Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/842858.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, F/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Harry_Styles/Pixie_Lott, Harry_Styles/
      Original_Male_Character, Liam_Payne/Danielle_Peazer, Perrie_Edwards/Zayn
      Malik, unrequited_ziam, unrequited_lilo_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlinson, Original_Male_Character(s), Liam_Payne,
      Zayn_Malik, Niall_Horan, Styles_Family, tomlinson_family_-_Character,
      Pixie_Lott, Cher_Lloyd, Danielle_Peazer, Perrie_Edwards, Original_Female
      Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Sexual_Abuse, Physical_Abuse, Alternate_Universe, Eating_Disorders, Self-
      Harm, Mental_Health_Issues, Suicide_Attempt, zarry_friendship_-_Freeform,
      Lilo_friendship, Anorexia, ot5_feels, Sexual_Content, Slow_Build,
      Homophobia, Kissing, Boys_Kissing, Lots_of_kissing, Jealousy,
      Miscommunication, Boys_Being_Idiots, Angst, Cheesy, Implied/Referenced
      Rape/Non-con, Rape, Drama, Temporarily_Unrequited_Love, Unrequited_Crush
  Series:
      Part 1 of Who_We_Are_and_Where_We're_Going
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-19 Completed: 2013-12-03 Chapters: 20/20 Words: 82229
****** The One That Saves Me ******
by zayngasm
Summary
     There’s a moment of silence but it’s not awkward or uncomfortable.
     Harry is oddly reassured just by the fact that Louis is on the other
     side of the phone. Everything still feels unbearable, but him, being
     there, it’s enough for now.
      
     Harry’s never really come to terms with what goes on in his house
     when his mother isn’t home, has never admitted even to himself that
     this, this thing that’s happening to him, is real. Nearly nine years
     of sexual and physical abuse and he’s still trying to learn to grunt
     and bear it. He finds ways of coping, whether it be slicing his
     wrists or throwing up his dinner just because he needs control of
     something.
     On the outside, he's a smiling, cheeky sixteen-year-old. On the
     inside though, Harry's broken, damaged goods tittering on the edge of
     hopelessness.
     And then he meets Louis.
***** Empty *****
Chapter Notes
     lyrics belong to hawk nelson - everything you ever wanted
                            ****** Part One ******
===============================================================================
                  I tried to be perfect, tried to be honest 
                 Tried to be everything that you ever wanted 
                 I tried to be stronger, tried to be smarter 
                            Tried to be everything
===============================================================================
 
He’s five-years-old when his father walks out, yelling and kicking the end
table before slamming the door shut behind him. Harry may only be five, but he
remembers the moments leading up to his father's departure: the arguing and
fighting; furniture being knocked over; his mother crying; Gemma crying; nights
spent hidden in Gemma's bed with his fingers pressed to his ears to block out
the noise. He doesn’t quite understand that his dad isn’t coming back, but when
it finally hits him, when his mum sits him down and explains it all to him,
he’s surprised to find he can’t exactly cry along with them.
His mum dates a little over the years, but this is just another thing Harry
doesn’t really follow, doesn’t get. Why would she want another one ofhim,
another guy to knock over furniture, to yell at her when she burns dinner?
Gemma laughs, throwing back her head and acting like she’s so much older than
him (even though the age gap between them is only four years) and says,
ruffling his hair, “This one will be better, I promise.”
 
 
Pete is nice.
He comes into their lives when Harry is just barely seven-years-old. The man
has black hair and brown eyes and, after holding out his large hand for Harry
to shake, he hands him a new computer game to add to his collection. Harry’s
green eyes go wide and he runs off to his room to try it out without so much as
a thank you.
His mum gets on to him later, but Pete just laughs and waves it off. His eyes
sparkle and Anne seems happier than she has been in a long time. He stays for
dinner, joking with Gemma and holding Anne's hand over the table, then helping
clean up the dishes without having to be asked. (Harry watches from the hallway
as Pete turns the water spray on her momentarily, causing her to let out a
squeal; the noise is so different from what he’s used to, so different from the
screams of arguments he’s grown up hearing.)
Harry thinks, idly, that Gemma was right; Pete is better.
 
 
But then, suddenly somehow, he's not better.
It turns out Harry was wrong. Gemma was wrong. They were all wrong about
everything. Pete is not nice. Especially when he's had a few beers.
Harry, unfortunately, learns this the hard way.
 
 
One night, just a couple months after having been introduced to the man, Anne
gets Pete to babysit. Gemma is spending the night at a friend’s and Anne has to
work the late shift. Pete is quick to say yes, because of course he is the
perfect boyfriend, perfect future step-father of the seven-year-old.
Harry is pretty excited himself. No mum for a whole evening. Just the guys.
They can play video games and pig out and he won’t get yelled at if he forgets
to wash his hands before supper.
Things go smoothly . . . for approximately thirty minutes. Pete orders pizza
for them and then pops open a beer he brought with him. “Put these in the
fridge,” he tells Harry, holding out two six packs. Harry looks at him wearily
before taking one, thinking he probably won’t be able to carry both; he’s small
for his age, weak and clumsy, and the bottles are made of heavy glass. Pete
just snorts and stuffs the other under Harry’s arm, not giving him a choice.
On his way to the kitchen Pete smacks Harry lightly on the bum. It's so quick
that Harry thinks he might've imagined it, or that maybe it was an accident.
The only thing that tells him it actually happened is Pete's light laughter.
Still, he ignores it and keeps walking.
He struggles under the awkward hold of the beers but makes it into the kitchen
before one of the bottles slides out of the feeble carton. It crashes against
the floor and he hurries to set the two cartons down before the rest slide out
as well. He barely has time to turn around before Pete is in the kitchen, eyes
wild with anger.
“What the hell do you think you’re doin', boy?”
Harry has never seen this side of Pete before. Pete has always been nice and
kind, giving him candy or toys when he comes to visit. The way he raises his
voice brings back vivid memories of his own father, and instinctively Harry
takes a step back.
“I’m sorry,” he stutters out. “It was only one. It was an accident. I’ll clean
it up.” This usually works on his mother. As long as he promises to clean up
after himself, she doesn’t really get angry at him for accidentally making a
mess.
Any hope he has of Pete forgiving him disintegrates when the large man takes a
step closer to him, raising his hand to slap across Harry's face.
Harry doesn’t make a sound at first. His eyes go wide and start watering, and
his mouth drops open before he makes a choked, surprised yelp. Even his father
had never hit him, and his mother sure doesn't smack him. She never even lays a
hand on him unless it’s in a comforting manner, like to hug him or hold his
hand when he was younger and needed to cross the street. Sometimes Gemma
playful pushes him and there was the time that kid in class had given him a
black eye, but that had been different. (Gemma had knocked the kid on his arse
later.)
Pete is grinning. He points to the broken glass and puddle of beer on the
kitchen floor. “Clean it up. Now.”
The curly headed little boy nods and heads further into the kitchen to get a
washcloth, but Pete’s hands on his shoulder, making Harry stiffen, stop him.
“No. You can use your hands.”
Harry stares up at him with wide eyes. “Mum told me to never touch broken
glass.”
“Well your mum’s not here, is she?” Pete asks and he points at the broken
bottle fragments again. “Pick. Them. Up.”
He hesitantly gets down on his hands and knees and starts picking up the shards
of glass. Thankfully most of them are large, but Harry’s hands are shaking so
much he cuts himself a couple times. For some reason he thinks it would be
better if he didn't cry out, so he bites down on his lip to keep from making a
noise. Once he has cleared away all the glass he looks up at Pete expectantly.
“Now drink it.”
Okay, now he's really confused. “Wh-what?”
“Drink it,” Pete repeats, more firmly. Harry looks from him, to the spilled
beer on the floor and back again.
“But. . .”
“Don’t argue with me!”
Harry nods and gets down on his knees again, lapping up the beer like a dog.
The smell is awful, but the taste is ten times worse. It feels warm and heavy
in his mouth and kind of burns when he swallows. He can taste the faint
linoleum of the kitchen tile each time he sticks his tongue out to get more.
His hands, pressed against the floor, sting where he's cut himself and there
are drops of blood gathering around him, mixing in with the beer.
Pete’s hand is suddenly on his head, pushing him down till his nose brushes the
floor, telling him to slurp it up. He’s gotten beer up his nose - pretty sure
part of it's his own blood - and he's sputtering a bit, but finally the
majority of it is gone.
He sits up, his eyes red rimmed from holding back tears, and his lips raw from
being bitten down on. His nose is running, his fingers are bleeding even more,
and his face hurts. He hopes Pete will leave him alone for the rest of the
night so he can go hide in his bedroom until his mum gets home.
Pete wraps his large fingers around Harry’s tiny wrist, pressing until the boy
is sure he’ll see bruises there, and pulls him up off the floor and to his
feet. This time he can't hold back the slight sob, but Pete just grins, like
that was what he was waiting for.
“You know,” he says casually, “I’m going to marry your mum.” He leans in close
enough Harry can smell the alcohol on the older man’s breath. “I’m the best
thing that’s ever happened to her.” Then he flings Harry away from him and
stalks out of the kitchen.
Harry falls to the floor, landing on his bum. He presses his lips together to
keep from crying out and rubs at his now red wrist. He can faintly hear the
sound of the football game on the telly. It takes him quite a few minutes to
compose himself and get up from the ground. He keeps low and quiet, and hurries
past Pete and up the stairs to his bedroom. Once there, he collapses on his
bed, wondering what he’s going to tell his mum when she gets home.
By the time she does get home though, he is already asleep, passed out from
exhaustion and crying so hard. When he wakes up in the morning, the memory is
faint, in the back of his mind, almost like he had dreamt it. If it wasn’t for
the sour taste of beer in his mouth, his still-sore cheek, the bruises on his
wrist and cuts on his fingers, he’s sure he would have thought it was all just
a dream; that it had never happened.
When he goes down to breakfast and his mum sees the spider-man band aids he has
stuck around his bleeding fingers, she asks him about it. For a moment he
thinks about telling her the truth, but then he finds himself saying, “I was
playing outside and cut myself.”
She smiles fondly and nods her head. “Be more careful, you.” She bends down and
presses a gentle kiss to each of his bandaged fingers.
He doesn’t know why he doesn't tell her the truth. Later he thinks of all the
possibilities: how she probably wouldn’t have believed him, how Pete would
probably just deny everything, or maybe she’d think he deserved it, that he had
spilled Pete’s beers so he deserved to be punished.
 
That feeling sticks with him. As the days and the years pass, Harry can’t shake
the feeling that he has done something wrong, that he deserves every bad thing
that ever happens to him.
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
 
The abuse varies and worsens throughout the years. At first it’s little things
– little compared to what Pete has in store at least. He’ll boss Harry and
smack him around a bit when he babysits. It gets to the point that, even when
Pete and his mum are both around, Harry finds himself automatically doing
things for Pete without having to be told. He’ll get him a beer from the
fridge; he turns the telly to whatever sports game is on that day (even when
his favorite shows are on); he basically cleans up after his mum’s boyfriend.
(It eventually carries on to the other people in his life: his mum tells him to
go take a bath so he goes and takes a bath without hesitation; Gemma jokingly
tells him to change the channel and he obeys; kids at school bully him around
and he goes along with it every time without fail, without hesitation,
constantly avoiding confrontation.)
It’s okay for a while because Pete doesn’t babysit that often. But then, after
only seven months of dating, Anne announce their engagement, and Harry gets
this sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t know how to make go away.
Gemma gets all excited and starts clapping, and his mum cries, and Harry kind
of feels like crying too but for an entirely different reason.
They throw a party and the night of, Pete takes him aside, muttering something
to Anne about having a ‘man to man talk.’ She smiles all cheery like and goes
back to being the perfect host, showing off her engagement ring. Pete and him
do not have a man-to-man talk though.
Pete wraps his hand around Harry’s wrists, like he has done so many times the
younger boy practically has permanent bruises there.
“We’re going to be spending an awful lot of time together now,” he tells Harry,
as if the boy hasn’t already thought this through, as if it isn’t the reason he
has barely said anything that night, hasn’t been able to meet anyone's eyes,
has almost locked himself in the bathroom a couple dozen times. He’s seven
(almost eight now), but he isn’t stupid.
Pete squats down to Harry’s level and looks him straight in the eye. His voice
goes low. “If you ever tell anyone what goes on between us, I will make sure
you never say another word again. Do you understand?”
Harry nods feebly.
“Great!” Pete’s voice changes instantly. He is all smiles and bright eyes, the
man who gave him a computer came, and held Anne's hand on the table during
dinner. He ruffles Harry’s hair and heads off to find his new fiancee.
Harry, on the other hand, actually does lock himself in the bathroom.
It's the first time he ever makes himself throw up.
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
 
After the wedding they move to a new house in a new neighborhood, and
everything just kind of goes downhill. It isn’t like Pete can harass Harry
twenty-four-seven because his mum is home most of the time, and even when his
mum is gone, usually Gemma is there so they aren’t really alone that often. But
there is this overwhelming sense of fear in the air which is almost just as
bad, maybe even worse. A sense of impending doom, like if he messes up, if he
does anything wrong, everything will snap and he’ll break and Pete’s hand will
be flying towards him in punishment.
It wouldn’t matter if Pete did leave him alone, anyway; everything around him
starts crumbling, too, and he doesn’t know if it’s a result of the constant
state of fear he lives in, or some kind of genetic makeup. Maybe he deserves
all this, maybe his life was meant to be a disaster, with or without Pete.
They moved during the school year and to a completely different area, so Harry
is with a whole bunch of other eight-year-old's he doesn’t know, in a primary
school he’s unfamiliar with. He automatically starts shying away from everyone,
unwilling to make friends, worried they'll be mean to him, won't like him, or
that they'll eventually ask him about his family, about the cuts and bruises
he's always covered in. And what is he supposed to say then? What if they want
to come home and visit? What if Pete doesn’t approve? What if they find out?
What ifeveryonefinds out?
Harry does eventually start to make some friends, friends who are just as quiet
as he is, or are unbothered by how often he keeps to himself. He never invites
them over and they never extend the same invitation to him. Why would they? It
only makes sense; they don’t even really want to be his friends in the first
place. They just put up with him like everyone else does.
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
                                        
When he is eleven-years-old Gemma goes on a school trip for the weekend. His
mum is off at work, leaving Harry alone with Pete for the first time in a
couple weeks. He tries to get ready for a night of getting his step-dad beers,
cigarettes, drinking with him, smoking with him, smacks and punches in places
his mum will never see or will blame on him being so accident prone. It's not
really something someone can ever prepare for, though, no matter how often it
happens.
He stays in his bedroom as long as he can, curled up under his duvet reading a
book for school. Pete comes in nearly an hour after Harry’s mum has left. He
sits down on the edge of the bed and Harry marks his page and sets the book
aside.
“What’re you doing?” Pete asks. His words are a little slurred; he’s already
had a few beers.
Harry shrugs. “School work.”
“Turn over.”
The young boy blinks a couple times, confused. “Turn . . . ? What?”
“I said, turn over.”
Slowly, Harry turns over onto his belly, tilting his head so he can watch Pete
and see what he’s doing. Pete pulls the duvet off of the bed and reaches for
Harry’s pajama bottoms. The curly haired boy instantly freezes, possibilities
going through his mind, but thinking definitely not, he couldn’t be. The older
man pulls Harry’s bottoms and briefs down to his ankles and swats at his
behind. Harry clenches his teeth together.
“You’re lucky your mum’s home most of the time,” Pete says. I know, Harry
thinks, Iknow. “Been wanting to do this for some time now.”
Do what exactly? Harry doesn’t know. But then, after a couple more smacks at
his arse, Pete is pulling him apart none too gently. A couple seconds later
Harry feels pressure and then – oh, no that definitely isn’t what he thinks it
is. He turns his head a little and yep, Pete has his pants undone and is
rubbing his prick over Harry’s hole before slamming into him suddenly without
warning.
Harry can’t hold back the cry he makes. It feels like every inch of him is on
fire. Trying to get away, he attempts to scoot up the bed, but Pete just holds
him in place. Harry buries his face in his pillow and sobs while Pete rams into
him repeatedly, telling him to shut up and take it, that he knows he likes it.
Pete continues to slap him as he sinks further into him, and Harry knows he’ll
have hand prints covering his body. When Pete grabs onto his hips to control
his movements, Harry is pretty sure he will have bruises there too.
It doesn’t take long thankfully. Pete is filling him up and pulling out, and
Harry cries out again at the stinging it causes. His bum is sore. He won’t be
able to walk for a week, he’s sure.
He can feel Pete’s spunk leaking out of him, sliding down his leg. That's not
the worst part, though. Neither is the dark chuckle Pete makes when he pushes a
finger back inside momentarily, pressing against him painfully.
The worst part is what Pete whispers in his ear before he gets up and leaves,
hollering for Harry to be downstairs in five minutes. The words echo back and
forth in his head over and over and over again.
Now nobody can love you.
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
 
Harry starts looking for some way to deal with everything; it’s all building up
inside him, and he needs to let it out somehow. He screams into his pillow, he
cries, he kicks and punches walls and his furniture, but at the end of the day,
he’s still hurt and he doesn’t know what to do to make it all go away.
When they're home alone, Pete makes Harry skip meals, won't let him eat unless
he's "earned it." One day at school, when Harry is feeling particularly low, he
doesn't eat lunch. It's not really a conscious decision, he's just not in the
mood to eat anything. It happens again a few more times until it's stuck with
him. Skipping meals becomes a form of punishment. And that’s what he needs to
do, right? To punish himself. Because whatever it is, whatever is going on,
it’s his fault. At the end of the day it is his entire fault. And maybe if he
gets better at punishing himself, Pete won't have to.
When he drops a few pounds he starts to feel a little better. If he has to eat
dinner, he just makes himself throw it up. He slowly gets thinner, wrapping
himself up in jumpers year round and wishing away his baby fat.
But it still isn’t enough. He’ll skip a meal or throw up his dinner, but he
still ends up crying on the bathroom floor, ashamed and hating himself. Wishing
he was thinner, smarter, just overall better.
That is, perhaps, how he finds himself holding a razor blade to his wrist one
Saturday night. He slides it across the skin experimentally, bites his lip
because fuck that hurts, watches the blood drip down his arm, and thinks oh.
And everything kind of clicks into place after that.
 
 
When Pete sees the cuts he just laughs, presses down on them, and says, “Good
boy. That’s what you get for being a little fuck-up.”
And Harry knows he’s right. That's exactly what he deserves.
 
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
 
 
Gemma is seated across from him, blinking her long mascara-covered eyelashes a
couple times before looking away, down at the food on her plate. She’s been
away at school for a few years now and is home for the long weekend. Something
in the way that she's been watching him (watching, not staring exactly, but
definitely watching) looks suspicious and concerned. Harry doesn’t want to jump
to conclusions, definitely wants to stay away from that topic, but his thoughts
take him there anyway. For a few minutes he freaks a little, wondering if she
knows something.
She couldn’t though, there’s no way. He’s just being paranoid.
He takes a small bite of his green beans, only half-listening to what his mum
and Pete are going on about – something about Pete’s job and an annoying
client. Well poor, poor you, Harry wants to say.
Gemma looks up again and their eyes met for a second time. Both sets are the
same shade of green, but Harry’s pretty sure hers are brighter. She’s tired, he
can tell, but there’s a light in her eyes that is missing from his. Maybe it
was there once upon a time or maybe he never had it, he doesn’t know.
“I have to talk to you,” she then says and every muscle in his body tightens in
fear.
What did I do this time? is his first thought, and then Oh God what if she
knows? Tried so hard to be good. So quiet. He has so many secrets though. How
is he supposed to hide them all?
She smiles though and he relaxes a little bit – as much as he can, anyway. “I
have a surprise, actually,” she continues. “Kind of an early birthday present.”
Harry raises an eyebrow in curiosity. His sixteenth birthday is still a few
weeks off. He wonders why she wants to give him his present now when they both
know she’ll be back to celebrate in a couple weeks.
Or maybe she’s not coming, he thinks. Is this her way of saying she’ll be too
busy that weekend or unwilling to make the trip?
“Yeah?”
She nods. “I was going to wait, but. . .” She shrugs, her voice trailing off.
He can feel Pete’s eyes on him and instinctively, he pulls on the sleeve of his
jumper till it covers more of his slightly exposed wrist. Gemma’s eyes follow
the movement, but she says nothing. Probably just thinks he's cold. It’s
snowing outside; he’s allowed to be a little chilly. It’s easier now that it's
winter and he has a legitimate excuse to wear long sleeves. His mum had been
getting a bit worried when it would be seventy plus degrees outside and he’d be
dressed in jumpers and jeans instead of shorts and t-shirts - or prowling
around naked like he had when he was younger. Apparently something he’s famous
for and can’t live down.
“So what is it?” Harry finally asks, coming to the conclusion that she either
isn’t going to tell him or is just trying to wind him up and wait till the last
second.
He puts down his fork, no longer hungry. Hell, he hadn’t been hungry much to
begin with. He smiles at his mum though, hoping it conveys his appreciation for
dinner.
Gemma looks down, but he can see her wide smile. She tucks a strand of her dark
hair behind her ear then gets up. She walks away from the table and a moment
later he can hear her feet on the stairs, then down the hall, heading to her
bedroom.
Confused and feeling a little impatient, Harry huffs out a breath, but gets up
to clean off the table. He takes Pete’s empty plate without having to be asked
– knowing he’ll just bitch about it or make some snide comment like why don't
you ever make yourself useful later when Harry’s mum isn’t around. He brings
Pete back a beer too – again, not needing to be asked.
Pete doesn’t thank Harry, just pops off the top and takes a swig.
When Harry’s sitting down again, Gemma returns. She skips over to where he is,
looking happier than he’s seen her in a long time – which is an accomplishment,
really. Gemma has always been the happy one in the family. She works hard,
yeah, takes school a lot more seriously than he does, but she’s got an air of
freedom about her, always laid back like zombies could take over the world and
she wouldn’t give a damn.
Of course it’s not that hard to be happy compared to Harry, but he tries, he
really does.
“Close your eyes.”
He rolls them briefly, but does as instructed. She slips two pieces of paper
into his outstretched hands. They’re harder than normal paper and rectangular,
rather small in size. He opens his eyes, immediately becoming more confused
because the slips of paper are blank.
She laughs and reaches out to flip them over. And there. He’s not sure he’s
seeing right because there’s no way – no way on Earth or Hell or Heaven or Mars
– that she scored The Script tickets, not this late. The concert is a week away
for crying out loud.
Also, how long exactly was she going to wait to tell him?
Harry blinks a couple times, trying to clear his already perfect vision. He
looks up at his older sister in awe. “Are you shitting – I mean, sorry mum –
are you kidding me?” His voice is quiet, but he’s pretty sure his tone
expresses how enthusiastic he is.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Curly Sue, they’re real. Don’t ask me how I got them
though.” She winks and wiggles her eyebrows.
“Hopefully nothing illegal,” his mum jokes – she’s leaning over his shoulder,
trying to get a better look. “Well that should be fun! I know how much you love
them.” They're only his favorite band ever.
Gemma nods quickly, now turning to look at their mother. “I was thinking he
could come spend the weekend with me. You know my roommate’s never there so it
wouldn’t be a problem. He’d have a bed and everything.” She then looks down at
Harry expectantly, like he could actually say anything other than yes.
He jumps up. “Of course!” He wraps her in a quick hug, a little surprised to
find that he’s almost taller than her now. She practically tackled him when she
walked through the door an hour ago, so he hadn’t really had a chance to notice
how much he had grown since the last time he’d seen her.
She groans. “You’re getting so big, Curly,” she says, her thoughts on the same
track as his.
Harry just smirks a little, doesn’t say anything, and pulls away from her to
look down at the tickets again. “Thanks a bunch, Gem.”
She just shrugs, like it’s no big deal. It is, he wants to tell her, it’s a
huge fucking deal. He can’t remember the last time he was out of the house for
longer than the usual eight hours for school.
Harry glances around, suddenly remembering Pete. He’s got a hard look on his
face, contemplative and frowning. He takes a swig of his beer, leans back in
his seat and crosses his arms.
He’s going to say no. Hecan’tsay no.
Pete says nothing.
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
 
Harry didn’t eat much, but he can still feel the weight of his dinner pressing
against his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, unwelcome. So when everyone’s
distracted he sneaks into the bathroom between his and Gemma’s room. He turns
on the shower and gets down on his knees in front of the porcelain toilet.
He just sits there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to try and calm
himself down.
When his breathing is low and steady he lifts up the seat, leans forward, and
sticks two of his fingers down the back of his throat.
The first time he did this he had to move his fingers around a bunch, use three
instead of two, and push them way back until practically his entire fist was in
his mouth. He had been impatient, too, and crying – full of guilt for what he
was about to do – so when he didn’t throw up right away (because of course he
had to be gifted with zero gag reflexes) he had gotten angry and started
cursing himself and the toilet – as if it was its fault.
Now though, it’s like his body knows exactly what he wants and is accustom to
doing it. This makes him feel guiltier of course – a part of this ritual that
doesn’t ever go away – but he ignores it.
It isn’t long before the contents of his stomach are in the toilet, tinged with
bright red blood.

His stomach hurts, the back of his throat is raw, and his fingers are gross,
but he’s empty, and that’s what he needs: to feel as empty as he knows he is.
***** Stud From 'The Script' Concert *****
The next week goes by way too slowly for Harry. It’s like he can taste the
freedom staying with his sister will bring. He’s sure the wait would have been
easier for him if she had stuck around, but she’d said her goodbyes on Sunday
evening before heading back to Uni, having a couple classes of J-term left.
Finally Friday comes and, after he gets home from school, he packs a bag for
the weekend. He’s so close to just jumping around his room like a little girl
or screaming into his pillow - seriously The Script - but instead forces
himself to calm the fuck down; it’s just a weekend, just a concert.
Just when he thinks he’s going to be able to slip away accident free, his mum
tells him she’s going to go to the store and will pick up a few snacks for him.
Harry offers to go with her. When she assures him it’s going to be a short,
boring trip he then tries to promise he doesn’t really need anything and she
can wait to go after he’s left, but she just waves him off, saying she won’t be
gone long.
He decides to hide in his bedroom, but it’s a futile effort.
Pete comes in shortly after she’s left, not bothering to knock or shut the door
behind him. Automatically Harry takes a step backwards, almost falling onto his
recently made bed. His step-father just looks around, muttering something under
his breath, before his eyes land on Harry. “Excited?” he asks. His tone is
completely flat.
Harry nods. That’s all. He just wants to talk. He’s not even drunk.
“I’m sure it’ll be nice to get out of the house for a change.”
He doesn’t answer, thinks it might be some kind of trick, like he wants a
reason to get angry, to push Harry around one last time before he leaves.
The silence between them lasts a few minutes at least and Harry starts to feel
sweat forming on his forehead. He wants to say I should get packing or I need
to take a shower but he already did both. He has no excuses.
He’s already given up hope when Pete closes the distance between them. He grabs
Harry’s wrist, squeezing at the bruises and cuts he knows are hidden under the
sleeve of his jumper. Harry fights back a wince.
“If you even think about saying anything . . .” Pete’s voice trails off. He
doesn’t need to finish, Harry already knows.
He nods his head. “I won’t.”
“Good.” Pete drops his wrist and takes a step backward. He looks like he wants
to say something more, but just shakes his head and leaves.
Harry lets out the breath he’d been holding in and collapse backwards onto his
bed, covering his face with his hands and trying not to burst into tears.
                                        
When he gets off the train in London and finds Gemma waiting for him on the
platform, he collapses into her embrace. It feels like everything he’s been
bottling up is on the edge, bursting to be released.
Gemma doesn’t laugh and say it’s only been a week like he half-expects her to.
Instead she just cards a hand through his hair and tightens her grip around him
as if to say I know, I understand, I’m right here.
It’s enough to hold him together for now.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
The next morning (three minutes past five according to Gemma’s roommate’s neon
green clock with obnoxiously bright numbers) he wakes up to sound of the
bathroom door opening and hitting the wall, then his sister throwing up.
He’ll never admit it, but the first thought that shoots through his head is
holy shit, my sister makes herself throw up, too and then or maybe she’s
pregnant.
She comes back a few minutes later, clutching her stomach and groaning. She
looks pale, even in the dark. “I think I’m sick,” she says and Harry thinks oh
right, of course.
He’s not at all concerned about the concert and their plans for that evening;
he just wonders whether or not he can somehow score her some chicken noodle
soup.
“Do you need anything?” he asks.
There’s just enough light coming in through the purple curtains covering the
window to let him see her shake her head. A few minutes later though, when he’s
just about drifted back off to sleep, she says, “Actually, can you get me a
glass of water?”
He nods and get up, heading for the door. She mutters something about how he
can just use the bathroom sink, but he pretends to gag, making her chuckle, and
instead heads down to the lounge. It’s got a little kitchen area with a
microwave and a couple refrigerators. It’s empty except for a girl with a messy
bun of brown hair making a cup of coffee. She smiles at Harry when he walks in,
looks away, and then does a double take.
“I’m sorry, but no way in hell are you old enough to go here. Are you one of
the genius kids who graduated when they were like fourteen?”
He stops in his tracks and shifts a little uncomfortably. “I’m visiting my
sister,” he explains, wondering if he’s going to get in trouble. He’s never
been at ease around people exactly, especially strangers.
The girl has dark lines under her eyes; he can only guess she’s been up all
night. To his relief, she smiles. She’s pretty – must be really pretty when
she’s actually awake awake. “That’s sweet,” she says.
He starts searching through the cabinets till he finds the glasses. While he’s
filling it up with water from the sink, he answers. “Yeah, but she’s come down
with, like, the flu or something.” It comes out more of a question than a
statement.
She stirs milk into her cup of coffee, looking down, but he can still see her
small frown. “Well that sucks.”
Harry turns off the water and eyes the vending machine. They’ve got cup-a-
noodle soups and he curses himself for not thinking to bring some money down
with him so he could buy her one.
“Ruin all your plans, then, yeah?” the girl asks and he almost jumps out of his
skin, thinking she had left already.
He starts to nod, but then shrugs instead. “Well, I mean, we were going to go
to a concert, but it’s okay.”
“Oh yeah? What concert?”
“The Script.”
Her eyes widen a little. “No shit? I’m jealous.” She picks up her steaming cup
and heads for the exit. “Have fun taking care of your sister.”
He nods and follows her out after a minute, heading for the stairs.
When he makes it back to the room Gemma’s still awake but just barely. He sets
the cup on the table beside her bed, just within her reach. She murmurs athank
you and takes a sip while he starts going through his bag for some money. There
are a couple of notes and a message with I’ll miss you from his mum tucked in
with his converse. He sticks the piece of paper into the pocket of his folded
up jeans and sets the money down on the table, making a mental reminder to buy
Gemma some soup later when they’re both more fully awake and also to text his
mum and let her know she’s missed as well.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
“Shut up, Harry. I’m not going to let you skip the concert just cause I’m
sick.” Gemma rolls her eyes like it’s the most ridiculous idea he’s ever had.
Which it isn’t – he should remind her of the time he tried to jump into the
pool from the roof and ended up breaking his wrist. That was definitely more
stupid.
He frowns. “But you need someone to take care of you.”
Gemma's sprawled out on her bed, her face mostly hidden by her pillow. Her
blankets are tucked neatly around her. Harry stands at the foot of the bed,
shuffling his feet awkwardly, and crossing and uncrossing his arms.
“I can take care of myself,” she insists, her voice muffled. “Now go get ready!
You smell.” He pouts a little instead of obeying, dropping back onto the spare
bed, and she throws her pillow at him, hitting him in the chest. “Stop it! You
look like I just stole your guitar and held it for ransom or something.”
Harry doesn’t stop frowning, but he does get up and head for the bathroom.
After knocking and making sure it’s unoccupied, he takes a shower, spending
extra time on his hair because he’s pretty sure he needs to look extra
presentable for this concert. Like somehow it’s going to change his life or
something.
When he’s done and dressed, his wallet and phone in his pocket, he presses a
hand to Gemma's forehead – notes that she’s not burning up as much as she was
earlier – then heads out the door.
It’s not his first time in London so he doesn’t get lost. He does almost turn
around a couple times though, thinking he’s not going to have much fun without
his sister, but it’s The Script. How can he turn that down?
Besides, Gemma would probably just throw something at him again and maybe lock
the door so he couldn’t get inside the room.
He feels awfully awkward standing there in the queue, alone while everyone else
is obviously not alone and are all chatting it up super excited-like. Some of
them are wearing shirts with the faces of the band members on them, others are
carrying signs. But everywhere he looks, they’re huddled together in groups of
twos, threes, fours, fives, sixes. He slips inside though, finds his seat, and
shortly later the opening act comes out, the music starts, and he stops caring
that he's by himself.
 
