#larcel

Prompt 3:

Louis Tomlinson is a pop star with a crush. Since his debut, he's written his songs for one person only. Marcel Styles is a professor of literature at the University of London. Now a gossip magazine has called him the pop star's new love.

Louis' POV

I talk to Marcel the entire graduation meeting, only putting my hand up to vote when I see other people doing it. He's been more distracting lately and smiles so much I can't do anything but look at him. It's been hard trying to get him to explain things to me and talk to me and I like giving him time, but no matter what the subject is always going to upset him, so I let him be happy for as long as he can.

"... and Marcel Styles." I hear, and both our heads snap up, looking towards Mrs. Wallace. People around look at him and I don't know if he's been asked a question until Mrs. Wallace begins speaking again. "Out of you three students, valedictorian will be determined by the end of next month." She says, clearing things up while looking right at Marcel.

"It's going to be you," I whisper to him and he grins, shrugging.

"Maybe not," he replies and I roll my eyes.

"She's looking right at you and everyone knows you're top of our class. It's not really a surprise." I tell him, keeping my eyes to the front so I look like I'm listening.

"Something might happen and that could go downhill." He says and I scoff, shaking my head.

"You're valedictorian. It's final." I declare and he grins.

"So you're apart of the school board now?" He jokes and I shake my head.

"I'll just write a strongly worded letter to them. They'll make you valedictorian after that." I say, but he doesn't look the least bit convinced.

"Yeah, sure." He says, just as Mrs. Wallace is reviewing all the decisions we just made that I don't care about.

Everyone is glad to leave after our wasted lunch hour is over, and I stay with Marcel even if I know he wants me to be around my friends more.

They're still weird with me around and Sam doesn't hate me any less. It's not like it used to be, but I don't mind it when I'm with Marcel. He makes me forget about the bullshit and think of everything else that's good instead.

We walk out into the halls and even if he's rushing me to get to his next lesson, I stall and make him stay behind until there's barely anyone around, talking and getting him to look at me as long as possible.

"Why do we even have big meetings like that for prom? We should have just voted for like, five people to make the decisions for everyone," I say and he smiles, leaning against his locker.

"Then everyone would be angry with what was chosen and it wouldn't be fun for them." He says.

"It's going to be boring no matter what," I tell him, wishing I could lean into his body a little further.

He smiles softly and his eyes scan my face.

"Do you think we'll be able to go to prom together?" He asks, and with all the people that we're avoiding and trying to keep secrets from, I immediately think no. Prom is a while away and I want to be able to show people how much I love him by then, but I don't think we'll be able to. I never know when we're going to be open with other people.

"I hope so," I say, just so he doesn't worry. It's true, I do hope we can, but I just think it's unlikely.

"Would you dance with me?" He wonders, smirking softly.

I never dance. I think the only time is when Amanda forced me to at the formal dances we have at school. I've never danced with anyone but her before, and I wonder if Marcel would change my mind about it being shitty. He's changed my mind about a lot of things.

Illicit Love - Chapter 9

By: illicitlylarry

Marcel's POV

Some parts of me still wish Louis never found out. He's helping but it's going too fast and too much is changing. I know this is for the better and I know this is going to make me happier, but I can't breathe when I think about it.

I want to be happy and it bugs me that he's right and I've been so wrong and that I don't know what I want and I don't know how to decide so quickly. The end of the month is in three weeks. Twenty one days is not enough time to choose what I want to do for the rest of my life. No amount of time is going to be enough. I've never had someone give me anything but one choice and I want to be relieved I'm finally allowed to do something else, but I'm not. All I can think of is everyone else and what they would think of me.

"I know you hate talking about this, Marce, but you need to say something." He insists, but everything is growing dark again and it reminds me of wanting to sleep endlessly. "I can't help you get better if I don't understand how you feel."

His thumbs run along my knuckles while he sits cross-legged in front of me. His blue eyes stare at me like he cares but I want him to look somewhere else. I love his eyes but there's too much attention on the fact that I'm not going to make people happy.

"I don't know how I feel." I answer, because it's true. Ever since he found out, I've been trying to find the words and it's the first time in a long time that I can't. I've never had to explain this to anyone and I didn't think I'd have to. I didn't think anyone would care.

