Christmas - just before Harry had broken up with him.
Louis’ chest hurt a lot. It always hurt but it had lessened over time. On really good days Louis could lie to himself and say that he had gotten over his first love.
And now of course, Harry looks even better than he had in school. Who gave that bastard the right to be so hot? Who had allowed for this to happen? Louis throws his scarf and jacket across the floor. They land in a heap beside him and time really wounds all heals because it feels like he’s bleeding internally, like his lungs are filling with blood and he’s going to suffocate. It’s like he can smell the iron stench of his own blood.
His beanie falls from his head and he tries to catch it before it lands on the floor but his hand only touches air and the light blue material looks so tragic against the vibrant brown wood. It shouldn’t really but it reminds him of Harry and him making love for the first time - because they were in Harry’s room and he had this poster of David Beckham wearing a blue jersey covered in mud splatters, and Louis’ chest hurts so much.
When a hand touches his shoulder, he doesn’t shriek or suffer from a heart attack. Louis was expecting that Harry would follow him and make his life more miserable. When a body kneels down in front of him and warms his cold hands with burning ones, Louis doesn’t flinch away. He assumed he’d have to sit through Harry’s touches since they were what had made him admit to his feelings for the younger lad in the first place.
“I’m sorry.” When Louis hears the voice of his dreams and nightmares he nearly comes undone. It is the natural reaction to have to a voice like Harry’s that takes you places ain’t never been before. When Louis looks up into forest moss mixed with Heineken beer bottle-coloured orbs he is sure that Harry’s using Photoshop on himself - because he is illegal-looking.
“I really hate you.”
~L❣H~
Harry apologized not only because the fanfiction was telling him to but because he was sincerely apologetic for what he was about to do. He held eye-contact with Louis for maybe a little too long – but he needed to assure himself that Louis would thank him later.
He dropped Louis’ hands out of his and punched him in the jaw. Twice.
Louis fell sideways stiffly. He frowned but other than his expression changing slightly, he didn’t react at all.
And he got back up into his awkward sitting position immediately. His face filled with sorrow again.
“I really hate you.” Louis repeated the words the fanfiction made him say and Harry was reminded of Niall, drowning in a swimming pool, stupidly splashing about, flailing his arms, blank eyes staring at Harry.
He hit Louis’ jaw again. This time Louis’ head snapped to the side and he heard a faint crack, presumably from one of Louis’ teeth.
But Louis twisted his head back and spoke with a bruise already lightly forming on his cheek, “I really hate you.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and he basically knew his mind was made up about his upcoming actions. He lifted his hands and lunged, threw himself onto Louis, pressing their mouths together, kissing him.
It felt so stupid kissing someone who didn’t do anything – not reciprocate, not push him off, not move in tiniest way. Harry could have been snogging his hand and it would have been more fun.
The fanfiction didn’t mean for them to make-out yet though and that brought stabs of pain into his skull. Harry ignored the words that pricked his brain like needles, ushering him towards whatever idiotic monologue of regret and forgiveness-begging he was supposed to recite. He concentrated on getting his tongue as far down Louis’ throat as possible - without making him gag.
Harry settled more comfortably between Louis’ legs and rested his elbows next to Louis’ head as he kissed him. The orange pullover he was wearing was silky and he soon found himself rubbing his chest along Louis’. His crotch came in contact with Louis’ too and perhaps it wasn’t the fanfiction’s fault that Louis was nice to lie on.
There was no sound when the text broke and sped forward but Harry felt it move on, over several paragraphs. He also felt Louis’ tongue moving against his own, slow and tiredly as if it were still in hibernation.
But suddenly Louis’ whole body began to awake from its slumber - his hands rose from the wooden floor and dug into Harry’s arms, his legs repositioned themselves more broadly and his dick pressed up into Harry’s - and Harry jumped up from atop Louis.
~H❣L~
Louis’ tongue hung out of his mouth and his eyes were half-lidded. That’s what he tried to fix first and wasn’t really able to.
How did he move his tongue back into his mouth? What muscles did he have to move? Why was his tongue out anyways?
After much eye-rolling he succeeded in closing his eyes, only to find the darkness frightening. He felt hysteria forming inside his chest and an odd sensation rippled through his body – he was turned on?
Was he turned on by fear? By his immobility? By the hand on his arm?
“Louis?”
He sucked in a ball, or cube, or pyramid of breath and his eyes sprang open. Harry’s face was right above him, staring down at him, only a few centimetres away. Louis had the irrational thought of kissing and embracing his best friend and never letting go but he let that slip in favour of moving his hand to his penis and adjusting it into a less prominent placement inside his trousers. Harry’s eyes watched Louis doing so.