During intermission, the short break between the opening band and The Script,
Harry slips out to find the loo. After successfully finding and using the
bathroom, he starts washing his hands quickly, singing The Man Who Can’t Be
Moved under his breath and hoping he doesn’t miss the start of the concert.
He’s not really paying attention to anything around him, so really it’s no
surprise that he practically jumps a foot in the air when a voice near him
says, “That’s my favorite song!”
He turns to look around; there are a few other guys in the bathroom, but most
of them are too distracted or too far away to have been the one speaking to
him. He turns to his other side and sees another lad washing his hands. All he
can see, really, is bright blue eyes and how the guy’s brown hair kind of falls
into them when he leans down to wash the soap off of his hands.
Harry wouldn’t say he’s overly shy – cautious and reserved? Yes, and okay, he's
never exactly been comfortable around people, but he can usually exchange a few
words with strangers like the girl back at Gemma's school. He’s not used to
people striking up conversation in the bathroom of all places though (and this
guy is really, way too pretty for his own good) so all Harry manages to say is,
“Mine, too" in a quiet voice he's not sure even carries.
This is apparently all the lad needs as an okay to keep talking, though. He
starts rambling on about the first band – whom Harry hadn’t been familiar with
until today – and how excited he is to see The Script and how excited he is to
be there. He’s gesticulating wildly with his now dry hands, leaning up against
the sink. Harry doesn’t say anything, too distracted and absorbed by the way
the boy moves and talks. His shirt rides up a little, showing off a patch of
skin, and Harry jerks his eyes away quickly.
Finally the lad says, “Nice talking to you –” even though Harry had only said
two words “– have a good time!” and then he’s out the door.
It’s a couple minutes later before Harry realizes his hands are still under the
faucet and his fingers have turned to wet prunes.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry wants to stay in the venue forever. He thinks he could probably happily
live there with no problems whatsoever. Even working as a janitor or something,
he wouldn’t mind. It would be alright. Everything about the place has this raw
energy and power; the entire experience has been overwhelming. He’s always
loved music of course, every aspect of it, but he hadn’t realized how much it
all meant to him and how much he relied on it until he was standing there, eyes
closed, listening to the music all around him, the people singing and dancing
along.
He needs it, would probably die without it.
The crowd is thinning out though, everyone heading to their cars or whatever
mode of transportation got them there. He doesn’t want to think about going
home, facing his step-father again. He doesn’t think he can survive another
year or so with Pete until university. It’s not like he has much of a choice
though.
It’s probably the most difficult thing in his entire life, leaving the venue.
He stays outside for a bit, breathing in the cool January air for as long as
possible. Here he can pretend he’s just part of the crowd, another teenager,
maybe spending the weekend in London with friends. He'd find them in the
massive crowd and they would head back to their hotel room. Or maybe one of
them would live here, go to school here. Either way, they'd listen to music on
the way home, talk about the concert. Harry would tell them about the cute boy
in the bathroom and they would laugh and tease him, wouldn't judge him, though,
never. They would stay up late, talking bullshit, and Harry would laugh along,
would give as good as he got. He would eat pizza without feeling guilty. He'd
be happy.
Instead of going home to a life where everything he does is wrong, where he
locks himself in his bathroom and hates himself for gaining weight, where he
has to cut lines across his wrist just to remind himself he's still alive.
He pulls himself out of his fantasy world, remembering Gemma’s in her dorm,
sick. He feels a little guilty for putting off going back as long as possible.
Just as he starts walking again, he bumps into someone he hadn’t noticed.
He takes a few steps back, opening his mouth to apologize, but the guy turns
around, says, “Sorry!” and Harry realizes it’s the same caramel-haired boy from
the bathroom. He must realize this at the same moment as Harry, because his
blue eyes widen and he smiles. “Eh, you’re the lad from the toilets! How’d you
enjoy the show?”
It takes Harry a minute of struggling to find the right adjective, but
eventually he settles with a slightly lame, “It was amazing.”
The boy nods quickly. “I know, right? Blew my mind. So brilliant.” He must be
high, ‘cause there is no way someone smiles that much or that brightly. Harry’s
having a difficult time looking at him actually. “You didn’t come alone, did
you?” The boy looks around, almost like he’s waiting for someone to pop up
behind Harry. There’s a look on his face Harry can’t decipher.
“Uh, well. I was supposed to come with my sister, but she got sick,” he
explains, shrugging his shoulders a bit in a ‘what can you do’ sort of way.
He frowns. “That’s too bad.” He seems genuinely sorry, too, before he glances
behind himself quickly, as if looking for someone. “I’m here with my mate,
Liam.” He looks back at Harry. “He’s a great date and all, but I’m pretty sure
he’s straight so the lack of snogging is a bit depressing.”
Harry’s not sure whether he’s serious or not, but he smiles a little anyways.
“I’m Louis,” he – Louis – then says, sticking out his hand for Harry to shake.
Harry stares at it a second before taking it. His fingers are warm and Harry
can feel the tiniest hint of electricity as they brush against his. He wonders
if Louis can feel the callouses on his fingertips, the way he flinches a little
bit when they touch.
Realizing he hasn’t said anything, Harry quickly tells Louis his name and then
the other boys asks, “You from around here?”
Harry shakes his head, tells him he’s from Cheshire. Louis says he’s from
Yorkshire and they start talking for a little bit, just about the concert and
their favorite parts, other favorite bands. Then Louis spots Liam . . . or who
Harry can only guess is Liam, ‘cause who else would be waving their arms wildly
at him?
“There he is.” Louis pauses, glancing back to where Liam’s waiting with a car.
Harry can’t really make him out in the dark, but the other boy looks impatient.
“You should text me sometime Harry from Cheshire,” Louis says when he’s turned
back to look at him.
Harry almost says why? Why would you want to talk to me? but thinks better of
it. He nods his head slowly and starts retrieving his phone from his pocket.
“Yeah, alright.”
They exchange phones and it takes Harry a second to put in his number because
he’s so engrossed by the picture on the background of Louis’ phone. It’s a
ridiculous image of Louis and some other boy with a Bieber haircut, their faces
pressed together. Louis has his hair slicked back with gel, a white v-cut t-
shirt and a leather jacket on, and he’s making a kissy face at the camera.
“There we go. I put my name under ‘stud from the script concert’ in case you
forget who I am.” Harry doubts that would be possible, but he nods anyway and
starts putting in his own number. He’s just barely aware of Louis taking a step
forward to slip the phone back in Harry's pocket, his fingers brush against the
skin exposed between Harry’s jumper and jeans.
Harry fumbles, having to reenter his number twice before he gets it right.
“Louis,” someone calls – Liam, the guy from the picture; he can see his hair
and big brown eyes more clearly now – “let’s go!” Louis smiles at Harry, waves
his hand in goodbye, then skips - literally skips - off to join the other lad.
Harry stands there for a few minutes, watching Louis go until he’s disappeared,
wondering what the hell just happened.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
When he gets back to Gemma’s dorm room, she’s sitting up in bed with a textbook
propped up on her knees. She’s got more color in her face, but there’s an empty
trash can on the floor next to her bed.
“How was it?” she asks, looking up at him over the glasses perched on her nose.
Her voice is kind of strained, but she sounds a lot better than she had when he
left, so she must only have that twenty-four hour bug.
He collapses onto the other bed at a loss for words.
She laughs like she understands, but he doubt she truly does.
“It was unbelievable,” he finally says.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” she muses.
He is too, and is about to say so, but then he thinks – would he have met Louis
and gotten his phone number if she had been there? He feels guilty at the
thought, but he can’t help but be a little glad she’d been too sick to come.
His phone vibrates and he doesn’t know whether he’s surprised or not to see a
text from ‘stud from the script concert.’
Just checking to make sure you weren’t kidnapped on your way home ;)
Harry doesn’t reply right away, unsure of what to say. Gemma’s looking at him
strangely, so he tries to school his face into something more neutral. She’s
not fooled, of course, and he comes clean, telling her about Louis. Her face
lights up, she sits up straighter, and for a few minutes they shoot possible
witty responses back and forth. Finally Harry settles with texting something
back along the lines of how he definitely was kidnapped and he expects Louis to
pay the ransom.
I’ll do no such thing, Louis replies a few seconds later. Apparently he has no
problems knowing what to say.
Harry doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Gemma says, “Awe, Curly Sue’s got a
crush.” He snaps his mouth shut and throws a pillow at her.
He only feels mildly guilty when it hits her in the stomach, making her groan a
little over exasperatingly.
***** Enough For Now *****
Chapter Notes
     trigger warnings for this chapter include self-harm and sexual abuse.
It’s only been a couple weeks since the concert, but Harry’s gotten used to his
phone going off every few minutes. He has friends but never anyone he’s been
able to talk to like this, like him and Louis talk.
Louis is, well . . . different. He’s vibrant and carefree, reminding Harry of
Gemma in a way. He’s got Harry near-laughing most of the time with his jokes
and witty comebacks.
He quickly learns Louis is eighteen, finishing his last year of school, and
when Harry asks about university Louis says fuck thatbecause, like Harry, he
doesn’t really take school all that seriously. He doesn't like thinking about
his future, about growing up and having to be responsible. And because he
doesn’t want to leave his sisters, Harry concludes later on; Louis feels like
they need him.
Louis is different than him in that way. Harry can’t wait to get out of the
house; it’s the only thing that keeps him going some days, is why he's pushing
so hard to finish school ahead of time. Louis, on the other hand, is extremely
close to his family, can’t bear the thought of leaving them for too long. He
talks about them all the time, sending Harry pictures and videos – so many that
by now, Harry could probably tell the near-identical twins apart.
They don’t really talk about anything too serious, mostly just music, movies,
their celebrity crushes. Harry complains about how boring his classes are and
Louis sends him haiku’s about his weird classmates or close-up shots of Liam’s
face (who is usually sitting next to him or across from him or just generally
nearhim). They have playful arguments and Louis claims he could kick Harry’s
ass at FIFA. Considering he rarely ever plays, Louis is probably right, but
Harry doesn’t tell him that.
Mostly Louis – over dramatically – complains about how far away Harry is and
how he needs to come visit him and save him from his boring existence. Harry’s
pretty sure it’s the other way around; Louis’s supposed to come save himfrom
hisboring (and slightly unhealthy) existence, but he doesn’t say anything.
One night, at three in the morning, Harry can’t sleep, so he sends a text to
Louis to see if he’s awake. It’s one of the few times he’s ever texted Louis
first, and he doesn’t know why, but it makes him feel nervous. Louis doesn’t
reply, so he reasons he’s probably not awake. Why would he be? So Harry rolls
over and tries to get comfortable.
But then the phone starts ringing.
No one ever calls him aside from him mother and sometimes Gemma, so it takes
him a second to realize it’s actually hisphone ringing – even though it’s his
Adele ringtone so who else's phone would it be? – and that Louis is calling
him.
And then it takes him another second longer to actually answer because Louis is
calling him.
When he finally does, his voice is a little squeaky and embarrassingly high.
“Louis?”
“Why are you awake? You have school in the morning, young man.” Louis’ voice is
lower than he remembers. He wonders if maybe that text he sent woke him up.
Oops.
Still, Harry finds himself relaxing a little. “I could ask you the same
question.”
Louis fake-yawns. “I live above the law.”
He shakes his head in amusement. “Don’t actually think staying up late counts
as living above the law.”
“Don’t be smart,” but he’s smiling, Harry can tell. “Why areyou awake?”
Moving a little to get more comfortable, he shrugs slightly even though Louis
can't actually see him. “Dunno. Just can’t sleep.” He doesn’t tell him that
this happens all the time, that the nights that he does actually get some sleep
it’s only for a couple hours anyway and usually full of nightmares that make
him regret falling asleep in the first place. Maybe his mind is just too
hyperactive to shut down properly. Though, if that were the case, he’d expect
Louis to have the same problem. They’ve only been texting for a little while,
but he can already tell Louis isn’t the kind of person to sit still or focus on
one conversation topic for too long.
“Should I sing you to sleep? Or maybe tell you a bedtime story?”
“Very tempting.” Harry doesn’t want to sleep though; he wants to talk to Louis,
listen to his voice for as long as he can. “Maybe later.”
“Anytime,” Louis says, and even though Harry’s pretty sure he’s joking, it
sounds like a promise.
“I’ll hold you to that, y’know.”
Louis chuckles, sounding much more awake now. “Sure, sure.”
As it typically does, their conversation turns to music. It always leads back
to music, he feel like. He doesn’t mind. It’s something they’re both passionate
about. Louis is big into musicals, was in his school’s production of Grease
last year – that’s where the picture on his phone came from. Harry’s a horrible
actor and doesn’t really like singing in public, so he could never do something
like that, but he likes watchingmusicals, so they spend a lot of time talking
about those and Louis tries to get Harry to sing a little something something
or asks him if he’s really that awful of an actor or if he’s just saying that
‘cause he’s shy.
He’s not saying it because he’s shy, Harry assures, he really is that horrible
of an actor. (Surprising considering the amount of things he's hiding from so
many people; you'd think he'd be a greatactor - the best even.)
Even with as much as they’ve talked about, there’s still some things he hasn’t
told Louis, so he’s surprised when he ends up confessing that he’s dabbled a
bit in songwriting. Dabbled isn’t really the right word – he takes notebooks
with him everywhere, scribbling down lyrics and random poetry lines that might
not quite fit anywhere at first. Some of them he strums out on his guitar,
making note of the chords next to the lyrics. He has a large collection of
poetry books and he pours over them, engrossed, and always trying to figure out
how to make his own writing better, how to make it flow together like the poets
make theirs do.
“It’s nothing good,” he tells Louis, “just something I do sometimes.”
“I’m sure it’s brilliant. Send me something, no wait – better yet – singme
something.” Even though he’s accepted that Harry’s not a good actor, he hasn’t
accepted the ‘I don’t sing in public’ mantra Harry often repeats. “You can,
like, serenade me over the phone, yeah.”
Harry chokes a little and shakes his head quickly, even though Louis can’t see
him. “Sorry, don’t love you that much.” The words are out before he can stop
them and he presses his lips together.
He can almost hear Louis smiling. “You will though,” he answers casually, as if
they’re talking about the weather or what they had for breakfast. “Love me that
much, I mean,” he clarifies.
Harry just smiles and thinks, yeah, I probably will.
It’s not until later, when he’s off the phone, that he remembers he doesn’t
even believe in falling in love. He could love Louis like a friend though,
yeah. That’s all he probably meant anyways.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
“Oh my God,” Harry’s mother sobs. It’s not a real sob, but it’s probably pretty
close. It’s mostly an overwhelmed dramatization though. “My baby boy is growing
up.” She hugs his head to her chest again, and doesn’t let go for a few
moments.
“Mum.” He sighs, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to glare at her.
She’s making him sound so damn old.
She pulls back and smiles, running her fingers through his curls. “Well
whatever you want to do today, honey, just let me know.”
He shrugs, leaning back against his bed frame. He’d been checking his email
when his mum had come in, sobbing about how her ‘baby’ was sixteenand getting
too old.  “Just hanging out with you and Gemma s’fine.”
She frowns a little. “You’ve got the whole day off though. No school, no shift
at the bakery.”
He nods. “Yeah, exactly; we can relax, do nothing.”
“Well okay,” she says, sounding unconvinced. “If that’s what you want. Pete’s
getting off work early so he’ll only be gone for a couple hours.”
Harry forces himself to smile. “Yeah, okay. That’s great. We can watch movies
all day.”
She smiles back. “That sounds perfect.”
Gemma arrives a couple hours later, shortly after breakfast (during which he
eats everything his mother puts in front of him in an effort to make her happy.
And also because he’s missed pigging out like a sixteen-year-old should. He’s
pretty sure he gains a couple pounds just lookingat all the food, but he
pretends not to care.) Gemma is all smiles and hugs him tightly before
thrusting a package into his hands. He just looks at it for a couple minutes,
wondering what it is, before his mum sighs, giving in, and says, “I suppose you
can open them now instead of waiting.”
Good,he thinks, Pete doesn’t need to be here.
Of course, that’s when Pete walks in, taking off his jacket and hanging it up
in the closet.
“Just in time!” his mum says, going to kiss him. Something inside Harry twists
uncomfortably and he looks away.
Gemma's gotten him another book of poetry to add to his collection. It’s
vintage, has a worn out cover, and a couple signatures in the inside from a few
of the writers.
He thanks her, giving her a quick side hug, and tells her how awesome it is. He
wants to open it right then and there, start pouring over it, but his mum takes
it away. She sets it beside him on the couch and hands him a much, muchlarger
box wrapped in ‘happy birthday!’ paper.
His jaw drops before he even opens it, taken aback by its size. When he finally
does take off the wrapping and pulls off the lid, he’s rendered speechless.
“Mum,” he says, unshed tears in his eyes, “You didn’t have to.”
It’s a bass guitar, black and white vintage, something he’s wanted for ages and
knows costs a great deal of money.
That’s one plus – the only plus, really – of having Pete as a step-dad. They
don’t have to worry about money anymore. His mum doesn’t even have to work,
only goes in for night shifts a couple times a week and then some day shifts
when they really need her to.
That’s not the point though. Harry can’t wrap his mind around the fact that
someone would spend this kind of money on him, even for a birthday.
He definitely doesn’t deserve it.
“I’m glad you like it, honey,” is all his mum says.
Harry’s eyes lock on Pete, just for a second. He’s smiling a little, but his
arms are crossed over his chest. Pete might have Harry’s mum fooled, he might
have Gemma fooled, but Harry knows better. Pete’s not at all happy with the
present or any present Harry might get.
Pete knows he doesn’t deserve it, too.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
He gets a text from Louis in the middle of their movie marathon. He asks Harry
what he’s up to and so he tells the older boy he's being lazy, watching Disney
movies with the family; he hadn’t told Louis it was his birthday but he does
now. He’s a little surprised when, instead of texting him back, Louis calls
him.
He excuses himself, insisting that no mum, you don’t have to pause the movie,
I’ve seen it a hundred times and heads up the stairs before answering.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday today?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a birthday. No big deal.”
“It is too a big deal! How old are you now?”
“Sixteen,” Harry answers.
Louis makes an ‘aweing’ sound. “You’re like a man now and everything!”
He groans. “Shut up. You sound like my mother.”
For a couple seconds all he can hear is Louis’ laughter. And then, “Well happy
birthday, Hazza.”
It takes him a moment to respond. “Hazza?”
“I’m allowed to give you nicknames, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“Now go back to your party. I don’t want to keep you.”
He doesn’t mention the fact that they’re just watching movies – not much of a
party – and how he’d much rather talk to Louis anyway.
“When’s your birthday?”
“December 24th. Christmas Eve, so you can’t forget the date . . . unless you
don't celebrate Christmas. But even then -”
Harry rolls his eyes and ignores the second half of his sentence. “I already
missed it then.”
Louis chuckles. “I’ll have another one. And I expect loads of presents, your
eternal servitude, that sorta thing.”
Harry laughs – actually laughs. It’s slightly choked sounding and muffled, but
it’s a laugh all the same. He can’t remember the last time he laughed. And now
it’s over something so simple and not even really that funny. It surprises him,
the laugh, so he just stands there, confused and silent for a couple seconds.
“That is the first time I have ever heard you laugh,” Louis remarks.
He tries to do it again, repeat the noise, but he can’t. It’s like something’s
stuck in his throat. Louis can't realize how big of a deal this is; they’ve
mostly been texting, so he wouldn’t be able to tell how often Harry laughed or
not.
“I like it,” Louis says though, almost like he can read Harry’s mind. “You
should do it more often.”
And Harry can’t help but think of course Louis would be the one to get him to
laugh. He doesn't know if that scares or thrills him.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Their nighttime phone calls become a regular thing, with Harry eager to see if
Louis can make him laugh again. After his birthday he keeps hanging on to
everyone’s words, sometimes feeling like he couldlaugh but shouldn’t, or
shouldlaugh but can’t.
Sometimes him and Louis start talking at three in the morning, sometimes
earlier, sometimes later. Sometimes they stay up all night on the phone, half-
asleep and drowsy, until they have to get up and get ready for the day. Other
times it’s a short conversation, just a rundown of their day.
It’s two o’clock in the morning and they’ve been talking since midnight.
Harry’s laughing – for only the third time maybe – at something Louis has said,
a little too loudly he’ll admit, when the door to his bedroom swings open
suddenly and hits his wall loudly.
Harry jump a little in surprise and almost drops his phone.
“What the hell was that?” Louis asks, amusement still in his tone. "Sounded
like someone was coming in to murder you or something." He laughs at his own
joke, but Harry can't find the humor in it.
Not when it's so close to the truth.
Pete is standing in the doorway, looking at Harry like he’s the Goddamn
antiChrist or something.
“I have to go,” is all Harry says, and hangs up before Louis can reply.
“Sorry,” he continues, now addressing Pete. He buries deeper into his duvet. “I
didn’t mean – I didn’t know.”
“Weren’t thinking of anyone but yourself,” Pete scoffs. “Typical.” He’s not
bothering to be quiet. Harry’s mum’s at work. They’re all alone. It's so much
easier now that she's gone most nights, not that he's always bothered. When
Gemma lived with them the abuse and . . . well, this, were more spread out
throughout the weeks.
Harry shakes his head quickly. His mouth opens and closes, fumbling for words
just out of reach, not knowing what to say, how to get out of this.
“It won’t happen again,” he tries to plead.
Pete slams the door shut behind him and walks to the edge of the bed. Harry
pulls his legs up to his chest; tries to scoot as far away from his step-father
as he can.
“Turn over,” Pete orders.
Harry hesitates, a rookie mistake really, and Pete’s hand is suddenly under the
duvet, searching. It wraps around Harry’s ankle, pulling until the young boy is
lying flat on his back. He throws off the covers. When he releases Harry’s
ankle, he uses that same hand to suddenly make contact with Harry’s thigh,
surely leaving an ugly red mark in its shape and causing Harry to wince.
“I said,” Pete says, slower this time, “turn over.”
This time Harry obeys.
He’s not used to it, even with as long as it’s been going on. He doesn’t think
it’s something anyone could everget used to. The fingers pulling at his
sweatpants and briefs are definitely familiar, but not in a good or reassuring
way; instead in a way that makes him squeeze his eyes shut, fighting against
tears and wishing for this moment, the quick movements, to be over as soon as
possible.
When he feels Pete push in – not bothering to prepare either of them in any way
whatsoever – Harry digs his teeth into his lower lip, hard enough that he can
taste blood. Pete grabs onto his hair, pulling till Harry’s crying out in pain
and his head is being yanked backwards.
“You like it,” his step-father says, almost laughing, then mutters, “Fucking
faggot.”
Harry tries to ignore the irony in that statement, and squeezes his eyes shut
again. It’s not until his eyes open to the sound of his phone going off, and he
sees he has a new text message from ‘stud from the script concert’ ‘cause he
never bothered to change Louis’ name, that he lets himself break a little and
feels tears sliding down his cheeks.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
A phone call from Louis is what wakes Harry up the next morning. He had fallen
asleep on his front, too sore to turn over, and he reaches out for his phone
blindly.
“lo?” he says when he answers, his voice groggy and raw from crying all night.
“Are you okay?” is the first thing Louis asks. "There wasn't actuallya murderer
in your bedroom last night was there? Though I guess you wouldn't have answered
if there had been, unless maybe he -"
“No, no, yeah, I’m fine,” Harry answers quickly – maybe too quickly -
interrupting him. “My step-dad just . . .” he pauses, thinking for a fraction
of a second about telling Louis the truth before saying, “I guess I woke him
up. He was a little upset, told me to go to bed. Sorry for hanging up like
that.”
Louis sighs. “No it’s fine, don’t apologize.”
There’s a moment of silence but it’s not awkward or uncomfortable. Harry is
oddly reassured just by the fact that Louis is on the other side of the phone.
Everything still feels unbearable, but him, being there, it’s enough for now.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Later, when Harry’s found the courage to get up, he locks himself in the
bathroom. He fumbles with one of the razor blades he keeps hidden in a box
under his mattress, pressing it gently against his fingertips. A little harder
and he could draw blood, but he doesn’t, not yet.
He shoves up the sleeve of his jumper, revealing fading bruises, thin white
scars, and more recent reddish pink cuts that sting a little when he runs a
finger over them.
Just like before when he sticks his fingers down his throat, he pauses; takes a
moment to just breathe. Then he pushes the razor into his skin, sliding it
across his wrist, and welcomes the immediate relief it brings.
***** Extraordinary *****
“I think you should get a tumblr,” Louis says one day, completely out of the
blue. They had been talking about tattoos, so how his train of thought jumped
from that to tumblr, Harry’s not sure.

“I - What? Why?”

Louis then launches into a speech Harry can only guess he’s had prepared for
some time. It ends with: “So, basically,I have one, and you think your
songwriting sucks and isn’t good enough and no one will like them right? Well
here’s your chance to find out! It can be totally anonymous. Make people call
you H or Hazza or something. And then, y’know, I’ll finally get to read some of
your stuff.”

Harry drops his face into his pillow, groaning loudly – and over dramatically –
for a few seconds, trying to ignore Louis' please please please please
pleeeeeease before he finally says, “Fine.” 

Louis whoops and cheers. “Go, go! Do it now!”

“It’s like . . . way too early.”

“It’s noon, sleepyhead. When did you go to bed last night?”

At like six this morning. “I don’t know. Guess I’m just exhausted from all our
texting,” he jokes.

Louis’ answering laugh sounds like music. “Ah, Curly, you ain't seen nothing
yet.”
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Shortly later, without getting out of bed, he pulls his laptop up beside him
and goes about the steps required to make a tumblr. His phone continuously goes
off with texts from Louis telling him to hurry and then finally about four
hundred and a half exclamation points after Harry tells him he’s done.

Don’t worry about making it pretty yet.

I’M GROWING IMPATIENT STYLES

It takes Harry twenty-five minutes to decide which song to use and to type it
up – twenty-five minutes he spends ignoring Louis’ eleven text messages. When
he’s done though, the lyrics up there for the world to see and tagged
appropriately, he sends a text to Louis telling him the name of his blog and
also pretend to love it okay.

Seventeen minutes pass before he hears back from Louis. He nearly pulls out all
of his hair in anticipation and anxiety. Then, when his phone actually goes
off, he can’t even look at Louis’ text, too worried it's going to say something
like failureor suckseven though he knows even if the songdid suck, Louis would
never tell him – and if he did, he’d probably do it with a lot more tact than
just ‘oh you suck.’ 

There are three text messages from Louis. They read holy shitand you’re so
talented, babeand marry me, okay.

It takes Harry a minute before he can get past the babeand marry me. Then he
calls Louis and as soon as he answers he says, “I swear to God, if you are
lying to me, just trying to be nice . . .”
                                        
                                   ~*~*~*~*~

It’s the middle of March and Harry has just sat down to lunch with his mum when
his phone starts going off. She gives him a look because they have a rule about
phones at the table. When he sees its Louis calling though, he promises her
he’ll make it quick.

It’s not uncommon for Louis to call Harry randomly during the day. They don’t
have late night conversations much anymore. The fact that he’s calling during a
meal time though, is a little odd.

Harry leaves the room before answering.

“Lou?” he asks, feeling nausea in the pit of his stomach. “What’s up?”

It’s quiet for a couple seconds and if it weren’t for the fact that he can hear
Louis breathing shallowly on the other side and distant voices in the
background, he’d think the line was dead.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I just . . . I didn't know who else to call.”

His stomach clenches even tighter. “What’s wrong?”

And then Louis is sobbingand Harry feels all the air leave his lungs. “I just
don’t know what to do. They won’t stop fighting; the girls are crying. It’s too
much. I can’t handle it anymore. They can't stop for five damn minutes and . .
.”

“Your parents?” He guesses, his voice quiet and barely audible. He’s surprised
Louis can even hear him.

“It’s been happening for a while,” Louis explains, “but it’s never been this
bad. What if . . .” his voice gets quiet, “What if they get a divorce?” he
whispers.

Harry was pretty young when his own dad walked out, but he still gets
flashbacks of all the fighting, memories of things getting knocked over, Gemma
crying. He sucks in a breath, trying to think of what to say. What would he
have wanted someone to say to him when his parents were getting a divorce?

“It’s going to be hard,” he says, going with honesty. “But you’ll survive this,
Louis.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You will though,” Harry argues, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You
have to be strong for your sisters.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath. “What if I can’t though? I don’t know . . . I
try . . . and it just . . .”

“You can be. You are,” he interrupts. “You’re the strongest person I know. And
God forbid, if it gets too rough, take the girls out of the house for a couple
hours or a weekend even; find someone to stay with just so you can get away
from all the fighting.”

Louis doesn’t answer for a minute or two, his breath evening out. “That’s
probably a good idea.”

“And if you need me,” Harry continues, voice a little quieter now and more
hesitant, “you know I’ll be there for you in a heartbeat. If you want me to
meet you somewhere, just to get away from everything for a day or even an hour
. . .”

“You would do that?”

“Of course I would. You . . . you’re like . . .” It’s the first time he’s ever
really thought about the ‘them’ that is him and Louis. “You’re, like, my best
mate,” he finally says, realizing that every word is true.

It’s only been a short while but he’s already come to depend on Louis. He likes
waking up to text messages or phone calls from him; he likes Louis’ weird sense
of humor and how often he cracks jokes; how he’s the only one who can really
make Harry laugh; that he can smile with the other boy and actually mean it.

“You too,” Louis says. He sighs a little. “Don’t tell Liam though, he’d
probably kill you – or me, probably both of us.” He doesn’t laugh, not exactly,
but his voice sounds relaxed enough Harry can tell he's joking.

“Keep me updated, okay? You’re going to be fine. And I’m sorry, you know.”

“Thanks, mate. I’ll, uh . . . I'll call you later.” It sounds like a question.

“I’m always here.”
 
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~

It’s Saturday night. Louis keeps sending Harry drunken messages until
eventually Liam takes the boy’s phone away and sends a text that says Lou has
lost his texting privileges.So Harry heads downstairs to watch a movie or maybe
Doctor Who to keep himself entertained.

He’s debating on which Doctor to watch when his step-dad walks through the
front door, drunk off his ass. Harry tries to ignore him, but can’t help but
stiffen a little when Pete walks over to the couch, tossing his jacket onto it.

“What’re you doin’?” he slurs.

Harry shrugs, starts to stand up. Going upstairs to get away from you.

“Get me a beer,” he orders.

Harry knows better than to argue, to say haven’t you had enoughlike he really
wants to. His mum is out at the cinema with one of her girlfriends and this
kind of thing has happened on enough occasions for Harry to get a hint at
what’s probably coming, to know its better if he just goes along with whatever
Pete wants. Don’t want to piss him off.

He gets Pete his beer, even opens it for him like the good step-son he is, then
starts to head back upstairs. Pete grabs onto his wrist though, pulling him
down onto the couch next to him.

“Drink some with me,” he offers, holding out the bottle.

“No thanks.”

Pete’s eyes narrow. “Drink,” he repeats.

So Harry drinks. It brings him back to the first time he’d had a beer, licking
it off the floor, and he still hates it just as much. Then Pete literally
shoves the bottle into his mouth, pouring the liquid down his throat so fast
Harry starts choking on it. Pete just laughs and pats him on the shoulder like
he’s a good boy.

“There you go.”

When the bottle is empty Harry starts to get up again.

“More,” Pete says, stopping him in his tracks. So he heads to the kitchen to
get him another one. “And bring me my cigarettes.”

Pete’s not allowed to smoke in the house – it’s a cardinal rule – but he does
anyway whenever Anne’s not home to see him. She must smell the lingering smoke
in the air when she gets back, but she’s never said anything about it. Not from
what Harry can tell, at least.

Harry finds the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of Pete’s jacket and hands him
both that and another beer from the fridge. He doesn’t sit down. Instead, he
waits until Pete’s distracted lighting his cigarette then starts towards the
stairs.

“Don’t even think ‘bout it.” Pete’s voice cuts through him like glass.

Harry sighs and walks back over to the couch. “Yeah?” he asks, wondering what
he wants now.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone.” He glares. “’m your father,” he points at
himself, “you’ll speak to me with the ‘spect I deserve.”

Harry has to bite his tongue.

“Sit down.” A pause and then, “and take off your . . .” he waves his hands
around, “your shirt.”

This,the way he just orders him around, is almost worse than anything else;
like he’s just some play toy, here for his step-dad’s entertainment and nothing
more.

He does take off his jumper though, revealing the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
Pete pulls at it so he takes that off too. His arms and chest are lined with
faint white marks, just like his wrists; scars from when Pete’s pushed him into
things or scratched him hard enough to make him bleed; cuts from sinking razors
into his skin. There’s a fading bruise over his abdomen from a couple days
earlier and Pete eyes it, smiling like he’s reliving the moment he put it
there. Probably why he always makes Harry go around shirtless; he likes to
admire his work.

He takes a puff of his cigarette then hands it to Harry. This happens
frequently, too, and they pass it back and forth for a minute before Pete wraps
an arm loosely around the younger lad’s shoulder.

And, because he is only human, Harry flinches.

But it's enough to set Pete off.

His grip tightens instantly and he presses the butt of the cigarette into
Harry’s shoulder. Harry's eyes immediately start watering and he has to bite
down on his lip to keep from crying out. He has identical scars on his back and
shoulders from when Pete’s done this other times, usually after having just
fucked him. Harry’s no stranger, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

“Don’t fucking flinch when I touch you. You like it when older men touch you.”
Another press of the cigarette into his skin, another scar to add to the
collection. “You like taking it up the ass.” He presses and drags the cigarette
down Harry’s arm, though the heat is mostly gone by now. “Because you’re a
stupid faggot; you deserve everything you get.”

Pete stands up suddenly, staring down at him. He grabs onto Harry’s hair and
pulls until the curly haired boy has fallen off the couch onto his knees. He
thinks for a half-a-second Pete’s going to make him suck him off – wouldn’t be
the first time – , but then his step-father pushes Harry onto his back. He
squeezes his eyes shut just as Pete’s foot connects with his ribs over and over
again.

“You sorry excuse for a human being.”

Harry tries to curl up into a ball, to crawl and get away from Pete, but the
older man shoves him onto his back again and holds out the cigarette. “Eat it.”

When his mum arrives home shortly later, Harry’s locked himself in the
bathroom, throwing up the cigarette and the contents of his stomach.
 
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~

On one of the rare nights Harry has the house to himself, he calls Louis up.
It’s only the second or third time he’s ever called Louis first. He’s usually
too nervous to get up the courage to do so.

Louis is quieter than usual on the phone and Harry keeps asking him what’s
wrong, but Louis assures he’s fine, that yeah, his parents are still fighting,
but it’s not as bad as it was before. So on and so forth.

Just when he’s about to give up, Louis asks, “What exactly did I say the other
night?”

It takes Harry a minute to catch on to what Louis is going on about. “You mean
when you went out drinking with Liam?”

“Technically I didn’t go out drinking withLiam. We went out and I got drunk and
Liam supervised. But yes, that’s what I’m referring to.”

“Just the usual, I guess. You want to marry me and think I’m bloody fit,” Harry
teases.

Louis laughs quietly. “Anything else?”

“You kept sending me pictures of shirtless guys.”

It’s silent for a few moments. “We were at a gay pub,” he explains. There’s a
pause. After a couple moments he continues, saying, “Because I’m gay, so.”

He had figured as much, ever since the snogging joke he had made the first time
they met. He’s never said it out loud; it’s never been something they’ve
discussed or talked about. They had joked about fit guys, but never too
seriously.

Now he doesn’t really know what to say. He’s at a loss for words. He's never
had this conversation with anyone before. He's in uncharted territory.

“I kind of guessed,” he admits. “Does anyone else know?”

Louis sounds only a little more relaxed when he says, “Liam and my mum do, but
other than that, no.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me.”

“You’re not like some homophobic twat are you?” Louis half-jokes.

Harry smirks. “Definitely not.”

Louis laughs. “Thank God. I’d have to send Liam to beat you up.”

“Sending others to do your dirty work for you, huh?”

“I’m too precious to be beating people up.”

His voice has returned to normal. His laugh is cheerful and makes something
inside Harry’s chest squeeze, almost uncomfortably. He lies back in bed,
staring up at the ceiling, listening to Louis ramble on on the other end.
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~

It happens the last Friday of March. Louis calls him early in the morning,
claiming he’s been up since three because his parents have been fighting non-
stop. He’s pretty sure this is it; they’re getting a divorce.

“I’m so sorry, Lou.”

“It’s – well, it’s not okay, but it’s not your fault.”

“I know that, but I also know what you’re going through and . . . well, I’m
just really sorry. I wish you didn’t have to put up with it.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, but he knows Louis is still on the other end,
letting his words sink in.

“The girls are headed over to my gran’s and, well . . . Liam and I were
thinking of heading into Manchester for the weekend. And . . . you wouldn’t
have to worry about paying for anything, so if you wanted to come . . .”

“Of course,” Harry interrupts quickly, already excited at the prospect of
getting out of the house. He wishes it wasn’t under these circumstances, but
still.

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Lou.”

He laughs. “Well I know it’s last minute and stuff, so I didn’t know.”

“When am I meeting you? Where am I meeting you?”

Louis chuckles again. “Li and I are headed up there in about an hour, gonna
skip school, but if you need to go - -”

He scoffs. Yeah right. “Just text me where to meet you and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks Haz.”

“I’ll see you soon.
 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry realizes he probably should have gotten permission from his mum
beforetelling Louis he’d meet him in Manchester. She’s pretty lenient about
letting him miss school though, and seems to understand the direness of the
situation, so she just gives him a kiss on the forehead and tells him to be
safe. She tucks a couple notes in his pocket, ignoring it when he argues with
her that he can pay for the train ride himself – I have a job, y’know– and
heads out the door for work. Pete is already gone, thank God, so he takes a
quick shower, throws some things in a bag, and leaves for the station.

He feels jittery the entire ride there, barely able to keep still. He has to
keep reminding himself that he and Louis have only known each other for a
couple months. They’re already so close; it feels like they’ve know each other
for years. It also feels a lot longer than a couple months since Harry’s seen
him.

He’s also, well, nervous. He hates to admit it, but he doesn’t really know how
to act around people that well. With his friends at school, they get on okay,
they sometimes sit together at lunch – Harry is usually doing homework or in
the library; very rarely does he actually eatlunch – and hang out between
classes from time to time. That’s it. They don’t talk about serious things and
none of them have really gotten to know him or vice versa. They’re all used to
him being quiet and off to himself most of the time. Harry's actually pretty
sure they're just friends with him because he's a nerd and doesn't care if they
copy off his homework.

The closer the train gets to Manchester, the more anxious Harry gets. He
manages to calm himself down a bit by plugging in his headphones and listening
to music for the remaining fifteen minutes. But then The Man Who Can’t Be
Movedcomes on and he starts getting restless all over again.

When they finally pull up, he peers out the window, knowing Louis is there
somewhere, waiting for him. Harry had offered to meet him and Liam at the
hotel, but Louis had said – well texted – you’ll do no such thing. I’ll pick
you up like a proper gentleman. Harry had been trying to ignore the feeling it
left him with to no avail.

He has to keep telling himself that it’s not like they’re datingor anything,
even though it kind of feels like they are and his heart is beating out of his
chest like he’s about to get off the train and see the love of his life, like
in some cheesy rom-com he is definitely not obsessed with.

All he can think about is how pathetic he is, really.

He doesn’t even believein love. He loves his mum and his sister of course, but
fallingin love is a foreign concept. Life has given him zero evidence of it
being a real and lasting thing.

So he definitely doesn’t loveLouis or anything.

And even if he did – he doesn’t, but if he did – Louis wouldn’t love him back.
No one’s ever going to love him. He’s incapable of being loved. He knows it.
His step-father knows it. Everyone knows it.

So really, the whole love thing is just stupid and pointless.

He spots Louis and Liam before they spot him. There’s nothing
extraordinaryabout Louis really, but there’s nothing notextraordinary about him
either. He’s wearing rolled up jeans, toms, and a striped t-shirt. His hair is
mostly hidden underneath a beanie and he has on glasses that Harry didn’t know
he needed. One hand is clutching Liam’s sleeve as he stands on his tippy toes,
scanning the crowd.

Instinctively, Harry feels himself relax a little as he approaches them.

“Looking for me?” he asks quietly.

Louis turns, his eyes widen, and before Harry knows what’s happening, Louis has
thrown his arms around him.

He should have seen something like this coming. Why wouldn’tLouis hug him? And
it’s fine, really. It’s just . . . the only one who touches him besides his mum
and Gem (the only male who touches him) is Pete, and well . . . he hasn’t had
much good experience with that. He’s not used to people touching him in a
friendly manner. He always expects some ulterior motive beneath the surface.
But this is Louisfor crying out loud, he’s not going to hit him or anything.

But still. Harry can’t help but flinch.

It’s a noticeable flinch too, not something he can brush off and pretend didn’t
happen. Louis pulls back immediately, looking sheepish and on the edge of
apologizing.

“Hey Lou,” Harry says before he canapologize. He turns to the boy next to
Louis. He’s got straightened hair and big brown eyes. “Liam, hi.”

He smiles. “Nice to finally meet you, Harry. Louis here doesn’t shut up about
you.”

Harry can’t help but smile back at that, especially when Louis elbows Liam in
the side. “Do not,” the older boy argues.