"Can you tell me how long this has been going on?" He asks, and as soon as I have to count back years instead of weeks or months, I'm biting on the inside of my cheek.

I look at our hands knotted together.

"The first time I had an anxiety attack I was eleven." That's the farthest back I can remember, because my mum and dad were around and even if I don't remember how it happened, it's the first time I couldn't breathe and the first time my heart tried escaping my chest and I can remember them being scared and driving me to the hospital and a doctor telling me it was probably allergies and handed me a prescription for an inhaler. Every time I panicked after that, it was because there were too many people around or too much was happening and trying to use an inhaler only made it worse because my brain couldn't register how to use it properly.

Louis isn't saying anything and I make the mistake of looking up at him.

He's trying to choke back his sobs and his hands are tight around me. His blue eyes are pooling with tears and he doesn't want to let them fall, but the second he opens his mouth, his cheeks are wet.

"That's seven fucking years ago." He comments, and I know that because every year I make a mental note that I'm still not better instead of make a resolution to get better. I've given up on getting better. "You've been going through this shit for seven fucking years and no one knew?"

He looks right at me and he's shaking so much but I don't want him to be angry with me for not saying anything.

"I just - I didn't - I didn't want anyone to know." I say, looking away from him again. "I know you're mad, but I just didn't know how and-"

"I'm not mad at you." He clarifies, and I'm an ounce more relieved when he lets go of my hands to bring me closer to him. "I just don't know how you've been surrounded by people for seven fucking years and they never took the time to ask you if you were okay or if anything felt wrong. I can't believe we thought everything was okay. You would have been better if everything wasn't so fucked up."

I don't tell him, but I think that's why. Everything and everyone is fucked up in so many ways that I no longer believe anyone can truly be happy.

After I left Marcel's, I went home and got yelled at for not checking in with my parents. I came up with all the best excuses so they would no longer have a reason to get mad at me, but I'm still thinking of Marcel so I want to be alone as soon as possible.

I ended up locking myself in my bedroom to watch gay porn like someone was looking over my shoulder, embarrassed and careful of the door, keeping the volume on mute so I can hear anyone coming up the stairs. I click on the first video I see and only two minutes in, I'm completely hard. Half of me thinks getting this turned on should be wrong when it's right, and I close my laptop when it gets too weird, but already watched half the damn thing and saw pretty much everything. It makes sense when I think the guys are attractive and when they kiss each other it's okay and then they were taking off clothes and moaning and I don't think I've blushed more in my entire life.

All I can think about is being with Marcel like that. It looks like it feels so good and maybe it's a little weird to watch it on a screen, but if Marcel was doing all those things with me I'd be more than okay with it.

He'd look so good like that - innocently ruined by me. I can see him behind my eyelids, naked and arching his back when I push inside of him, moaning, getting hotter and harder as I fill him. Maybe he'd look just as good if I had my legs around him and he rocked his hips into me, holding onto my body and trying to hold himself up while he gets weaker and weaker with pleasure. If kissing him is enough to get hard, sex with him is going to be fucking amazing.

I already have my hand around myself, getting off to thoughts of having sex with Marcel, straddling his waist and being the reason he falls apart.

I come quickly and shamelessly, so needy to keep feeling this good. I hope I can make Marcel feel like this soon and I hope I don't have to wait long to see him. I wonder if he's ever gotten off to thoughts of me like this and I hope he has so I don't have to hold on long, even if I'd wait centuries for him.

I don't stop thinking about Marcel, my body so relaxed. I stay up in my room, still thinking there's hidden cameras or something and everyone I know is watching me. It's fucking stupid and I have my laptop open to the Google page, wishing there was a way I could type my damn question that didn't make me sound like a complete tool.

I mumble, "Fuck it," before typing in the question because I don't know else I'm supposed to fucking know.

How to Have Gay Sex on gaylife.about.com

I laugh at myself because people actually come up with gaylife and run websites about this stuff.

The first words I see are frottage and rimming and I shake my head and laugh at myself to make this better because I know I'm completely fucking stupid when it comes to this. If I wasn't looking at it, I'd be looking up all the things Marcel might be sad about and has been sad about when he's doing better than before. He's going to feel bad some days, but right now he's good. Right now I want him in every way possible.

