; adjective; extremely beautiful and, typically, delicate.

Harry doesn't call that night to bid Louis goodnight. It's one of the first nights, since Louis has met the curly haired lad, that he falls asleep naturally, without the deep baritone voice of his best friend lulling him to sleep. Louis hates to admit it, truly hates to because he feels that he's looking too far into things, but he doesn't sleep as well as he usually does that night.

He, also, isn't awoken by a good morning text from Harry.

This goes on throughout the weekend and doesn't go unnoticed by Louis. He occupies his mind by bugging Zayn and self meditating over the weekend, drowning himself in scented baths and burying himself under his stuffies (Even Joan picked up on his sour mood) throughout the week. Anything to help him forget the large Harry sized gap in his life.

It's not until Wednesday when he receives the text message.

Zayn's at work, Liam's at work, and Louis is at the library. His pink tinted nose is shoved between the pages of a sappy, romantic novel. He's almost to the end, feet propped up on the chair across from him and blue eyes flitting across the page, when his phone buzzes.

Hazzaboo : Louis, please delete my number as I will be deleting yours. We can no longer continue to be friends. It was great while it lasted but now it's over. Have a nice life. I wish you the best.

Louis snorts when he reads the text, rolling his eyes in amusement. He immediately closes his book and slides it across the table, resting his elbow in its place . He inspects his nails as the dial tone rings through his ear (He's thinking maybe a yellow or lime green color next, depending on Harry's opinion towards the matter).

"Long time, no speak, Harry. I'm glad to know you're not dead but it would've been nice to hear from you earlier than this. How've you been?" Louis says once Harry answers, skipping all formal introductions. They're passed that stage as friends.

Harry is silent for awhile. Louis can hear him breathing through the phone but he's not speaking. Then, "Hello, Louis. Please delete my number. Or block it, either one is fine with me."

"Good one, Haz. You can stop joking now. Did Niall put you up to this? Sneaky little Irishman."

"Louis," Harry sighs and this is the most he's called Louis by his formal name since they've met. "Did you get my text message? We can't be friends anymore."

Louis giggles and shakes his head stubbornly, "Harriboo, you can--"

"Delete my damn number! I'm not joking, Louis. Not everything in life is a joke. Get it through your thick skull that I don't want to be your friend anymore."

Blue eyes widen and Louis' heart drops into his stomach. His smile slides off his face and is replaced by a frown as he sniffles, "What did I do? What happened? Haz, what did I do?"

"My name is Harry. You didn't do anything. I just... I'm tired of you. I need friends my age who act their age. You're just... Too much for me. Too much responsibility."

Louis' shaking hand flies to his mouth as the first of probably many sobs claws out of his mouth, "Harry..."

"Bye, Louis. Sorry things didn't work out."

"Harry--" Louis gets cut off by the sound of the call ending.

The book is forgotten as Louis packs his stuff back into his bag, tears blurring his vision. His phone drops to the floor with a loud clang. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie before he looks down to grab his phone. The sight alone makes him crumble to his knees and curl up under the table in the library.

His lock screen is a picture of him and Harry. They were at the park, Louis on the swings and Harry hugging him from behind. Harry's got his chin resting on Louis' shoulder, curls wild and nose red. Green eyes shining in amusement and smile so big. Harry looked truly exquisite that day, hence why Louis made it his lock screen. After they'd left the park, Harry treated him to hot tea and cuddles.

Why did Harry end things so abruptly? Louis couldn't think of anything he'd done wrong lately. It could be the Daddy thing but that had happened ages ago. Harry was asleep for the handjob... Or was he? Maybe that was it.

Louis sobs harder into his knees, wishing the world would just swallow him whole.

And for the first time in a long time, Louis is unhappy.

When the blue eyed boy gets home, Zayn is not there, leaving him alone with all his thoughts. His eyes are red rimmed and pink, his sleeves stained with his own tears. He drags himself through the kitchen, throwing his stuff on the kitchen table before drifting toward the living room. He throws himself onto the couch, face first, before indulging himself in the silence.

"Harry," Louis croaks, meager tears draining from what's left in his body, "what did I do? Let me make it better."

What do you do when the person who comforts you in your darkest times is the person that caused you such sadness? What do you do when the arms you long for no longer want to hold you?

Louis doesn't know either.

He's still there when Zayn gets home, still face down in the couch. Zayn, Lord knows how much Louis loves Zayn, assumes Louis couldn't find his way to his bedroom and fell asleep on the couch, instead. He places his bag by the door and shrugs off his shoes, wandering into the living room.

"Hey Little Lamb, couldn't find your way to your bedroom, huh?" Zayn murmurs, rolling Louis over onto his back. The red marks, caused by the couch cushion, disguise the tear tracks still left on Louis' face. Zayn doesn't laugh at the red but, instead, caresses one of Louis' soft, warm cheeks.

Louis allows his eyes to flutter open and flicker up to Zayn's dark silhouette, smiling sadly as he leans into the rough palm. Zayn leans down, pushing his arms under Louis to pick him up bridal style, "Your room or mine?" Zayn doesn't comment on the certain sadness swimming, no, drowning in Louis' eyes.

"Yours? Please Zayn, I just need--"

"I know." Zayn treks through the darkness towards his bedroom, biting his lip at the situation at hand. Zayn noticed the subtle changes in Louis' behavior. He was no longer as lively as he used to be in the mornings and at night, Zayn could hear the creaking and slight groaning as Louis tossed and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position.

He just hoped to God it didn't involve Harry.