There are dark bags under Louis’ eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping, and his
eyes aren’t exactly the brightness that Harry remembers. He looks tired and
much older than just eighteen, but he’s smiling – weakly, sure, but Harry can’t
exactly blame him. Divorces are straining.

“Let’s go,” Louis urges, and they start walking towards the car park. Louis
holds out his hand, almost like he’s reaching for something, then stops himself
and stuffs it back in his pocket.
***** Distractions *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The hotel isn't too far from the train station. They stay just long enough for
Harry to drop off his stuff. It’s a small room with two double beds and he
wonders briefly who’s going to be sharing.
The idea of sharing a bed with Louis is in his mind for half a second before
they’re off again. They go and get breakfast first because Louis is starving.
He slides into the booth beside Harry, looking over at the curly haired boy
with his brilliant, bright blue eyes. He probably doesn’t want to talk about
what’s going on back at his house, just wants a distraction. And Harry thinks .
. . he can probably, hopefully be that distraction . . . or at least help with
it.
Louis doesn’t talk much though, which is how Harry knows he must be taking it
hard; in all the time they have known each other (which, granted, isn't that
long) Louis has never stayed quiet for an extended amount of time. Harry uses
the opportunity to get to know Liam a little better, thinking eventually Louis
will join in.
He’s talked to Liam before, a few times actually; once on the phone and couple
times through text messages. He’s a year older than Harry, but skipped a grade
so that’s how he ended up in Louis’ class. He wants to get into the music
industry, likes learning how music comes together and Harry can’t help but
agree with him there. They end up talking about that for most of the meal,
comparing artists and albums and genres.
Louis does eventually chime in when Harry asks what the plans are for the
weekend.
“Get totally smashed,” he answers with a kind of glint in his eye. It’s one of
the many times Harry isn’t sure if he’s actually serious, but Harry raises his
milkshake anyways and say, “Cheers to that,” before taking a drink.
“And Li’s going to look at us all judge-y like, ‘specially since you’re only
sixteen,” Louis emphasizes, groaning. “God you’re so young, and I’m old.” This
seems to be a big deal to him because he gets pouty all of a sudden and swipes
Harry’s milkshake right out of his hand.
Liam distracts him by saying, “I’m not actually opposed to us – er, you –
getting drunk.”
Louis’ eyebrows disappear underneath the fringe that’s hanging over his
forehead. “Wow. Maybe my parents should get divorced more often.” It was a
slip, a joke he probably didn’t mean to make. He bites his lip and Harry
suddenly gets the urge to wrap an arm around him, protect him from his parent’s
divorce and anything else bad that comes his way. Before he can get the thought
out of his head, Louis says, “ha ha” all awkward-nelly like and then, “I’m
gonna go use the loo,” and he’s gone.
There are a couple moments of silence, then Harry says, “Well,” and tightens
his grip on the edge of the table, wondering if he should get up and follow
Louis, make sure he’s alright.
Liam beats him to it though. “I’m going to go check on him.”
Harry nods and watches him go. Right, that’s hisjob. He’sthe best friend, not
Harry. Harry’s well . . . he doesn’t know what he is. Harry knows Louis said
they were best mates, but he doesn't think he meant it like that. The way Louis
and Liam interact and communicate is so familiar and with such ease; Harry
can't help but be a little jealous.
He sits there for a couple minutes, staring down at his food that he doesn’t
really plan on finishing – or starting for that matter. He doesn’t know why he
ordered it in the first place. He pushes it away from himself and the waitress
comes to clear everything away, leaving only his milkshake, Liam’s coffee, and
Louis’ tea.
When the other two come back, Harry’s staring out the window, watching people
walk past, growing steadily envious of whatever lives they lead.
Louis’ eyes look a little red, but his smile is genuine so Harry assumes he’s
at least a little better. Liam obviously knows what he's doing, knows how to
cheer him up. And if that makes him even more jealous . . . well, Harry's good
at ignoring it.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They walk around town for a bit, stopping at different stores but not staying
anywhere for too long - that is, until they find a record store that seems
pretty decent. Immediately Louis starts a game of ‘yay or nay’ and before long
they’re arguing about whether or not Justin Bieber can be considered a
musician.
“Does he even do anything besides sing?” Harry asks.
Liam hasn’t really been joining in with the discussion, but he says, “I think
he plays guitar?” not looking up from where he’s sorting through the F’s.
“Exactly, see! Guitar playing equals musician,” Louis says.
Harry shrugs his shoulders. "Eh. I guess it does."
Louis frowns. When he looks down though, his eyes brighten and he picks up a
copy of Adele’s album, 19.He holds it out, shaking it in front of Harry’s eyes.
“Okay then, what about Adele?”
Harry pulls the CD away from him and tucks it back where it belongs. “Of
courseAdele’s a musician. Do you even have to ask?”
Louis nods contently. A couple minutes later he sighs. “I could never be a
musician.” He seems saddened by this thought and Harry looks up quickly.
“Why not?”
He shrugs, keeping his eyes focused on the albums he's sorting through. “I
can’t play an instrument and I don’t think I have the patience to learn. My mum
tried to teach me a bit of piano when I was younger, and that didn’t go over so
well.”
Harry opens his mouth, about to suggest that maybe he needs a different
teacher. His mum tried to teach him piano, too, and it didn’t work, but when
his music teacher at school gave it a shot, he picked it up quickly. Before he
can say anything though, Louis is talking again.
“And here I am, surrounded by all these talented musicians.” He groans
sarcastically.
Harry raises his eyebrow in confusion, not understanding to who he is
referring.

Louis looks up and smiles. “You and Liam,” he explains.
Harry turns to look at Liam, who says, “I can play the drums and piano, and a
little guitar.”
“Who ever said I could play an instrument?” Harry then asks Louis, going back
to sorting through music.
Louis just narrows his eyes, looking at him like he’s an idiot for a half-a-
minute before saying, “First of all, you just kind of scream ‘musician!’ and
you talk about music like your entire life revolves around it. And plus, you
were given a guitar for your birthday, so,” he shrugs, “I kind of assumed.” His
face softens and he smiles. “I’m right though, aren’t I?”
Harry sighs, but nods. He’s just glad Louis hadn’t mentioned his songwriting in
front of Liam. That’s not exactly something he wants broadcasted.
“What can you play?” Liam asks.
He shrugs in response. “A little of this, a little of that.”
They get to the back of the store, having made it through the A – M artists.
Hanging on the walls are guitars of all types, some for sale and others vintage
or signed by famous musicians. There’s also a drum set, a keyboard, and a
couple stools. Probably there for people who want to try out the equipment
before they buy, he assumes.
Louis is next to Harry all of a sudden. He slides his hand over Harry’s,
interlocking their fingers. Harry tries not to jump or look at all bothered by
the touch, but it’s hard to do when he’s not use to people – especially boys,
especially cuteboys – touching him. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, or notice, he
just squeezes his hand and pulls him over to where the bar stools are.
“Come on then,” he says, picking up an acoustic guitar off its stand and
handing it to Harry. “Show me what you got.”
Harry frowns but takes the guitar from him. “I dunno, Lou.” He looks around,
suddenly self-conscious and feeling eyes on the back of his head. The only
other people in the store though are at the front, checking out.
Louis just juts out his lower lip, pouting, and Harry sighs, a ‘fine’ escaping
his lips before he sits down on the stool closest to him, resting the guitar on
his legs.
He only has to think for a couple of seconds before he knows what song he wants
to play. Then he starts strumming out the beginning notes to The Man Who Can’t
Be Moved. Louis smiles immediately in recognition so Harry takes that as a cue
to keep going.
“I know it makes no sense, but what else can I do?
How can I move on when I’m still in love with you?”
Louis starts singing quietly and the suddenness of his voice, the beauty of it,
almost makes Harry miss a chord. His voice is so different, high and low, rough
and soft, deep and melodic, and for a moment Harry can’t take his eyes off of
him, watching his lips move in perfect time with the music, feeling like Louis
is singing right to him.
“‘Cause if one day you wake up and find that you’re missing me,
And your heart starts to wonder, where on this earth I could be?
Thinking maybe you’d come back here to the place that we meet,
And you’ll see me waiting for you on the corner of the street.
So I’m not moving. I’m not moving.”
Harry pauses for a minute and Louis’ voice cuts off.
“You’re really good, y’know,” Harry tells him. “Like really good.”
“Oh I know,” he replies, sounding cocky, but there’s a hint of a blush on his
cheeks. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
The curly haired lad just shrugs. “Eh, I’m ‘ight.”
He starts playing again, Louis starts singing, and then Liam gets behind the
drum set and picks up the beat. Before he knows it, they’re playing a rough,
semi-acoustic version of the song. They’re not great, no, but they’re good.
They sound pretty decent for how young and inexperienced they are and the fact
that they’ve never played together before.
When the song is done Harry looks at Louis. He’s beaming, like he’s not
thinking at all about his family and what’s happening back in Doncaster. Even
though Harry had been nervous at first, he thinks if it makes Louis happy, then
it’s worth it. So he picks another song that he knows all the notes to and
starts strumming the guitar again.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry feels sick after lunch, like ‘I’m not used to having this much food
inside of me’ sick. He tries to pass it off on nerves or just that he’s full,
but he knows neither is the case. He manages to ignore the pain for a little
bit; pretend like he’s perfectly fine.
Louis is sitting next to him again. They’ve all finished eating already, but
now they’re just hanging out, talking about nothing and everything all at once.
Louis keeps throwing things at Liam: straw wrappers, napkins, food, his cell
phone, anything he can get his hands on basically. At first Liam just gives him
a disapproving look, warning him that they’re going to get kicked out again
(because apparently this is something that happens on a regular basis) but then
he starts fighting back. He even goes so far as to reach across the table and
drop an ice cube down Louis’ shirt.
Harry starts laughing while Louis jumps around a little, complaining about how
cold it is.
It’s not enough of a distraction though. As hard as he’s trying to seem
perfectly normal and healthy and happy, it’s not working. So he tells the boys
he needs to go to the toilet and Louis moves out of the way. Harry snakes his
way through the crowded café until he finds the bathroom, thankfully empty.
He splashes his face with cold water first, thinking maybe that will help. It
doesn’t. His stomach is pressing up against his jeans and he just feels so
full. He wraps his arms around his waist, groaning a little bit and hunching
over. When he looks in the mirror – which is a stupid mistake, really – it
feels like he can seethe bulging of his stomach through his jumper.
It’s disgusting, really. How does anyone even look at him? And why did he eat
so much? Why is he so stupid?
He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the curls, and then locks himself
in one of the stalls, knowing when he came in here that this was bound to
happen anyway.
He’s ashamed of it, too. He hates that he has to do these things to feel better
about himself, but what else is there?
He leans down, sticks his fingers down his throat and finally finallyeverything
feels all right.
He washes his hands when he's done, splashes more cool water on his face then
dries it off. He fixes his hair, flicking it back into place, and leaves the
bathroom as soon as he look half-way normal, or as normal as he can look,
really.
“You okay, Hazza?” Louis asks when Harry sits back down beside him.
He nods. “Yeah, ‘course.” He reaches for his tea, taking a small sip.
“Aren’t you warm?” the older boy asks, fingering his jumper. “I’m friggin
toasted.” Louis pulls the collar of his t-shirt for a moment before letting go
of it, letting it snap back into place.
Harry shrugs in reply. “I’m fine.” Then, to change the subject, he asks, “Where
are we going next?”
With the conversation finally off of him, he relaxes, leaning back against the
booth.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
At around nine they head back to the hotel, mostly because Harry feels like
he’s about to pass out. When Liam finally gets the door unlocked, Harry’s the
first one in, face planting onto the first bed he sees. He curls up in a ball
and mutters something unintelligible like sleep, now, g’night. He thinks it
should be that easy, but apparently not. Next thing he knows, Louis is jumping
up and down beside him.
“It’s too early to be sleeping, Harry Potter.” Harry turns over just enough to
glare at Louis, because yeah, ha ha ha, like I haven’t heard that one before.
“Come on, Hazza.” Louis pulls on his arm. “We’re going to go downstairs and get
candy from the vending machines and pig out and get all hyper and annoy Liam
until he starts throwing things at us, okay?”
Harry shakes his head, face buried in the pillows again. “No thanks. Sleep is
good.” He squeezes his eyes shut and it gets quieter. He thinks Louis has given
up so he turns around, stretching out on his back, his head still turned into
the pillow.
“Harry,” Louis pleads, louder this time, and when Harry opens his eyes Louis is
crawling up the bed and slinging a leg over him, effectively straddling the
younger boy.
Harry freezes.
Louis doesn’t appear to notice. “Come on. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Before
Liam gets out of the shower.”
“What’re you doing?” Harry chokes out.
Louis pauses. He’d been rubbing his hands together and clapping them gently,
but he stops. He tilts his head now, looking confused. “What d’ya mean?”
Harry drops his eyes to where their bodies – their crotches – are pressed
together.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Louis tries to make it sound like a joke, but
Harry can hear his worried, nervous undertones.
Harry starts sitting up, gently pushing Louis off of him, and nodding his head,
then shaking it quickly. “No, no. It’s fine,” he says, even though his actions
are saying something completely different. “Let’s, uh, go get that candy.” He
hops up off the bed and starts walking towards the door, feeling eyes on the
back of his head. He opens the door and finally turns around. Louis is still
sitting on the edge of the bed, looking a little defeated.
Finally Louis nods. “Right.” He smiles. “Let’s go.”
The rest of the night passes by slightly awkwardly. They do pig out on candy
and Liam does throw a couple pillows at them, but Harry feels like everyone’s
laughter is a little forced. He tries to make up for his miniature freak-out,
but Louis goes out of the way to make sure he doesn’t touch him, not even in
the friendliest of manners.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
The next day passes much like the first. They have breakfast at the same place
then go see a movie at the cinema. Afterwards they hang out at the record store
for a couple hours, going through the albums they didn’t have time for
yesterday.
None of them go near the back where all the stools are.
The only major difference is how Louis treats Harry. He’s not rude or anything,
just as pleasant and hilarious as any other day, but instead of sitting next to
Harry, he sits next to Liam, and instead of walking next to Harry, Liam walks
between them.
It’s not bad really, but Harry feels awfuland has to keep reminding himself
that technically he didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not his fault he doesn’t
feel comfortable with Louis climbing all over him.
It doesn’t work though, unsurprisingly, and he grows grumpier and grumpier as
the day goes on.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They get back to the hotel at around eleven that night, which Louis thinks is
way too early, but Harry wants to take a shower and Liam’s tired, so he’s
outnumbered.
Harry takes his time in the bathroom, letting the hot water soak his sore
muscles. When he gets out, Louis is gone and Liam’s on the bed furthest from
the bathroom, flipping through the channels on the television.
He starts towel drying his hair. “Where’s Lou?”
Liam shrugs, dropping the remote next to him. Misfits is on. “Dunno,” he
answers. “He said he had something important to see to and left before I could
ask any questions.” He shrugs again. He must sense Harry’s unease though
because he laughs a little. “No worries. He does this all the time. He’ll be
back eventually.”
Harry does relax a little and sits down on the other bed. He’s changed into
sweats, but he’s still wearing his jumper from the day. It’s his favorite
jumper actually: too big and an off white color.
It’s quiet for a few minutes and he doesn’t know about Liam, but it feels a
little awkward and uncomfortable for him. Now that Louis is gone it’s like he
doesn’t know what to talk about. He struggles to think of what people might
usually say in these type of situations. Has anyone ever been in this kind of
situation?
Eventually he settles with, “How did you and Louis meet?” something he’s
actually curious about, so it doesn’t come out all forced like he was worried
it would.
Liam chuckles a little and Harry’s instantly envious of how easy it seems for
other people to do something such as laughor smile when for him it feels like
he has to prepare himself mentally before and after, like it’s such a big
accomplishment if he can actually smile and mean it. It’s easy with Louis he’s
learned, but there’s still something there. Like he just doesn’t know how to be
happy.
Harry curls up on the bed, under the covers, as Liam starts talking.
“It’s actually a funny story. I was eight, Louis was nine, and I’d only lived
in Doncaster for about a week maybe. I was really sick as a kid, and also shy
and small for my age, so I never made friends easily. Louis made it his mission
to get me out of my shell though. He would not leave me alone.” He laughs
again. “He would find me after school and just start talking about his day.
He’d follow me home like the creeper he is.”
“I was not a creeper!” The door slams shut behind Louis and Harry jumps a
little, not having heard him come in.
“Was too and still are, love.”
Harry is thrown off at the endearment for some reason. He looks between the
two. Louis had said Liam was straight, but it's not the first time Harry's
questioned it. He doesn’t know why, but the idea of Liam not being straight,
bothers him a little bit.
Actually, he doesn’t really care if Liam’s straight or not, it’s just Liam
being interested in Louis that would bother him.

Not that Harry has any claim to Louis whatsoever, but still . . .
“Anyway,” Liam continues, “I hadn’t said two words to the lad, but he just
wouldn’t let it go. So he gives up - - -”
Louis snorts, swinging his arms at his side. Its then that Harry realizes he's
holding a plastic bag, though what’s in it, he can’t tell.
“I did not give up,” Louis says. “I tricked you. I knew if I stopped talking to
you all of a sudden, you’d have to say something. I’m a genius, I am.”
Liam coughs. “Right, if you say so.”
“Did you mention the fact that I saved your life?”
Liam rolls his eyes. “You did not save my life.”
Louis looks taken aback. “I did so! You were getting beaten up. If it weren’t
for me those ten-year-old's would’ve punch the pretty right outta ya. And
there’s not too much to begin with.” Louis winks, then ducks when Liam throws a
pillow at him. “You know I love you.”
Liam chuckles. It might just be Harry's vision faltering or something, but the
lad's cheeks look a little blushed.
“What’s in the bag?” Harry asks, his curiosity getting the best of him. Also
he’s starting to feel weird with the direction the conversation is headed.
“Oh!” Louis smiles all wide, and in that moment Harry’s suddenly reminded of
Peter Pan with the way Louis looks, all innocent and a little naïve. He
probably thinks he can stay young forever too.
Of course then Louis dumps out what's in the bag onto the bed, and Harry starts
to think maybe he’s not so innocent after all.
“Holy shit, Lou,” Liam’s the first to speak – Harry’s a little shocked; he’s
never heard him cuss before. “Did you buy out the liquor store?”
Louis just grins again and wiggles his eyebrows.
There are nine or eleven bottles of alcohol at the end of Harry’s bed, ranging
from stuff that’ll probably have zero effect on them, to bottles that he feels
a little drunk just looking at.
“Lads, it’s our last night; we’re getting wasted.”
And that they do.
                                        
Liam refuses to drink at first, claiming he needs to supervise and something
about a kidney that Harry doesn’t really catch. Louis points out that we’re in
a fucking hotel for crying out loudso Liam gives in and opens one of the
“pussy” bottles – as Louis had dubbed them.
It does not take Louis long to get drunk even though apparently he has a high
tolerance for liquor. (“Lots of practice,” he says with a wink.) It takes Harry
longer only because he doesn’t drink much at first. Then he starts to enjoy the
nice buzz it leaves him with and starts drinking more more more. He cannot
handle his alcohol at all it seems because next thing he knows Louis and him
are standing on the bed dancing and singing Skinny Love at the top of their
lungs, completely out of tune.
Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and Harry likes that he doesn’t flinch
or even squirm. He thinks he could get use to this – the alcohol or Louis, he’s
not sure. Louis is nice and warm and tiny. Harry buries his face is his neck,
laughing. He’s not sure at what, but he’s pretty sure Louis said something
funny.
“Love your hair, Curly,” Louis says, slurring his words a bit. Harry’s pretty
sure he’s the drunker of the two of them. Louis runs a hand through his curly
hair, massaging the scalp a little and Harry practically melts at the
sensation. He’s never felt anything so good in his entire life. He lets out a
content sigh, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. “But why,” Louis continues,
“do you have like . . . a bald spot?” He’s rubbing his fingers at the back of
Harry’s head where some of his hair is thinning out. Louis laughs abruptly. “Oh
my God, you’re going bald, Hazza.”
Harry knows why that spot is there. At least he thinks he knows. It’s in the
back of his mind somewhere, on the edge of his thoughts, but something tells
him not to go there. He doesn’t really care anyways. He just laughs along with
Louis, nodding his head.
He can laugh, like actually laugh without trying to. It’s so easy. He’s never
laughed so much in his life.
Louis is just so funny. And Harry tells him so.
“What?” Louis asks, pulling back to look at the younger boy. Harry just shrugs
though and tries to lay his head back on Louis’ shoulder, thinking maybe the
other boy will go back to playing with his curls. Louis stops him though.
They just stare at each other, Louis’ big, blue eyes meeting Harry’s green
ones.
“You have very pretty eyes,” Harry tells him. “Very pretty. Like the ocean,
y’know? Your eyes look like the ocean, but bluer.”
Louis breaks out into a smile. “You too, Curly.”
“My eyes look like the ocean?”
He laughs. “A green ocean.” He looks over his shoulder and Harry follows his
gaze; Liam is passed out in the other bed.
“What do we do now?” Harry asks quietly – or he attempts to be quiet, he’s not
sure it works so well.
Harry doesn’t really get an answer though. Louis just laughs again, tightens
his hold on the back of Harry’s hair and brings their faces closer. He doesn’t
close his eyes at first but Louis does. The older boy’s face is brought into
sharp detail. He can see a few freckles and Louis’ eyelashes fluttering against
his cheek. Their mouths are an inch apart and they’re just breathing each
others air. Louis sighs and leans forward, and Harry closes his eyes just as
their mouths press together.
The kiss – if you can even call it that – lasts about a fraction of a second,
just skin touching skin. Harry can feel it in his entire body though, from the
tips of his fingers down to his toes. He’s never even kissed a girl before,
didn’t know it could feel like this. If he had known kisses were this good, he
would have been more eager to find willing participants. He’s pretty sure it’s
probably just the alcohol speaking though. 
Their foreheads press together for a minute and Louis opens his eyes. Their
eyes meet and that’s when Louis surges forward and they’re kissing again,
really kissing. Louis fists his hair and Harry’s hands drop down to the other
boy’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together. Louis licks along his lower
lip and automatically Harry’s mouth parts, granting him entrance. He licks his
way into Harry’s mouth, still running his fingers through his hair.
He doesn’t want it to stop. He’s pretty sure he could do this forever, just
stand here, nearly falling over on the squeaky bed, kissing Louis. He wonders
if maybe it’s just Louis, if he’s just that good of a kisser. He’s probably
kissed loads of guys. He goes to gay pubs all the time; he's probably done more
than just kissing.
This though, it’s not even like kissing really, it’s like a battle of their
mouths, fast paced and quickly heating up. He wants to convince himself that
Louis has never had a kiss this good, that it’s not just the alcohol. That he’s
special, that this is different.
Louis drops his hands from Harry’s hair and slips them under his shirt instead,
pressing his warm fingertips into the boy’s cool skin. Harry pulls back from
the kiss and Louis tries to follow with his lips, whining a little bit in an
extremely tempting way. Harry just starts peppering his jaw and neck with
kisses though, which seems to satisfy the older boy. He leans his head back to
give Harry more access, so he just goes about sucking a bruise onto Louis’
neck, biting gently at the skin to see what kind of reaction it’ll get out of
him. He’s pretty sure the nails clawing at his back means Louis likes it.
Then his stomach twists. And not in a 'butterflies fluttering' kind of way but
in a 'I've drank too much on an empty stomach' way.
Harry pulls back and groans a little.
“No,” Louis pouts, “come back.” He tries to drag Harry back in and reattach
their lips, but Harry shakes his head, clutching his stomach.
“I don’t feel so good.” He stumbles; almost falling off the bed, but manages to
get off without breaking anything. He’s just barely made it to the toilet when
he throws up.
He had been pretty sure Louis was drunker than him, but when he looks up, there
he is. Louis wets a washcloth and presses it to Harry’s head. It’s nice and
cool and Harry lets his eyes droop shut as Louis starts cleaning him off. He’s
only barely aware of Louis pulling him to the bed, though he does manage to
shake his head when Louis tries to pull of his jumper.
Then Louis is curling up next to him and he’s drifting off to sleep.
Chapter End Notes
     i just needed to point out that harry doesn't /actually/ have a bald
     spot. there's just a spot on the back of his head where his hair is
     thinner from his step-dad grabbing at it and pulling his hair out so
     often. so, yeah. i didn't know if that came across like i wanted it
     to.
***** Missing Out On *****
Chapter Notes
     trigger warning for some minor physical abuse in this chapter.
     this is probably my favorite chapter so far :) i hope you guys like
     it.
     major thanks to precious-lou on tumblr for editing this for me x
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Harry wakes up with a pounding headache and the worst stomach ache of his life.
He’s lying on his front with his face pressed into a damp pillow, but when he
opens one eye he can make out a little bit of soft light coming in from the
window. The telly is on in the background, something like morning cartoons, and
he hears hushed voices.
Turning his head a little bit, Louis and Liam come in to view. They’re sitting
on the edge of the other bed, talking. He can’t make out what they’re saying
exactly, but he thinks he hears his name and Liam's tone sounds a bit
disappointed.
A strange feeling makes its way through Harry. A cross between anxiety and
regret and nausea. He groans to let the others know he’s awake, and buries his
face back in the pillow.
“Someone had a bit too much to drink, eh?” Liam asks. His voice sounds off, but
he's chuckling.
Harry flips him off without lifting his head, but Liam just laughs harder.
“That’s what I thought. I warned you, but nobody listens to me.”
“Because you’re no fun,” comes Louis’ voice, sounding closer than it was
before.
They both sound much more relaxed than they were a minute ago when they thought
Harry was asleep.
“How come you’re not hung over?” he asks Louis, managing to roll over onto his
back.
The older boy is sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed now. He pats the sheets by
Harry’s feet and chuckles. “I am. I just handle it better than you.” He throws
Harry a bottle of pills, something for his headache. “Those’ll help.” Harry
nods his head in thanks and swallows three down dry. “You only need to take
one, Harold.” Louis narrows his eyes, looking disapproving. “Read the label for
crying out loud.” His eyes are twinkling with amusement though.
Medicine has never affected Harry like it’s supposed to, and he shrugs. His
gaze drags over Louis, eventually landing on a love bite. It’s in the juncture
between Louis’ neck and shoulder, bright purple with actual indents where teeth
must have been. The sight causes Harry to still, feeling like his insides have
gone frozen. What exactly did he miss out on the night before?
He looks at Liam, but the boy avoids eve contact and stands up. “So, who’s
hungry?”
They both manage to groan, and Louis throws a pillow in Liam’s amused,
unsuspecting face.
“Rude,” Liam comments. He’s smiling though. “We better get some food and head
out soon if we want to make it back before noon.”
Oh right, Harry remembers, he’s going home today.
He groans again, covering his face with a pillow. This time, though, the groan
is real, and he tries to ignore Louis and Liam’s laughter.
“What even happened last night?” he asks.
There’s only silence so he drops the pillow and sits up on his elbows.
“You don’t remember anything?” Liam asks slowly. Louis shoots Liam an odd look
so quickly Harry almost misses it.
He shakes his head. “No, not really.” His memory is a blurry mess. He remembers
parts; throwing up and Louis putting him into bed. He remembers dancing, but
that’s about it. “For some reason I can’t get Bon Iver out of my head.”
Louis laughs a little at that. “Yeah, who knew you were such a good singer.” He
winks, though, so Harry can't tell if he's just messing with him or not. 
“Oh, God, I didn’t. Did I?”
They both nod. “‘fraid you did,” Liam says. “Totally off tune, too, but you
weren’t that bad.”
Harry rolls his eyes.
Liam and Louis keep exchanging odd looks and Harry’s head is pounding, so he
heads towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna go shower.”
As soon as the door is shut, he hears their voices pick up again quietly. He’s
pretty sure he hears one of them say his name again. His stomach twists
uncomfortably so he starts the shower and gets in.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
The goodbye is a bit awkward, at least on Harry’s part. He was pretty sure
Louis was going to hug him again, and had even been trying to prepare himself
for it mentally all morning, but it turns out he’s got nothing to worry about.
Louis just smiles, then he and Liam wave him off.
As soon as he’s on the train, he watches them turn around, heading towards
their own train. There’s a moment where he thinks Louis shoots the train one
last fleeting glance, but he can’t be sure. Louis wouldn’t do that anyways, why
would he? Harry’s sure he’s just imagining things.
He finds a seat and settles in, getting out his headphones and putting them in
his ears.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
He gets a hero’s welcome home, if 'hero's welcome' means a quick hug from his
mum on her way out the door as she claims she didn’t know he’d be home so soon,
and then his step-father knocking him around a bit to make up for lost time.
He doesn’t leave his bed for the rest of the day, checking the new bruises on
his ribs and making sure he didn’t break anything. He keeps glancing at his
phone every few minutes to see if Louis has texted him or not. Other than the
have a safe trip homehe got on the train though, his inbox has remained empty.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Over the next week or so they don’t talk much. He’s not used to texting Louis
first, but he does it anyways, feeling more awkward with every letter he
pushes. Eventually he just gives up and tries to think of reasons for Louis'
strange behavior.
It’s not that Louis’s ignoring him, he’s not. Before, his texts would come
minutes or seconds after Harry sent them. They would have smiley faces and
half-arsed suggestive comments. He would send Harry the mostrandom of all
comments about anything and everything going on around him. Now . . . well,
he’s lucky if he gets a reply within the same hour he sent the text, and
they’re usually one word: ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘uh huh.’ And it’s alwaysHarry texting
him. Never the other way around.
He can’t help but think he did something wrong. It’s the only explanation.
Maybe Louis’s realized what a low life he is, has finally come to learn Harry
doesn’t deserve happiness or friends or any of the good things life has to
offer.
It’s not until a week and a half later that he finally learns why Louis’s been
acting the way he has.
It starts with a text to Harry, the first one he’s initiated since Manchester.
Even then, it’s void of any real Louis-charm, just a couple sentences informing
Harry that he’s going out again, but this time he’s handing his phone over to
Liam so he doesn’t do anything stupid with it.
Harry frowns a little and replies quickly with too bad, I’ll miss all the half-
naked boys.
It’s when Louis texts back an obviously sarcastic ha ha very funnythat he
starts to think that has something to do with it all. So instead of texting
him, Harry calls him.
“You know I have no problem with you being gay, right?” is the first thing out
of his mouth when Louis answers. That actually hadn't been how he'd planned on
starting the conversation, but it's too late to take it back now. 
“Hello to you, too.” There’s a brief moment of silence. “Uh, well – I mean, I
wasn’t sure.” Louis’ voice is unnaturally quiet. Harry can faintly hear cars
and voices in the background.
“I told you I wasn’t a homophobic twat,” he reminds him.
“Well yeah, but,” the other boy pauses, “that doesn’t mean . . . I mean I know
I can be a little. . .” He sighs. “I just don’t want to make you
uncomfortable.”
Harry knows exactly what Louis's referring to now. “You didn’t.” It’s a half-
lie really, but that doesn’t matter. It wasn't Louis being gay that bothered
him, it was the touching that Harry's just not use to. “I mean it. You don’t.
I’m . . . me too.”
There’s a long silence that feels like minutes instead of seconds. “You too
what?” Louis finally asks, slowly.
He takes in a deep breath, peers out his door to make sure his mum or step-dad
isn’t lurking on the other side. When he gets back to bed he says, “I like
guys, too.”
It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. The first time he’s ever
acknowledged it as the truth. He’s usually tried to ignore the fact that he’s
attracted to guys, tries to forget about his step-father’s hard hitting words
about being a cocksucker; he’s always acted like it was all just a phase or
something he’d grow out of . . .
“I like girls, too, though,” Harry clarifies. “Or, you know, anyone really.
Doesn’t matter.”
Louis sounds relieved when he says, “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve just . . . never told anyone before.”
“I feel honored.”
Harry manages to chuckle a little. “I trust you. And I don’t want things to be
weird between us.”
“Sorry,” Louis immediately apologizes. “That was my fault. I was being a major
twat.”
“You were,” he agrees jokingly. “But it’s alright, I forgive you. Whatever I
did to make you feel that way . . . I’m sorry.”
"Don't worry about it. It was all me." Louis laughs. “Okay, well I’ll make sure
to send you loads of pictures of half-naked or fully naked men to make up for
it.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“And Harry? Thanks.”
He doesn’t know what Louis is thanking him for, but before he can ask, the line
is dead.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
It’s four in the afternoon. His mum’s gone to the store and Harry’s home alone.
For the past half hour, he’d been strumming on his acoustic guitar, just
messing around, but now it sits on the couch beside him. Instead, he’s got his
notebook open in his lap. It’s old and tattered, but it’s his favorite of all
the ones he uses to write lyrics or poems or just random thoughts in. Its
orange – his favorite color – and there’s a big tear across the back. The front
is lined with various circles from when he’s used it as a coaster. It’s bent
from being shoved under his mattress or pillow hurriedly. He’s had it for
years. The first page holds the very first song he ever wrote. There are no
edit marks or notes. He wanted to keep it that way, just the way he had
scribbled it that day when he was eleven years old.
He flips to the back, to one of the few blank pages left, and taps his pen
against the page, deep in thought. He’s had a tune stuck in his head for a few
days now, some words here and there, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to
piece it all together.
He’s been writing a lot lately, whenever he has the chance. He’s had a lot on
his mind, stuff he wants – no, needs – to get down on paper.
He uncaps the pen and presses it to the notebook.
Any place you’re going is where I wanna be,
And I know without you I’d be incomplete.
I don’t know how you do your thing, no,
But you do it to me –
A hand clasps down on his shoulder and he jumps, dropping his notebook and
sending the pen flying across the living room.
“What’re you doin’ there?”
It’s Pete, apparently back from work early. He tightens his grip on Harry’s
shoulder when he doesn’t respond right away, and the boy freezes momentarily
under the touch.
Then Harry shrugs and pulls away. “Nothing, just writing.” He grabs for his
notebook on the floor, but Pete beats him to it.
“What’s this?” he hums, flipping through the pages. He laughs abruptly, loudly.
“Could you be anymore of a fag?” he asks, laughing, and before Harry can stop
him, he’s ripping the notebook in half.
Well, trying to rip it in half. It’s pretty sturdy, even with how old it is, so
he can only rip through part of it. The cover stays intact.
Harry yells out though, reaching for and pulling it out of his grasp. “Hey!
Don’t!”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Pete lets the notebook go though, and Harry sticks
it in his back pocket.
He turns around, ignoring Pete, and starts looking for his pen. When he finds
it near the television, he puts it in his pocket too.
“When’s your mum gonna be home?” Pete asks.
“Soon,” Harry lies.
Pete narrows his eyes like he can read right through the younger boy. Harry
doesn’t even know why Pete’s asking, he’s got Anne’s work schedule down.
Just when Harry thinks Pete’s going to let it go, he reaches over and slaps him
across the face.
Minus the first time he babysat, Pete has never really hit him somewhere his
mother could see or was noticeable. There was one time when his temper got the
best of him and he shoved him pretty hard. Harry, being the klutz he is, fell
and broke his nose on the steps. Harry told everyone he had just fallen down
the stairs and they all bought it.
This is different though, Pete’s not even drunk. Harry holds a hand up to his
face where it stings and walks past him.
Pete lets him go.
He runs up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
There’s a text from Louis on his phone and, ignoring the message, he
immediately types out When are we going to get together again?
Louis’ response is almost immediate.
Awe, do you miss me Hazza?;) xAnd then a couple seconds later, What’re you doin
over break?
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry stands on the porch of the Tomlinson household, feeling on the verge of
throwing up or passing out.
They had made all the plans quickly. Louis had told him it was actually his
mum’s idea that he come visit them. When Harry told his own mum she had agreed
immediately, thinking it was a wonderful idea. She didn’t say anything, but he
could see it in her eyes; she’d always been worried about him, never hanging
out with friends after school much, always secluded and overly independent.
Harry thought he’d been doing his best to hide it but apparently his best
wasn’t good enough. Big surprise there.
So now here he is: his bag over his shoulder, happy to be out of his house for
an entire week.
And he can’t even ring the fucking doorbell.
It turns out, he doesn’t have to. A head of blonde hair peeks out through the
curtains hanging in front of the window and then he hears voices and the
stampeding of feet. The door flies open and Louis stands on the other side,
looking out of breath, but grinning from ear to ear.
“Harry, what’re you doin’ just standin’ out here like a creeper?” He laughs
though, grabs Harry’s hand, and pulls him into the house.
Harry only has a split second to look around the foyer – pictures hanging up
all over the walls – before he’s accosted by two little girls. They peer up at
him with curious, identical eyes. One crosses her arms over her chest and the
other stares up at him with her head tilted to the side.
“Who are you?” the one with her arms crossed asks. Phoebe, he’s guessing.
“I told you he was coming,” Louis says. “This is Harry. Harry this is -”
“Phoebe and Daisy,” Harry finishes for him. “Louis’s told me allabout you.”
This seems to please them. They both relax. “Did he tell you we’re six-years-
old now?” Phoebe holds up six fingers. “We’re in primary school and we’re
putting on a play this week and you and Louis get to come see it.” She grabs
onto Harry’s hand and starts pulling him down the hall, past the living room.
Daisy follows along more quietly, and Louis gives him an apologetic look.
“Louis says he’s going to record it, but I think Lottie should because Louis
moves around too much. Are you hungry Harry? Our mum’s making lunch –”
“Louis?” comes an older female voice. “Did I hear . . .?”
And then a woman who can only be Louis’ mother appears, smiling, an apron tied
around her waist. Her hair's the same shade as the twins' and she has bright,
glistening eyes. Another girl stands behind her, practically hiding behind her
mother.
“I thought I heard voices!” Louis’ mum exclaims, walking forward to greet them.
“Mum, this is Harry,” Louis says.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Tomlinson. Thanks for having me.”
She laughs. “You can call me Jay.” She closes the distance between them and
pulls him in for a quick hug.
That he hadn’t been expecting, but he manages not to flinch this time.
“And this is Fizzy,” Louis says, nodding towards the younger girl. She smiles
shyly and Harry waves a little awkwardly. “And Lottie is –”
“Upstairs still, I think,” Jay says. She starts to turn around. “Harry, hon,
you can come join me in the kitchen. Lunch is almost ready.”
Louis starts stomping up the stairs, hollering “Charlotte!” as he goes.
“Okay.” Harry follows Jay, Fizzy, and the twins into the kitchen.
“Fiz, will you set the table. Daisy, Phoebe, help her, please.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, looking around the room, feeling
just a little out of place.
Jay smiles but shakes her head. “No, that’s quite alright.”
Louis eventually returns with Lottie in tow. She’s the oldest of the girls,
Harry remembers, and her blonde hair nearly reaches her waist.
“Hello Harry,” she says. “Louis doesn’t shut up about you. Are you guys dating
or something?”
Harry chokes out a half-laugh, half-cough, and Louis glares down at his sister,
pushing her towards the table.
“He wishes,” Harry replies, with a wink in Louis’ direction.
The older boy’s jaw drops open, clearly taken by surprise. “Well aren’t you
just full of it.”
“I only speak the truth.” Harry starts to sit down but Louis shakes his head,
pulling him into a different chair.
“That’s Fizz’s seat,” he explains. “You can sit next to me.”
Lunch is an interesting event. Never has he experienced such a loud meal. It’s
nice, though, there’s always something to distract him from the food on his
plate. Someone is constantly talking or arguing or laughing, and at one point,
Phoebe “accidentally” throws a spoonful of mashed potatoes at Lottie and thus
starts a food fight.
“I’m starting to see where you get it from,” he whispers to Louis, who only
laughs and flicks him with gravy.
Jay eventually gets everyone to settle down. She looks exhausted and only then
does he remember the family’s in the process of going through a divorce. None
of them had really let it show, but Harry realizes the seat he’s sitting in had
probably once been filled by their father. Jay smiles in his direction though,
easing his nerves. It’s contagious and Harry can’t help but smile back.
“So Harry, what do you like to do?” she asks.
“He likes to play guitar and watch Doctor Who and talk to me,” Louis answers
matter-of-factually, grinning mischievously.
“Thank you, Harry.” His mum laughs. She turns her eyes back to Harry. “Well?”
He shrugs. “That’s about it really. I work at a bakery part-time. I like to
cook.”
“You never told me that,” Louis interrupts, frowning like this actually really
upsets him.
“You never asked.”
Louis narrows his eyes, but says nothing.
“Do you have any sisters?” Phoebe asks.
Harry nods. “I have an older sister. Her name’s Gemma.”
“That’s it?” Phoebe looks astonished. “Your house must be so boring.”
He chuckles. “A little. She’s away at school, so it’s just me and my mum . . .
and Pete.”
“What about school?” Jay asks. He’s glad she skipped over the ‘and who is Pete’
question, most people don’t, and that’s just an awkward moment waiting to
happen.
“Well . . .” He looks around the table, feeling uncomfortable with all the
attention on himself. “I’m actually trying to finish early. I’m a year ahead,
so I’ll graduate next year, sooner if I can help it.”
This time Louis actually sets down his fork. It clatters loudly against his
plate, and he turns to glare at Harry. “You didn’t tell me that either.”
Harry shrugs again. “I didn’t want to jinx it?” he reasons.
Louis huffs and goes back to his food. Lottie laughs. “Awe, are you upset your
boyfriend keeps things from you?”
“Lottie,” Jay warns, and the blonde presses her lips together to keep from
laughing.
Harry chuckles a little and grins in her direction.
Everyone finishes before him, which isn't unusual. He can’t help but pick at
his food a little. He tries to eat as much as he can, but he gets full quickly
and ends up pushing most of it around his plate anyways.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Harry?” Jay asks as the girls start clearing
the table and Louis begins washing the dishes off.
Harry frowns. “Yeah, yeah. I just . . . had a big breakfast I guess. It was
delicious though, thank you.”
She smiles.
“But you’re so thin,” Phoebe remarks, popping up beside him.
“Phoebe,” Louis scolds, “leave him alone.”
She sighs but skips off to join her sister in the living room.
Harry manages not to look down at himself, but can’t wonder what the hell she’s
talking about. He’s not actually thin; he knows that, so why she would say
something like that, he doesn’t know. There's no way she could tell anyway;
he’s covered up in layers.
He offers to help with the dishes, but everyone shoos him away and Louis flicks
water in his face.
“Go pick out a movie for us to watch,” he orders, his blue eyes sparkling.
“Phoebe and Daisy will show you where everything’s at.”
There are cartoons playing on the telly, and Phoebe and Daisy both jump up from
the couch to show him their collection of movies. They’ve got possibly every
Disney movie in existence – some he hasn’t even heard of – and a large
collection of romantic comedies and various musicals.
“What movie do you guys want to watch?” he asks.
They start fighting over which Disney movie is better. Daisy holds out Grease.
“Louis will want to watch this.” Her voice is quieter than her sister’s, who
says, “Who cares what Louis wants to watch. I want to watch The Little
Mermaid.” Harry can’t help but chuckle a little.
He picks up Grease. “I like this movie. Let’s watch it.” Phoebe sighs but he
can tell she’s not actually upset about his choice. She shows him where
everything is and so he pops it into the DVD player and turns the telly away
from cartoons.
Louis’ face lights up when he sees what they’re planning on watching. “Did they
tell you that’s my favorite movie or are you just my soul mate?”
“Both,” Harry jokes and Phoebe says, “Eww, don’t marry Louis. He’s weird.”
Louis starts tickling her. “I’mweird? There are two of you! How am I the weird
one?”
Phoebe tries to say something but Harry can’t understand her over all the
laughing. He used to want a little sister or brother, but ever since things
with Pete happened he'd thought it was for the best that he was the youngest. A
warm feeling spreads through his chest watching Louis interact with his
sisters.
Eventually Jay, Lottie, and Fizz come in and everyone settles down to watch the
movie. When Lottie sees its Grease she groans and complains, “Not again. We
watch this like every week.” She’s joking though, he’s pretty sure at least,
and Louis points out that the last time they watched it was on his birthday, so
shut up, Lottie. Jay has to get them to quiet down again.
He sits next to Louis on the couch, with the twins on his other side. Halfway
through the movie Louis rests his head against Harry’s shoulder and then the
twins start crawling all over him, fighting over who should get to sit in the
curly haired boy’s lap.
“Louis wants to sit in his lap!” Lottie says. Louis throws a pillow at her and
Harry’s half-convinced it’s going to start a pillow fight.
They hang out for the rest of the day, watching more movies and then kicking a
ball around outside while Jay makes supper. Needing to go to the bathroom,
Harry heads inside, meaning to go right back out after, but he ends up helping
Jay cook. Louis comes in eventually – with the intent to see if Harry had
‘fallen in’ – and peers over his shoulder.
“What’re you making?” he asks.
“Fettuccini Alfredo. Have you ever had it before?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Sounds fancy.”
“It’s not. It’s just pasta.”
Jay’s cutting up vegetables for the salad. “I was just gonna make hotdogs but
he kind of took over.”
Harry frowns. “Sorry about that.” But she laughs.
“No, I should thank you.”
“Yeah,” Louis chimes in, “We have hotdogs all the time.”
Jay replies by throwing a piece of cut up carrot at him.
“Mother,” he remarks, sounding faux-appalled. “How dare you.”
“Louis, I’ve seen you throw food at every meal I’ve had with you,” Harry says,
only half-paying attention.
“That’s not saying much,” he points out.
“I don’t think I’ve had a food fight since I was . . . well, never, actually.”
Harry frowns.
“You’re missing out.” Louis picks up a piece of cut up celery and throws it at
him.
“If you ruin this pasta, I will walk out that door and never come back,” he
threatens.
Louis just rolls his eyes. “Such a drama queen.” He smiles though and heads
back outside.
Everyone compliments him on how good the food is and Lottie says something
about how it’s a good thing he can cook because Louis can’t – at all, really.
Apparently he’s been known to burn the toast.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Louis asks Lottie. Harry’s still
laughing at the story Fizz just told of Louis nearly burning down the kitchen
when he tried to make his mum breakfast on her birthday a year ago.
Lottie shrugs a little. “Y’know, ‘cause he can cook for you . . . once you move
in together . . . and get married.”
“Lottie, I swear, if you make one more joke about me and Harry, I’ll - - -”
“You’ll? You’ll what?”
Louis just groans and throws a piece of pasta at her, hitting her square in the
face. The sauce slides down her cheek and over her chin. Her mouth gapes open a
little in surprise, but she wastes no time. She picks up a handful of salad and
throws it back at him. Within minutes everyone at the table – minus Harry and
Daisy, who cower under it, and Jay, who is just shaking her head – is involved
in another food fight.
“Do they do this a lot?” Harry asks Daisy.
She nods. “Lottie and Louis fight a lot, but not like mum and dad used to.”
He frowns. “You want to make a dash for it?” He holds out his hand and she
looks at him contemplatively for a couple seconds before smiling and taking it.
Her hand is small and a little sticky from the pasta, but he keeps a firm grip
on it. They crawl towards the edge of the table. “Ready?” he asks and she nods.
“Go!” They get up and start running towards the living room, ducking when
someone throws pasta at them.
Later, when Jay forces everyone except for Harry and Daisy to clean the kitchen
and table, Louis groans, complaining, and Harry tells him he should have joined
them under the table.
“Actually, you’re the one who started the food fight, so it’s your entire
fault.”
Louis sticks his tongue out at him. There’s a piece of pasta in his hair and
Harry reaches for it, dumping it in the trash.
“You’ve got sauce there.” He points to Louis’ chin and the older boy starts
licking around his mouth, trying to get it. Harry laughs, rolls his eyes, and
rubs it away with the pad of his thumb.
There’s a moment then where they just kind of freeze, staring at each other,
and Harry swears Louis starts to lean in. Lottie comes in though, muttering
something like, “Told you so,” under her breath and sounding triumphant. When
he looks back at Louis it’s like nothing ever happened.
Chapter End Notes
     lyrics in this chapter belong to allstar weekend. xoxo
***** Right Then and There *****
As the evening wears on, the younger girls start heading off to bed and Jay
disappears for nearly an hour, tucking them in and reading them bedtime
stories. Lottie, Louis and Harry hang out in the living room for a while
longer, even though Lottie has school in the morning and she was supposed to be
in bed thirty minutes ago. She doesn’t seem to mind the prospect of getting in
trouble – again – and in a way, she reminds him of Louis.
The two of them, he’s learned, are very close despite their frequent
disagreements. Harry knew this early on, just from the way Louis had talked
about her. But he gets to see it first hand now as he watches them interact
with each other. Louis talks about all the girls with a sense of fierce
protectiveness, and Harry doubts he has a ‘favorite,' but there’s something in
the way he is with Lottie that’s different than how he is with the others.
Maybe it’s ‘cause she’s older, he’s not sure. But Louis relaxes a little more
around her, like he doesn’t have to keep his guard up or a smile on his face
twenty-four seven. He doesn’t have to pretend as much around her.
When Jay comes back downstairs, she narrows her eyes at Lottie. Without saying
a word, the blonde stands up, heading upstairs with a farewell wave. Satisfied,
Jay turns her attention to Harry, “I’ll pull out the couch for you in a minute,
sweetheart. Let me just go get some blankets.”