“Lou-is? Are you … here?” If Louis hadn’t felt so drained, he would have poked Harry’s forehead and asked whether he was here – but the question felt horribly right and Louis wished to know why. Why did he feel so weird? Why did it smell like sweat, rubber and school? Why did he have a hard-on?
Harry coughed and stood up. His long legs started pacing in short circles before he dropped down to lean over Louis again, closing his eyes and muttering quietly. “I’m doing this for Louis, I’m only doing this for…”
Louis blinked rapidly as Harry’s lips touched his own and he would have snorted at the softness and the quivering – but he shouldn’t be kissing Harry. And Harry shouldn’t be kissing him and why would they be kissing – why would two mates kiss? Two mates who were fed up with Larry Stylinson rumours, who were sick of those asshole-fans and their conspiracy theories?
Louis hated the load of bullshit the fans went on about, hated the detailed analyses of every moment that he spent with Harry - so why was Harry always this close? Why did Harry have to provoke Louis into screaming at him for hugging him in public and making the fans’ fantasies flare up even more? Why did no one accept that Larry Stylinson was not real?
When Harry nipped at Louis’ mouth, pecked numerous times against his mouth and Louis puckered his lips to return the motion, it all sunk in, the stories sunk in.
The majority was hazy and messy and unwanted but Louis’ brain let in all the previous fanfictions until he arrived at the present one and pushed Harry off of himself.
“You - you saved me?” Dizziness flourished within his nerves, or cells, or genes and he couldn’t control the way he jerked upright and fell backward again. His head thumped against the floor loudly and a hand came to his neck, lifting him up. Harry looked so joyous and Louis was trembling with anger.
“What have you done? I thought we agreed on not doing this anymore?! No more fanfictions - no more of this shit!” The words were hovering above them. Glowing maliciously and mocking Louis’ inability to feel nothing but relief and happiness and good things when Harry hugged him, fiercely.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be alright. It’s fine. We’re together.” Harry mumbled into Louis’ neck and Louis inhaled deeply because Harry’s scent was still the same as always, because Harry had brought him back to the thinking.
“How did you come back…” Louis began to ask before his eyes got caught up in reading the text above them.
Louis knows nothing good can come off trusting the guy who tore his heart to shreds but he wants to. He really wants to let himself go in the incredible feelings that Harry Styles gives him, really wants to explore the wonderfulness of this moment. And not having been able to be with anybody, to not even drunkenly make-out with anyone really made him one horny twenty year old with loads of lonesome hand action.
“It’s not over…” Louis mumbled, and it never would be over. As he gave in to the fruitlessness of struggling against the fanfictions, the pain in his mind turned up its volume.
“No. Not yet but … but when I – well, I – and we, and then it just, well skipped multiple paragraphs. Because all the fanfictions care about is getting something. Doesn’t matter much what it is - fanservice.” Harry said in a rush, eager to get it out, all the while rubbing soothing circles on Louis’ back.
“It skipped multiple paragraphs because we snogged?” An absurd concept that under real life circumstances wouldn’t have been appealing but considering what fanfiction authors came up with it seemed almost too simple.
“We don’t have to call it that. Let’s say – let’s call it face-battling.” Harry was making a joke - Louis repressed a grin from popping up on his face.
“It doesn’t work when it gets – you know- steamier.” Louis continued, remembering the first school fanfiction they had encountered.
“But it does work. I mean, look. You’re back and I can’t feel the words pressing against my brain. We’re freer like this. All the fans really want is for us to, yeah – and therefore the story moved forward.”
“To a certain point only.”
“Aren’t you glad for this at least? That as long as we kiss some, the fanfictions won’t torture us with pain and –“
“Until we have to fuck.”
“Maybe we can fake it, maybe we can bypass it. Just – just believe a little.” Louis finally pulled out of the embrace and crossed his legs – which turned out to be impossible with these skinny trousers.
“I want to but –“ His eyes met with Harry’s and the amount of pleading that danced there made Louis lose his train of thought and they could probably fake it, they could probably do anything if they just believed, if Louis believed in Harry and never stopped.
The fireworks that go off in Louis’ being when Harry and him engage in intercourse – he stops himself from thinking this is anything more than primal and animalistic coitus – are beyond belief. Louis cannot speak after the act, simply tries to catch his breath. Harry kisses his chest languishly and Louis dozes off feeling kind of better.