Louis pushed his face further into Zayn's shirt, trying to suffocate himself in Zayn's smell. He didn't know if it were a good or bad thing that he kept comparing Zayn to Harry. On one hand, he didn't want to think about Harry, but at the same time, comparing them reminded him of how Harry smelled. Or, at least, how he remembered Harry smelling.

"Little spoon tonight? Or do you wanna hold me?" Louis falls back onto Zayn's bed, bouncing twice before hands find their way to the zipper and button of his pants.

"Little spoon, please," Louis whispers it as if it's a secret.

Chill bumps erupt along Louis' legs and he shivers. The shadows in Zayn's room are quite startling at this time of night. What time of night is it?, Louis wonders as he reaches up to rub his eyes.

In no time at all, Louis is dressed in a shirt of Zayn's, that he wore Monday (It's always better to wear "dirty" shirts because they smell the best, according to Louis), and his cupcake nightlight is plugged in by his side of the bed. Zayn settles in behind Louis, his arms snaking around the smaller boys' waist.

"Don't worry, I washed the sheets yesterday," Zayn says, hoping for a giggle as he chuckles exaggeratedly.

Louis cracks a smile at Zayn's advances, "No love juices?"

The older man lets out a breathy laugh he didn't even know he was holding and nods his head, "No love juices. I promise they're clean."

Zayn takes pride in the little huff of a laugh he's rewarded with.

It's silent for awhile, nothing but the sound of breathing and the busy streets outside the window, when abruptly Louis spins around in Zayn's arms and twists his fists into the grey shirt he convinced the dark haired boy to wear (so he'd have something to grab onto).

Zayn threads a hand in his best friend's cotton soft hair as the first tears begin to fall, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He can barely make out the inaudible, "No," Louis chokes out, his head shaking in distress.

This lasts for about an hour and a half until Louis is, once again, all cried out. He's left hiccuping and gasping with his face tucked into the crook of Zayn's neck. Zayn continues to alternate between rubbing and patting Louis' back, trying his best to contain the tremors racking the smaller boy's body.

"Once upon a time, I thought I was straight," Zayn sighs softly, pursing his lips together before he continued. "I was 15 with a beautiful girlfriend and had a nice group of friends, homophobic friends, I should add. I didn't think much about boys, or girls, for that matter. I was just absorbed in my art and focused on going to a good college.

"Periwinkle, my girlfriend, was just... There, I guess. I wasn't overly in love with her. She was cool and she thought I was cool too, so we decided to date."

The hiccuping had calmed as Louis stared up at Zayn in fascination. Him straight? No way.

"I know what you're thinking. 'Zayn straight? No way, he's strictly dickly'. Yeah, I haven't always been that way. Anyway, things were fine until this... This angel joined our school. An angel with a soft face but strict personality. I was immediately attracted to him. Like, I went through this gay downfall. Within a month, I had watched enough gay porn to be considered unhealthy."

Louis giggles wetly as Zayn continues, "I'm serious! Like, I'd always looked at men but I thought it was just curiosity towards what other guys my age looked like. But this guy, he put my good looks to shame. Not to be cocky, pun intended, but I'm sexy as hell and he was even sexier. Of course, I had to befriend him."

"What was his name?" Louis asks in interest. Someone hotter than Zayn? He needed to see that.

Of course, his question is ignored as Zayn stares off at some random point in his room as if he's some kind of tortured artist.

"To make a long story short, my best friend caught Pretty Boy and I making out on my bed. By the next day at school, my name was no longer, 'Oh, hey Zayn! What's up?' It was now, 'Ew, that's Zayn. The faggot'. I lost all of my friends, my girlfriend. The only people who were still loyal to me were my parents and Pretty Boy, who was also nicknamed, 'The faggot that turned Zayn gay'. Even through the bullying and teasing and ruthless attacks, that man loved me endlessly."

"Aww Zayn! That's so sweet," Louis smiles. Sappy love stories will forever be his weakness.

"Pretty Boy moved over the summer after the school year. The only thing he left me was a note. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again."

When Zayn doesn't continue, Louis smacks his chest lightly. "Well, Zayn? What happened? What was his name? Did you guys meet again? Tell me."

Louis' whines pull a fond smile out of Zayn, the latter enjoying the lifted mood of his friend. "Are you sure you wanna know?"

"Heck yeah! C'mon, spill the beans!"

"Well," Zayn smirks, "Liam and I are on our way to celebrating our three years of officially dating."

Gasping, Louis looks up at Zayn, his eyes as wide as his mouth, "No way!"

"Way," chuckling, Zayn rolls his eyes.

"That's so adorable! That is true love right there! Oh my Goodness! When it's meant to be, you go kind of crazy--" Louis can't help but break out into song, his somber mood temporarily forgotten.

"Calm down, Kiddo."

Louis becomes a giggling mess after completing his rendition of "Meant to be". Zayn's laughing along too, his fingers dancing against Louis' bare hips.

"But hey, I didn't tell you that for fun. I want you to know that if it's meant to be, if it's truly meant to be, love will find a way to bring you back together. I'm sure of it. You've just got to be patient and auspicious."

"Smaller words, please, Zaynie," Louis jokes to try and lighten the mood. He can already feel the sudden switch of the conversation topic.

"Patient and optimistic. Remember that, Lou."

And as Louis laid his head down on Zayn's chest, he prayed that it was meant to be between him and Harry.

But then again, a fortune cookie saying wasn't enough to keep Louis happy for long.