The first website doesn't tell me shit, only that consent and safety are imperative.

I go to the next website and notice how much I'd didn't know and how much I'm not prepared for. I don't know if I want to top or bottom and after I see that bottoming should hurt, that scares me. There's stuff you should do to make it hurt less but I don't know if I want to do that the first time and I don't know if I want to put Marcel in pain like that either. There's special washing that you have to do and lubricant you have to use and I get nervous all over again because I want to do this with Marcel but I don't want to fuck everything up.

I read so much that the only thing I'm embarrassed about is having to go to the store to buy condoms and lube and an enema. We live in a small town and if anyone saw me I'd blast my head off.

I think of how I can do it without people seeing me. A disguise is stupid but maybe if I buy a bunch of other stuff the cashier won't notice. It's not like my friends regularly go out shopping for shit and I'm going to have to wait longer if I don't buy anything.

The next time I see my parents is the next day before they go to work, and they give me another speech on responsibility and how I still need to let them know where I am, no matter how old I am.

I wait until they're gone and don't tell them that I'm going to Marcel's.

I drive to his house, telling him I'm on my way, thankful I didn't get any calls last night. I hope he didn't need me for anything, and I'm praying he's doing a lot better even if I know that can't be completely true.

I see that Robin is still home, so I knock on the door instead of letting myself in. Marcel answers, smiling at me warmly. He looks well rested compared to yesterday and I step inside, looking around for his dad anywhere before I hug him. He has to lean down to embrace me, so I push myself up on my toes so I'm not so small.

"Better?" I ask and he draws in a deep breathe before pulling back and nodding.

He takes my hands and leads me upstairs, locking his door behind him. I hug him again because I don't want to see him sad like that ever again.

"Did you sleep okay last night?" I wonder, and he slides his hands around, my waist breathing in deeply.

"Yeah." He says, his curls brushing against my cheek. "I like sleeping with you more though."

I smile and kiss him briefly, praying to God I'll know when he's lying now. I've been oblivious for so long that I'm terrified his anxiety is going to go unknown again and I'll brush off all the little big things just because I don't want to see him sad.

"I got my exam marks today, did you check for yours?" He asks, and by the wider smile on his face I know he's done good. I never doubted that he wouldn't excel at everything though.

"I haven't looked yet." I say, completely forgetting that I should be stressed about this. "What did you get?"

He smiles giddily and I'll never get sick of seeing him like this.

"Nothing was below ninety."

I gape at him and he laughs, blushing.

"You're fucking kidding me," I say and he's grinning, shaking his head. "I think you're literally the smartest person I've ever met."

He rolls his eyes, and I'm glad I never doubted him.

"I'm so proud of you." I say, placing my hands on the sides of his cheeks. "That's so amazing."

He's blushing madly and I kiss his face, already self-conscious to see what I got in front of him.

"I can't believe you thought you were going to do bad. I don't think anyone else is going to get something better than that in the entire damn school." I go on, and he wrinkles his nose.

"I'm a lot more relieved now," he replies, giving my hips a squeeze. "Can you check yours?"

I groan, shaking my head.

"It'll be completely underwhelming compared to yours." I point out, but he immediately denies it.

"I know you did well, you worked really hard." He reminds me and I smile the support that genuinely makes me feel a bit better.

"I think I might disappoint myself," I sigh, sitting on his bed. "Maybe I just won't look."

He laughs and lays on his stomach beside me.

"I can do it for you." He says and I lay beside him, thinking it through.

"You can't tell me if they're bad. Just lie to me and say they're good." I tell him, handing him my phone.

He excitedly opens it up and I close to eyes, staying on my back so I can't see. My stomach twists and turns and I hear his thumbs tapping on the screen.

"It's loading..." He begins and I laugh, groaning.

"No commentary, please." I ask, and he agrees while I wait impatiently. "I don't think you should tell me at all, actually. Just put it away after you look."

He sits up, looking at my phone with a wide grin.

"I think you want to know." He tells me, and I bite back my smile.