“Don’t bother, mum,” Louis says offhandedly, with a slight yawn. “He can just
share with me.”

“Is that okay with you?” she asks. When Harry nods in confirmation, she smiles.
“Okay, in that case, I’m off to bed.” She bends down to kiss Louis on the
forehead and then, surprising Harry, does the same to him. “Goodnight boys.”
They continue watching Doctor Who for a little bit in silence before Louis
says, “Really if you don’t want to share a bed with me, I can pull out the
couch for you. It's not a big deal.”
Harry chuckles and leans back. “It’s fine, Lou. We’ve shared before.” Louis
looks confused, so he reminds him. “Back in Manchester, remember?”
“I thought you didn’t remember that night.”
He shrugs. “Bits and pieces came back to me.”
Louis stays quiet, but there’s a thoughtful look on his face; Harry knows he’s
debating on whether or not to say whatever’s on his mind. Harry keeps his eyes
on him instead of the telly. He’s much more interesting anyway.
“Just spit it out already," he says when Louis starts nibbling on his lower
lip.
Louis sighs. “We, uh – well, we kind of . . . made out? That night. A bit. For
a while, actually.”
Harry blinks a couple times, wondering if he heard him correctly. “We what?”
Louis just nods.
He wonders why Louis’s waiting till now to tell him. For some reason, it eases
some knot inside of him. “We made out and I don’t remember?” He vaguely
remembers the love bite on Louis’ neck, and it dawns on him that he’s probably
the one who left it there. (He'll pretend that doesn't satisfy him; it's much
better than when he thought Liam was the one who left it there.) “Must not have
been that memorable,” he jokes, trying to cover his discomfort. He’s not
uncomfortable with the fact that he made out with Louis – part of him figured
it was bound to happen eventually, not because Harry likes him or anything, but
because he’s definitely attracted to him. There’s no denying that.
Also Louis just seems like the kind of guy who makes out with people when he’s
drunk. Actually, he seems like the kind of guy who makes out with people when
he’s sober, too, just for the hell of it.
Really Harry just feels a bit weird about it because they’re friends. He
wonders if Louis thinks this is going to change things between them. Does he
want this to change things between them? Also why can’t he remember? Why did he
have to be drunk? He’d like to know if Louis’s a good kisser or not. Was he,
himself a good kisser? He supposes he could always ask. . .
Louis elbows him in the side, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Ha ha, you’re
so funny, Curly.” Then he starts tickling the curly haired lad, digging his
fingers into the boy’s ribs. “I assure you, I am a fantastickisser.” Harry
falls backwards so Louis is looming over him on the couch.
Harry chuckles and tries to push him off. “I wouldn’t know,” he says, gasping
for breath, “I don’t remember.”
Louis stops his ministrations and tilts his head. “Let me remind you,” and
then, as if they do this every day, as if it’s the most natural thing ever, he
leans down and presses their lips together.
Yep, definitely the kind of guy who makes out with people for no apparent
reason, except maybe to prove that he’s a good kisser.
It’s a sweet kiss, quick with no real heat to it, but nice. Louis’ lips are
soft and Harry finds himself frowning a little when he pulls back.
“Not bad,” Harry remarks.
Louis frowns. “Not bad? Not bad? I think I deserve a little more than ‘not
bad.’”
Harry just smirks and shoves him off. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”
The older boy wiggles his eyebrows in response. “Well I won’t say no to that.”
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry wakes up with Louis pressed as close to him as humanly possible. The
other boy has half the bed to himself but, no, he chooses to sleep practically
on top of Harry. He has an arm and leg slung around Harry’s body and his head
resting in the crook of Harry’s neck. It’s stifling hot, and he tries to move
away without waking Louis up. He’s never thought about whether or not he’d be
much of a cuddler – just kind of assumed he wouldn’t be – but he’s surprised to
find that, other than the overwhelming heat of Louis’ boy, he doesn’t actually
mind it all that much.
He does manage to pry Louis off eventually, and when he gets out of the bed, he
stretches out his limbs, cracking his back, and has a look around. Louis’ room
had been dark the night before and they had kind of just lay down and passed
out within minutes so he hasn’t had a chance to inspect it yet. The one thing
that had caught his eye the night before was the glow-in-the-dark stars on
Louis’ ceiling. They are now faded yellow and nearly blend in with the off-
white color of the paint.
The rest of his room is a mess, which Harry’s not sure surprises him. There are
clothes flung across everything, dishes on the dresser, and an empty pop can on
the desk. He’s got a shelf with an impressive collection of CD’s and video
games, band posters on the wall, and pictures and random memorabilia
everywhere. There are photos of him and Liam; him and his mum; him and his
sisters; just his sisters; just Liam; a couple other people Harry doesn’t
recognize; and concert ticket stubs. When Harry gets a closer look he sees –
yep, the ticket from The Script concert is up there too with a little happy
smile jotted in the corner. His desk has textbooks that look like they’ve
hardly been opened and a laptop with stickers covering every inch of it. Harry
runs a finger over it absentmindedly. He’s always been kind of a perfectionist,
especially when it comes to organization, but there’s something about Louis’
room that feels right. It’s almost an organized mess. It feels lived in.
The house is silent as he walks down the hall toward the bathroom. Jay is off
at work and the girls are all at school because unlike him and Lou, they don’t
have break this week.
He takes a quick shower, not wanting to use up all the hot water. When he gets
back to Louis’ room, the older boy is still asleep, so Harry goes downstairs
and hunts through the fridge and pantry before making breakfast.
Louis comes downstairs just as he’s finishing up. He smiles tiredly, taking a
seat at the island in the middle of the kitchen.
“You do realize we're on holiday, right?” he says. “We’re supposed to sleep
in.”
Harry nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s a little surprised he slept as much
as he did. “How do you take your tea?”
“With lots of sugar.”
Like you need it,Harry wants to say. Instead he just sets a plate of eggs in
front of Louis and puts sugar in his tea before joining him with his own tea.
Louis digs into his food right away then glances at Harry out of the corner of
his eye and down to the empty spot in front of him. "Aren't you hungry?" he
asks.

Harry shakes his head, because really he isn't; he ate enough last night. "I
ate mine while I was making yours," he lies. The words slip out easily, without
his permission. He wants to take them and shove them back in his mouth, down
his throat and into his empty stomach. It's not the first time he's lied to
Louis and that just makes him hate himself more. Louis just nods, though, and
goes back to his eggs.
“What are we doing today?” Harry asks as a quick subject change.
“Sleeping,” Louis answers, then shrugs. “Dunno." And then, "Actually, I thought
I'd show you around some of my favorite places, maybe hang out with Liam for a
bit.”
Harry nods, taking a sip of his tea. “What do you usually do when you’ve got
time off from school?”
“Sleep,” he answers, not missing a beat. He glares at Harry in a way that lets
the younger boy know he wouldn’t have minded another couple hours in bed. When
he looks away though, he’s smiling, so Harry assumes he’s not actually bothered
all that much. Besides, it's not like Harry woke him up, he could have stayed
in bed as long as he wanted to.
“Speaking of sleep,” Harry says quietly, looking at Louis out of the corner of
his eye, “you are awfullycuddly. You should warn a guy. I definitely would’ve
taken the couch if I’d known.”
It's obvious he's teasing, but Louis goes bright red and doesn’t look up.
“Sorry,” he mumbles then seems to decide now is a perfect time to shove as much
egg into his mouth as possible. He looks up suddenly, eyes bright. “Anyways,
you talk in your sleep so there. We're even.” He speaks without swallowing, and
Harry feels like he should be a little disgusted, but he's not.
“I do nottalk in my sleep," he argues.
“You definitely do, trust me. How would you even know anyway? You’re asleep.”
He frowns. “What did I say then?”
Louis shrugs. “Something about pie . . . or a crazy elephant? I wasn’t really
paying attention on account I was trying to sleep.”
Harry smirks. “Whatever.” Louis takes another bite. “So does it bother Liam?”
He’s still a little jealous of the two and how close they are. Obviously he and
Harry have gotten on really well in a short amount of time, but it’s different
when you’ve known each other for as long as Louis has known Liam. They must
know everything about each other, Harry figures. Louis tells Liam things he
doesn’t tell Harry and for some reason that just doesn’t sit right in his
stomach.

Also the question of whether Louis and Liam have ever made out is burning a
hole in his throat.
“What, that you talk in your sleep? Why would he know? Or care, for that
matter.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, that you’re so cuddly. Does that bug him?”
The older boy chuckles and runs a hand through his messy hair, making it stick
out a little. “Don’t actually cuddle with Li that much,” he says. He fumbles
with his glasses a little bit, pushing them further up his nose. “Guess he’s
not that comfortable.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, I suppose.” He tries to play it off casually
but inside he’s beaming. Harry – 1, Liam – 0. Actually it’s more like Liam – 1
million, but whatever, he’s catching up.
“I’m actually very upset by it,” Louis states matter-of-factually. “I need
someone nice to cuddle up with at the end of the day.” He sighs over-
dramatically.
“Awe, Lou. You can cuddle with me whenever you want.”
A small, mischievous smile spreads across Louis’ face. “You might want to watch
what you say there, Hazza, I might actually take you up on that offer.”
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
“What did you bring that for?” Harry asks, staring into the boot of Louis’ car
where, surrounded by trash and random odds and ends, is a guitar case. Just
like Louis' laptop, the case is covered in stickers, most of them music
related.
Louis shrugs, playing innocent. “I just thought if we got bored . . .” His
voice trails off and he eyes Harry with a meaningful look.
“You think – I . . .” The younger boy shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh come on.” Louis rolls his eyes. “You played in a record shop in Manchester,
how different is this?”
“Well, first of all, there was hardly anyone around.” He looks around the park
quickly. “Which is clearly not the case right now. And secondly, I was just
doing it to make you happy, so.”
Louis’ face lights up and he grabs the guitar case. “Well you can do it again
and make me happy.” He shuts the trunk and starts heading across the grassy
field close to where a dozen or so little kids are playing while parents and
babysitters watch. “Besides, they’re little kids, they don’t care if you suck
or not.”
Harry lets out an audible groan. “I cannot believe you’re making me do this.”
Turning around suddenly, Louis stares up at him, blinking his eyes a couple
times. “You could say no. I’m not going to force you. I would be sad though.”
He starts pouting over exasperatingly.
Harry glares. “Just give me the damn guitar.”
“Now, now, Harold, watch your temper; there are children nearby.” He’s smiling
giddily though.
Ignoring him, Harry takes the guitar case and finds them a secluded spot on the
grass, far enough away from the crowd of kids and adults.
“When did you start playing guitar?” Louis asks when they sit down.
Harry shrugs. He’s gotten out the acoustic and is fiddling around with it,
tuning it by ear. “I learned how to play piano first, when I was in primary
school. My mum realized how much I loved music, so she bought me a guitar for
my tenth birthday.”
“Did you teach yourself?”
He nods. “Yeah, for the most part. Youtube videos helped some.”
“What other instruments can you play?”
Harry sighs. “Why so interested?”
Louis shrugs. “I don’t know. You fascinate me.”
The guitar is tuned now and Harry starts strumming it, not really playing
anything, just messing around. He tries not to let Louis’ words affect him,
doesn’t understand why someone as boring as Harry could fascinate someone like
Louiswho is the complete definition of fascinating.
He thinks about telling Louis the truth, that every instrument he's ever tried
to play, he's been able to learn pretty quickly. Wants to confine in him that
this isn't just a hobby to pass the time, that music is literally everything to
him. He can't quite find the right words to express that, though. So instead he
says, “The mandolin and I can play the drums a bit.” 
“Is that it?" 
He frowns. “No, but you’re going to make fun of me.”
The older boy rolls his eyes. “Why would I do that?”
Harry falls back against the grass and closes his eyes. “I can play the violin,
too.”
“And that’s embarrassing?”
“I used to be in band, yeah, and people just kind of thought we were a dorky
bunch, so.” He shrugs, opening his eyes. He’s still strumming on the guitar,
only half-paying attention to what he’s doing. Louis doesn’t say anything and
so they just sit there for a bit listening to Harry’s idle tune and the sounds
of the kids screaming and laughing on the playground.
“Play me something,” Louis says suddenly, turning to look down at him.
“What do you want me to play?”
Louis shrugs. “Anything.”
So without really thinking about it, Harry starts playing an actual song,
something he wrote not too long ago. He starts singing the words quietly under
his breath, not sure Louis can actually hear him - hopingLouis can't actually
hear him. He keeps his eyes up at the sky for most of the song, but when he
looks over, Louis is staring at him with a thoughtful look on his face.
“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he says when Harry’s done. The younger boy
just shakes his head and laughs, thinking he’s just taking the piss out of him.
“I’m serious!” Louis says, smiling.
He sits up slowly, setting the guitar beside him on the grass. "Okay."
“Can I?”
Louis looks so . . . hopeful, almost; Harry doesn’t even have to think, just
nods. “Of course.”

He’s reminded again of the fact that Louis is probably the kind of guy that
kisses people just for the hell of it, not because it means anything, but Harry
doesn’t care. It’s some kind of torture, to let himself kiss Louis, and he
wants to keep doing it over and over again.
Louis places a hand on his knee and Harry can feel the heat all the way through
his jeans. They lean forward at the same time. The kiss is slow at first, just
barely there, but then Louis runs a finger over his jaw and Harry’s lips part.
He forgets about the fact that they’re sitting so close to families and kids
playing, forgets that people can probably see them. All he can think about is
Louis and Louis’ lips and Louis’ taste. He tastes like the spearmint gum he
chewed after lunch and green tea. He runs a hand through Harry’s curls, tugging
just a little, and automatically Harry moans into the kiss, tries to pull Louis
closer to him. Louis pulls back though.
“You’re good,” Louis says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“At kissing?” Harry asks a little dizzily, still trying to get over their
random snogging session.
Louis laughs. “No, singing.”
“So I’m not a good kisser?”
“That’s not what I meant.” The older boy playfully punches him in the arm,
rolling his eyes. “You could be on X-Factor or something.”
Harry snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get right on that.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“You don’t think you’re a good singer?” Louis asks, his eyes a little wide in
disbelief.
He shrugs. “I dunno. I’m okay, I guess. I just get really nervous.”
“Most everyone gets a little nervous,” Louis points out.
“Yeah, well. I get ‘throwing up’ nervous. Panic attacks, fainting, the whole
nine yards.” He scratches the back of his head. 
“You didn’t throw up just now.”
Harry runs a hand through his hair, fixing it. “Yeah, well, it’s you." He
shrugs his shoulders. "It’s different.”
Louis beams, his smile bright enough to rival the sun, then grabs his hand,
interlocking their fingers. “Come on, let’s go. I want to show you something.”
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
“Why are we at your school?”
“This is my favorite place in the entire world.”
Harry stares at him incredulously. “You’re kidding, right? Your school? You?”
“Okay, so not my school, but it’s inside my school.” He ignores Harry’s blank
look. “Just come on.”
They walk through the near-empty halls, only passing by a janitor and a couple
teachers who give them odd looks, probably wondering why they’re here instead
of out enjoying their freedom. Once in a while Louis will point out random
things like, ‘that’s my math class’ or ‘that’s where Stan told this guy to fuck
off last week.’ He laughs like he’s enjoying the memories and takes Harry’s
hand again, intertwining their fingers. Harry doesn’t want to be cheesy, and he
definitely doesn’t want to start thinking things like crush or boyfriend, but
their hands seem to fit together perfectly, like the last puzzle piece clicking
into place.
Harry can tell when they’re getting close to their destination because Louis
picks up speed and gets an excited look on his face. He’s nearly bouncing up
and down on the balls of his feet and keeps telling Harry to hurry the fuck up,
Curly, your legs are longer than mine.
(Harry's legs arelonger, he realizes, and he's actually almost taller than
Louis now.)
“We have all the time in the world,” Harry points out.
“Actually we don’t. We have . . .” Louis pulls out his phone. “Twenty-five
minutes.” He groans under his breath and pulls Harry behind him faster.
“Twenty-five minutes until what?” he asks, but doesn’t get an answer. They stop
outside two double doors and Louis looks up at him, smiles, and then pushes the
doors open. "Your favorite place in the entire world is your school’s theatre?”
Louis nods, dropping Harry’s hand and walking down the aisle. Harry stays at
the threshold, watching him. “This is where I performed Grease. It was the best
experience of my entire life.” He sighs contently and makes his way onto the
stage. Harry follows behind slowly, still staying in the audience.
“Are you going to sing for me?” he asks, taking a seat.
Louis gives him a look that very blatantly says, ‘you must be shitting me.’
“You didn’t sing for me, I don’t sing for you,” he huffs.
Harry’s jaw drops open. “Excuse me? I did sing for you.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Barely.” An idea seems to cross his face then because he turns
to look at Harry and crooks his finger, beckoning the younger boy forward.
“C’mere,” he says when Harry doesn’t budge.
“What do you want?”
Louis jumps off the stage and starts dragging him to the stairs. “You’re going
to be the Sandy to my Danny.”
Harry shakes his head. “No way. I don’t sing in public places. Plus, it would
totally be the other way around.”
“How do you figure?”
They’ve made it on the stage now and Louis cocks his hip, placing a hand there.
Harry looks him up and down before giving him a pointed look.
“What?” Louis asks.
“I’m just saying, you’re very, y’know . . .” He raises his eyebrows, looks the
older boy over again, and gestures vaguely with his hands.
“Are you trying to say I’m very gay?”
Harry laughs and quickly shakes his head. “No. I wasn't going to say that.
You’re just very . . . camp. If one of us was going to be the girl, it would be
you.”
Louis crosses his arms over his chest, looking every bit the sassy fucker he is
and not helping his case one bit. “You know, you can be very dramatic. I think
you would be the girl.”
“I am not dramatic!” Harry argues. “And just for that, now I’m definitely not
going to sing with you.”
Louis gets a very wicked grin on his face and starts edging towards Harry,
wiggling his fingers like he's about to tickle him or something. Harry takes a
step back. “Don’t even think about it,” he says, but Louis grabs onto his
shirt.
“You better shape up, ‘cause I need a man,” he sings.
“I thought I was supposed to sing the Sandy part?”
“I’m hopelessly devoted to you!”
Harry laughs. “Will you pick a song and stick to it?”
Louis joins in with his laughter, but then sighs, turning to walk away from
him. “It’s probably a good thing you won’t sing with me actually. You’d just
end up making me fall in love with you or something,” he jokes . . . or Harry
thinkshe’s joking. He’s not actually sure.
He licks his lips, looking Louis up and down again – this time more for himself
– and thinks fuck it. “In that case . . .  I got chills –”
Louis turns around immediately. “Hazza,” his tone is warning, but Harry doesn’t
stop singing. He wantedhim to sing in the first place, didn’t he?
“They’re multiplying and I’mlooosingcontrol.” He walks forward, trying to close
the distance between him and Louis. Louis keeps taking steps backward though,
shaking his head. There’s a small hint of a smile on his face though.
“Haz.”
“Cause the power, you’re supplying. . .”
“Harry!” He really is grinning now. “I’m warning you.”
“It’s electrifying!” And he tries to pull of the whole ‘electrifying’ move John
Travolta does in the movie, but he doesn’t think it works out so well.
It doesn’t matter though, because then Louis is in front of him, in his space,
and Harry can’t remember why he ever thought Louis being in his space was a bad
thing. Louis grabs onto his partially unzipped hoodie, shakes his head and
mutters ‘you idiot’ and then he’s crushing their lips together. Harry smiles
against his lips before kissing him back, his hand instantly going to the back
of Louis’ neck. Louis’ hands stay bunched up in his hoodie, and it’s nice,
Harry can feel how reluctant the other boy is to let go; he wants this kiss
just as much as Harry does.
And Harry’s, well, he’s tired of being alone and he’s tired of feeling so
fucked up all the time. And sure, maybe this kiss doesn’t mean anything. It’s
just a kiss, that’s all. They’re both decent kissers, they’re both interested
in the same sex. Maybe Louis isn’t ready to come out, maybe the boys at his
local pub aren’t exactly what he wants right now – or maybe they are, maybe
they give him exactly what Harry’s giving him right now, just an escape from
reality for a little while. Harry needs that too. That’s all this is.
Someone clears their throat and it’s safe to say it’s not Louis or Harry. They
pull apart instantly and Harry looks over Louis’ shoulder. There's an older
woman there with a clipboard and behind her – oh shit – behind her are about
twenty or so kids. They can only be seven or eight years old. They’re all
staring at the pair like one of them is about to sprout wings and fly off the
stage or something.
Harry drops his hand from around Louis' neck - his fingers had somehow
intertwined into his hair - and grabs onto Louis’ arm instead. He starts
backing up. “Sorry about that. We’ll be out of your way.” He turns around
quickly, pulling Louis after him. “You could have told me there was a chance a
bunch of primary school kids were going to barge in on us."
Louis is grinning, looking completely unashamed. “I told you we had twenty-five
minutes! ”
“Twenty-five minutes my ass.”
The older boy laughs. “Shh, Harry, we don’t want to violate their innocent
minds.”
“Pretty sure we’ve already taken care of that.” His lips are still tingling. 
Louis’ amusement doesn’t end and he’s still chuckling and muttering under his
breath when they get in the car and start back to his house.
“How come you were so sure I was a good singer?” Harry asks suddenly. “Ever
since we started talking, you’ve argued with me about it, always wanting me to
sing for you.”
“I heard you singing the first time we met.”
“I – You – What?”
“In the loo, you were singing The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.” Louis smiles like
he’s remembering and looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “That’s when
I knew.” He turns his attention back to the road. “I knew you were a good
singer. I knew how special you were right then and there.”
And Harry, well, he has nothing to say to that.
***** Haunted *****
Chapter Notes
     i'm sorry this chapter took so long. (we just found out my mom has
     cancer, so updating wasn't on my list of priorities.) all the
     comments have been wonderful. you all are so amazing and thank you
     for reading this. i want to bake you all cookies x + also thank you
     to my mom who is awesome and actually gave me the idea for this
     chapter :'D
The rest of the week goes by way too quickly for Harry’s liking. They spend a
lot of time at the park – with Harry playing his guitar and Louis chattering on
about this and that – or with Liam. Sometimes they go to Liam’s house and play
video games – Louis does end up kicking Harry’s ass at FIFA – and sometimes
Liam comes over and they watch movies or Doctor Who or Skins. In the afternoons
they hang out with the girls, watching them while Jay’s at work. They marathon
movies and play football or go to the park and get icecream. Harry and Louis
get tricked into having a tea party and Lottie takes a picture of them that she
says she’s going to keep forever as blackmail.
Harry and Louis don’t have any more snogging sessions but Harry thinks
something has definitely changed between them. Not in a ‘oh we’re practically
dating now’ way but in a ‘things have to change because we’ve made out with
each other so much’ way. There’s a charge between them; an electricity. Each
touch is different, more alive. It’s not a bad thing either. They just share
more knowing looks, carefree touches, and generally become a lot more at ease
with each other. 
Harry keeps feeling Liam’s eyes on him though, like he knows. Though Harry
doesn’t know how he could know. They’re not being obvious . . . he doesn’t
think. Unless Louis toldhim, but Harry doesn’t think he’d do that. It’s
something private, something for them only.
Apparently they are obvious though. Liam corners Harry one day while Louis is
in the kitchen making tea.
“So what’s going on between you and Lou?” he asks bluntly. Harry doesn’t think
he sounds jealous exactly, but there’s definitely something there in his tone.
Harry instantly freezes up, keeping his eyes on the telly to hide the panic on
his face. “What d’ya mean?”
He can just barely see Liam, raising his eyebrows, out of the corner of his
eye. “I mean, something’s going on between the two of you and I’m his best
friend so you should tell me.”
Harry wants to say ‘shouldn’t he be the one telling you, since you’re hisbest
friend’, but shrugs instead. “Nothing, mate, nothing at all.”
Of course Liam doesn’t believe him. “LOU - - -” He starts to holler. Harry cuts
him off though, clamping his hand around the other boy’s mouth.
“Okay, okay, calm down, Jesus Christ.”
“So something is going on.” Liam looks more concerned than satisfied that he
was right.
“Honestly? Not really, no.” Harry glances back in the direction of the kitchen.
“Just keep – shh.”
“Okay, fine. Just don’t hurt him okay.” Harry opens his mouth to protest
because yeah rightlike he would everintentionally hurt Louis. Liam shakes his
head though, stopping him from saying anything. “I know what you’re going to
say, but I’m just telling you now: be careful, okay. Watch yourself. And if you
hurt him . . . I’ll kill you.”
He sounds way too serious; Harry chuckles a little. “Yeah, alright, Liam.”
“I’m serious!”
“What’re you two talking about?” Louis asks, walking in with two cups of tea.
He hands one to Harry and the other to Liam.
“About you,” Harry answers. “About how much we don’t like you or your tea,” he
jokes, taking a sip. He actually loves the tea. It’s the best he’s ever had.  
Louis just rolls his eyes and starts talking about how well then you can give
it backand then what they should watch next when Harry refuses to give up the
cup. Liam keeps giving Harry looks though and all he can think is watch
yourself watch yourselfand wonder what the hell Liam had meant by that.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Friday is the day of the twin’s play. Jay takes the girls over to the school
early to get ready and a little while later, Louis and Harry follow along
behind.
The play is great, from what Harry can tell – he’s not actually paying much
attention to it; he keeps getting distracted by Louis, who’s sitting next to
him.
The older boy’s got a small camcorder and he’s recording the play. (Thankfully
Lottie’s got one too because Louis, of course, keeps moving around and Harry
doubts it’s going to get anything good.) He’s the happiest Harry has ever seen
him. His smile, big and bright, never leaves his face and his eyes are shining.
He keeps turning to Harry, nudging him in the side, and then pointing at the
twins on stage as if to say ‘those are my sisters; look at my sisters.' He’s so
proud.
And Harry just, he can’t stop staring.
After the play he and Louis wait outside. It’s a little chilly and starting to
drizzle, but they’re both wearing jumpers and the cool air feels nice after
being stuck in a sweaty auditorium with so many people for so long.
Louis still has the camera and he flips it on before turning it to Harry.
Harry instantly holds up his hands to cover his face. “Come on, Lou, put the
camera away.”
“Harold,” Louis starts, reaching for Harry’s hands and pulling them away from
his face. He doesn't let go of them. “What did you think of the performance?”
Harry sighs and turns to look straight at the camera. “It was brilliant. You
were both amazing. Daisy, when you fell down at the end, I thought it was on
accident; that’s how good of a job you did.”
Louis turns the camera to himself. “It’s true! He actually started to get up to
see if you were okay. I had to stop him. I told him you had been practicing
that fall for weeks.”
Laughing, Harry drops Louis' hand and takes the camera. “So Louis,” he keeps it
pointed on the older boy, his voice turned serious. “What did you think of your
sisters?”
“It was terrible, completely awful. I disown both of you. Have your bags packed
by Sunday. I want you out of the house.”
Harry laughs a little too loudly and shoves Louis in the shoulder. “Rude.”
Louis just flutters his eyelashes and tries to look completely innocent.
“What are you two doing?” someone calls suddenly and Harry turns around to see
Jay walking towards them. “Louis Tomlinson, go get the car for him!”
He laughs again, handing Louis back the camcorder. “Yeah Lou, don’t make me
wait out in the rain. Gosh.”
When Jay’s out of ear shot, heading towards her own car, Louis turns to him and
whispers, “I thought Iwas the girl?” Harry just sticks his tongue out at him,
watching him walk away, before heading back inside to wait with the other
girls.
The twins are off talking to other kids their age and Fizzy’s with them, so he
goes to stand by Lottie, who picks up her camcorder as soon as he gets close,
focusing it on his face.
“You really are related to your brother, aren’t you?”
She laughs but puts the camera down a little so it’s not directly on him. “It’s
not even actually on.” He nods and there’s a couple moments of silence before
she says, “Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” he points out with a smile.
Lottie rolls her eyes. “Can I ask you a question without you giving me a cheeky
answer?”
Sighing, he says, “Maybe.”
“What do you think of my brother?”
He freezes a little. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s nice, yeah?”
Harry chuckles a little. “Sometimes.”
Lottie doesn’t laugh. “You know what I mean.”
He sighs again and shrugs. “Yeah. Your brother is awesome. He’s my best
friend.” He thinks back to what Liam said, about being Louis’ best mate, and
wonders if it’s true.
“Even though you two haven’t known each other that long?”
Harry nods. “Yeah. Sometimes people just click, I guess. You know how Louis is.
He’s persistent. But it’s great. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” It’s
true, too. His life would be completely different without the older boy. He
doesn’t even want to think back to the days before they met and he wasn’t
getting Louis’ silly text messages or out of the blue phone calls.
“Would you date him?” Lottie asks inquisitively.
Harry snorts. “What’s with the twenty questions?” She doesn’t answer, just
gives him a look. He sighs. “Wouldn’t really want to risk ruining our
friendship, honestly.”
Neither of them says anything else for a couple seconds.
He scratches his head then continues, “Anyone would be lucky to date your
brother though, myself included.”
He doesn’t miss her smile. “So you like him?”
“I didn’t say that.”
There are a couple more minutes of silence, in which he thinks she’s done with
the Q&A, but then she asks, quietly, “Do you love him?” Then, quickly, louder,
“Like, as a friend, I mean.”
He turns so he’s facing her instead of the window he’d been peering out of. He
doesn’t even have to think her question through, though he knows he probably
should. And he definitely shouldn’t be saying this to Louis’ sister for the
first time instead of Louis himself, but he can’t help the “Yeah, I do,” that
tumbles out of his mouth. He’s surprised to find he means it, too. Louis has
quickly and irrevocably, dug his way into Harry’s life.