“See, I’m sure that’s easily avoidable.” Harry’s forehead creased with determination and he pushed Louis backwards, bringing them into their earlier predicament – without their lower parts touching though. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway because Louis had reigned his boner in and Harry would never know about it.
Even though Louis was still wearing a really nice shirt with detailed floral print the fanfiction seemed to deem Harry pressing his face against Louis’ clothed skin as sufficient because the paragraph faded and a new one rolled out.
When Louis wakes up hours later he’s alone. It’s dark outside and he would have frozen to death if not for the pullover that he’s covered with. The orange pullover – Harry has gifted it back to Louis. It takes him a long while to get on his feet and back to his life. It takes him even longer to realize that he hung up the pullover, that smelled so specifically of perfectness and summer, on the wall in his bedroom, and that he falls asleep each night looking at it. He yanks it off its hook and throws it into the bin but the same night it magically reappears - and it really isn’t that magical the way Louis dug through his trash, retrieved it and buried his face in the orange material, telling it he would never ever let it escape again.
Harry sat up and sighed in relief as he stared at the passing text - their surrounding started morphing, transforming into something different. There was no panic on Harry’s face though and he punched Louis’ arm, playfully.
“You hit me in the face, three times.” Louis spoke through gritted teeth. His brain was like a thick jungle with vines and bushes obscuring the view and he had to fight his way through to discover relevant information.
“Uh… yeah. I’m pretty proud of myself actually.” Even if his words were strong Harry still did look quite anxious. Louis sat up, brushing off dust and the lingering tingling sensation of Harry’s mouth on his chest. He flattened the creases in his garment with sloppy movements. “They make me cut a lot. In the stories – I cut myself.”
Louis started shaking his head, not wanting Harry’s words to affect him. But glancing back at Harry and knowing that the fans wanted this phenomenal human being with the brightest aura to cut himself, to bleed, made him sick to the core.
“They kill Eleanor a lot.” He added pathetically, wanting to take Harry’s mind off the cruel stories of razors and knifes.
“It’s not quite the same.” Harry said in a whisper, rubbing his forearms – there was nothing to see on the surface.
“Of course not. You are real. She’s just my fake girlfriend…” Grey-eyed monster, really. “You’re fine though, right? No permanent scars?”
“Not physically. And talking to you like this – makes the head-wounds go away as well.” It was true. Louis felt like the more he talked to Harry, the more he focused on him, the less powerful did the past fanfictions claw at his insides. They seemed to grow in blurriness and partially disappeared – like they never happened.
“Because we’re real and the rest isn’t.” Louis retorted and images of El being trampled to death were forgotten.
“Exactly. Let’s repeat that until we are real again – until we’re in the real world again.” Harry clapped his hands onto Louis’ knees and Louis could see the depression Harry had never suffered from, leaving. If they grasped at straws, at each other and clung onto who they really were, the characters they portrayed in fanfictions would be banished from their memories – because those weren’t real.
“We are real and the rest isn’t. Cheers to that.” Louis raised his hand, as if he were holding a glass and Harry followed suit, even making a clinking sound as their invisible objects came into contact. There were thousands, millions of fanfictions but the number wasn’t infinite - hope blossomed in Louis’ heart.
The scenery completed its change and Louis sat in a living room, holding a weird piece of plastic. Harry wasn’t anywhere in sight anymore but just as a tinge of trepidation was about to flare up, a door opened left of Louis and Harry poked his head in, smiling.
“Can I come in?” He said in a carefree tone although he had already entered what was possibly Louis’ flat. The fanfiction had no intention of letting anyone in during this scene but it seemed more focused on something else to care.
“I’ve got something…” Louis twirled the white thing around for Harry to catch a glimpse of. The words above them started rolling down and they both read what they hoped was the last of this story.
Close to 3 months have passed since Louis’ school reunion that he pretty much had not been a part of, and since his encounter with Harry - and he is feeling like shit. Not only because of his feelings for the bloke but his whole body is a wreck. He craves for Harry more than he ever thought he would. Louis is a complete mess and he desires Harry despite how much he despises him.
“Wait – in your hand, is that a …?” Harry’s eyes widened and they both read the lines above them in a state of shocked numbness.
But now he has even more worries ahead of him. A cheerful emoticon appears on the pregnancy test, casting a silent glow in Louis’ darkened living room. Tears he kept in for ages start plummeting from under his eyelashes and Harry didn’t leave him solely one present – he gave him another gift that has steadily been growing inside of Louis.
Thank you for reading. This was a lovely one to write. I’m really thankful for your interest in my story – it really means a lot to me. Thank you.