and violence henceforth (mentalistecbm) wrote,
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  • Music: i've got a dark alley... -- fob

fic: joke me something awful

joke me something awful
we're the kids who feel like dead ends. 1431, pg-13. technically gen.
for zoya and kalene but uh, there is no way that this is what you two were expecting so i'm sorry for that. i really am. for a prompt on the kinkmeme where louis leaves and everyone finds some way to deal but harry. (but that's assuming the other boys deal at all.) thanks to bealous for creeping my doc and forcing me to finish this and yeah. mistakes are my own. i apologise in advances.

it happens on a tuesday, and harry wakes up, and he’s not there. harry calls him and he doesn’t pick up, harry tells the other boys and they try their fucking hardest not to freak out, text and phone louis a billion times, and louis does not pick up, louis does not show and he ignores paul and their fucking management, and this is what the beginning of the end feels like, like pressing green over and over and over and getting hey it’s louis the tommo tomlinson, and i can’t be reached right now. leave some info at the tone and i will--fuck, zayn, shut up, i’m recording something, you arse--sorry about that. leave the details at the tone and i’ll call you back as soon as i can. thanks!

harry feels like he has called a thousand times, remembers the day louis finally got around to recording that, fucking months ago, and they’d all been huddled in niall’s flat, being responsible and tying up loose strings before they had to go on tour and now harry is calling and calling and leaving every single fucking detail and louis is not answering, louis is not here and there is nothing normal about this, this not a fucking drill and this is panic, absolute panic and he cannot calm himself down.

-

the police can only do so much.

-

it seems--wrong, it seems off and sudden and impossible, that louis tomlinson could just disappear this easily, that the authorities could possibly be right when they bring up the possibility that, hey, maybe he’s gone away on his own accord? and harry has to use every gram of self-control he possesses to not punch all of them in their fucking faces because they don’t know anything. they don’t louis, he does, better than anyone in the entire fucking world, and louis wouldn’t leave.

he wouldn’t.

-

london gets turned completely upside down. public’s in mass hysteria and management’s willing to pay whatever it takes; they can’t bare to lose 1/5th of their money cow, not now, not when everything’s going great and they’re hitting number one and hitting millions and thirty-five thousand new followers a day and america’s hitting bank, just like they expected except, shit, no one likes a scandal and this--this is every nightmare touching home and the last thing they expected. the last member they expected.

it was supposed to be harry or zayn first, fed up and off to go solo or some similar bullshit, or liam getting married, but niall and louis were always safe, always the ones that absolutely everyone knew they could count on to keep the band together and now it’s not, and niall getting iffy glances from the shits in charge, like are you going to go out on us, too, and harry wants to hurt everything, want to yell himself hoarse, wants to throw a fit and go bonkers because fuck all of this, fuck all of them. louis did not leave of his own accord, and they need to stop acting as if he did and actually get fucking serious because his best friend is missing and he doesn’t understand how they can be so calm, not when everything--

this is the first week.

-

it happens on a tuesday, and another goes by, and then four more, and louis is still not home, louis is still not home, louis has still not been found and harry still has not left his flat and could this be the end of teen pop sensation one direction?

harry throws his laptop across the room and curls into fetal position under the duvet and it smells like louis, like vanilla and honey and losing half of yourself.

-

the first sighting is in doncaster and the second is in wolverhampton and the third is in fucking seattle and harry laughs and laughs and laughs until his voice is gone but it’s not like he’s ever going to fucking bother singing ever again, so what’s the harm?

-

harry feels like his lungs have collapsed and the sun still shines, the sun still sets, the world is spinning and the stars are aligned and the stock markets never close and this must be what going mad feels like.

-

there’s no more one direction, but that doesn’t mean that harry, liam, zayn, and niall can’t perform.

that first night in belfast, harry can’t even bring himself to smile for the fans, walks straight in through the back doors without acknowledging a soul and he knows management’ll give him shit for it later but he’s already stopped caring about whether he’ll even wake up in the fucking morning, so what’s the point? what’s the point to anything? he’s just waiting for the day that god finally grants him one favor and a bullet shoots through his skull, because then no more thinking, no more having to get up and go about his day and act as if this dead weight isn’t hanging around in his chest, as if he’s actually okay.

this crowd is the most subdued they’ve had ever. harry sees a lot of black, dark and dull colours abound, and he thinks what the fuck are you mourning, hates all of them with a burning and deep passion and his stomach. holds his breath for a full minute, but his heart is still beating. it has not fallen out and it is not sliced through with the memory of louis brushing his teeth on the morning of their first x-factor performance and louis’ eyes when he looked out at the reception they got in dallas and smile the night of the brits and louis and it’s like--

-

it’s like standing on train tracks and it’s headed straight towards you but you don’t know what it is except that you do and you are terrified, but you are paralysed, can’t move, and there is an eagle pecking on the sensitive spot on your neck and you want to flinch away, you do flinch away but it just follows you and you want to cry out for help, but you don’t know how because too much pain, too much everything, and there’s adrenaline in your body and you feel like you could jump into a burning building right now but the question is whether you’ll ever have the energy to get out, it’s like forgetting the lines to the song you helped write, it’s like getting told that you weren’t good enough, it’s like having a million people hate you simply for existing it’s like disappointing your mother it’s like losing a good friend because you got your dream it’s like going back home and finding nothing waiting for you it’s like losing your reason for everything and like like like

-

taking a breath and another and another and trying to force the words out to something you’ve sung a thousand times but exhale but how could you possibly fucking dare when he’s not here--

-

sixth month, liam drinks nonstop for a full week, gets himself hospitalized for three days and goes home with a box of medication and not enough therapy. fifth, zayn gets caught in a back alley with two girls, leaving a motel with another the next morning, and a boy the following week. fourth, seventh, third, niall sleeps and niall sleeps and niall sleeps and niall does not laugh.

harry walks into the drugstore and tony convinces him to try marlboro; it makes him feel too strange after, and he decides to stick with camel.

-

fourth, and the flat no longer smells like louis, harry’s bed no longer smells like louis and he sits in the corner of louis’ room and stares and stares and stares and stares and he wants to ask why but he doesn’t, he absolutely fucking does not, except that his charger is still plugged into the socket and his braces are still laid out at the end of the bed and harry can feel his last laugh, can still taste the good night, haz on his tongue and this is dying, this is the knife in his stomach twisting and being wrenched out sideways and he can’t sleep, can’t eat can’t breath can’t bother to act like living still feels like the better option.

-

twelfth and harry’s on his last pack of cigarettes and the beautiful stranger laying on his bed says oh, but you’re the harry styles and harry wonders if she still thinks and louis tomlinson after his name.
Tags: fic, gay direction, should be asleep, sorry in advance, what is sleep even, why i should never choose the titles
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