He can love Louis, like he loves his mom and his sister and his cat; it's not a
big deal.
Louis calls him then, his loud Adele ringtone causing a couple curious heads to
look his way. He’d forgotten to turn it on silent during the performance, and
he thanks his lucky stars it didn’t go off during the play.
“Get your arse out here, Styles. Don’t keep your man waiting,” Louis says when
he answers. “Oh and tell my sisters, mum’s right in front of me.”
He hangs up and passes on the message. It’s pouring outside now so they all
kind of make a dash for the vehicles. Louis is tapping his fingers against the
steering wheel when Harry jumps in.
“You’re getting my car wet.”
“Oh I’m so sorry. I’ll just dry myself off outside in the pouring rain and get
back in.” When Louis doesn’t respond, Harry frowns. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing, ‘m just tired.”
Harry nods and they spend the rest of the ride in silence.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They go out for sundaes as a celebration for Daisy and Phoebe. It’s late, but
it’s already stopped raining so they sit outside, watching the sun set and
eating their ice cream on a little plastic patio table. The two six-year-olds
run around the table and Harry thinks there’s going to be another food fight
when Lottie throws her cherry at Louis, but he just picks it up and eats it. He
doesn’t take the stem out of his mouth, keeps chewing on it, even after they’re
all done, like some nervous habit. He’s just as subdued and when they finally
get back in the vehicle to head home, Harry grabs Louis’ keys before he can
start the car. He turns to face Louis, his back pressed up against the window.
“Lou, what’s going on?”
The older boy shrugs then looks up, his bright blue eyes meeting Harry’s green
ones. They’re huge and sad, making him look so innocent and open in that one
moment.
Harry’s heart lurches painfully in his chest.
Louis pulls the cherry stem out of his mouth – now tied into a knot, Harry
notes – and focuses his gaze on it. He shrugs again. “I just don’t want you to
go home, I guess.” He sticks the stem back in his mouth.
Harry thinks he nods, he’s pretty sure he does, but next thing he knows, he’s
grabbing Louis by the front of his shirt and pulling him half over the console
in the middle. He murmurs something like I know, I know, me neitherand then
he’s pressing their lips together.  
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
When he wakes up Saturday morning the house is in absolute chaos and he
legitimately thinks someone’s died until Louis starts laughing hysterically and
informs him that his uncle’s coming to visit. Harry just kind of sighs in
relief and starts helping everyone tidy up the house until Jay pops her head
into the living room with this smile. Harry can read the question on her face
without her having to say anything – which just goes to show how close he’s
gotten to the family – and he goes into the kitchen to help her cook.
The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes how close he’s gotten to the
Tomlinson family. The twins crawl all over him like he’s another brother of
theirs; Fizzy has attacked his hair on more than one occasion, even
successfully putting about three hundred bows in it one night to Louis’
amusement; and Lottie jokes and teases him like he’s her brother's boyfriend –
which, to be fair, Lottie is under the impression they’re secretly dating.
It’s just . . . he’s never been this close and comfortable around people
before. He’s still trying to get use to the way Louis makes him feel, like he’s
normal and can be happy for a change. And how maybe he can be friends with Liam
even though he’s still convinced the older boy is secretly in love with Louis
or something.
Sometimes he still flinches when one of the girls or Louis touch him, and it
doesn’t always go unnoticed, but they don’t ever say anything. He’s laughing
more, smiling more, and just generally feeling better.
He still doesn’t eat a lot, most days managing to skip breakfast and only pick
at his lunch. It’s still hard for him not to purge his dinner, but Louis’
constant distractions and the promise to himself that he’ll just restrict when
he gets home, gets him through the week. He’s starting to forget what’s waiting
at home for him, what his life is like outside the Tomlinson household.
But then the doorbell rings and the girls make a mad dash to answer it and
standing on the other side is Louis’ uncle, Jay’s brother, John. And when Harry
sets his eyes on the man after turning the corner out of the kitchen, it’s like
everything just comes crashing down around him. He actually ends up freezing,
feeling like all the air has been blocked off from his chest.
He looks nothing like Jay. John has dark hair and dark brown eyes and looks
roughly the same age as Harry’s own mother . . . and step-father.
And really, there isn’t much of a resemblance between John and Pete, so he
doesn’t know why he’s reacting this way. But it’s like life is just laughing at
him, sticking out its tongue and spitting on him. Who was he to think he could
be happy, even for only a week.
“Harry,” Louis calls, sounding impatient. “Come here and say hi.”
He unfreezes and walks down the hall way, forcing a smile onto his face.
The older man sticks out his hand and Harry presses his lips together before
shaking it, feeling like every nerve ending in his body is on fire. Louis gives
him an odd look, but he ignores it, nodding his head and saying hello.
They end up in the living room, Louis on one side of him, John on the other.
Every time the older man even so much as brushes up against him, Harry freezes,
waiting for the moment when his fist connects or he slaps him or shoves him
down onto the ground, because in his experience, that’s how older men treat
him; that’s how he deserves to be treated by them, by anyone, really.
And then John makes a joke about football or something – Harry’s not actually
listening – and he clasps his hand down on Harry’s shoulder, asking him a
question. Everything comes back to him then, all the feelings and memories just
wash over him and he feels like he’s drowning, gasping for air. He flinches,
pulls back, and stands up quickly.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I, uh, have to go to the bathroom.” Then he practically
stumbles out of the room, ignoring the odd looks that follow him.
Fifteen minutes later he’s stillin the bathroom, still panicking and not
breathing normally and he’s already thrown up three times and he doesn’t think
there’s anything left in him to get rid of.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Haz.” It’s Louis. “Are you alright?”
Harry presses the palms of his hands to his eyes too harshly, brief flashes of
light flicker behind his lids.
“I’m fine,” he croaks. “Just don’t feel all too well I guess.”
Louis sounds worried when he speaks again. “Do you need anything?”
“No. I’ll just probably go lay down for a bit, yeah?”
There’s a couple beats of silence. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come and check on you in a
little while.”
Harry waits till he hears Louis walking away and then gets up on his shaky
legs, almost throwing up again. He cracks open the door, checks both ways to
make sure no one’s around, then heads to Louis’ room. He buries himself under
Louis’ duvet, squeezing his eyes shut and tries to think about anything except
for the fact that he has to go home tomorrow, that there’s no escaping this.
It’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry wants to cry the next afternoon when it’s time for him to go home. He’s
so close to just saying, it’s cool if I live with you, right?He’s pretty sure
Louis wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t even have to tell them anything. He could just
forget everything’s that happened and move on with his life. But then he thinks
of his mum and he definitely doesn’t want to leave her there alone with Pete,
even though he’s never really shown interest in hurting her or Gemma. That
doesn’t mean he won’t start if Harry just ups and disappears.
Louis and Jay ask him if he feels better about a hundred times and he says yes
over and over again even though he’s definitely notfine, is the furthest from
fine or any aspect of fine.
Louis drives him to the train station and they just kind of stand there for a
couple minutes, both at a loss for words. Louis keeps reaching out, like he
wants to touch Harry or something, but draws his hand back at the last minute.
Harry bites his lip, looking down at the boy with sadness in his eyes, and then
Louis finally gives in and pulls Harry in for a bone crushing hug.
It’s possibly the best hug he’s ever gotten in his entire life. He could very
easily just stay there and hug Louis for as long as possible, put off going
home so he doesn’t have to deal with all of this. Louis rubs his back
soothingly, almost like he knows what’s going through his mind, and it’s just
too much so Harry has to pull back. It’s time for him to go anyways.
“I’ll miss you,” Louis murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. And
then he’s gone.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
When he gets home his mum hugs him so tight he feels like he’s cracking open at
the seams. She rub his back just like Louis did, and it makes him want to start
crying all over again.
They spend the rest of the day together, being couch potatoes and watching the
soap operas she’s obsessed with and then a rom-com he’s obsessed with.
Pete just kind of lets them be, giving Harry dark looks, but doing his own
thing.
That night his mum even tucks him into bed, like he’s a little kid again, and
he wants to ask her what’s wrong, because something just doesn’t feel right.
She just smiles though and kisses his head, much like Jay had that first night
and Harry has to try againto keep himself from crying.
“I love you,” she says, with her lips pressed to his forehead. Harry’s first
instinct is to ask whybecause he honestly doesn’t understand. He knows she’s
his mum and parents are supposed to love their children unconditionally, but
his father didn’t and his step-father doesn’t, so why does she?
She leaves before he gets the chance to say he loves her back.
He pulls one of his pillows around beside him, wraps his arms around it, and
buries his face in it as he sobs, trying to get rid of the cold, stone block in
his chest.
***** Never Be Enough *****
Chapter Notes
     i have no idea how the schooling system works over there so. i kind
     of just went off what i've read. also MAJOR trigger warning for this
     chapter: eating disorder, physical abuse, rape, suicidal thoughts and
     attempt. this chapter is really intense, but i'm actually quite
     pleased with it.
The days go by sluggish and Harry grudgingly returns to school. Everything’s
okay for a while. Louis texts him repeatedly about how boring his life is now
that Harry is gone and Harry makes sure to ask about his sisters and mum, see
how they are doing. They return to talking on the phone after school and
texting near constantly. Louis has to buckle down because he’s getting closer
to taking his A-Levels, though, so Harry tries not to distract him toomuch.
And just like Harry promised himself, he restricts his diet even more. In the
past Harry would just skip lunch during the week and then purge his dinner if
it was too big of a meal or if he felt sick. Now he skips breakfast and lunch,
and barely touches his dinner. Pete doesn’t care and his mother doesn’t notice,
too busy with work and constantly on the phone with family. She’s distracted,
stressed, and it’s enough that they end up getting pizza or take out most
nights; Harry can sneak off to his room to ‘eat’ instead of sit in front of the
telly with Pete or the dinner table while his mum talks on the phone.
Harry’s always lost weight quickly when he starves. He doesn’t know if that’s
the case for everyone, but he’s always marveled at how easy it is to drop down
half a stone just by not eating for three or four days. His weight has always
fluctuated though, due to eating breakfast and then not always having enough
time to purge right after dinner. He’ll go a couple days eating semi-normally
and gain all the weight he lost back. It never stays off and that’s always
bothered him.
He’s nearly gone the entire week, though, without eating anything besides the
raw veggies his mum always buys him, and he watches his weight drop quicker
than he’s ever seen it before.
He doesn’t know if the number on the scale pleases him or disappoints him.
There was a point where the number would make him cry, because it wasn’t like
he wantedto lose weight or stop eating, he just needed to punish himself and he
thought that’s what he deserved. But it’s moved away from that, gotten to where
the numbers are never enough; he’s always telling himself he’s still too fat,
still disgusting to everyone who sees him, can’t imagine why anyone wants to
talk to him or be near him.
He always thinks just a little bit more and he’ll be fine, everything will be
better. He’ll be capable of love, of friendship; maybe even then he’ll be small
enough Pete won’t hassle him anymore. He’ll think finally you’ve done something
rightand they’ll all be happy.
It’s worth it for the way he has to literally hold himself together on shaky
feet till he gets to his bedroom, where he can lay down and cover his body –
already donned in pajama bottoms and a jumper – to warm himself up.
The stomach pains, yelling at him and twisting his insides, are just a reminder
of how good he’s doing, how much better everything is this way.
But it’s not enough, he knows. It’s never enough.
He'll never be enough.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
One Sunday in the middle of May, Harry’s mum comes into his bedroom and drops a
bomb on him.
“Grandma isn't doing too well,” she says, sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed
and smoothing out his duvet like a nervous habit. Everything clicks inside his
head. He’d tried asking her what was going on with all the phone calls back
home to her siblings and mum, but she’d just brushed it off with a nothing to
worry about, honey. “I’m thinking about going to visit her for a few days.”
Harry, who had had his face covered by his pillow and was groaning about how it
was the weekend and he should be allowed to sleep in, sits up abruptly, causing
the pillow to drop into his lap. “What? How long?”
She shrugs and stands up. “I don’t know. Maybe three or four days?”
“Can I come with you?”
She frowns. “I know you want to see your grandma,” which isn’t technically the
case, but sure, he thinks, let’s go with that, “but I don’t want you missing
any more school.”
“I’ve only missed one day,” he argues.
“Yeah and if you come with me, you’ll fall behind. Aren't finals coming up?”
She walks to the door, turning to look at him at the last second. “Sweetie, I’m
only going to be gone for a little bit. Pete will be here and you can cook for
yourself. It’ll be fine. She’s just having some memory lapses and I want to
check on her.”
He feels like his heart is racing inside his chest. Three or four whole days
without his mother, left alone with Pete. That’s hell. That is pure hell. That
is not fine, that is definitely not fine. It’s far from fine, the opposite of
fine.
(He does, he really does, hope that his grandma is okay, but he can’t worry
about that right now.)
“When are you leaving?” he croaks out.
“Tomorrow probably, before you go to school, but you’ll be awake so you can say
goodbye.”
He nods slowly and she leaves the room. He lies back down on his bed and
wonders what the probability is of him being able to stay in bed for the next
four days.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry doesn’t go to school.
Not the first day, or the second day, or the third day.
Pete uses the empty house to his advantage, smacking at Harry every chance he
gets, fucking him into the mattress – hismattress, the one him and Harry’s mum
sleep on.
Monday is the ninth day he’s gone without really eating, so he feels weak and
probably wouldn’t have gone to school anyways. The second Harry’s mum is out
the door, Pete’s shoving him up against the wall, pressing at his hipbones
through Harry’s pajama bottoms hard enough to leave bruises.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” he says before letting go and heading off to
work. Harry just kind of slumps down to the floor and doesn’t do much of
anything the entire day. Manages to snack on some salad, but that’s about it.
When Pete gets home, he’s on him at once, forcing him to drink beer with him
and then cutting off his air supply by wrapping his hand around his throat.
For some reason, Harry’s always thought the drinking had something to do with
Pete weakening him. He’s pretty clumsy when he’s sober, but when he’s drinking
– he never really gets more than slightly buzzed, nothing like the time with
Louis – he’s constantly running into furniture, trying to get away from Pete,
and slurring all his words. And Pete just sits back and laughs like it’s
entertainment.
After they’ve gone through a six pack of beer, Pete turns Harry around, presses
him face first into the table, and fucks him right there in the dining room.
 
Tuesday’s pretty much the same. Pete starts ordering him around, telling him to
clean up the living room, the bathroom, the kitchen. Harry’s scrubbing dishes
at the sink when Pete comes up behind him, shoves him and causes Harry to fall.
His head collides with the counter top and when he hits the linoleum floor
there's a loud clunkand everything goes blurry.
Harry's pretty sure he's going to die right then and there, and he finds he
doesn't really mind.
 
By the third morning, Wednesday, he’s bruised and cut and he’s pretty sure he
has a concussion from the way Pete pushed him around the night before. He wakes
up with his head throbbing, still in the kitchen. His ribs ache when he moves
and he’s pretty sure he’s covered in dried blood.
Pete walks into the room and Harry doesn’t even bother trying to move. He
couldn’t if he wanted to. There’s no point anyway. It’s like all the fight had
left him with that last shove.
The older man squats down and pulls on the back of Harry’s head, effectively
pulling out small, curly hairs and forcing the boy to stare up at him. “Your
mum called. Wanted to know how you were doing. I told her you were just great.
Very busy though, couldn’t talk. She’s not coming home until Saturday so,” he
lets go of Harry’s head and it hits the floor, sending sharp pain through his
skull, “more fun for us.” Pete runs a finger down the side of the younger boys
face then gets up. “Get yourself cleaned up before I get home. You’re a fucking
mess.” And doesn't that just describe him perfectly? he thinks, a fucking mess.
Pete's gone between one blink and the next.
Harry lays there for what he’s pretty sure are hours. Unable to move, unable to
think straight, barely able to breathe. He can’t even cry. It’s like there’s
nothing left in him.
All he knows is he can’t do this anymore. He’s so tried and exhausted and sick.
He just wants to lie down and sleep forever. He’s actually pretty upset the
fall didn’t kill him.
So that’s when he decides to take his life into his own hands.
He’s never really thought about killing himself before, not seriously at least,
though he has wanted to die. There were times he felt his life was pointless,
has always thought that he was worthless. He's cried and asked God or some
unforeseeable being to just let it be done; he didn’t want to suffer anymore.
Killing himself seems like such an obvious solution and he can’t believe he
hasn’t thought of acting on it before.
He thinks about his mum for a split second, but she has Gemma still, so it’s
okay. And Gemma will eventually get over it, so it’s fine. Louis . . . he
thinks about Louis and how he hasn’t spoken to him since Sunday. His last
conversation with the lad was about how his mum was going out of town; Louis
had joked that he would show up at his house and bring the booze so they could
party. He knows, just like Gemma and his mum, though, Louis will eventually get
over it; he has Liam still, and he’ll make more – better – friends, more
deserving of his time.  
He crawls upstairs and it takes him a good half hour to make it to his bedroom
and then to his bathroom with his favorite razor blade in his hand. He leans
against the bathtub and then looks up at the sink where there’s a bottle of his
prescription pills he’d used Sunday night for his migraine. And he thinks, what
the helland grabs it, pulling off the top with some difficulty.
He still presses the razor blade into his skin, deeper than he’s ever gone
before. It doesn’t even hurt any more than usual, can barely feel it over the
pounding of his head and the relief the flow of blood down his wrist is
bringing him. He keeps going until he can’t even hold the blade in his shaking
fingers anymore and then he dumps the bottle of pills out on the floor and
starts swallowing them one by one. Everything starts getting blurry around the
edges. He feels faint and cold, his fingers are covered in his own blood, but
he keeps going because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to fucking do it
right.
It goes dark – he slides down and his head cracks against the floor in a way
that would have been painful if he was conscious – somewhere between pill
number thirteen and number fifteen.
He’s not quite sure.
 
 
Sometime later he hears thumping, someone screaming, a wailing in the
background. All he focuses on is the tight pressure on his chest and yelling in
the background. There’s a bright light behind his eyelids and if his thoughts
weren’t so disconnected he’d think about how everyone was right, there is a
light at the end of the tunnel. He tries to head to it – because that’s what
you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? – but it seems to be getting further and
further away.
He feels like ants are running up and down his arms and pins are poking and
prodding at him. It hurts; he’s uncomfortable, wants to complain that this
isn’t what the afterlife is supposed to be like. Then there’s shaking and
screaming and more yelling. But then he feels a snap, like a rubber band
jumping back into place, and it all goes dark again.
 
 
 
His dreams are full of bright colors and poofy, cotton candy looking clouds.
Sometimes he gets flashes of random memories from his life, some early into his
childhood, some as recent as last week.
They’re odd memories, not even really connected. He’ll remember his mum singing
him to sleep when he was little and then his tiny fingers next to her larger
ones when she tried to teach him how to play piano. He remembers Gemma punching
some kid on the playground for being mean to Harry, remembers her yelling I’m
the only one who gets to call him crybaby.He remembers hiding in Gemma’s room
when their mum and dad would fight or when there was a thunderstorm outside and
he couldn’t sleep. He remembers arguing over whether they should watch Dumbo or
The Little Mermaid and finally the day Gemma decided she was too old for Disney
movies and how it had scared the daylights out of him, being too old for Disney
movies, and he’d run crying to his mum asking if it was true, was he going to
grow too old for Disney movies, too? And she laughed and laughed and said
you’ll never be too old for Disney movies, not you.So he made her read him
Peter Pan before he went to sleep every night just to make sure.
And the image of Peter Pan transforms into Louis, Louis looking like Peter Pan
and Liam in the background, arms crossed over his chest and fluttering around
like Tinker Bell.
He thinks back to when he was in the bathroom at The Script concert, looking up
to see Louis’ too blue eyes and the way he flicked his fringe away from his
face. And then to exchanging phone numbers outside of the venue, Louis’ bright
smile, the way he stuck Harry’s phone back in his pocket with no reservations,
like he hadn’t a care in the world. He remembers the first time Louis kissed
him – the actual first time, when they were standing on the bed – and how he
just melted into it. The memory is foggy, like there’s a thick gas between him
and the vision, but he can remember the feeling of Louis’ lips against his.
The memories start to flood over him after that, all the times he and Louis
kissed, the crinkle next to his eye when he laughed, really laughed, the x’s
he’d put after sweet texts and the winky faces he’d used when he was being
flirty; the moment he came out to Louis over the phone – the first person he
had ever told.
His life starts to flash before his eyes, memories he didn’t even know blinking
up in front of him, but they’re all too fast for him to make sense of. He’s
starting to get dizzy and he’s suddenly overly aware of a pounding in his head,
a crick in his neck. He feels sore all over, stretched out and bruised. He
searches frantically for those clouds he’d been laying on before, but all he
finds is cold; everything is chilling cold and he starts shivering, fighting
against the weight that’s holding him down.
That bright light flashes before his eyes again, then once more, it goes dark.
 
 
 