"Don't bullshit me, if you're trying to make me feel better when I fucked up and if you're getting me excited over nothing, I'll be really fucking pissed."

He laughs and shakes his head.

"I'm going to tell you anyway," he says and I cringe when he opens his mouth.

"Your lowest is seventy five." He says, and I freeze, my heart shaking in my chest.

"Marce, if you're fucking joking-" I begin and he laughs again, shaking his head while I stand up.

"Seventy five, eighty two, eight three, and eight five." He declares and I grin widely.

"Holy fucking shit."

He keeps laughing and shows them all to me and relief feels so good. I couldn't have a mark lower than sixty five for uni, so that's all I was expecting but this bumps up my chances of getting in so much more.

"I told you so," he says, giving me a hug.

"You've still done better than me, though."

"It doesn't matter," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to my mouth. "We've both done amazing."

I can think about school without panicking anymore, no more doubts on not being smart enough for these things.

"Everything has probably been sent out to uni, we should check that too since you've got three thousands unopened emails," he comments, still standing. What he says is true, the red notification over my email icon flashes 3428 because I've never bothered to delete anything.

He looks down at it a few more seconds, a crease between his eyebrows before he looks up at me.

"When was the last time you checked your email?" He wonders and I shrug.

"Honestly, like two weeks ago." I say and he smiles before looking at the screen again and beginning to speak.

"Dear Louis Tomlinson, congratulations on receiving admission to the University of Barclay. We are pleased to inform you that you have been offered an athletic scholarship, and hope to see your acceptance-"

Louis' POV

He falls asleep quickly and I stay awake until it's morning. I've been forcing myself not to cry the entire night when I've wanted to scream, biting back the anger at myself because I should have fucking known.

I can't believe I thought he was just shy and he was just tired these past few days and all the little things that shouldn't have been a big deal made his life miserable. He probably doesn't even know how fucking awful it really is. I don't think anybody does. He hasn't seen himself the way I did tonight, even if he forced his face away from me. He's never looked so terrified and heartbroken and in pain. I've watched him cry before, but it was never like that. It fucking terrifies me to know that this has happened before and I wasn't there for him. Hell, it's happened and I've been the fucking reason. I made him miserable and I made him hate himself and I thought it was goddamn hilarious.

I hate myself for even thinking of doing it and I can't imagine all the times he's probably doubted me because of what I did to him. He should have never forgiven me for all the bullshit. I don't deserve it and I sure as hell don't deserve him. It's fucked up and I'm fucked up for not even being aware of all the damage. I just convinced myself he has his off days like everyone and he gets nervous in crowds because he's shy and he's isolated himself from people because he's shy and he has sleeping issues because he works hard and he keeps his belongings organised because he's neat and he bounces his knee in class because he's bored and he covers his body up in front of me because he isn't used to being like that in front of people and he pushes himself to do be the best because he wants to be successful and he has backaches because of posture and he's done so much just because that's who he is and not because he's sad or because he cries when I'm not around and shakes when no one can see and hates himself even when everyone surrounds him.

The person I'm in love with is so broken and I didn't even take the time to notice if something was wrong.

I sit beside him while his breathing finally slows, and when I know he's asleep I let myself cry. It's quiet and it hurts, but I still run my fingers through his hair and try to soothe him because I don't doubt that he's still hurting while he rests. I want to throw my fists at the wall and hit myself because I should have been helping him sooner. I shouldn't have been such a fucking douchebag to him and he might have been happier.

An hour into his sleep, he rolls on his back and has a frown on his face. He tugs at the shirt around his neck that he's been wearing all day, groaning. He breathes deeply as he struggles to take it off, not awake, but not asleep either.

I wipe my face in case he does wake up, sitting forward to help him.

"Too tight," he mumbles, trying to force the shirt off of himself while he lays down. His attempt is weak, so I lean over to reach for the buttons.

"I can do it," I tell him, even if he can't hear me. "Can you sit up a bit?"

He barely brings himself off the mattress, but I've already got the buttons undone so I just pull the fabric off his arms. He lets out a sigh of relief before laying back down beside me, but struggles with his trousers. I wipe away more tears while I help him again.

I never thought I'd take off his clothes for the first time like this.

