; adjective; attractive

Harry doesn't remember much after that. He had arrived at the anniversary party a little more than buzzed, and the several flutes of champagne that he continued to knock back did little to improve his memory. He just needed to get the image of sad blue eyes out of his mind before they made him do something reckless and impulsive.

It was strange, though, the way Niall became closed off and hostile. He expected it from Zayn and Liam and, of course, Louis. But, he and Niall had been best friends for ages. Niall was all he had and now he had no one but clingy... Girlfriend? Girl friend? Friend that's a girl? Acquaintance?

"You're being a dick, Harry, and I think you should leave," he had been told by his former best friend. Between the shouting and the music, Harry couldn't hear much, but his ears definitely picked that up.

And he wasn't wrong. Harry'd been acting like a proper dick for a week now, and all it took was an Irish man with fading blonde tips to turn him back into a weak-minded fool.

Honestly, Harry was not cut out for the life of a cocky straight man.

"Babe, where're you goin'?"

"Bathroom."

Taylor's hair is a tangled mess of blonde on top of her head, red lipstick smeared all over her face, her t-shirt (the one that actually belonged to Harry but she claimed as her own), and Harry's grey bed sheets. He resists reaching over the side of his bed and wrapping his hands around her neck, squeezing until his rings were permanently imprinted in her skin, and actually walks to the bathroom, dragging his feet on his carpet.

Once in the bathroom, Harry notices the deep, crescent-shaped fingernail marks the devil in his bed left on his upper bicep. Louis was definitely, 100%, hands-down a better cuddler. But he's not allowed to think thoughts like that, so he sheds his boxers and climbs into the shower, the icy water blending with the stressful tears falling from his face.

On one hand, the sex was okay. But that was the only thing he found somewhat tolerable about her. She was a distraction from the turmoil of emotions running through his hair and brain and fingers and toes and every other inch of his body because he really needed Louis in his life. Yet, he couldn't have him because he was not gay.

"I'm not even gay," Harry mumbles into the water, letting it wash whatever stiff hair product Taylor convinced him to use last night to style his hair. "Taylor could be my wife someday if she wasn't so goddamn repulsive. From her voice to her personality to her god-awful smell. Louis should teach her how to be feminine."

His excuse is the amount of alcohol of had consumed the night before. His excuse is the fact that he has to fake his orgasms with the rat in his bedroom, so he hadn't had a proper one in decades. His excuse is the fact that he is not gay but he's not straight and his mom will hate him if he continues to like men but it's. So. Hard. Not. To.

Whatever his excuse is, it leads him to lean against the shower wall, his fist wrapped around the base of his cock. He squeezes once, twice, a third time before beginning to slowly stroke his cock, rubbing the material of his rings cold against his sensitive nipples.

He tries to imagine Taylor first. She was pretty, but her lips were thin. Her body was curvy but skinny but enough. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue. But Louis had blue eyes too and using him to make him cum was a no-no.

So, he imagines Nolan, the barista at Starbucks that draws smiley faces by his name on his cup. Fit, light green eyes, and shaggy hair that Harry imagines tugging on as he cums down his throat. But Nolan has blonde hair like Niall and that's his best friend or at least was and now he's mad at him and does he betray the woman that raised him or the friends that would do anything for him?

"Ugh, fuck! Can anyone get a decent wank around here without thinking too much?" Harry lets go of his cock and slams his hand against the shower wall, turning around to press his forehead against the slippery tile.

His mother carried him for nine months, kissed his boo-boo's, raised him and Gemma by herself, and sent him off to college. She was the woman he was the spitting image of, physically and mentally. She's the reason he feeds the stray cats outside of his apartment. She's the reason why his hair is so damn curly.

She loved him unconditionally and he loved her all the same, maybe even a little more.

So, why would she deny him the thing that makes him the happiest: love?

Call him a helpless, hopeless, absolutely smitten romantic, but Louis was who he saw his future with. He was funny, beautiful, and the most enigmatic creature Harry had ever had the pleasure of encountering. So what if he acted a little young? Harry didn't mind taking care of him. As long as his blue-eyed angel was happy, so was he.

And they could adopt since his mother is so hellbent on getting grandchildren from both of her kids. Louis is probably so good around kids, and Uncle Niall has a nice ring to it.

As much as the guilt was eating him up, Harry had learned from his very terrible mistake and if given the chance, he'd never, ever hurt Louis again. In return, Louis would never break his heart or hurt him.

So, why would the woman he loves more than life want to deny him this one thing?

Pushing his guilt and betrayal aside, Harry says a big "fuck you" to his emotions and cums into his fist, panting heavily as he reminisces on the way Louis called him "Daddy" when they were on the phone that long time ago.

Why should he let her keep him from being happy?

He shouldn't.

He won't.

His hair is still dripping down his neck with little bubbles of conditioner still clinging to his curls as he pulls on his pair of converse, ignoring the many pairs of boots he owns. He's in grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt with (ironically) the rainbow flag painted on the chest pocket.

Taylor, unfortunately, awakens from her slumber as he's struggling to get his arms through the sleeves of his black parka, his bedsheets pooling at her waist as he sits up.

"Haz? Where are you going, babe? Come back to bed. I'm so cold."

She does this weird pout thing that Louis totally looks much cuter when he does it and, fuck, Harry really needed to right all of his wrongs before the end of the day.

"No, you're leaving. There are bagels on top of the fridge, your jacket is in the laundry room, sorry I puked on it, and leave my shirt on the dresser. It was fun while it lasted but this won't work out. I hope you can understand. Bye!"

And with that, Harry grabs his cell phone from off of his dresser and leaves his bedroom. His front door shuts behind him noisily. As he walks down the stairs of his apartment, he calls Niall's phone. It goes straight to voicemail, but the joke is on the Irish lad because Harry hadn't forgotten his address. He really hopes Taylor leaves before he gets back without breaking anything, but he couldn't careless about broken merchandise when he was on the way to get his boy back.