Bright lights behind his eyelids are what wake Harry up. He doesn’t move,
doesn’t blink, doesn’t even open his eyes. He doesn’t want to know what’s on
the other side of his lids. He thinks he’ll just lay here for a bit. He’s quite
comfortable actually. If he doesn’t open his eyes, he can pretend he’s in
heaven or whatever afterlife is waiting for him.
But then he hears a small intake of breath – like maybe someone saw him twitch
or his eyes flicker just a little – and he opens them.
His mum is sitting next to him.
He’s in a hospital, in a hospital bed, and his mom is sitting next to him.
Her eyes fill up with tears quickly, and then she’s sobbing, but he just feels
frantic, confused. He looks around quickly, taking in all of his surroundings,
and he doesn’t understand. Why is his mum here? Why is he still alive? Why
didn’t it work?
He doesn’t realize he’s talking, asking all these questions out loud, until his
mum reaches out for him. But he flinches instinctively, trying to get away from
her, from everything because this wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t how it
was supposed to end.
He scrambles, trying to pull away from the machines, pulling the IV needle out
of his arm. Nurses fill the room and press down on his shoulders, trying to get
him to stay still. In the background, just barely audible over his screams and
the sounds of the nurses restraining him, he can hear his mother’s choked
intake of breath.
One of the nurses slides a needle into his skin and everything slowly fades
into darkness again.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
The next time he wakes up he’s feeling a lot calmer. Gemma is next to him this
time and that makes everything a little better. She’s flipping through a
magazine, her legs crossed. Her hair is done up, messy and falling out of its
bun. There are bags under her eyes but she doesn’t cry when she sees he’s
awake. She just pushes the little red button next to his head and leans back in
her chair.
“I outta smack you, y’know,” she says, not looking up from her magazine. He
doesn’t find it rude like maybe some people would; he can see the redness of
her eyes, the struggle it’s taking her to not start crying, like maybe she
thinks that would just set him off again.
Harry’s not sure he can use his voice, so he just nods. Really he wants to
laugh, laugh at himself, because honestly, can he not do anythingright? He
can’t even kill himself.
A nurse with bright ginger hair comes into the room then, smiling down at him
like he’s some fragile little thing instead of a sixteen-year-old who is
definitely bigger than her.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” she says.
He just turns his eyes up to the ceiling, ignoring her until she shines a light
in his eyes. He blinks away, the brightness causing a sharp pain in his head.
He lifts the arm she’s not using to take his blood pressure, and flings it over
his eyes, moaning. There's tightness around his wrist; he's been all bandaged
up. 
God, last he knew he was pretty sure he had a concussion.
Which reminds him . . .
He turns to Gemma. “How long have I been here?” he asks quietly. His voice is
rough and dry, like he hasn’t spoken nor drank water in a few days.
She just stares at him for a long moment, taking in a deep breath, before
turning back to her magazine.
His eyebrows furrow a bit in confusion, but he doesn’t get a chance to say
anything more because his mum has entered the room and she practically flings
herself at him.
“Oh, Harry,” she cries, “Harry, Harry, Harry.  I was so worried. Why would you
do something like that?” He doesn’t think she expects an answer because she
keeps on talking. “When I found you, there was so much blood; I thought you
would never wake up again. They had to restart your heart and . . .”
He freezes. “Wait. You found me?” She nods. “But I thought you were at
grandmas.” He was counting on Pete finding him. And Pete wouldn’t care, would
only be worried that it would look like his own fault. By then he would have
already been gone.
This, this isn’t right.
“I was, but then your friend Louis called me freaking out a bit and . . .”
“Louis called you?” He tries to sit up but the nurse pushes him back down,
shaking her head. “What? How? Why? I’m so confused.” He presses a hand to his
head, the sharp pain from before coming back.
His mum smiles weakly. “Louis had my number. He called me and said he hadn’t
heard from you since Sunday night. He sounded so worried I drove home as
quickly as I could.” She stands up straight all of a sudden. “I better go tell
him you’re awake,” she adds, almost as an afterthought, glancing at the door. 
“What do you mean? He’s here?”
She nods. “Yeah, he’s downstairs in the cafeteria with Pete.”
He’s downstairs with Pete. Alonewith Pete. Well, probably not alone alone, but
still. He is with Pete, and no. Just no. The thought of everything that Pete’s
done to him . . . and if his step-father even thinks about touching Louis . . .
Harry tries to get up again, pushing away the nurse when she tries to restrain
him. “No,” he says, “You have to – I need. . .”
“Shhh, honey,” his mum soothes. “He’ll be right up. I’ll go get him right now.”
“Hurry,” he mumbles, knowing just how pathetic he probably sounds.
"Are you in any pain?" the nurse asks. Which is kind of a stupid
question; everything hurts. He nods his head and she asks, "Give me a number." 
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and says, "Eight." Whatever the nurse puts in
his IV makes him tired, even more so than before, but the second he starts to
relax, he hears a familiar voice.
“Is he still asleep?” Louis whispers and Harry’s eyes shoot open.
“Lou,” his voice comes out a whine and without meaning to, he’s reaching out
for Louis, and then the older boy is closing the distance between them. He
grasps Harry’s larger hand in his slightly smaller ones and squeezes.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he mumbles, much like Harry’s mum had, and shakes his
head. He’s wearing a beanie and his glasses and Harry thinks his eyes are a
little red. “What am I going to do with you?” He reaches up to brush the hair
away from Harry’s face.
Harry doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head. There’s a look in Louis’ eyes
though that says it’s okay, I’m right here, you don’t have to tell me
anything,and I care about you, you’re important to meand Harry’s just instantly
flooded with too much emotion and guilt and the need to tell someone, because
obviously his plan didn’t work so well. He feels like it’s choking him,
suffocating him with the need to let it all out, the words on the edge of his
tongue. If he doesn’t let it out, he doesn’t know how much longer he can take
it; he won’t make it through the night. He'll end up trying to kill himself
again, jumping off the roof or out the window or something.
He looks to his mum and she must see something there because she jumps up
abruptly and grabs onto Gemma’s hand as she goes.
“We’re just going to go downstairs and get some coffee, alright honey? We’ll be
back in a little bit.”
Harry watches the two leave. When he turns his head back, he’s not surprised to
see Louis staring at him, patient but curious. As desperate as Harry was to get
them alone, now he doesn’t know what he’s even supposed to say.
“What happened?” Louis asks. His voice is quiet, on the edge of breaking. “Why
did you do this to yourself? Why didn’t you call me or your mum or Gemma?”
The first thing that comes to Harry’s mind is I didn’t think you’d carebut then
he looks up and meets Louis’ eyes and he can’t believe he ever questioned
whether Louis cared about him or not.
“I just . . . I couldn’t. I wasn’t thinking,” he says. Really he was thinking
toomuch.
“Why, though? I don’t understand.” There’s a crease on Louis’ forehead and he’s
frowning, looking like he’s about to cry and Harry feels like he’s about to
break into a million pieces.  
“Well . . . uhm . . .” he drawls out, slow and unsure.
Louis still has his hand, and he rubs circles into the back of his palm,
soothing him instantly. “Sweetheart." His voice is so quiet, Harry almost
doesn't hear him. The endearment makes something squeeze inside his chest. "You
can tell me anything," Louis continues. 
Harry squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to burst out crying. When he
opens them and meets Louis’ blue eyes, he finds the story pouring out of him.
***** The Effect He Has On Him *****
Once Harry starts talking, everything just pours out of him like a waterfall.
He tells Louis about the time when Pete first babysat him. He had been so
excited, thought Pete was so cool. Everything went to hell in a matter of
minutes. It's painful, letting it all out, telling Louis about drinking the
spilled beer off the floor, seeing a side of Pete he had never seen before.
But he has to get it all out or it's going to kill him, like some kind of
poison.
He goes on to tell Louis about the first time Pete came into his room and raped
him. He's never used or even let himself thinkthe R word before, and talking
about it out loud now causes his voice to break, but Louis just squeezes his
hand tighter, anchoring him to the here and now.
When he gets to the part about cutting himself he can’t meet Louis’ eyes,
afraid of what he will see there. Judgment, anger, disgust, he isn’t sure.
Louis doesn't let his surprise show, though. The bandages wrapped around his
wrist are in plain view anyway, so Louis had probably already connected the
dots.
He finally breaks down and starts tearing up when he gets to the part about
Pete sneaking into his bedroom in the middle of the night, whether his mum and
Gemma were home or not. He would just order Harry to turn over and then have
his way with him, squeezing the back of Harry's neck so he couldn't make a
sound.
"If they weren't home," Harry says, "sometimes he would . . . he would grab the
back of my hair, pull on it until I cried." He struggles to take a deep breath.
"It was like . . . like he wanted to know he was hurting me. Whenever I stayed
quiet he'd keep pushing or pulling until I'd snap and it was like that's what
he'd been waiting for."
For the most part Louis stays quiet. Every once in a while when Harry’s story
gets particularly bad he curses under his breath. He almost gets up at one
point in the story too, though to do what, Harry isn’t sure. He pulls on his
hand, though, keeping Louis from going anywhere. There are a couple of times
Louis’ eyes roam over Harry's exposed arms. He’s in a hospital gown, no longer
covered up in jumpers or layers like he has been for so long. He knows Louis
can see the cuts and scars, some more recent fading bruises. A nurse comes in
halfway through his story to take his vitals and change out his bandages. The
cuts on his wrist really were deep, so deep he had to get stitches. Louis steps
back to let her do what she needs to get done, but Harry knows he can see the
cuts, the ugly marks stitching him back together, and he kind of just wants to
curl in on himself and hide.
By the time Harry is finished with the story, Louis has his free hand covering
his eyes and he's shaking his head slowly, almost like he can’t believe what
Harry has told him. It’s quiet between them for at least five minutes, neither
of them moving or saying much of anything.
“I feel so stupid,” Louis finally says, dropping his hand from his face but
still not meeting Harry’s eyes.
His pulse quickens, just the tiniest bit, but he can see it on his heart
monitor as he sits up. “What? Why?”
Turning to look at him, Louis lets out a frustrated kind of noise. “Because I
knew something was going on! I mean, I suspectedthere was something you weren’t
telling me. I just figured, eventually you would open up.” He trails a finger
up and down Harry’s thin arm, drawing invisible patterns. “If I had known . .
.” He keeps his eyes locked on his finger, not looking up at Harry. “Anyway,
that’s why I took your mum’s phone number.” He bites his lip and looks up at
Harry from underneath his eyelashes, looking like he thinks Harry will be
upset.
“I guess I’m not so good at keeping things hidden.”
Louis’ eyes widen and he almost looks like he’s going to smile. Instead he
frowns. “On the contrary, you’ve kept this hidden for, what, eight, nine years?
And no one else knows.” His frown deepens. “I just . . . I just wish I had
known sooner."
Harry doesn’t say anything. He leans back against the pillows and stares up at
the ceiling, focusing on counting tiles to keep from thinking too much.
A sudden sigh has Harry glancing back at Louis, who is looking extremely
contemplative. “I really don’t know what to say, Harry,” the boy continues, not
looking at him. He has his eyes on their interlaced hands. “I mean, I’m so
sorry for everything you’ve had to go through. It breaks my heart. It’s just .
. . I’m so . . .” His hand tightens around Harry’s quickly. “I’m so. . ." He
groans a little. "I mean, the thought of anyone hurting you - It makes me want
to . . . It's not . . .” His head drops down to where their interlaced hands
are and Harry’s stomach tightens when he realizes Louis is crying, actually
crying.
He wants to ask why, why would Louis cry for him? There’s no need to cry. It’s
fine. He deserved the abuse, he wants to tell him, he wasn’t a good kid; he
broke things and didn’t always do well enough in school. He wasn’t skinny
enough or athletic enough. He was always tripping over things and speaking
without permission. Pete wanted a tough kid as a step-son and instead he got
stuck with Harry.
Harry doesn’t say any of this, though, just squeezes his hand and Louis finally
looks up. “Don’t cry, Lou. I really don’t want you crying because of me. It’s
fine.”  
The other boy shakes his head. “It’s notfine. He deserves to rot in hell for
the things he did to you.” His eyes are red rimmed, filled with unshed tears.
They grow dark and cold, angry. The sight makes Harry uncomfortable. He's never
seen Louis like this.
He doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t know if he can find it in himself
to agree with Louis, so again they lapse into silence for a few minutes. This
time they just kind of share a long look, communicating without actually
speaking. It’s like Harry can feel everything the other boy is feeling, how
concerned he was about Harry and how glad he’s here now, okay, out of harm’s
way.  
Louis takes in a deep breath and looks Harry straight in the eye, his
expression turned serious. “You have to tell someone,” he says, and then,
“Someone other than me. Your mum, the police . . . They were here already,
y'know,” he adds offhandedly. "I guess the doctor called them when they got a
good look at you."
Almost immediately, Harry’s pulse spikes and he sits up, shaking his head and
pulling his hand free from Louis’ grasp. The thought of telling his mum, of
dealing with Pete and the police has his chest aching. His breath comes out too
quickly and his heart monitor starts beeping in response to the pounding of his
heart. He knows any minute the nurse will be barging in, wondering what the
hell is going on. He can only imagine her getting suspicious and maybe kicking
Louis out and Harry doesn’t want that. The thought just makes his panic attack
worse and he clutches at the sheets beside him, still shaking his head, his
curly hair falling in front of his face.
"I can't," he tries to say, gasping for breath. "You don't understand. He's
dangerous. You don't know what he'll -"
But then Louis is leaning over him, rubbing circles into his back and
whispering soothing words into his ear. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly his
heart rate returns to normal just because of Louis and the calming effect he
has on him. Harry leans back in the bed, still breathing a little heavy. Louis
sits down, squeezing his hand again.
The ginger-haired nurse comes in then, looking between the two and narrowing
her eyes suspiciously. Harry tightens his hold on Louis automatically.
“What’s going on here?” she asks. “Are you alright?”
Harry nods slowly. “Yeah, sorry, just . . .”
“He thought he missed the new Doctor Who episode but I TiVo’ed it, so it’s all
good,” Louis finishes quickly, lying flawlessly. Harry stares at him, a little
incredulously, and has to press his lips together because he almost thinks he’s
going to smile.
The nurse doesn’t really look like she believes him, but she nods her head and
turns her attention solely on Harry. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit,
sweetie.” She leaves with a smile.
“Oooh, sweetie. I think she fancies you.”
Harry just rolls his eyes. He closes them shortly later and focuses on his
breathing. He's had enough panic attacks in his sixteen years to be pretty well
versed on how to keep himself calmed down; he just always has trouble
remembering the tips when he actually needs them.
After another couple minutes of silence - the only sound is of Harry's deep
breaths - Louis squeezes his hand. Harry opens his eyes and turns to look at
the boy. There’s a look of regret on his face and Harry frowns, knows what’s
coming.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “but you're going to have to talk to someone about this
whether you want to or not.”
Harry nods his head slowly, knowing Louis is right. “You’ll stay with me,
right?”
Louis squeezes his hand and nods back. “Of course I will.” He leans forward and
presses his lips to Harry’s forehead for a moment. When he leans back, he
smiles briefly. “Do you want me to go get your mum?”
Harry really doesn’t want him to leave, doesn’t want to be alone, but he nods
his head and figures he might as well get it done and over with. Plus he might
be able to get some shut eye while Louis is gone. He’s so exhausted; his head
feels like he hit it against a brick wall over and over againand his muscles
feel like he just ran a marathon.
He watches Louis walk to the door, asks him quietly if he can turn off the
light when he goes, and then the room is flooded with darkness minus the little
bit of sunshine coming in through the blinds, and he’s alone.
Apparently, though, the universe is against him getting any shut eye
whatsoever. Just as he starts drifting off to sleep, finally comfortable and
managing to clear his head, the door opens and then closes. He snaps his eyes
open quickly, thinking Louis has returned for something or maybe ran into his
mum in the hallway and didn’t have to go too far.
Neither end up being true.
Pete is standing at the foot of his bed, only just barely visible in the dark.
Harry feels like everything inside of him freezes: his heart, his lungs, his
stomach churns uncomfortably. They both manage to ignore the audible quickened
beeping of his heart rate though Harry thinks there’s some kind of smugness in
Pete’s eyes.
“That boy you were just talking to . . .” Harry’s hands clench into the sheets
beside him. “That the one you’ve been spending all that time with?”
He nods slowly, wondering where this is going.
“What were you guys talking about?” Harry shrugs. “What did you tell him?” Pete
presses.
And this is it, Harry thinks, he knows he told, he’ll be able to read it in his
eyes or something. He doesn’t have to worry about killing himself anymore;
Pete’s going to take care of it for him.
Pete starts walking around the bed, hand landing on top of the blankets
covering Harry’s ankle. The older man squeezes just a little. He opens his
mouth, but the door swings open and Louis is standing at the threshold. He kind
of looks like he's some sort of guardian angel, or like he just stepped out of
a movie, with the way the light is streaming in behind him from the hallway. He
glances between Harry and Pete suspiciously. Pete closes his mouth and pats
Harry’s leg awkwardly, like that’s what he had been meaning to do all along.
“What’s going on?” Louis asks, closing the distance between them and walking
over so he can stand next to Harry’s bed.
Pete smiles lazily. It’s almost too easy to buy, Harry thinks. The man is way
too good at what he does. No wonder nobody ever suspected him.
“I was just seeing if Harry here was feeling better.”
Louis doesn't miss a beat. “Bullshit.”
Pete looks taken aback, staring between Louis and Harry. His features turn
confused but it doesn't take long for it to click. He takes a step forward.
“You did tell him. I told you to never say a word and you squealed, you little
---” He raises his arm like he's going to grab at Harry, but Louis takes a step
forward, putting himself between the two of them. Pete’s eyes turn to Louis,
darkening. Harry doesn't even think, just sits up quickly, pulling Louis back
and reaching out a hand to stop Pete.
“I swear to God, if you lay one finger on him, I will scream so loud every
security guard in this hospital will be in this room before you can even
contemplate heading for the door,” he warns.
He’s never talked back to Pete, never said a word against him or threatened him
in any way. He’s always gone along with whatever his step-father said or
wanted. Sometimes he cried, sure, and sometimes he yelled or pleaded for him to
stop, but not like this, never like this. And Pete looks shocked almost. Harry
feels pretty shocked himself.
Pete takes a step back though, shaking his head and dropping his hand. After a
moment, he turns and walks to the door. When he reaches it, he glances back at
Harry and says, “You’re going to regret this,” before walking out.
Neither of them says anything for a long while, just continue staring at the
door Pete had disappeared through.
“Well, that was . . .” Louis’ voice trails off, but Harry nods, understanding
what he means. The fight goes out of him and he slumps against the bed. Louis'
hands, previously in fists at his side, relax. He looks like he wants to chase
after Pete, but Harry takes his hand and squeezes.  “Are you okay?” Louis
finishes.  
His face scrunches up in response. He shrugs but doesn’t say anything. He did
what he had to do, that’s all there is to it. And if he never sees Pete again,
he won’t mind.
“Your mum’s going to be up here in a few minutes. She and Gemma grabbed some
lunch. Are you hungry?”
Harry shakes his head no and reaches for Louis. He must understand what Harry
wants because he drops down onto the bed beside him and curls an arm around his
waist. “So proud of you,” he whispers into the juncture between Harry’s neck
and shoulder. “You’re so brave.” He keeps repeating the words over and over
till Harry feels like they’re etched into his skin and he eventually drifts off
to sleep.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Cool fingers brushing his hair back are what wake Harry up some time later.
He’s not sure how much time has passed, but there’s not as much light coming in
through the window so it must be late afternoon, early evening.
Harry looks up to see his mother standing beside his bed, her hands now at her
side, and a somewhat sad smile on her face. 
“He’s important to you, yeah?” she asks. He follows her line of vision to see
Louis is still cuddled in next to him, dead to the world. His tan arm is
wrapped tightly around Harry’s waist.
Harry nods, tightening his hold on the older boy.
“That’s good, I mean . . . I think he’s good for you, yeah? Do you . . . I
mean, are you two . . .” her voice trails off, but he knows what she’s asking
and shakes his head. “Oh, well I just thought. You know, I’d be okay . . . if
you were. I just want you to be happy.”
He manages to smile and reaches out. Her hand finds his and he squeezes gently.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, mum.” Her eyes fill up with tears but she shakes her
head, telling him he has nothing to apologize for. “I have to . . .” He closes
his eyes and take a deep breath before continuing. “I have to tell you . . .”
Psychic or something, Harry’s not sure, but that’s when Louis lets out a yawn
and blinks open his eyes tiredly. He looks a little sheepish at having woken up
next to Harry – especially with Anne right there – and starts to get off the
bed. Harry grabs his hand, though, stopping him.
He turns back to his mum, takes a deep breath, and slowly repeats the story he
told Louis. He leaves some things out, keeps to the bare minimum, and doesn’t
include the gory details. With a little prodding from Louis, he also tells her
about his cutting.
Louis sits next to him the entire time, legs curled up underneath him and
Harry’s free hand in his lap, drawing invisible patterns on his skin. It feels
nice, distracts him slightly from the intensity of the words coming out of his
mouth.
His mum waits until the very end to start crying, sinking down into the chair
next to Harry’s bed and burying her face in her free hand. He squeezes the hand
he still holds and she starts sobbing, saying things like ‘how did I not know?’
and ‘I should’ve been able to tell’ and ‘I’m so sorry.’ Harry just tries to
sooth her, telling her it’s alright, things will be better now.
Everything’s going to be much better now.
He knows it’s not the truth, though, knows even though Pete’s left and his mum
knows the story, nothing really changes. Pete's going to be back eventually.
Harry's still been an awful son, still deserves to be punished. He thinks his
mum should kick him out of the house or at least yell at him a little bit,
because why would Pete have acted that way if Harry didn’t deserve it?
He wouldn’t have, that’s all there is to it.
The story finally gets around to Gemma and she holds him and cries, says she
should have noticed the signs. “I’ve had friends who've, you know, self-
harmed,” she says, “I’ve had friends. I should have seen what was going on.”
But Harry just shakes his head and tries to convince her there was nothing she
could have done.
Things might be better right now, he knows, but it’s not going to last that
way. Still, he tries to hold onto what little hope he has every time he meets
his mum’s eyes or Gemma brushes his hair away from his forehead or Louis
squeezes his hand.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry fingers the material of the hospital gown. He’s still not used to his
arms – pale from rarely seeing the light of day – being so on display for
everyone to see. Most of his cuts and bruises have healed in the time he’s been
at the hospital (a week and a half he was finally told) and only the more
serious injuries are visible. Besides his wrist, there’s also a cut above his
eyebrow that will leave a scar he’ll always have, a couple of his ribs are
cracked and wrapped, a bruise spans most of his chest, and he even broke a
finger when Pete had shoved him into the sink while he’d been attempting to do
the dishes. A broken finger is the least of his worries though, and he barely
feels the dull throb of pain at the end of his left hand where it’s wrapped in
a brace. He had a few fractures from years ago that had never healed right, and
have now been set and wrapped.
There are other marks, of course, more serious cuts from when he sunk a razor
or knife into his skin or from Pete’s drunken rampages, that will never fade,
but he’s always known that and he’s always tried to hide them.
Now though, they stand out, like bright lights in the middle of a dark road. He
knows, really knows, that no one is staring at him or judging him or looking at
him with their jaw hanging open, but he can’t stop the feeling that he’s on
display. He has to keep fighting the urge to wrap himself up in blankets or ask
his mum for a jumper. (He’d tried that already and when he had used the excuse
that he was cold – he actually was, so it hadn’t been a lie – she had just
turned up the heat in the room.)
Louis still sits at his side. He hasn’t left the room once except to go to the
bathroom and he refuses to use the guest bathroom down the hallway like he’s
supposed to, instead using Harry’s own personal hospital room bathroom. He
doesn’t say anything, but Harry gets the feeling Louis doesn’t want to leave
him alone after what happened with Pete. There’s been a security guard
stationed in front of Harry’s door to monitor who comes and goes, just in case
Pete decides to pay another visit.
Harry refuses to meet anyone’s eyes, keeping his own green ones on the blue
material in his hands. It’s fraying a bit, worn at the edges because he’s been
pulling and messing with his gown so much: a nervous habit he’s developed. He’s
always pulled at his jumper sleeves to cover his wrists and now he can’t.
He knows everyone in the room is talking about him, waiting for him to react or
say something. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be acting though, nobody
told him ‘you should be freaking out’ or ‘you should be worried.’ He’s sure
he’s supposed to be freaking out, but he’s not. He couldn’t even find it in him
to be the least bit surprised when they’d been informed that Pete had vacated
the premises and the police were on the lookout for him. (He'd spent what felt
like hourstalking to them.) Like Pete was actually going to stick around after
having found out Harry had told Louis; he wasn’t stupid. He’d kept the abuse
hidden long enough that should have been obvious.
They’re not talking about Pete anymore though and he doesn’t know if he prefers
the new topic or not. It makes his skin crawl and he itches at it a little
before he goes back to fumbling with the gown, rolling up the sleeve then
unrolling it.
“Harry,” the doctor says. Harry hmm’s a little in acknowledgment. “We need to
know if you think you might have an eating disorder.”
He freezes. Every single bone in his body goes icy cold. His stomach churns and
his heart rate slows down for once instead of speeding up.
He hadn’t mentioned the not eating thing to anyone because he'd decided it
wasn’t a big deal. He does eat, so it’s fine; he was just eating less, trying
to lose weight. People went on diets all the time, so what was the big deal if
sometimes he didn't eat that much?
“He’s always been skinny,” his mum tries to reason, but even she looks doubtful
and worried as she scans over his body, his thin arms on display. This time he
does curl in on himself, hiding his arms under the covers of his bed and trying
to scoot down as much as possible. He can feel Louis’ eyes on him, but he keeps
his own down, looking at the bed.
“His weight is worringly low and he was extremely dehydrated when he was
brought in.”
Harry wants to scoff – they did weigh him and he’d gained weight since being
admitted to the hospital. The number wasn’t low, not for him, maybe for
everyone else, but for him that was just fat.
He wraps his arms tightly around his stomach.
“Well, maybe he’s just been stressed,” his mum goes on. Harry wants her to shut
up. “We’ve been going through a lot the past couple of weeks, living off of
fast food.”
The doctor sighs. He sounds patient when he speaks, though. “This isn’t the
result of a few weeks of dieting; this is something that has to of been going
on for a while. Years even.”
They all turn to Harry, waiting for an explanation, an explanation he doesn’t
have.
He looks up and shrugs. “I don’t have an eating disorder.”
“Have you been dieting?” the doctor asks. His voice is calm, nearly soothing,
but it doesn't make Harry feel better.
He doesn’t think dieting is a good word for what he’s doing, because diets are
usually short term, are they not, and his has been going on for probably half
his life now. He shrugs again.
“How much do you eat in a day?” he presses.
Frowning, Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I eat breakfast usually and
dinner.”
“No lunch?”
Shaking his head, Harry says, “No. I usually study in the library during lunch.
I’m trying to graduate school early.” Looks like that ideas out the window.
“Do you ever make yourself throw up after eating?”
Harry freezes, opens his mouth to say no, but then he looks up and he knows the
answer is written clear as day on his face. His mum takes a quick intake of air
and his sister buries her face in her hands.
“I don’t have an eating disorder, though,” he tries to explain. “Sometimes I
just eat too much and my stomach starts hurting, so . . .” his voice trails
off.
Through the entire conversation, Louis has been silent and Harry turns to look
at him now. The older boy looks teary-eyed but he smiles and squeezes Harry’s
hand. Harry doesn’t understand what he’s getting so upset about. It’s not a big
deal.
The doctor nods, says, “We’ll get a psychiatrist in here to talk to you, then
go from there, okay?” and then looks down at Harry like he’s a fragile little
flower instead of a teenager half a foot taller than him, much like the ginger
haired nurse had.
Harry wants to argue because he doesn’t need to see a fucking therapist, but
Louis just squeezes his hand, pulls him out of his thoughts and he blocks out
the noise of the doctor and his mum exchanging hushed words.
“I kind of suspected, y’know,” Louis says quietly. Harry raises a brow in
confusion. “About your eating,” he clarifies. “I was going to ask you about it,
but I didn’t want you getting mad at me. You’d eat in front of me so I just
tried to convince myself I was wrong, but . . .” He frowns. “I’m so sorry. I
should’ve said something.”
Harry’s free hand tightens. “It’s not a big deal. I’m fine,” he tells him
through clenched teeth. He tries to pull his hand away from Louis’ grasp but
the older boy just holds it tighter and shakes his head.
“It’s not alright, Hazza. None of this is. Look at yourself.”
That’s the last thing Harry should be doing; when he looks at any part of his
body he just ends up hating himself even more. He turns away from Louis with a
curt shake of his head.
“I think it’s a good idea,” his mum is saying when Harry tunes back in to the
chatter. What’s a good idea?
“It’s a great program,” the doctor says. “They’ve got art therapy, group
therapy, music therapy . . .”
“Music therapy,” Anne exclaims. “Harry loves music.”
He looks up finally, his confusion becoming too much. He meets her eyes, but
she just smiles. Her eyes are red and watery. Gemma squeezes her hand and nods
in agreement.
Then his brain catches up to what they’re saying.
“Therapy? What’re you talking about?”
For about the millionth time since he’s woken up, Harry questions if Louis’
psychic. He must somehow sense the panic attack on the edge of Harry’s
thoughts, because he rubs the back of his hand with his thumb. Harry looks from
him, to his mom and Gemma, to the doctor, and back again. Over and over again,
waiting for someone to say something. They all look uncomfortable. Finally the
doctor cracks.
“There’s a residential inpatient program we think will benefit you.”
“What’s that?” he asks, his voice slow with drowsiness.
“Basically you’ll stay there for a little while ---” He doesn’t get a chance to
finish.
“Staythere? Stay where? How long? Why?”
The doctor looks uncomfortable, resituating himself on the long couch and
finally giving up and standing up, walking towards the end of Harry’s bed.
“It depends. Some patients stay for a couple months, some longer.”
Harry shakes his head. “No way. I’m not leaving my mum alone and moving in to a
hospital.”
“Harry.” When he meets his mum’s eyes, she’s pressing her lips together, trying
to hold back tears. “I’m going to be saying with grandma for a while. She needs
me and I . . . I need to not be in Holmes Chapel. This way I’ll be closer to
you and Gemma.”
He shakes his head harder, trying to get his point across. “No, I don’t need
this.”
Everyone in the room obviously disagrees with him. Gemma’s the one who speaks
though. “Harry, please. You tried to kill yourself.” His mum flinches; it’s the
first time it has been spoken out loud. He’s glad she’s not beating around the
bush though. “You’ve been cutting and starving and throwing up your food for
God knows how long . . .” Her voice trails off and she gives him a stern look,
similar to the one she gave him when he suggested staying home with her from
The Script concert so many months ago.
He shrugs. “Well I’ll stop then.”
“It’s not that simple,” the doctor argues.
“And what if I say no?”
The doctor frowns. “Well, you’re underage, so your mother has the ability to
sign you in, and you wouldn’t be allowed to leave until she signed you out.”
So basically he has no choice, no say in the matter whatsoever.
“Harry.” Louis squeezes his hand.
“What?” he asks, his tone short, and turns to look at the older boy.
Louis doesn’t say anything for a minute, just gives him a long look. His eyes
aren’t as shiny behind his glasses today, Harry notices, and the hair that’s
visible from under his beanie looks flat and dull, like he hasn’t washed it in
a few days. It dawns on Harry then that he doesn’t know how long Louis’ been
here, at the hospital. Did he come as soon as Harry got admitted? When did his
mum even tell him?
“I think it would be good for you,” he finally says.
“But I don’t –” he tries to argue.
“Harry.” His tone is finalizing, leaving no room for argument.
Harry sighs, knowing a lost cause when he sees one. “Fine.”
His mum sighs with relief and the doctor smiles widely. “Great, great,” he
says. “I’ll just get all the papers sorted and as soon as you’re all healed up,
we’ll get you settled in across the street.”
Harry rubs the back of his neck, avoids everyone’s pleased looks, and mentally
curses Louis and the effect he has on him.
***** Doomed to End Up This Way *****
Chapter Notes
     lyrics belong to papa roach - carry me
                            ****** Part Two ******
===============================================================================
                       It takes horns to hold up my halo
                     and strength to get through the fight
                     Now I'm laying my cards on the table
                      praying everything will be alright
                          I question my own existence
                         question the meaning of life.
                            Why don't you carry me?
===============================================================================
                                        
Harry stays in the hospital another week before being transferred across the
street. The doctor keeps referring to it as their ‘residential inpatient
building’ but Harry can only think of it as a psych ward, nothing more.
Upon hearing about the program (the psychologist sits him down on his last day
in the hospital and explains it all to him) Harry’s first thought is that it’ll
be filled with wackos and people with seriouspsychological problems. Nothing
like himself.
(He’s still trying to convince everyone that there’s nothing wrong with him and
he can stop cutting and purging anytime he wants, but they don’t listen.)
He’s wrong about the patients, though.
Not only is the ward full of teens only, there are people he wouldn’t have
thought twice about if he had ran into them on the street. Some of the patients
have long lasting issues, sure, but most are only there for a brief stint just
like him.
Within a week he learns most everybody’s name and what he can generally expect
from being around or talking to them. On his very first day there (a Friday), a
girl sits down next to him at breakfast and tells him he needs Jesus. Another
girl goes around cleaning all the tables, organizing all the bookshelves, and
apologizing to everyone profusely about ‘the mess.’ There’s a boy who talks so
fast that Harry gives up half-way through the conversation on ever finding out
what he’s going on about and the youngest girl there is so small and fragile
looking Harry feels sorry for her.
(That is, of course, until she cusses out the nurse in his first ever group
therapy session and he realizes she can definitely hold her own.)
There are girls who are so thin they look like they’re going to break in half
and some patients who eat twice as much as anyone else there. There are boys
who flirt with anyone who gets near them and some who like to light things on
fire. There are patients with cuts across their wrist just like him; some of
them try to hide their scars, some show them off for the world to see.
There are also teenagers who stare off into space and get glossy-eyed and day-
dreamy in the middle of a conversation. There’s a girl who, Harry gets warned
about within two minutes, bites people who get too close to her. There’s a
younger boy who picks someone at random to follow around all day, standing
right up in their personal space and sometimes even following them into the
bathroom.
It takes a lot of getting used to. For the first few days Harry feels
completely overwhelmed. There are psychiatrists to be evaluated by and social
workers to talk to, nurses who continually check up on him and a roommate who
snores too loudly.
He quickly learns that not everyone is in the ward because they’re on suicide
watch – like he is his first few weeks there. Some are just going through a
rough patch or need twenty-four hour care. They’ve been through trauma or are
indirectly suicidal. One girl is dependent on drugs and has been in three
different rehab facilities, none of which helped. A couple girls have even been
raped.
A lot of the patients who have been there a while are very open about
everything that’s happened to them, whatever caused them to come to the
facility. Harry thinks he fits in quite nicely with the eating disorder kids,
though – he hates the term disorder, still thinks, claims, there’s nothing
wrong with him and his eating habits. Most of the kids with eating disorders
stick together, griping about the food and glaring when they get asked to
share. Some of them actually fight against being forced to eat; some cry and
some scream; some confess in group that they’re still purging – because the
hospital can’t exactly stopthem from doing it, so why not?
(Harry later learns that they have a ‘secret weapon’ when it comes to the ones
who refuse to eat and it actually scares him into forcing food down his throat
for a couple days.)
Mostly Harry just sits there, picking at his food and staying quiet for the
first couple of weeks. They pass by in a blur and he barely says two words. He
thinks the better he behaves the sooner he’ll get out. He just has to pretend
that he’s going along with what his psychiatrist and social worker are saying,
take his medicine like a good little boy, and soon enough they’ll release him.
 
It’s his third week there when things really start changing.
A new girl comes in during group therapy. It’s not unusual; they get new
patients every few days and someone’s always ‘graduating.’
There’s nothing immediately different about this girl at first glance. She has
light blonde hair tied up in a loose bun, big eyes, and wears leather jackets,
soft looking cardigans, and jumpers that seem like they could swallow her up.
She rolls back her sleeves one day – it’s burning hot in the drama room – and
Harry sees her wrists are lined with faint white scars like his. Almost
automatically she looks around and shoves her sleeves back down.
(It’s the first – and one of the few – hints Harry gets that she’s not as tough
as she makes herself out to be.)
The moment he decides he wants to talk to her (if he’s being honest, he’s
wanted to talk to her since she walked in group) is when one of the younger
boys who is always hitting on him, walks up to her during art therapy and asks
what the kanji tattoo on the back of her neck means.
Harry knows it means ‘strength’ because of all the time he spent studying kanji
when he wanted to get his own tattoo, but he watches, curious for some reason
to hear her answer.
She looks up from where she’s painting at her easel and without missing a beat
says, “Cock sucker,” and looks back down. She’s got purple paint on her face,
but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.
The boy blinks at her a couple times and walks away. If Harry hadn’t been
watching so intently he wouldn’t have seen the small smile she quirks.
He tries to remember her name and curses himself for not paying more attention
in group therapy. It’s really dull though, so he honestly can’t be blamed.
He sets down his own paintbrush (he had been trying to do a self-portrait like
all the ED kids were supposed to but it mostly just looks like a fattened up
stick figure) and walks over to where the blonde is standing. Her own painting
is a fairly accurate one of herself, so he figures she must be one of the ED
kids, too.
“Why’d you lie?” he asks. His voice is quiet and strained; he hasn’t spoken out
loud in a week or two.
She doesn’t answer at first, nor does she look up from her painting. Instead
she keeps adding hair onto the doodle of herself, piling it on top of her
circle of a head. It’s more yellow than blonde, though, and she’s added a red
bandana that she later tells him she tried to strangle herself with.
Finally she says, “The doc told me I was too brutally honest with people, so
I’ve decided to take a different approach.”
He raises an eyebrow in interest. “And different approach means lying to
people?”
She looks up at him then, her eyes sparkling so much and looking so innocent
Harry almost has to take a step back from the intensity of it all.
“No,” she says. “Not all the time. Just when people are being assholes.” She
smiles like it’s all a big joke to her. “Which, granted, was my excuse when I
was being brutally honest, but . . .” her voice trails off and she shrugs,
going back to her painting. “So what brings you to Area 51?”
“Area 51?”
“Yeah, y’know, it’s where they keep all the aliens.” She wiggles her fingers at
him in a silly gesture and then goes back to her painting.
“You’re comparing us to aliens?” He can’t keep the amusement out of his tone.
She shrugs. “Not much difference, is there?”
He laughs.
It’s the first time he’s laughed since being admitted to the hospital, the
first time anyone besides Louis or his family has ever made him laugh and it
takes him by surprise, just like the first time. He’s so caught up in the
feeling he almost doesn’t realize she’s speaking again.
“Sorry, what?”
She chuckles. “Never mind, I think I answered my own question.” She winks at
him then, like they’re in some cheesy teenage rom-com instead of a teenage unit
psych ward of a hospital, and smiles to herself like she’s got her own secret
joke she’s not letting him in on.
“What are you in for?” he asks, very aware that he sounds like they’re in jail,
prison mates or something.
She goes about making her eyes blue in the painting – even though in real life
they’re more greenish brown. “I like smoking cigarettes instead of eating.”
There’s a three second pause. “What about you?”
“My step-father liked to use me as a punching bag,” he answers without thinking
and then presses his lips together, quickly looking around, like maybe Pete is
standing right behind him. He wants to take the words back, tell her what he’s
really thinking; he doesn’t know whyhe’s here, really.
Also he doesn’t want people overhearing him.
The student nurse is kind of glaring at him because he’s not at his own easel
painting, but other than that everyone’s too engrossed in their own work –
except for one girl, who’s dancing along to the classical music playing in the
background and flinging paint on herself and everyone within a foot distance.
His psychiatrist and social worker all know what’s ‘wrong’ with him – they try
to get him to talk about it without much luck – because it’s written in his
folder, but the doctors and nurses are mostly oblivious along with the rest of
the patients; he’d like to keep it that way.
He looks back down at the blonde he still doesn’t remember the name of. She’s
not giving him any sad or ‘I feel so sorry for you’ looks. She’s not even
looking at him. She just nods her head a bit and mumbles something that sounds
like “That’s gotta be tough.”
So he takes a chance. “I . . . don’t like eating that much either,” he admits.
She smiles when she looks up at him and says, “Think you and I are gonna get
along just fine.”
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
(When Harry asks her what her name is, she says, “Pixie” without any hesitance,
but he doesn’t actually believe her. He keeps asking her if that’s really her
name and eventually she says, “No, but why should I tell you? Weren’t you
paying attention in group?” And no, of course he wasn’t.
Eventually she tells him it’s Victoria, but he keeps calling her Pixie anyway.)
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
The first time Pixie kisses him isn’t on accident or anything, but he doesn’t
think it really counts as anything other than a friendly peck.
(He can’t help but wonder if all of his friendships are doomed to end up this
way.)
They’re joking about something – he doesn’t know what, just knows that he’s
laughing so hard his side is cramping – and she suddenly gets up. His eyes fly
between her and the movie they had put on, but aren’t exactly watching. It’s
nearly ten, which is when the nurses go around and shoo everyone off to bed,
but they still have a few minutes left and the two of them usually push the
bedtime curfew as far as they can, sometimes Pixie even complains that she
can’t sleep and gets sleeping pills out of the deal.
She’s in her night wear: a long sleeve shirt she says is her ex-girlfriend’s
and plaid printed pajama bottoms that she says are her ex-boyfriend’s. She has
no qualms about wearing their clothes apparently. Harry’s wearing his sleep
clothes, too: jogging bottoms that are ripped at the bottom and drag along the
floor behind him wherever he goes and one of Louis’ jumpers Harry stole from
him the week before when he came to visit. The jumper’s just a little too small
for him, not enough to be real noticeable. The sleeves just barely reach his
wrist and he’s a little constricted in the shoulders, but it’s more comfortable
than any of his own jumpers.
(It also smells like Louis, but Harry pretends he doesn't notice.)
Pixie pulls down her shirt where it’s ridden up, covering her stomach, and
laughs again.
Her laughs are addictive, almost reminding him of Louis’, but not quite.
They’re pleasant enough, though; he almost always has to laugh along.
She tucks a strand of her hair that’s fallen out of its usual pony-tail behind
her ear and bends down to press a kiss to the side of his mouth.
He freezes a little, but before he knows it, she’s pulled back. “I’m going to
bed,” she says, and then she’s gone.
 
The second time is just as innocent, though more fully a kiss. He’s not sure
how on-purpose it is either.
They’re on the back porch smoking. Well, she’s smoking; he’s sitting on the
table watching the sun rise. She had offered him a cigarette, but he turned it
down. The deep circles covering various spots of his body are enough of a
reminder, thank you very much.
He wonders idly if what she’s smoking is actually a cigarette because she keeps
giggling, shaking her head and tossing back her blonde hair that’s finally no
longer in a bun or a pony-tail. It hangs to nearly her waist and he wonders if
it’s as soft as it looks.
“I just don’t wanna eat, y’know, and I’m pretty sure the meds are making me
fatter.” She grabs her stomach in a jokingly manner and laughs again.
He joins in with her laughter. “I think it’s the food that’s making us fatter.”
He can’t help but look her over, eying her up and down discreetly; she gets on
to him if she catches him looking. She’s not fat, not even close. She's kind of
tall, but not too tall. He doesn’t really like it when people come up and say
‘you’re too skinny’ or ‘you need to gain weight’ to him, though, so he figures
she wouldn’t either. 
Her laugh echoes around the mini-courtyard. “God, let’s just stop eating, okay?
They can’t really make us eat, can they?”
Harry shrugs. “Not sure, actually. They can’t stop you from purging.” He’s only
done it three or four times in the time he’s been there.
Pixie sticks out her tongue. “Don’t know how you do that. I tried once; it
didn’t work. Plus I read this book where this girl threw up too much and her
esophagus like . . . exploded or something.”
He shudders. “Thanks for telling me that.” He’s not really worried; he figures
if his throat was going to combust, it would have done so by now.
She smiles. “Aw, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” And then she’s leaning
forward and pressing their lips together. It barely lasts a second, but he can
taste the smoke on her breath. Besides the fact that she kind of smells like an
ashtray, it’s a pretty decent kiss, and he smiles when she pulls back.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
It becomes a thing then, them just kind of kissing a little bit here and there,
and it makes them both feel better. Well, it makes him feel better. He isn’t
sure about Pixie because she isn’t one to talkabout things like that but
granted, neither is he. She’s always the one to initiate the kisses though, so
he’s pretty sure she likes it; she wouldn’t be kissing him otherwise if she
didn’t, right?
They never really get caught, though Harry is always on high alert, millions of
ideas about what’ll happen to them if they do run through his mind. How much
trouble could they really get into though? Kicking them out isn’t exactly
punishment.
When Louis visits – like he does every single weekend without fail – with
Harry’s mum and (occasionally) Gemma, Harry half-expects the ping in his chest
to be gone, the tightening of his stomach to have disappeared, like hey I found
someone else to kiss, it doesn’t have to be like that anymore. But it doesn’t
and he’s not sure if he’s really all that surprised. He gives Louis a long hug
and the older boy ruffles his hair (muttering “don’t you ever fix your fringe?”
with an eye roll) and out of the corner of Harry’s eye Pixie gives him a
knowing look and then his stomach really does tighten.
He thinks he’s getting better, and he tells Louis such. He still doesn’t
believe he has an eating disorder, but he’s been taking his medicine and he’s
eating two meals a day – which is progress at least, even if he has to drink
those god-awful weight gaining shakes at the end of the night when he eats less
than he’s supposed to.
Harry knows he’s gaining weight too because his clothes start fitting better
(and the clothes he stole from Louis start fitting less). He tries to tell
himself it’s a good thing, that now he’ll be healthy enough to leave, but his
fingers randomly start tingling and his hands start shaking and it takes
everything inside of him not to thrust his hand down his throat and throw up
everything inside of him and just face the fact that he doesn’t know if he
wants to be anyone else’s idea of healthy.
He pushes all of his feelings down, down to the pit of his stomach, and
pretends like he’s fine. He’ll vent to Pixie and that’s it. They both grunt and
complain about group therapy and physical therapy – sometimes even going as far
as to skip one or the other, sometimes both when they can get away with it. The
only time he likes group is when they have writing exercises and then he ends
up covering two or three pages in feelingseven though they’re supposed to be
writing a fiction story based off of a picture the doctor hands out; he’s sure
getting them to pour everything out is the point anyways.
Pixie looks at his papers – doesn’t read them, just looks – and rolls her eyes,
and later they talk about what they want to do with their lives and it’s the
first time Harry’s acknowledged the fact that he doesn’t actually want to die
anymore.
 