He's in only his pants as he curls next to me again, and I run my hand along his bare back while I pull up his blankets to keep him warm. His head is in my lap and he hugs my legs, falling back asleep again.

I keep my hands in his hair and against his skin and I wish I'd stop fucking crying. I try to distract myself, pulling out my phone again to see what I can do to help him. He knows what's wrong, but he hasn't been able to fix it so I want to be able to.

"Let the person know they can talk to you. Don't get frustrated. Spend as much time with them as possible. Don't bring up the anxiety often. Tell them they can call you anytime, anywhere. Don't let the anxiety affect you as well. Be forgiving. Don't expect massive, immediate turnarounds. Try to go outdoors. Don't guilt trip. Be proud of them when they improve. Don't give up hope. Be yourself. Don't say: calm down, just do it, everything is going to be fine, I'm stressed out too, have a drink, did I do something wrong."

I go through ten Google pages, copying stuff down before I type in something else and look at them more.

I refuse to do anything that will make this worse.

Again, I search up the medication he's taking and look at the side effects.

"Sleep problems, strange dreams, headaches, pain, weariness, loss of appetite, dry mouth, changes in weight or appetite, flu symptoms, decreased sex drive, panic attacks, irritability, depression, thoughts of suicide or hurting yourself-"

I stop because my hands are shaking and I can't read anymore. My vision is blurry and as soon as I blink, fat tears are rolling down my cheeks and dripping off my chin.

I can't look at my phone anymore, so I put it away and lay down with Marcel to comfort him because I'm drowning in thoughts of him wanting to hurt himself and hoping this is all a side effect so it isn't permanent and hoping this hasn't hasn't happened lots before. I just want him to get better and to do anything I can to see him smile again.

He rolls away from me to get comfortable again, tugging at the blankets and untangling them from his legs before pushing his back against my chest again.

I sigh and don't let myself cry anymore.

I've been awake for hours and I'm not even exhausted, afraid he might wake up anxious and won't wake me up with him because he doesn't want to interrupt my sleep. When I start to get tired, I slide out from beside him, pulling the blankets up to his chest and press my mouth to his temple.

There's still mirror pieces all over the floor and his closet is a mess from when I destroyed it to find his medication and this chest of drawers is open with shirts hanging off the edges and everything is such a damn mess that I can't to look at it.

I maneuver my way around the glass while trying not to wonder why it's broken and how it broke, going downstairs quietly to find a broom and dustpan in one of the many closets. I grab a bag beside the bin under the sink, thankful we're here alone or tonight would have went a lot differently. His parents would have came in and I wouldn't have been able to hold him then they'd ask me to leave and they wouldn't be able to be with Marcel the way I could because they probably don't even know about this.

I make my way back upstairs and quietly clean up the broken mirror, putting it in the plastic bag I brought up. It distracts me from everything and I focus on what I need to do next instead of looking over at Marcel every five seconds to see if he's okay.

I have to fold his clothes again and clean his closet and pick up the things I left on the floor. It's quite a lot so I hope it takes me until Marcel wakes up.

I finish with the mirror, setting aside he large pieces to put away later. I move on to his chest of drawers and take out all the things that need to be refolded, looking through all the drawers to see what goes where. The top one was for t-shirts, then next one was for long sleeved shirts, then next was jumpers, the next jeans and the next, socks and pants. There's still a few folded things in there and I notice they're all sorted by colour.

I refuse to think about it too long and fold everything to perfection, putting it away and hope he likes it and it's the way he usually has it.

An hour passes by the time I'm done that, passing Marcel sleeping when I see his trousers and top tossed at the end of the bed. I take them to put them away, but I'm weak and I don't want to give up the soft fabric. It smells like him and it's warm like him and it feels like hugging him so I don't give a shit when I take off my own clothes just to feel him around me.

I put his trousers in the hamper and pull the sleeves up because it falls past my hands.

I open the door to his walk-in closet, more comforted just by wearing his clothing. I look at the mess I made and sigh, looking back to him before I sit down to sort everything the way he'd want it.

My throat is so swollen I don't know how I'm not crying, but I'm almost done with his clothes and it's three in the morning when I hear him moving around in bed.

"Louis?" His voice is hoarse and I stand up like its a reflex from his voice.