One evening he and Pixie are down the shortest hallway, hidden in the
stairwell. They’re not supposed to be there, but they’ve gotten away with
sneaking over there for a couple hours at a time in the past.
They’re leaning against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, touching all the way
down to their feet. Pixie’s wearing her Keds without the laces – apparently
laces are dangerous for suicide risk patients – and he’s wearing thick socks
like he does ninety nine percent of the time ‘cause his feet are always fucking
freezing.
They’re talking about sex and masturbation of all things, which normally would
make him squirm where he was sitting, but this is Pixie and nothing surprises
him or makes him uncomfortable anymore.
“So how often do you get off?” she asks suddenly, switching from the story
about her best friend buying her a vibrator so quickly he thinks he might have
backlash or something from turning his neck to look at her. She laughs at the
expression on his face. “Well? I mean . . . you had to know I was going to ask
eventually.”
They don’t talk much about Pete, though Harry’s mentioned that he’s still out
there somewhere and Pixie knows most of his cuts and the scar on his face are
from him.
He bites down on his lip and looks away from her, staring at the off white wall
in front of him and suddenly regretting agreeing with her when she had grabbed
his hand and suggested they ‘disappear’ for a little while.
“I don’t,” he finally says. “I mean I have, but not very often. It’s just . .
.” He shrugs.
“Because of him?”
“I’m not sure. I guess so? What other plausible excuse is there?”
“Maybe you’re like . . . asexual. Any sexual attraction going on? Do you wantto
have sex?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No, I do . . . I think. But whenever I get,
y’know, I usually just take a cold shower. It’s easier to deal with that way.”
She hums, deep in thought. He chances the thought that maybe they’re done
talking about it, but then she says, “Maybe you just need some help,” and she
places her hand on his thigh and squeezes.
He practically chokes on the air that he sucks in. “I don’t know about that,”
but he doesn’t move her hand.
“Oh come on.” She trails her fingers up and down his leg, getting closer and
closer to his crotch every time. She leans in close, her breath hot in his ear.
“We make out all the time.”
“Yeah, but this, obviously, is a little different.” His words come out even
more slowly than usual.
She sighs. “Tell me to stop and I will.” She pauses for a moment, looks him in
the eye with this expression that tells him she’s serious; if he says stop, she
will. But he finds he doesn’t want her to. Not because it's her or anything -
they make out all the time, but there's nothing remotely romantic between them
- but because he wants to know if he can. He's a little terrified, but
intrigued. And he realizes he's just using Pixie and he should feel bad about
that, but he knows she's using him, too.
She starts palming him through his jeans and he manages a quick look towards
the door. He’s about to voice the fact that even if I wanted you doing this,
you shouldn’t be doing ithere of all places, but then she’s unzipping his pants
and reaching a hand inside to palm him through his boxers and.
And well it actually feels good.
Well no shit it feels good, he thinks idly, but he’s actually getting hard
which is kind of a surprise. A bigger surprise is he’s still not pushing her
away, not asking her to stop.
“See, I can make you feel good, baby.” She nibbles on his ear, giggles, and
then pulls his cock out. He’s almost fully hard now and she rubs her thumb over
the slit, forcing a strangled cry from his throat. She works her hand up and
down, twisting a little and using his pre-come to make the process easier. She
presses soft kisses and bites to his throat, which is mildly distracting and he
tightens his hands into fists at his side.
He doesn’t last long, of course, because hello – he’s sixteen-years-old and has
gotten himself off like five times total in his entire life. Plus, Pixie is hot
and nineteen-years-old and plenty of guys with a better stamina than him
probably would have lasted just as long.
He refuses to acknowledge the fact that right before he comes, Louis’ face
flashes before his eyes and he wonders what the older boy’s hand around him
would feel like, because thinking about your best friend while a hot girl is
giving you a hand job is definitely not okay.
Pixie lets out a throaty giggly borderline moan when he comes all over her
hand. He pants a little, trying to catch his breath and they both just sit
there, staring where her hand is still on his now sensitive, softening dick,
and the come on both.
“Well that was probably a little stupid,” she admits, but laughs again, and
then – and he seriously almost gets hard again right then and there – she lifts
her hand to her mouth and starts licking her fingers clean. She zips him up
when she’s done, like what she just did was no big deal even though he’s pretty
sure it is; he doesn’t have any experience with girls whatsoever and his
experience with boys is limited to kissing Louis, but he’s pretty sure most
people don’t just lick come off their fingers like it’s candy.
She stands up so he does too, then she points to his hair. Louis’s always doing
that, pointing to his hair and telling him to fix his fringe, so he doesn’t
hesitate in shaking it out and flicking it back into place.
She blinks up at him a couple times, looking a little dazed.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing, just.” She shakes her head again, smiles a
little. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
Things are definitely not the same after that.
***** More Than He’s Ever Wanted Anything *****
Chapter Notes
     first off, i would like to say despite the fact that in response to
     the last chapter i got my first ever hate mail (regarding a fic at
     least) i also got more kudos and comments and hits than i've ever
     gotten after a single posting. so. thank you x
     i want to thank my beta larcellstylinson for being amazing and also
     jess for being my personal cheerleader and making me feel like less
     of a failure while writing this (also to all you readers for being so
     awesome x)
     WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY... if you've read this far, you probably
     understand that harry's not always in his 'right mind' i guess you
     could say. there's a part of this chapter that may seem like i'm
     saying abuse is okay or warranted. i'm not. it's just harry's train
     of thought at that moment. also this is kind of a filler. fluffiness
     to come, i promise. x
Harry tries really hard to make himself fall in love with Pixie.
Or at least feel something more than gratitude and physical attraction.
They keep making out, the hand jobs continue, and he even, awkwardly at first,
gets her off with his fingers a couple times.
But it’s not enough. Nothing changes.
He still pictures Louis’ hands and Louis’ lips and Louis’ face. Still gets that
odd feeling in his stomach (not butterflies, he’ll go to the grave denying it,
he’s not a fucking fourteen-year-old girl) whenever Louis comes to visit.
Pixie helps a lot, sure. She makes the long weeks easier and the group sessions
less boring. They share inside jokes and come up with nicknames for all the
nurses who piss them off.
But nothing compares to that feeling he gets when he sees Louis’ bright eyes
and cancer-curing smile. He’s so alive and warm and full of magic. He’s
Christmas morning, running down the stairs to see what Santa brought. He’s the
perfect cup of tea after a hard day. He’s that first trip to Disney Land.
And Harry tries to tell that feeling inside of him, the excitement in his chest
and the fluttering in his stomach, to shut up and go away because he knows
Louis is the one thing he can’t have.
But Harry wants him. He wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
Harry’s getting better. He knowshe’s getting better. And not just in an ‘oh my
clothes are fitting’ or ‘I’m taking my medicine’ kind of way; he’s actually
improving mentally, physically, emotionally. He can feel things changing.
When he first started taking his medication, they had twisted his emotions
every which way. He had turned zombie-like, even more so than when he had been
off of them. He had felt numb, like nothing could affect him. He shoveled food
into his mouth without feeling, he got dressed and showered without feeling, he
listened to his psychiatrist and social worker talk without feeling.
That's not to say he didn’t have days where he didn’t want to get out of bed or
he fought against the food they gave him. (Peanut butter, gallops and gallops
of peanut butter at every meal.) But overall, he felt . . . well, empty. Blank.
Almost non-existing.
Meeting Pixie helped improve things. He started laughing and smiling and joking
around again. It didn’t bother him as much that he was slowly but surely
gaining weight.
Now most of the side effects of the medication have subsided. His spells of
anger and depression are few and far between, and his doctors have informed him
that he has reached a healthy weight.
He tells Louis and his mum and Gemma the news with a smile on his face, the
promise of getting out of there, his release, on the edge of the horizon.
He’s ready to go home.
His psychiatrist, though, apparently doesn’t agree.
And it’s like a punch to the chest he hadn't seen coming. All the air is
knocked out of him and he keeps struggling for purchase, to make sense of what
everyone is saying. Over three months of hard work and they think he ‘isn’t
there yet.’ Hadn’t the doctor at the hospital said most patients only stayed
for three months? Why does he need to be there longer?
To top it all off, the very first weekend of his fourth month there, Pixie is
transferred.
There’s some talk that she isn’t improving any and she only has four months
left until she’s officially no longer a teenager anyway so. They move her to
the adult wing.
Her goodbye is quick and sad; she squeezes him tightly even though there’s a no
touching rule between the patients. They’ve broken that enough in the time
they’ve been there, so he doesn’t really care.
He doesn’t want to blame his slow descent into depression again on Pixie
leaving – he can’t admit the slight(ly unhealthy) attachment he had begun to
feel towards her. But her leaving and him having to spend at least another
month in the ward, doesn’t make anything easier for him.
And he slowly starts retreating into his shell again.
It starts with his food. It’s almost like a natural reflex, so easy just to
fall back into the routine of pushing his food around his plate instead of
actually eating it. He cuts it up into tiny pieces, thinking that’ll fool the
nurses, but it doesn’t. They force him into drinking weight-gain protein drinks
at the end of the night that taste God-awful and nearly have him throwing up
into a trash can the first couple of times.
The nurses give him looks that start off as concerned and quickly turn into
disappointing. But what’s the point? He’s going to be stuck in the place for
God knows how long. Why should he even try?
His clothes get a little looser, but nothing like they were before. He’s
getting taller, stretching everything out, and one day he finds Louis’ jumpers
no longer reach his wrists. 
(That doesn’t stop him from wearing them, of course.)
He can’t help but wonder how long it’s going to take to work off everything
he’s gained. All that hard work, all those years of purging and starving,
flushed down the toilet.
He starts smoking too. It’s not a conscious decision at first. The eating
disorder kids alwayshang out on the back patio because all but like two of them
smoke. One day a girl offers him a cigarette and he takes it without thinking.
And then he just starts bumming them off the patients, stashing them away in
his bedroom, and finding ways to buy his own.
It’s not something he admits to. His social worker comes to talk to him one
day, finds him outside smoking with a ginger-haired girl he can’t remember the
name of, and gives him a stern look like she expected better of him.
Which is just great. Everyone expects better of him.
He doesn’t tell his mum or Louis or Gemma, but Lou keeps giving him these odd
looks, like he knows. He probably does. Louis has always been kind of psychic
like that, and Harry’s pretty careless – can probably smell it on his clothes.
Their visits start changing too. Harry talks less and less, touches become
rarer; when his mum goes in for a hug one Saturday afternoon before she leaves,
he actually flinches.
The worst part is he can’t even find it in him to feel guilty about it; she’s
the one who fucking put him in the hospital in the first place.
He’s just, he’s tired. He’s tired of being in the stupid psych ward. He’s tired
of people telling him what’s wrongwith him. Like he doesn’t already fucking
knowwhat’s wrong with him. He’s tired of people staring at him and he’s tired
of them trying to make him eat. He’s tired of being unhappy. He’s tired of
being tired.
He wants to go home. He wants to be in control of his body and his life again.
He misses the distraction fooling around with Pixie brought. He misses laughing
and smiling. He misses Louis.
Louis doesn’t change, doesn’t act like anything is different, like he can’t
tell what’s going on, and Harry doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. Doesn’t
know if he would prefer it if Louis would just scream at him and tell him to
man the fuck up.
 
And then, in the middle of October, things crash and burn.
Harry’s never gone more than a week without cutting himself, so these past four
and a half months have been pure torture. He rakes his nails up and down his
arms, searching for some kind of relief. It’s like an actualitch. He can feel
it spreading up his arms. The more it spreads, the closer it feels like it’s
actually strangling him. Like spider webs are wrapping themselves up his arms
and around his torso, squeezing the life out of him.
One day he’s sitting up in his bed, rereading Harry Potter, and he bangs his
head back against the wall on accident. It’s hard enough he can feel a dull
throb in the back of his skull and when he does it again, harder, he feels
dizzy for a couple minutes. He repeats it, only when he’s in his room alone and
knows no one is coming to check on him for at least fifteen minutes.
It gets to the point he’s got a near-constant headache, but he doesn’t mind.
 
He doesn’t think his snapping point boils down to one exact moment in time or
anything. It’s probably everything added up and the fact that he hasn’t been
dealing with his problems, has just been making them worse.
He’s completely silent in his therapy sessions and in every group session,
still refuses to believe he has an eating disorder, rejects anything that
sounds too clinical. He doesn't belong here anyways. So what if his step-father
pushed him around a bit? Parents punish their children when they do something
wrong.
If he could pinpoint an exact moment that sets him off the deep end though, it
would be in his Friday therapy appointment with his psychiatrist.
He does not like his psychiatrist. He’s already talked to his assigned social
worker about getting a new one, but she keeps telling him to ‘stick it out a
little bit longer’ like things are just magically going to change.
Dr. Kilmer is a young man, in his early thirties. Harry’s heard the female
nurses call him Dr. Romeo behind his back, but he supposes that’s only because
they don’t actually know what he’s like in his sessions. (Harry’s talked to all
the other patients who have him – they hate him, too.) Dr. Kilmer is full of
it, plain and simple. He thinks he knows what he’s talking about and the one
time Harry actually spoke to him and suggested he might have some sort of mood
disorder (everything just felt magnified to him) Dr. Kilmer had actually rolled
his eyesand then laughed, brushing him off like he was some child.
So, Harry really only ends up talking when he absolutely has to, which
translates to never.
“So Harry,” Dr. Kilmer ends the session the same way every time, “you’ve been
here for almost five months.” Nod. “Are you ready to go home?” He asks this
question every Friday session. Harry nods again, like he does every Friday.
Then he asks Harry a question he’s never asked before. He asks it in a joking,
borderline mocking tone, almost like he can’t believe he has to waste his time
on this fucked up sixteen-year-old.
“If I release you are you going to go home and kill yourself?”
Harry’s pretty sure his hands clench into fists where they’re hidden in the
pockets of his hoodie. He wants to jump across the room and strangle the guy
because what the fuckkind of question is that? Instead he just shakes his head
once.
“We’ll see how you do this week.” Same as every other week.
Harry nods.
 
The rest of the day goes by smoothly until nine o’clock rolls around and his
name is being called over the sound system to go downstairs and pick up his
medicine. He’s been lying in bed reading, but he gets up and trudges down the
hallway, wrapping his fleece blanket around his shoulders.
The nurse scans his medical bracelet and then turns her attention to the
computer screen. He can’t see it, but he knows it lists all his medical history
and what medications he’s supposed to take and when and how much.
“The doctor upped your anti-psychotic,” she whispers, as if someone is actually
listening or he even cares if everyone knows he’s on anti-psychotic medicine.
He’s not the only one; half the people in the ward are on it. Dr. Kilmer just
thinks it will ‘calm him down;' which Harry thinks is fucking hilarious. But
whatever.
It’s not the first time they’ve upped it and he’s reminded of when Pixie made
the comment that the medicine was making her gain weight – she was on the same
anti-psychotic that he was. It was the onlymedication she was on besides her
sleeping pills . . . and that wouldn’t really have ‘weight gain’ as a side
effect would it?
He stares down at the two little red pills, acting like they’re the bane of his
existence, the cause of all his problems. They are in the cup next to two white
pills they prescribed him for the migraines he’s been getting - the same pills
he's always taken for his migraines, the same pills he overdosed on. He
wonders, idly, if the hospital knows this, if they'd keep him on this medicine
if they knew looking at them reminds him of the lowest point of his existence. 
Suddenly he’s filled with the urge to set the little cup back down and walk
away. He doesn’t want to take any of them. The red ones taste like shit and for
all he knows, they’re making him gain weight. 
So, more calmly than he thought possible, he sets the pill cup back on the
counter top and shakes his head.
The nurse looks up suddenly; she had been going through the list to see who is
next. (Harry could tell her; he’s been here long enough. Stanley Walker always
picks his meds up after him.)
“Take your medicine, dear.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t feel like it.”
She smiles a little, looking uncomfortable. “You don’t really have a choice.”
That’s right, he wants to say, no choice. He’s not in control of anything. He
shakes his head again, shrugs his shoulders like what’re you gonna do about it,
and accidentally runs into another one of the nurses while taking a step
backwards. He looks up at her and she places a hand on his shoulder. He
freezes, thinks back to the rule, the no-touching one, and wonders if it
applies to the doctors, too.
The nurse with her hand on his shoulder places the cup into his hand. “Styles,
right? You need to take your pills. You won’t get better if you don’t.”
Harry wants to laugh. He’s not getting better anyways.
His hand crushes around the plastic cup. “I don’t want them,” he says slowly,
each word its own sentence.
His instincts take over and there’s a split second where he thinks, oh, kilmer
was right, I do have a problem controlling my impulses and then he’s throwing
the cup containing the four pills at the wall. It’s a little dramatic, even for
him, and he watches the pills hit the wall and fall to the floor. There’s three
beats of silence before the nurse, still with her hand on his shoulder, says
something he can’t quite make out and is then holding out four more pills.
He shoves away from her, a little more harshly than he intended, and she takes
a couple steps back. The pills fall to the ground again, but this time he
doesn’t stay to watch them. He starts backing up toward the staircase, thinking
if he just gets back to his room, everything will be okay.
Someone wraps a hand around his shoulder and he tries to shove them off, but
he’s weak and they’re not and his arms are being brought together behind his
back. He pushes and pulls and screams and then everything goes dark.
 
 
 
He wakes up strapped to a hospital bed. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out
or even what caused him to pass out in the first place. He’s got a God-awful
headache and the lights are too bright. He wants to scream and cry and maybe
punch someone in the face. He opens his mouth to do just that – maybe yell for
someone to come untie him – when the door opens and Louis walks in.
Harry snaps his mouth shut, tilts his head in confusion, but – as cliché as it
sounds and probably is – he feels himself calm down a little bit.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, skipping past any awkward greetings.
Louis doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, looking like he wants to smack
Harry across the head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Harry frowns in response, is taken back by Louis’ tone. He presses his lips
together and shrugs, thinks of saying something along the lines of being held
captive apparentlybut knows his dry sense of humor probably wouldn’t be
appreciated.
The hospital room isn’t as nice as the one across the street at the actual
hospital. The chair Louis pulls up is plastic and squeaks when he takes a seat.
He continues shaking his head, though Harry thinks it’s more out of disbelief
than anything. He doesn’t look upset or disappointed at least, just tired.
Harry wants to let everything out, wants to say you don’t understand, you don’t
know what it’s like, and that he just felt out of sync with himself. He needs
control over somethingin his life, even if it’s just what pills he takes at the
end of the day.
He wants Louis to understand why. He feels like he’s suffocating, his skin is
itching, and his stomach feels too full. He feels awkward and uncomfortable,
like he doesn’t fit right in his skin, and he wishes he could just cut himself
right down the middle and step out of his body for a little while.
He’s filled with this overwhelming fear that he’s gone too far this time, that
Louis is going to get up and leave.
He doesn’t say any of that, though. What he does say is, “I have to do it. I
have to. You don’t understand.”
The older boy’s eyes widen like he's confused. He frowns. “Why?”
Harry shakes his head. “I just do. It’s what I deserve.”
“No you don’t,” Louis argues. “You don’t deserve anything you’ve been put
through.” Harry gets ready to argue back, but Louis shakes his head, stopping
him, and says, “What he did to you was not okay, Harry. Do you understand? You
didn't deserve any of it. Everyone messes up and everyone screws up, but none
of them deserve to be thrown around or beat or raped. Least of all you. Okay?
You are a good person." Louis doesn't even give Harry a chance to say anything.
"You’re going to come live with me once you get out of here, okay?” Harry’s
mouth drops open a little in surprise. “I already talked to your mum and my
mum, so don’t even think about arguing. They both think it’s a good idea.”
(Like he would argue, please.)
He snaps his mouth shut and nods.
Louis sits up straight then and looks him square in the eye, all gentleness
gone. “You have to be good, though. No more beating yourself up,” he picks up
Harry’s hand – evidence of the ‘beating himself up’ (he’d punched a few walls)
which is bruised – “no more throwing pills at walls.” His eyes narrow a little.
“You have to take them and you have to eat. You need to get healthy.”
Harry opens his mouth to argue again, because that is actually more difficult
than Louis understands, more than he would care to admit.
“I know it’s going to be hard,” Louis soothes, brushing his hand over Harry’s
knuckles. “But just try, okay?” He looks up at Harry from underneath his
ridiculously long eyelashes. “For me, okay? And for yourself. I really worry
about you.”
Harry lets out a long breath he’s been holding in and shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I
can try.”
And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world – which it probably is
by now – Louis leans in. Harry fists Louis’ shirt (as much as he can with his
arms strapped to the bed) and pulls him close. He doesn’t actually know who
initiates it, but then they’re kissing so it doesn’t matter.
Pixie was a great kisser and all, but this, this is something else, something
completely different. It’s like the breath of fresh air he had been searching
for the past five months. The release he needed to finally let everything go.
Louis is familiar but foreign at the same time. Tasting like vanilla and
strawberries – which, really, he wants to ask Louis what the hell he’s been
eating or sticking in his mouth to make him taste like vanilla – when he
usually tastes like the spearmint gum he’s always chewing.
And when Louis runs a hand through his curls, he melts, even when Louis tugs a
little at the back to get him to slow down, Harry just keeps pulling him
closer.
When Louis finally pulls back with a smile on his face and that just-been-
kissed look, all Harry can think is well, fuck.
***** You Are a Rock *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It takes nearly two months, two long months full of struggling and fighting and
healing, for Harry to finally be considered healthy and stable enough to leave
the residential care unit.
The two months are full of days where he flat out does not want to eat and all
he can think about is how much weight he’s gained and how much he hates
himself. There are days where he’s so depressed he literally cannot get out of
bed. There are days where he has flashbacks and all he can remember is the cool
press of fingers to his skin. Sometimes it’s bad enough he ends up waking and
sobbing to his psychiatrist – a female doctor this time; he finally got the new
one he’s been asking for - over the phone in the middle of the night.
She changes his anti-depressants, takes him off the anti-psychotic medicine,
and puts him on mood stabilizers.
He begins to eat more, slowly at first; sometimes he ends up on the floor of
the bathroom, fighting the urge to throw it all up again. He eventually moves
past it, though even at the best of times it’s still a struggle. He gradually
stops smoking cigarettes, too. It’s more difficult than he expected. He misses
how much they calmed him down and continuously fights the urge to ease back
into the habit.
He punches a couple more walls, even breaks his hand, but he shows improvement.
He sticks to his promise and really tries. He still doesn’t talk in group that
often, but that’s cause group is stupid. In art therapy he draws more accurate
pictures of himself, finally admitting that yeah, maybe he does have disordered
eating habits (he won’t go as far as admitting he has an actual disorder, likes
to keep away from all the technical terms). He confesses to his doctor about
how worried he is he’ll start cutting again when he leaves, but that’s what
she’s there for, to help him through it, and that it’s okay if he slips up, no
one’s perfect.
And that, that’s what sets him free in the end, he thinks, the realization that
he doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s hard for him to accept; in the past every
time he did something wrong, he was punished, and it’s hard not to continue
that way of thinking.
He gets awful panic attacks where his whole body heats up and he feels like
he’s on fire, like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and
killing himself, he thinks, is the only possible solution. It happens badly a
couple times, leaving him panting in the bathroom or getting a shot from the
nurse to calm him down ‘cause it’s just too much for him to handle.
Louis is there for it all, visiting whenever he can – more than he’s supposed
to actually, but the nurses must think he’s some kind of special case ‘cause
they always sneak Louis in, winking and saying things like ‘it’ll be our little
secret.’
Or maybe they just realize how infatuated Harry is with the older boy, how much
Louis being there pushes him closer to getting better.
It’s something else he’s slowly coming to terms with and he talks to his
psychologist about it; she quickly jumps on the Louis/Harry bandwagon,
exclaiming – very unprofessionally, she admits – how adorable she thinks the
two of them are.
He’s not even sure he likes Louis like that though, thinks it’s just some kind
of bond, like he needs Louis, needs him like air, like he’s his own personal
brand of anti-depressant (a joke he’s made a couple times which Louis never
fails to crack up at.) At first he tries not to ponder the idea of liking Louis
as more than a friend, but apparently that’s ‘counterproductive’. He’s pretty
sure liking Louis has nothing to do with his road to recovery, but if his
psychologist wants to talk about ‘Larry’ – as she has now deemed them – instead
of Pete, then so be it; he’s not going to argue.
The day that Harry finally does ‘graduate’ he’s shaky and nervous for unknown
reasons. His mum and Louis are coming to pick him up and he’s shoving all his
clothes into his bag, his fingers fumbling with the zippers.
He got a new roommate about a week ago – one who doesn’t snore, thank God – but
Harry’s kept to himself mostly since Pixie left, so when Todd (he thinks that’s
his name at least) comes into their shared room and sees all Harry’s luggage,
all he says is, “Congrats, mate. Good luck,” and heads to their bathroom.
In the lobby, Louis and Harry’s mum are waiting. Anne’s talking to one of the
doctor’s and his social worker, filling out paperwork and signing things
because Harry’s too young to check himself out. Louis is staring straight at
him, smiling, and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He nearly rushes forward
to envelop Harry in a hug.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out against Harry’s ear. Harry doesn’t
say anything, doesn’t mention the fact that they literally saw each other the
day before because he knows that’s not what Louis meant. He just hugs him back.
When they finally leave doctors and nurses don’t line up aside the door and no
one claps. He gets a hand shake from his social worker, and then a ‘call me if
you need anything ever’ plus a hug from his psychologist. That’s it.
And then he’s walking out the door and trying to cover his eyes from the
blinding sun.
They find a Nando’s to eat at and really, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it’s
the first time he’s eaten outside of the hospital in a hell of a long time so
after they sit down he kind of just stares at his food for a second, knowing
his mum is watching and waiting. He’s got his psychologist’s number in his back
pocket and he knows he could call her right nowand she would answer and talk
him through it, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
He tries to ignore his mum's gaze and starts picking at his chicken, peeling
off the skin so it’s at least somewhat healthy.
(They talked a lot about that in therapy, how to eat healthy and keep your body
in shape. Of course, they also talked a lot about pushing it toofar, how to
pace yourself.)
The drive to Louis’ house takes forty five minutes. Harry hadn’t realized it
was that long of a trip and he squeezes the older boy’s hand in gratitude as
they get closer, remembering, vividly, times Louis would come up to see him two
or three times in one week.
The welcome is nothing like the last time he had been to the Tomlinson’s. Jay
immediately wraps him in a tight hug and Harry just kind of sinks into it, well
aware that both his mum and Louis are watching. When Jay pulls back she’s
smiling, and she pats his cheek.
“It’s good to have you back, love.”
The girls stay back, all standing in a line except for Daisy who is kind of
hiding behind Fizzy. They stare at him for a few minutes, extremely reserved
with wide eyes, while Jay and Anne talk. Harry can only guess there was some
sort of warning before he showed up, and he wonders what exactly Jay told them.
She knows the whole story, Harry gave Louis permission when he asked if he
could tell her, but he said nothing about telling his sisters.
Lottie breaks free first and looks hesitant for a moment before pulling him in
for a quick three second hug.
“We missed you, Harry,” she says, her voice unusually soft. She smiles and
tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear before nodding towards the other
girls.
He’s about to say it hasn’t beenthat long, but then he realizes it’s been
nearly seven months.
Fizz is next, though much more reluctant than Lottie. She kind of just stands
in front of him for a couple minutes and blurts out that she hopes he’s feeling
better, before hugging him then running back to hide behind her older sister.
Phoebe marches forward then, boldly with her hands on her hips. “Whyhaven’t you
been back to see me?” It breaks the ice that’s been settled over the moment and
they all laugh. Phoebe flushes and he bends down to pull her into a hug.
“I’m sorry. I won’t stay away for as long next time, okay?” He hopes at least
he won’t be away from the Tomlinson’s for that long ever again. He thinks about
turning to Louis and telling him that even if their friendship fails for some
reason or another, he’s still going to come visit his sisters and mum, all in a
teasing tone of course, but he doesn't, doesn't want to think about not being
in Louis' life - joking or not. 
Phoebe nods, looking satisfied, and reaches for her sister, who stumbles
forward.
“I heard you got hurt, Harry,” she says in her quiet, shy voice. “I’m sorry.”
He smiles. “It’s okay.”
“Are you all better now?”
He nods. “I’m getting there.”
She looks contemplative for a moment then blurts out, “Did you get an owie?” 
Everyone kind of freezes, but Harry laughs. On a whim, he brushes back the
fringe covering part of his forehead and shows her the thin white scar running
over his eyebrow. Her eyes go wide as she follows it.
“Ouch. Did it hurt?”
“Yeah, it hurt a lot.” He frowns.
“I’m not supposed to ask you what happened.”
Harry chuckles a little. “That’s okay. I got into an accident.”
She nods and throws her arms around him. “I’m glad you’re better.”
When he stands up Louis is staring at him.  “You did well with her,” he says
quietly.
Harry doesn’t say anything, just lets himself be dragged into the living room.
“I missed you the most,” Phoebe proclaims loudly, dropping herself into his lap
when he sits down.
Lottie snorts. “I think Louis missed him the most actually.”
He doesn’t miss Louis reaching out to shove against her shoulder gently.
Harry laughs and thinks, good to be home.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
His mum and Jay talk for quite a while but eventually it gets to be too late
and Anne has to go. She says goodbye to Harry, makes this long speech about how
proud she is of him and how sorry she is (even though she didn’t do anything
wrong) with tears trickling out of the corner of her eye, then heads off to her
mum’s house. Harry's been worried about her, everything that happened must've
taken a toll on her, but he's glad to see she's doing a little better. 
He and Louis don’t do much that evening. They watch a couple movies with the
girls and have a quick dinner. Harry does let himself freak out this time and
locks himself in the bathroom to call his psychologist. They talk for thirty
minutes before he’s able to go out to the dining room. By then everyone else is
already done, so he eats slowly, with Louis sitting beside him, chattering
along and distracting him enough he finishes most of his food without even
realizing it.
They go to bed early, Louis tucked in on his side. Harry’s got a cup of tea in
his hand and he’s sipping at it slowly. He’d told Louis that he’s still having
trouble sleeping, so he’d made Harry the cup, claiming it always helped him
when he couldn’t sleep.
“Are you glad to be home?” he asks.
The way he says home makes something curl in Harry’s chest, like this is as
much his room as it is Louis’. He wraps his free arm around the smaller boy and
nods.
“Yeah. And I’m really happy I got out before your birthday. I would have hated
missing it.”
Louis chuckles. “It’s not a big deal.”
“We’ll do something special to make up for me being such a shitty friend.”
Louis sits up suddenly. “You have notbeen a shitty friend. I’m just glad you’re
okay.” He leans in and presses their lips together, feather light and barely
lasting a second. “Now go to sleep," he orders in a tone that has Harry
pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.
Still, he listens, sets his nearly finished tea aside and scoots down on the
bed so they’re lying side by side. Louis starts to roll over but Harry pulls
him over, letting the older boy drape across his chest.
“I thought this bothered you,” he half-teases.
Harry shakes his head. “Missed you,” and then he’s drifting off to sleep.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
The days drag on and before Harry knows it, it’s the day before Louis’ birthday
– Christmas Eve Eve. He and Jay and Lottie and Liam have been planning Louis a
huge surprise birthday party, with Harry and Jay in charge of the cooking while
Lottie makes sure to decorate the entire house with help from her three
sisters. Liam’s out and about with Louis, distracting him till it’s party time;
he’s already made sure to get ahold of all Louis’ friends from school.
Harry’s heard about maybe half of them and so it’s nice to finally put a face
to each name. He stays in the kitchen most of the time, only meeting the few
that meander in to talk to Jay or see what's cooking that smells so good. He’s
a little surprised at the fact that some of the people actually know who he is.
A blonde pops up beside Harry while he’s getting ready to put the cake in the
oven and says, “Someone told me Harry Styles was in the kitchen. Is that true?
Are you Harry Styles?” Harry stares down at her, a little confused, but nods
his head slowly. Her face breaks out into a wide smile. “You’re the one Lou’s
texting all the time! Oh my God, you are adorable,” she exclaims with laughter.
“He does notshut up about you.”
Harry feels his cheeks heat up but before he can say anything, a boy who had
introduced himself as Stan, is sliding up behind her.
“Are you as amazing as Lou says you are?” he asks quizically. His eyes are
narrowed almost suspiciously.
Harry can’t help but snort. “No, probably not. Louis tends to exaggerate a
bit.”
Stan chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right about that. How’d you guys meet,
then?”
After slipping the cake into the oven, he pulls off the mitts and drops them on
the counter. He turns around, leaning up against it with his hands pressed
down. “Um, at a concert. He bombarded me in the bathroom,” Harry jokes. “Then
saved his number in my phone as ‘stud from the script concert.’”
“So you guys actually did meet in the bathroom!” The blonde exclaims. “I
thought he was lying.” She shakes her head. “I’m Hannah, by the way,” she
continues, sticking out her hand for him to shake.
The name clicks in his head at once. He shakes her hand, nodding. “Oh, okay.
You’re the one who was in Grease with him.”
Hannah lights up. “He told you about me, eh?”
Harry nods slowly. Louis told him about Stan, too, and Stan had just said,
‘course he did, I’mawesome’ with a shrug. The way her face brightens though,
her cheeks tinted just the slightest pink, makes Harry think he’s missing out
on something. Then it dawns on him, why her expression is so familiar; she’s
got a crush on Louis. He’d forgotten momentarily that ninety nine percent of
the people at this party don’t know he’s gay.
It makes him feel weird inside, even though he has no reason at all to be
jealous of a girl.
“We’re really close,” Hannah goes on. “Like best mates.”
Harry doesn’t know whether or not she’s being serious; she’s about the fifth
person who has come up to Harry and told him that they’re Louis’ best friend.
Stan scoffs. “He loves me more. I’mhis best friend.”
“No,” Hannah argues. “You’re like third on his list of best friends.”
“Right, and who is first and second might I ask?”
“Me and Liam.”
“No. It’s Liam first, then me, thenmaybe you.”
Harry can’t help but wonder idly where at he would be on this imaginary list.
He goes back to fixing the food and tries to tune them out.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
Liam texts Harry when they’re five minutes away from the house; he can’t help
but feel a little smug about it because Liam texts himand not Stan or Hannah or
Jessie or Paul or Nick or anyone of Louis' other supposed best friends.
They all hide, and seconds later they can hear Louis’ voice on the other side
of the door. He thinks for a second he hears his name, but then Liam’s laughing
– obnoxiously loud – and the door opens and they all jump up and yell
surpriseand Louis takes a startled step back.
“OH MY GOD,” he practically yells, laughing and looking around the crowded
room. His eyes are bright with excitement. Phoebe and Daisy are jumping all
over him. He picks Daisy up into his arms easily, keeping his hand on the top
of Phoebe’s head. “I did not see that coming. Whose idea was this?” he asks,
looking around and meeting each set of eyes. Harry’s in the back of the room, a
little hidden, and he starts backing away because it was hisidea.
But then Jay and Liam are both saying, “It was Harry’s idea,” and Lottie’s
saying, “Your boyfriend’s.”
Louis stands on the tips of his toes, looking over the heads till he meets
Harry’s eyes. His smile widens and he sets down his sister and moves through
the crowd of people till he’s in front of Harry.
“Harry.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
“I told you you’d have the best birthday party ever!” Harry defends, curling in
on himself a little; he doesn’t like being the center of attention, and
everyone's eyes are on them.
Louis just keeps shaking his head and pulls him in for a hug. He just barely
hears Hannah whisper, “Okay, so Harry’s his favorite, but I’m definitely third
behind Liam.”
Harry just hugs Louis tighter and tries not to think about how much being
Louis’ favorite would mean a lot more to him than it probably should.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
Harry’s sitting on the couch, sandwiched between some girl named Beth with long
eyelashes who wants to argue with him about whether Coldplay is better than The
Fray, and some girl named Heidi who just wants to play with his hair. He
doesn’t mind her hands in his hair though, because she’s not even doing much of
anything, just kind of feeling it and brushing it with her fingers gently. She
keeps prattling on about how soft it is and asking what he uses on it.
(He would tell her – Louis’ shampoo – but that might be kind of weird,
especially considering Louis uses girlshampoo that smells like coconuts.)
Louis suddenly drops into his lap, which is pretty much a daily occurrence so
he doesn’t think anything of it, just wraps his arm around the older boy’s
waist and keeps telling Beth that Issac Slade is a much better singer than
Chris Martin. And she looks so shocked and offended when he tells her he
doesn’t think Green Eyes is that good of a song that he has to start laughing.
Then Louis’ mouth is right up against his ear and he’s singing. “Honey, you are
a rock.” Harry freezes up just a little bit. Louis’ warm breath is tickling his
ear and the side of his neck. His voice just shoots straight through him. And
he’s only singing loud enough for Harry to hear, no one else. “Upon which I
stand.” Beth’s still talking about Coldplay and Heidi is still playing with his
hair, but Harry can’t focus on anything except for Louis and Louis’ voice.
“And I come here to talk. I hope you understand.” He hums a little. “The green
eyes,” he runs a finger over Harry’s cheek, right under his eye,“yeah the
spotlight, shines upon you. And how could anybody deny you?” His voice is
sultry – if a voice could even be defined as sultry – but completely serious,
like he’s honestly asking how anybody could deny Harry. And Harry feels goose
bumps rising on his arms.
“I came here with a load, and it feels so much lighter now I met you.” He sings
a little louder, moving his mouth to press against Harry’s neck. He bites a
little at the skin gently, before moving back up to Harry’s ear. “And honey you
should know,” he’s barely singing now, more like he’s talking, but it still
sends chills through Harry’s body, “that I could never go on without you.”
He turns to look at Louis, because he can’t notlook at Louis after that. He
knows it’s just a Coldplay song and someone else's lyrics, but it’s like Louis
was singing right to him and he can’t just ignore that.
Scanning over his face quickly, Harry notes that Louis isn’t just singing like
he does sometimes (all the time) and there’s no teasing look on his face. He’s
got this small smile on his face and he’s not looking away and Harry wants
nothing more than to kiss him in that moment, wishes they were alone so he
could. Louis doesn’t seem to care though, because he leans forward and presses
their lips together. It’s not a long kiss or anything, but the rest of the
world just kind of shuts up for a second. The hand not around his waist moves
up to cup the back of Louis' neck, his fingers brushing the ends of Louis'
hair. He’s vaguely aware that Beth isn’t talking anymore, though Heidi’s still
playing with his hair. In fact, a lot of conversation in the room seems to cut
off, and Stan clears his throat just before Louis pulls back.
Some people are staring at them, of course, but most people just go back to
their conversations. Harry’s thankful to see Jay and the girls aren’t in the
room – though Lottie is and she’s grinning at him like I knew it, I knew it, I
knew it – and neither is Liam.
Stan asks, “Something you need to tell us, Lou?” with a twinkling in his eye.
Not looking away from Harry, Louis says, “Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m gay,” and then he
shrugs and stands up.
Stan grins and claps him on the back. “Good for you.”
No one looks overly surprised except for Hannah, whose mouth is hanging open a
little. She frowns and mutters just loud enough for Harry to hear, “Definitely
his favorite.”
And then Jay, Liam and the girls bring in the cake Harry spent hours making,
and everyone starts singing ‘Happy Birthday.’
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
That night, when they’re in bed, Harry rolls over and presses his lips to
Louis’ forehead momentarily.
“Happy Birthday,” he whispers, barely audible.
Louis blinks his eyes open, half-asleep, and smiles up at him. “Thank you. For
everything. Mostly just for being here.”
“Where else would I be?” he jokes.
Louis just shakes his head and closes his eyes. He clutches onto the front of
Harry’s jumper. “Just thank you.” His breathing evens out a couple seconds
later.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
Anne and Gemma join the Tomlinson’s for Christmas. It’s a loud event, with the
girls running around and wrapping paper strewn across the floor.
Harry gets Louis two tickets to see Grease on stage and Louis' face
literally lights up and he plants one on him right in front of everyone. He
didn't have a lot of time to go shopping, but Louis had helped him out, and the
girls seem pleased with their presents from him.
It’s the first Christmas in a long time where the smile on his face hasn’t been
for show.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They don’t really do much for New Year’s Eve. Liam’s family comes over and they
watch fireworks outside together until the girls get tired and cold and head
in. Louis heads inside with Liam to wish everyone a happy New Year but Harry
stays outside 'cause he doesn't wanna miss any of the show.
He’s sitting on the trunk of Louis’ car when the older boy comes back outside,
wrapped in a jumper.
“Aren’t you freezing?” he asks, jumping up beside him.
Harry shrugs and shakes his head.
It’s fifteen minutes past midnight, but Louis leans over and kisses him anyway.
“Happy New Year, Harry.”
Somewhere deep inside Harry, he’s secretly hoping nothing changes, that he gets
a New Year’s kiss from Louis every year.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Louis and Harry hang out with Liam a lot while he’s back from University for
January break. He’d been studying Music Management and Pre-Med in Manchester.
The decision to include Pre-Med wasn’t his own, Harry learns. Louis and Harry
can both tell something’s wrong every time they bring up classes no matter how
hard Liam tries to hide it.
They manage to get his mind off of it by watching Friends, because it’s Liam’s
favorite show. Apparently it’s a shame that Harry’s only watched an episode or
two. Liam actually seems offended when he finds out, and he starts them on
season one shortly after. Harry quickly becomes obsessedand the three of them
find themselves quoting the show during random moments of the day and deciding
they’re all going to move into the same apartment complex and live across from
each other and invent the London Edition of Friends.
Harry sees his psychologist two times a week at first, and then eventually they
move it down to just once. He’s making progress, she says, slowly but surely.
He vents to her about pretty much everything under the sun and some days he’ll
call her – sometimes at odd hours of the night – just ‘cause he needs someone
to talk to. She never complains. (Louis does complain, stating: “You can talk
to me, Harry!” But Louis understands that sometimes Harry actually can’ttalk to
him and that it has nothing to do with the boy whatsoever.)
Harry mostly does his school work when he’s not with the boys or Louis’
sisters. He had been trying to get caught up while he was in the hospital and
after finishing out the year he kept going so it would be easier for him to
graduate early. His old school had set up a program where he can do all his
work at the hospital – or Louis’ house now – all he has to do is go in for his
A-Level’s when it’s time.
Contrary to how much Louis argues with him, he’s never been serious about
school. Sure, he works hard and focuses in school, not because he really saw
any future in it, but because he dreamed of getting to college and out of the
house as soon as he could. He knows he can slow down now, take his time since
there is no rush, but the school work is a nice distraction.
He has no clue what he’s going to do for university or anything, has no plans
for the rest of his life. Neither does Louis though. Sometimes it freaks the
other boy out, has him pacing back and forth like oh my god I’m not good at
anything, I’m going to be living with my mother for the rest of my life, but
there are nights where they’re lying in bed and Louis will start talking about
how they can go off to University together, eventually, when Harry’s ready, if
that’s what he wants.
“We’ll just do General Studies until we figure out what we wanna study, yeah?”
he always says.
And he grips onto Harry and the I can’t do this without yougoes unsaid.
Chapter End Notes
     as always, thanks to larcellstylinson on tumblr for beta-ing this for
     me and also infinite shout-outs to jess. i couldn't have done this
     without either of you. x
***** Under His Skin (Overwhelming) *****
Chapter Notes
     i think i've already mentioned this, but i'll say it again; i know
     very little about the schooling system over there, so i kind of just
     went off other fanfics i've read and my own imagination.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It’s less than a week into January when Harry’s finally ready to take his
exams. They’re spread out over a couple days so Louis drives him to the
building he’ll be taking them in every morning and then they have lunch
together afterwards. When he’s finally done – exhausted, completely drained,
but finished – he collapses onto Louis’ bed, wanting nothing more than to
complain about how he’s pretty convinced he failed half of them. At the same
time all he wants is to sleep and never think of school or test-taking again;
he's not even sure he cares about failing anymore.
“You definitely passed your music A-Level,” Louis assures him. He’s seated at
his desk with his laptop open in front of him, only half-paying attention to
Harry’s slurred ramble.
Harry shrugs. “Yeah, probably, but the other ones I’m not so sure about.” He
presses his face into the pillow that smells like a weird mix of him and Louis
both.
He can feel Louis suddenly crawling up beside him, hooking his arm over Harry’s
shoulder and sticking his face close to the younger boy’s in an effort to get
his attention. Harry just grunts in acknowledgement.
“I have a surprise for you,” Louis says.
This perks Harry’s interest but he tries not to show it. “Yeah?” he asks into
the pillow, his voice muffled.
Louis leans back and Harry tries not to miss the weight of him on his arm. The
older boy starts drawing doodles with his finger into Harry’s skin. When he
speaks, he sounds nervous, which is odd, because Louis doesn’t get nervous very
often. Harry leans up a little, curious.
“I don’t know if you remember, but in about a week, we’ll have known each other
for a year.” Harry just rolls his eyes because of coursehe remembers. Louis
doesn’t look at him though, keeps drawing those mindless patterns. “So I was
thinking, and I already talked to my mum about it, as a way of honoring that,
or whatever, and celebrating you finishing school two years ahead of time,”
Louis rolls his own eyes now, but smiles, “we could go to London for a couple
of days. Just chill out, relax.”
Harry is instantly in love with the idea (anything involving Louis and the word
‘relax’ really) and sits up, causing Louis’ hand to fall aside. He nods his
head quickly. “Yeah, yeah, Lou. That would be fun. That’d be great.”
Louis’ face breaks into a relieved smile. Harry mutters something about him
being a sap so Louis tackles him, causing Harry to fall backwards and nearly
topple off the bed.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They leave within a few days, promising everyone they won’t be gone long –
especially Liam who looks disgruntled and is only back home for a short time
before having to head back to university.
It’s dreary and cloudy and cold when they get to London and Louis is exhausted
so they find a hotel quickly. He pushes Harry inside before him just as it
starts pouring down rain. Collapsing in an armchair, he looks up from
underneath his too-long eyelashes. “Get us a big bed, yeah?” And then bites his
lip like he said something he didn’t mean to.
When he holds out his wallet for Harry to take, their fingers brush and a spark
of electricity passes through them.
The guy behind the counter is full-on glaringat Harry and the boy looks down,
wondering if he accidentally tracked in rain water or something. They had
hurried in just before the storm though, so that wouldn't make any sense.
Harry tells him he needs a room with one king size bed and starts opening up
Louis’ wallet – distracted momentarily because there’sLouis’ ID and he looks
all happy and smiley.
Then he realizes the guy is talking.
“I think you would like the hotel across the street better, really,” he says,
smiling a completely fake smile.
Harry’s brow furrows in confusion. And he’s about to say no that’s quite
alright thanksor it’s fucking pouring down rain; you want me to go back out in
that?when he notices the man’s eyes shift from Harry to Louis and then back
again. And he’s not quite sure he’s reading the signals right, but something
tightens in his stomach anyways and his hands clench into fists.
“Is it because we’re two guys asking for one bed, because if it is then that is
so not -” he hadn’t realized his voice was getting louder, but then Louis is
sliding up next to him and prying his wallet from Harry’s hand.
“That’s fine,” Louis interrupts him, smiling. “We were planning on raiding the
mini-fridge and drinking all the mini-liquor and we definitely wouldn’t want to
put you out. Have a nice day.”
The man drops his mouth a little, but it’s too late, the pair turns around –
with Louis mostly pulling on Harry – and head back towards the exit. They’re
going to get soaking wet the second they walk out from underneath the awning,
but Harry doesn’t care.
“What an absolute fucking prick.”
Louis surprises him by laughing. There’s something off in his voice, though,
when he says, “You get used to it.”
“What do you mean?”
Louis shrugs, but Harry presses the subject until eventually Louis gives in
with a sigh. He stares out into the rain, not meeting Harry’s eyes.
“It’s just, you know, I’m not the most subtle person in the world,” he smiles a
little but his eyes look sad, “and I’m always kind of, you know,” and he grabs
Harry’s hand, linking their fingers together as if to show what he means.
Harry’s stomach tightens again.
“Lou, if people ever said shit about you ---”
The older boy just looks up at him with a fond expression. “No worries, love, I
can fight my own battles.”
Harry looks down at him.
He’s not really as tiny as Harry’s always saying he is; he’s only about half an
inch shorter, and Harry’s just now back to a moderately healthy weight so Louis
probably weighs more than him, too. He’s also got more muscle in his arms and
obviously he’s older, but. There’s just something about him that screams
fragile, and Harry wants to tell him he doesn’t have to fight his own battles,
that there shouldn’t be any battles for him to fight, and he also wants to beat
the living shit out of anyone who has ever given Louis so much as a dirty look.
The overwhelming protectiveness he feels towards Louis takes him by surprise.
It’s something more than just the desire to protect the older boy from any harm
or rude remarks thrown his way. He’s hit with the sudden realization that he
wants to give Louis everything, everything he could ever imagine or want.
Because Louis deserves it, he deserves the best life has to offer.
It takes him a second to catch his breath, like he’s been running a marathon.
He’s glad Louis’s distracted because he’s pretty sure his feelings would be
written clear as day on his face.
They make a mad dash to the hotel across the street, Louis’ hand still clasped
tightly in Harry’s, and just barely miss getting hit by a bus. Harry shakes out
his hair a bit and Louis let’s go of his hand and then takes a very distinctive
step away from him. Harry assumes it’s just because he’s flinging water
everywhere, so he thinks nothing of it, and they walk inside. When they get up
to the counter though, Louis asks the woman for a room with two doubles. Harry
stares down at him, blinks, and then shakes his head.
“Actually,” he starts, wrapping an arm around Louis and pulling him close to
his side, “we want a bedroom with one double or a bigger bed if you have one.”
The woman says nothing, just smiles and takes their money before handing them
two keycards.
The silence feels too heavy as they get into the lifts. They’re almost to their
floor when Louis turns to him and says, “What was that about?”
“I could ask you the same question.” He stares straight ahead, not meeting
Louis’ gaze.
Silence again. The doors open and Louis leads the way down the hall towards
their room; the only sound is of their squeaky, wet shoes and faint breathing.
As soon as he has the door open, Louis drops his bag next to the king size bed
and heads to the bathroom, muttering something about taking a shower.
Harry stands at the door for about 3.5 minutes before letting go of his own bag
and making his way over to the bed. He sits down and buries his face in his
hands.
What the actual fuck?
He and Louis have never fought, not once. There was that time when Louis was
being all paranoid and was pretty convinced Harry was some homophobic twat but
even then that didn’t count as fighting, it was just a misunderstanding, more
them not talking as much as usual than anything else.
This, though, he is pretty sure, is definitely fighting. And over something so
stupid and careless. It doesn’t make any sense. Louis always drapes himself
over Harry, and anytime Harry does the same it just seems to please him, never
has it bothered him before.
The shower water runs for nearly twenty minutes, and even after Harry hears the
water shut off, leaving the hotel room in near-silence, Louis stays in the
bathroom for another fifteen.
Harry doesn’t move.
When Louis finally emerges from the bathroom, Harry reaches for him. The older
boy sighs but comes willingly, standing in front of Harry. Neither of them says
anything for a minute, and Harry keeps his eyes on the material of Louis’
shirt, not daring to meet his gaze. His hands are on Louis’ waists, the older
boy’s shirt pulled tight against his stomach.
“Harry,” Louis finally says, carding a hand through his curls. His voice is
quiet. “You can’t do stuff like that.”
He wants to make a snappy comeback like, oh touch you? because you’ve never
complained before but he doesn’t. He just nods and looks up at Louis. We’re
notdating, he has to remind himself, we arenot dating. You don’t love him; he
doesn’t love you. Love isn’t real. Even if it was, you don’t deserve it. He
deserves so much better than you.
Louis’ blue orbs are glossy, and Harry has to fight past the sudden wave of
emotion that washes over him.
He deserves so much better than you.
“It’s just,” he starts, wondering where he wants to go with this, what exactly
he wants to say. He looks down. “You’re so beautiful and perfect and I don’t
want you to be ashamed of who you are. I don’t want you to feel like it’s
something you have to hide.”
When he looks up, Louis is staring down at him. “Harry.”
Harry shakes his head. “Don’t Harryme. Just.” And he moves to grip the front of
Louis’ t-shirt and pulls him down to attach their lips.
The kiss is like nothing he’s ever experienced before. While the majority of
their kisses had a teasing or a kind of reassuring tone to them – and yeah,
Harryis trying to assure Louis that everything he said is true – this kiss is
something different. It’s more real. It slips its way under Harry’s skin to
gnaw at his bones.
Louis sighs and moves forward to straddle him, their chests now pressed
together. Harry keeps one hand gripping Louis’ hip, tight enough he might have
bruises tomorrow, and the other hand pressing against his back. Louis cradles
his face in his hands and even when he slips his tongue past Harry’s lips the
kiss stays soft and slow. It’s the longest kissing session they’ve had, but
eventually it turns sweet, just the press of lips and nothing more. Harry
presses one kiss, two, three before trailing down his jaw towards his neck.
Louis mumbles a little bit, leaning his head back, before he pulls on his hair
a little. Harry complies, going back up to press their lips together in one
last lingering kiss.
“C’mon.” Louis tries to get up then, but Harry wraps an arm around his waist.
“We didn’t come here to snog all day.”
“We didn’t? Are you sure?” he asks against the juncture of Louis’ neck and
shoulder, his breathing uneven. 
Louis rolls his eyes and pushes off of him.
 