He's sitting up and I move to him as quickly as possible.

"I'm here." I say, and he looks at me with glossy eyes.

I can hear his heart slamming against his ribcage.

Getting back into bed with him, I already have my arms around his body and pull him in to my chest. We're both sitting up and his breathing is a little shaky and I wonder if this is merely a calm before hurricanes explode again.

"Where were you?" He asks. He sounds like he's be yelling for hours. I think he's be yelling for years.

"I was just cleaning some things up, but I'll stay with you. I promised I'll stay." I remind him, and he nods and comes closer, his arm draping across my waist and his head on my shoulder.

I can still feel his heart beating against my body and we sit awake for a long time in silence. I don't want to be loud and keep him awake, so I gently run my hands along his sides and try to calm him in any way possible.

Suddenly he starts crying and shaking again and I bite my cheek and hold him tighter. I don't ask him why, because I don't even think he knows why. I wipe away his tears and let my skin soak them up and press kisses into his hair and tell him I love him and I don't say everything will be okay because he won't believe me. My hands shake, but I don't let him see because I don't want him to think it's his fault. It's my own damn fault. I tell myself he's going to get better and we'll go to the doctor today and change his medicine because that's only making it worse. He has to get better.

Marcel's POV

I'm scared to answer him. I have notifications asking me to ring him and have notifications for all his voicemails but I didn't want to answer them because hearing his voice makes it too hard to let go. The part of my conscience that want to love him screams at me to listen, saying I've been strong staying away from him for almost two days - even if that should barely count as strength. I've been deprived of him, but I shouldn't have to suffer so much.

"Hello?" I answer. My voice is raw from yelling then barely speaking and sleeping too much in the last few days. I clear my throat, but I know it won't help.

"Where are you right now? Are you at home?" Louis sounds frantic, but it's soothing to hear him speak.

"Why?" I ask. I don't see the point in the question and I try avoiding thoughts of all he's done to me.

"I need to talk to you right now." He's pleading for me to say yes even if he sounds like he wants to demand it.

"Louis, I don't think I can-"

"Marce, you're going to want to hear me. Please just tell me if you're home."

"I am, but-" I'm cut off again, and this time he hangs up. I look at my phone and shake my head before dropping it beside me, wondering why I picked up in the first place. If it was important he could have told me right away instead of hanging up.

I sigh, my heart still shaking. It's been so long without him, and he can't kiss me when I want to cry so I don't know how much longer I can do this. I didn't think I'd have to rely on a person so much to be okay, and even the bottle of pills can't replace him. They might put me to sleep, but I'd rather feel his body next to me and hear voice instead of silence and vacancy.

I wait around desperately for him to ring me back saying he didn't mean to hang up, but he doesn't. I stare at my mobile and the screen stays black. My heart sinks down and adds to the heaviness in my stomach and I don't want to miss him so much. I wish I could hate him without thinking of everything he did right and everything I'll never have again.

I hear the front door open and I sigh, knowing my parents are going to make me come down and talk and eat. I've been lying that about being ill the past few days and it's believable when I stay up in my room to sleep, but whenever I'm awake they try getting me to eat and talk and get better as soon as possible.

I decide to go down before they have to come up, but before I even get out of bed there are footsteps jogging up the stairs that sound like Louis' and I look down to the joggers I have on and the big t-shirt, reminding myself that my hair is a mess and I look like I've barely slept an hour this whole week. I'm sure my eyes are swollen from crying so damn much and I have no time to change how I look because he's opening the door, breathless from getting over here so quickly. He stops walking the second he sees me - looking equally as tired, but still more beautiful than ever.

We look at each other quietly for a few long seconds before he looks like he's going to cry, closing my door and locking it out of habit. He walks towards me and immediately wraps his arms around my body, holding me so tightly I think he might put some broken pieces back together. I still have the urge to push him away because his arms have been around her, but he sinks and moulds into me and he's warm and it's all the comfort I've been lacking since he's been away. I still want to hate him for forcing this on me, but it's so satisfying that my anger is ineffective. He grips my body and lightening bolts split through every single nerve. I don't want to hug him but I don't want him to get off of me, so I keep my arms by my side and let him do this while he can. It's never been so hard keeping this far away him.

"I didn't sleep with Amanda." They're his first words since he walked in the door and my relaxed muscles goes stiff, limb by limb. He pulls away from our embrace with wide, hopeful eyes, but I can't move as I think of his words, confused as to how they could be right after he's begged me to forgive him. "She was telling everybody we did because she still wanted them to like us and she knew I wouldn't remember so she didn't care, but we didn't do anything. She was lying the whole time and told me that I went home with her but I kept telling her no until I passed out. I didn't sleep with her."

He's smiling so widely and I'd do anything to believe him but he's had time alone and something like that can be fabricated within a few hours.

"How can I trust you?" I ask. His hands wrap gently around my wrists and his eyes flash with pain. He shouldn't expect me to trust him so easily and I'm going to need proof from someone other than him.

"She came over yesterday and she told me and I broke up with her. She's gone." He keeps trying to pull some sort of happiness out of me, but it isn't any use. I'm still stuck feeling from the outside, but a panic is beginning to settle itself inside me. There's so much empty space to fill that I'm scared he'll get caught in a lie.

"Louis, I don't know..." I trail off and take a step back from him just in case. He can't be too close. He's been too close before and that's made it hard to walk away.

"You don't believe me?" He asks, his frown growing deeper between each brow.

"I can't." I say, sitting back down on my bed. My legs are weak because he keeps looking at me and his eyes are so blue I think I might drown. "How do I know you're not lying?"

He shakes his head and stands in front of me and I'm convincing myself this is all a lie just to get me back. He said he wouldn't give up, but he didn't say he wouldn't lie. The tissue around my throat swells and throbs.

He pulls out his phone and I'm so cold without him next to me now, deprived of the warmth I had grown so familiar to. He dials a number and puts the person on speakerphone. His simple words are complicated to understand and we listen to the rings constantly before the person picks up, and my heart is racing because he's right next to me and he's so close to having me back with him. Part of me doesn't even want proof and would rather have him back than wait for an answer. Never knowing might be okay if he can make me happy again. I can make myself believe he's telling the truth.

"Are you going to talk now?" The person answers, and I recognise Amanda's voice.

"I want you to tell me why you told everyone we slept together when we didn't." He says. By this point, my heart is bouncing off each end of my ribcage. He looks right at me and takes a step closer. I don't push away.

Amanda lets out a loud sigh, the rough air brushing across the speaker.

"I said I was sorry, Louis." She tells him, and after that - all I can think is he hasn't done anything wrong. "I was stupid to think you would be fine with it. I just thought you wouldn't remember we didn't do anything. And if everyone knew then you wouldn't have a reason to doubt it when I told you because you'd feel bad for forgetting or something. I really am sorry, Louis. It was so stupid."

He didn't do anything wrong.

Something rushes over me and I expect it to be the anxiety again because that's all that's been collapsing over me in the past few days, but it feels too good to be anxiety. It relaxes each tendon and settles my mind, and even if I think I might be crying, I don't want it to end.

"But we can work this out, can't we? We always do." She says, but Louis keeps looking at me in desperation.

"Not this time," he tells her. "We've been having too many problems for too long and I don't want to have to deal with this anymore. We don't feel the same."

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice breaks and part of me feels sorry for what she's giving away but I know that after the shock goes away, I might be able to have all of him. "Did you find someone else?"

He's still looking at me and it makes the world spin in a way that will only calm our two wild minds.

Louis reaches forward to touch my cheek, his thumb swiping across my skin delicately so he can rid my face of tears. Something inside me still wants to hate how good he feels, but I ignore it and lean into his palm. His hands are warm and I close my eyes so I can stop crying.

"I don't know yet," Louis tells her, and I bite the inside of my cheek. "I have to go, though. We can talk later if you want, but I'm busy right now. Bye."

She tries saying something, but he shuts his phone off and puts it on my desk.

I don't think I've ever been so confused. I spent so long picturing him with her and it was never real. He was never with her and he never forgot me. He thought I was good enough and he doesn't want her. He left her to stay with me and it's so hard to absorb, but I feel my mattress sink in beside me when he sits down, our thighs pressed together.