They end up spending the day in bed anyway, ordering room service and watching
crappy daytime television. Every once in a while Harry will lean over Louis –
sometimes (sometimes) completely innocently – and they end up kissing again.
At one point the kissing gets so intense and heavy Harry knows he’s sporting a
semi. He isn’t sure Louis is aware of this or not but the smaller boy lifts his
hips up a little and presses – accidentally or not – his own growing erection
to Harry’s for a split second before pulling back quickly, like he'd been
shocked of his actions. Harry still manages to let out what is probably the
filthiest moan ever in the history of moans – and he’s watched gay porn a time
or two so he’s pretty sure he deserves some kind of reward for that. Louis
seems intent on pretending they're both not hard though. Which isn’t a big deal
really and eventually they end up pulling apart and going back to arguing about
whether Jersey Shore or Keeping up with the Kardashians is more ridiculous.
And if Harry gets a little smug when Louis excuses himself to the bathroom and
doesn’t come back for nearly nine and a half minutes, then nobody needs to
know.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
The next day they leave the hotel room late after ordering room service and
start to walk around, just meandering really with no real destination in mind.
They’re only a block down from their hotel when they come across a small crowd
of people circled around a guy playing his guitar. He’s pretty good, playing a
familiar song and singing along to it. He’s got his guitar case opened up and a
few people have dropped money into it.
Harry doesn’t really think much of it until Louis grabs onto his sleeve and
yanks.
“Go get your guitar, Harry.”
He stares at the older boy, confused for a few seconds, until he understands.
He shakes his head quickly, choking out a humorless laugh. “Uh, no. No thank
you. I’m fine, thanks.”
“Harry, please?”
He shakes his head again. “No, Lou.”
“Harry.”
“Louis, I’m not going to go get my guitar and play it every time you ask.”
The older boy starts pouting, sticking out his lower lip and looking up at
Harry with his big blue eyes.
Harry looks away. “No, no, no. That's cheating.”
Louis intertwines their fingers and pulls on his arm.
“It’s not going to work.”
“Hazza!”
“Nope.”
He moves his head away when Louis tries to get back in his line of vision. But
then Louis is there, letting go of his hand and moving them to the back of
Harry’s head. His fingers pull at Harry’s curls for a second, forcing Harry to
look and meet his eyes. When he does, Louis doesn’t say anything, just leans in
close and kisses him.
There’s nothing special about the kiss, really, in comparison to their others.
It’s short and simple, Louis playing with his hair a little. But Harry still
feels himself loosening up a bit, relaxing into it, and his hands find their
way to Louis’ hips, wants to grip them tight and pull him in closer, crush
their bodies together and never, ever stop.
Louis pulls back though and Harry whines a little at the loss of contact.
“Harry,” he says, sounding a little out of breath, and then a few seconds
later, “You should go get your guitar.”
Harry just nods. “Yeah, sure, okay,” not one hundred percent sure of what he’s
agreeing to. He starts to take a step back, ready to head in the direction of
their hotel, when he sees the triumphant look on Louis’ face. He frowns. “I
hate you. How come my kisses don’t affect you at all?”
Louis’ smile falters a little, till it’s small and almost hidden. He shakes his
head and looks away. Harry thinks he mumbles something like, “no clue,” but he
isn’t sure. 
                                        
Harry plays his guitar for nearly thirty minutes and Louis sings along to most
of the songs, sitting cross legged on the ground next to Harry’s guitar case.
He looks so adorable Harry has a hard time not tackling him and kissing him all
over in front of God and everyone. He wants to make Louis crack, wants him to
feel weak like Harry does every time they start kissing. He wants to get under
his skin.
Louis looks up and winks at him like he knows exactly what Harry’s thinking.
Knowing Louis, he probably does.
By the time they’re done they’ve got enough money to pay for an extra night in
the hotel along with three condoms and five phone numbers.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They head to the venue after lunch, seeing as it was kind of the whole point of
coming to London in the first place. There’s some small band playing, but
they’re from America and neither Harry nor Louis has ever heard of them before.
Instead, they just stand outside, staring up at the building.
Louis grabs his hand suddenly and pulls him over to a spot where the queue
would usually be.
“This is where we met,” he says, taking Harry’s other hand and swinging them
both back and forth between their bodies.
“Actually we met in the bathroom.” Harry glances behind him. “I don’t think we
can go in there though.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. I mean metmet. Like, ‘hi I’m the
stud from the concert and you have curly hair’ met.” His voice goes all deep
for a second, like he's trying to sound seductive. His childish grin should
throw the whole thing off, but for some reason it doesn't, just makes him that
much more irresistible. Harry doesn't know what that says about himself.
“You didn’t say that.”
“I was thinking it.” Louis lifts his eyebrows over and over suggestively.
Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “So, you gonna get down on one knee and
propose or something?” he teases. “Since you’ve gone all out with the
sappiness.”
He should have seen it coming, really, because this is Louis they’re talking
about, but somehow he still doesn’t expect it. Because he was joking, really.
Obviously so is Louis, but still.
Louis drops down onto one knee suddenly, still holding Harry’s hands, and looks
up at him expectantly.
“What are you doing?”
Louis bites his lip and then says, without a hint of humor in his voice, “Will
you marry me, Hazza?”
Harry wants to die, kind of, just a little bit.
It takes every fiber of his being to pull Louis up from his half-crouched
position.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” He starts leading the boy away from the
venue, wrapping his arm loosely around Louis’ shoulder.
“Is that a yes?”
Harry sighs. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Lou.”
Louis lets go of his hand to punch the air. He does a little happy dance that
just proves Harry’s point: Louis is completely ridiculous.
“And you thought youwere the man in the relationship. Obviously it is all me.”
Harry smirks. “Sure, babe, whatever helps you sleep at night. I’m only marrying
you because you need someone to cook for you.”
“And now you have to. Every day for the rest of our lives.”
He grins. “I like the sound of that.”
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
It’s a spur of the moment thing, he’s pretty sure. If it’s not and Louis has
had it planned the entire time, Harry had no clue whatsoever.
They get in a cab, Louis gives the driver way too specific directions, and then
they stop in front of a building a few minutes later.
Later on Harry will understand why Louis had picked this of all buildings. It
has a kind of personality about it that he can’t quite put his finger on. It
looks almost identical to the ones on either side of it, though it seems
cleaner, shinier, less fading and cracking in places. And out front, on a sign
in big letters, are the words: Sunset Towers.
Not much of a tower, but the front of the building does face the West, so it
makes sense. 
Right now, though, he’s just completely lost.
He turns to Louis automatically. The boy is staring up at the building like
it’s got a shining halo around it, like it’s the answer to all their prayers.
“Lou.” It’s only one word, but it should be enough to convey his confusion.
Louis just takes his hand and yanks him towards the front doors.
Harry has about 0.7 seconds to look around before they’re running up stairs.
Louis is saying something. Harry can’t quite catch on to the words, but Louis
is laughing mostly anyways, so he doesn’t think he would be able to understand
them if he was trying.
They go up two more flights of stairs and then they’re in a long hallway.
There’s a woman at the very end in black slacks and a ruffled silky-looking
sleeveless top. She’s got perfect posture and is standing next to one of the
doors, chatting on her cell phone. Her blonde hair is done up in a bun and
she’s got bangs hanging down in front of her face. A girl comes out of a door
closer to them. She’s got long wavy brown hair and bangs similar to the
blonde’s. She’s wearing short shorts and four inch heels. Harry can’t stop the
onceover he gives her, bluntly checking her out. (He’s a sixteen-year-old boy;
he can’t help himself.) She winks when she passes them, and Harry thinks Louis
tightens his grip on his hand just a little bit.
He doesn’t know if he’s surprised or not, but Louis approaches the blonde
woman. She clicks off her cell phone and smiles like she’s been expecting them.
“Mr. Tomlinson, right?” she asks, her accent distinctly American.
Harry gawks. Mr.Tomlinson?
Louis nods eagerly. “That’s me.”
“Let me show you the apartment.”
He looks from her to Louis and back again, but she’s busy unlocking the door to
the flat and Louis’s too busy beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet, so
it looks like Harry’s not getting an explanation out of either one of them
anytime soon.
He doesn’t, in fact, get an explanation until they’ve already looked through
the majority of the flat and are in the kitchen while she’s off “giving them a
moment.”
The apartment’s pretty small, but decent. There’s two bedrooms, one bathroom, a
small living room that connects with a larger kitchen. The kitchen is the
nicest room in the place. Everything recently remodeled, the Realtor had said.
Harry leans against the counter, crosses his arms, and tries to stare Louis
down. The older boy is hand-jiving around the kitchen, opening up cupboards and
then the fridge, peeking in his head before closing the doors and going back to
his dance moves.
“Something you want to tell me?” Harry asks.
Louis shrugs, doesn’t stop dancing.
“Lou.”
He sighs and turns to face Harry finally, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t
think it would hurt to look, yeah?”
“You’re actually serious then, you want us to get an apartment. In
London.” Together.
He shrugs again.
“What – How – Why?”
Louis arches a brow. “You wanna keep living with my mother? Okay then.”
“Well, no, not really. But I figure I’d just go off to college or something . .
.” he pauses, notes the look on Louis’ face, “and take you with me, of course,”
he finishes.
Louis at least laughs at that and rolls his eyes a bit. “University would be
great, yeah. But I just want my own place. Or, y’know, ourown place. We can
move up here, go to school.”
“How are we going to afford it?”
Louis smiles brightly, like he’s got Harry exactly where he wants him, like
he’s thought everything else through, like I’ve got it from here, babe. “We can
get jobs! There’s a theater down the street hiring.”
Harry nods slowly. “Okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. “This place, though,
really?”
He frowns. “It’s not bad! It’s got . . . y’know, a little something to it. I
was looking up places –"
“When?”
Louis waves him off. “I was looking up places and the rent here is good. And
the kitchen is nice!” Harry has to agree with him there. “Great neighborhood.
Close to a little music shop and some other places you might be able to get a
job.”
Harry shakes his head and covers his eyes with his hands for a second. “I can’t
believe you want to move to London.”
“Is that a yes?”
He waits a minute, doesn’t answer. Finally he sighs and drops his hands. He
doesn’t say anything, just nods once. Louis yelps a little and runs at him, and
Harry has a split second to prepare himself before Louis is jumping into his
arms, wrapping his own around Harry’s neck and his legs around his waist. He’s
surprisingly light, but Harry’s still taken aback, so he takes a step back to
properly lean against the counter and keep them upright. Louis is whispering
yay yay yay thank you thank you thank youinto his neck and Harry just laughs
and shakes his head and tells him he’s really, truly ridiculous.
When Louis is back on his own two feet Harry has to actually look downat him a
little and he realizes again how much taller he’s gotten than the other boy.
Louis is beaming up at him, almost like he’s thinking the same thing – and
likes it – and Harry wants to bend down and kiss him in their new almost
apartmentbut before he can the real estate woman is walking back in asking if
they’ve made their decision.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Louis gets the job at the theater – of course; who could say no to that
face?Harry asks (Louis punches him playfully in response and says plenty have).
It’s mostly just him cleaning up at the end of the day and assisting whoever
needs to be assisted, but it’s enough for now, he says; he’ll work his way up.
Harry gets a job at a café a few blocks down from their future flat. It’s
quaint and has a little stage for local entertainment. Halfway through the
interview Harry’s already talking about the possibility of doing a mike night –
because he has a thing for mike nights okay and his boss at the bakery was all
no no no we have a reputation to upholdand Harry thought this is fucking Holmes
Chapel, no we don’t. The boss hires him on the spot and Harry has to tell him
that he doesn’t actually live in London yet, just bought a flat with his mate
and has to move up there first, and the guy seems honest-to-God disappointed.
The next thing Harry does is call up his therapist and ask for a referral in
London. She’s sad to see him go, and he’s sad to go. He liked her a lot. She
didn’t mind when he called her at three in the morning for no apparent reason.
She assures the next one will be just as good, if not better. He doubts that,
but writes down the number for a Cynthia Taylor.
They do all this without consulting or talking to their families once. Louis
says they are making a point, that they are old enough to handle things and do
it all on their own, but Harry’s pretty sure the older boy is just scared
shitless. He’s proven correct when Louis decides to callJay and tell her the
news instead of waiting till they get home the next day.
Harry calls Anne, too, but he doesn’t have much of a choice seeing as she’s a
couple towns away with her own mother.
The talks go over surprisingly well, though Jay is a little shocked at the
suddenness of it all and Louis almost changes his mind when he’s struck with
the fact that she’ll have to hire a babysitter until Lottie’s old enough to
help take care of the younger girls.
They also have to fill out paperwork and do all this legal crap because Harry’s
only sixteen (“almost seventeen,” Louis reminds him) and not technically old
enough to be living on his own.
When everything is said and done they collapse in their hotel room, staring up
at the ceiling in silence.
“I feel old,” is the first thing Harry says.
“Youfeel old?” Louis’ scoff isn’t much of a scoff. He sounds tired and drained
and Harry can’t blame him; it’s been a long day.
They’re silent again for a couple minutes, just lying there thinking. Harry
says, “We’re all grown up now,” quietly and too late to actually be connected
to the conversation.
Louis just murmurs in agreement and rolls over to go to sleep. Harry’s pretty
sure he’s asleep at least, but a second later he reaches over and grabs Harry’s
hand, pulling until they’re back to chest and Harry’s arm is curled around
Louis’ waist.
They’ve never really done thisbefore. They’ve cuddled, but not spooning, never
this. Harry eventually relaxes into it though and it doesn’t take him nearly as
long as usual to drift off to sleep.
Chapter End Notes
     after this chapter i'm taking at least a week long break before i
     start working on the next chapter due to a hand injury making it very
     difficult for me to type. i also haven't gotten around to reading my
     comments yet so they've built up quite a bit.
***** Big Deal (Really, It's Nothing) *****
Chapter Notes
     angst with a dash of angst and some angst on the side (don't hate me)
Most of Harry’s belongings are already in boxes at the Tomlinson house, so they
spend the majority of their last weekend there packing all of Louis’ stuff and
tying up loose ends. Harry makes an appointment with the new therapist,
Cynthia, and starts filling out applications for universities. Louis, semi-
reluctantly, does the same.
When it’s finally time for them to move, everyone joins them. Literally
everyone. The whole Tomlinson crew, Harry’s mum and sister, and Liam even tags
along complaining the entire time about how far away they’re going to be. Of
course, when they do finally get to London, everyone abandons them in lieu of
shopping (and Gemma wants to show them around her University) and acting all
embarrassingly tourist-like. So Harry and Louis end up moving in ninety nine
percent of their crap by themselves.
When they come outside after their second trip in there’s a lad leaning against
the outside wall of their apartment building smoking a cigarette. He looks
roughly their age and has dark hair and even darker eyes hidden behind thick
framed glasses. Louis eyes him as they pass and then elbows Harry in the side.
“Dibs,” he says, just loud enough for Harry to hear. He wiggles his eyebrows.
Harry rolls his eyes and pushes Louis along.
The lad is still there when they’re struggling to move in Louis’ mattress.
They’ve just barely made it up the walkway when Louis hollers, “Oi! Wanna give
us a hand?”
Looking bored, the dark-haired boy flicks his cigarette. “What’s in it for me?”
Louis looks at him dumbfounded for a second before saying, “A kiss?” He starts
wiggling his eyebrows again. Harry has to keep reminding himself that he’s
joking,that this is Louisthey’re talking about.
Then again, Louis kisses him all the time. Maybe it’s just a thing he does.
He’s not sure if the look on the stranger’s face is of amusement or just pure
disbelief.
Louis sighs when he realizes the boy isn’t going to play along. “I have beer?”
The lad nods his head once, takes a puff of his cigarette, and says, “That’ll
do.”
Afterwards, when they’ve brought in the majority of Louis and Harry’s ‘heavy’
stuff, Lou hands him a beer. The boy raises it in thanks and then after taking
a swig says, “You still owe me that kiss, though.”
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
His name is Zayn. He’s (barely) eighteen, a self-proclaimed struggling artist,
and lives in the apartment below theirs. He doesn’t go to school - dropped out
when he was sixteen because school wasn’t "engaging" enough for him – and now
works at a local community center teaching an art class.
He’s kind of got the whole badass thing going for him, laidback and uncaring,
but also like he could kick your ass if he felt like it. He peels off his
jacket and Harry spots multiple tattoos. He’s intrigued immediately with the
air of indifference Zayn gives off, the motorcycle of his he says is parked
outside, and his ability to match Louis’ witty banter effortlessly.
Zayn’s ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude and badass façade kind of simmers down a
bit, though, when Harry learns the class he teaches is for underprivileged kids
of broken families.
And then Liam walks in the flat, huffing a little bit and smiling brightly,
with his hands full of bags.
Zayn’s eyes land on the boy, he spits out the beer he was trying to swallow,
chokes a little bit, and coughs out “holy shit” after Harry slaps him on the
back a couple times.
Liam's attractive, Harry knows. He'd just kind of forgotten about it until he
sees the way Zayn stares at Liam like he’s something that just fell out of the
sky.
“I bought you stuff!” Liam exclaims at the same time Harry asks Zayn, “You
feelin’ alright, mate?” trying to keep the teasing tone out of his voice.
Liam’s eyes are shining brightly, and he’s smiling widely. “I figure, since you
won’t have cable or internet for a while, you would need some entertainment,
and your DVD collection is limited to Skins and Doctor Who, so . . .” Liam
proceeds to dump out about fifteen DVD’s onto the floor of the living room.
Louis yelps in excitement and pretty much head dives towards them.
With them distracted, Harry turns back to Zayn. The older boy shakes his head
and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m cool.” There’s a
few beats of silence. Harry waits. “Who’s your, uhm, friend?” Zayn’s voice is
layered in nonchalance enough that Harry’s almost fooled.
“That’s Liam. He and Lou have been friends since they were kids.”
“Is he . . . is he moving in with you guys?”
He shakes his head and chuckles a bit. “Nah, Liam’s too smart for us, goes to
school in Manchester. Pre-Med and all that.”
Liam looks up quickly from where he’s sitting crisscross on the floor. “Huh?”
He stopped straightening his hair months ago, while Harry was still in the
hospital; it’s curly now, but in a different way than Harry’s. It’s more
manageable looking and lighter in color. He blinks his eyes a couple times,
looking like an innocent little puppy. Not helping the attractive, adorable
thing one bit. 
Harry chuckles a little. “Nothin’. Just braggin’ about you, s’all.”
Liam goes bright red and ducks his head. He leans in closer to Louis, pointing
at the DVD in his hand. Harry can’t tell what it is from this angle, looks like
a Disney movie.
“Are they . . . ?” Zayn asks, his voice trailing off. They’re sitting far
enough away, Harry doubts the other two can hear them, but Zayn speaks in a
whispered tone anyway.
Harry shakes his head quickly, knowing what he was going to ask. “No, they’re
not.” He pauses. “Unless they’ve been hiding it from me.” He raises his voice
and in a mocking tone asks, “Hey, Lou, you and Li aren’t secretly dating or
somethin, are you?”
Liam chokes a little, his face going an even brighter shade of red, and Louis
tackles the boy in response to Harry’s question. “Yes we are,” he says,
planting a sloppy kiss on Liam’s cheek. “Are you jealous, Hazza?”
“Immensely,” he responds dryly. (He ignores the slight tightening in his
stomach; he’s just hungry, that’s all.) “I think Zayn here is, too.” He just
barely gets the words out before the older boy is slugging him in the shoulder
and giving him a dark look to match his dark eyes.
Louis perks up, reminding Harry of the dog in the film Up whenever he saw a
squirrel. “Zayn-ey. I have enough love to share,” and he starts to crawl across
the room towards them. Literally crawls. 
“Wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Harry tries to say, but he’s laughing too hard
at the terrified look on Zayn’s face and the predatory one on Louis’. He just
has a split second to see the expression on Liam’s face – almost like he’s
disappointed – before it’s gone.
Making a spur of the moment decision, and pretending like he’s doing it just to
save Zayn, Harry grabs Louis – who sputters out in surprise and ‘whelps’ a
little – and pulls the blue eyed boy into his own lap.
“Sorry, Zayn,” he buries his face in Louis’ neck, “he’s mine. You can’t have
him.”
Liam clears his throat. “You know, I’veknown him the longest, so.”
Louis lets out a childlike giggle. Harry wants to bottle the sound and keep it
forever; pretty sure it could cure cancer. Louis pushes away from him and
collapses onto his back on the ground, spread out like a starfish.
“There’s enough of me to go around!” he cries.
Liam pokes him in the side. “That’s for sure.”
“Hey!” Louis pouts and wraps his arms around his stomach.
Harry frowns, his insides freezing up instinctively. “Don’t listen to him.
You’re perfect.”
“Awe, look at your boyfriend, getting all sappy.” While Harry’s pretty sure
it’s meant to come out teasing, Liam sounds almost annoyed. 
Harry sticks his tongue out at him anyway, as does Louis. He meets Harry's
gaze, though, and squeezes his hand, like he knows what Harry's thinking
about. 
Zayn just sits back, watching them all, and laughs before saying. “So I know
this pub I frequent, if you guys are interested. It’s a small little place, not
too crowded or anything.”
Louis jumps up. “You had me at pub.” He frowns a little. “Harry and Liam aren’t
eighteen yet . . .”
Zayn waves it off with a hand, like it doesn’t matter. “I know the lad who owns
it. They can get in.”
“Awesome. Liam won’t drink, but we can drag him along anyways.” Louis grins
wickedly and makes grabby hands at Liam who just frowns.
“You don’t drink?” Zayn asks. Liam shakes his head and starts to open his
mouth, but then shuts it and shakes his head again and shrugs a little. “Of
courseyou don’t,” Zayn continues, sounding almost amused.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
They have to finish unloading the truck and then everyone decides to stay for a
dinner of take-out; Chinese and pizza. They order way too much food, and Harry
tells Louis they’re going to be living off of leftovers for the next week and a
half.
They’re all crowded in the living room, sitting on the floor because Louis and
Harry don’t have much in the way of furniture yet. There’s a food fight of
coursebecause food and Louis and his family in the vicinity means a fight is
inevitable. Harry actually joins in on this one and manages to get pizza sauce
on Louis’ pants. He catches Liam pouring parmesan cheese over Zayn’s hair and
the darker haired boy starts chasing him around the flat. Zayn doesn’t really
look mad though, which is surprising considering Louis had tried to touch his
quiff and Zayn had all but bitten his fingers off.
Eventually Harry’s mum, Gemma and Louis’ family head out the door after about
an hour of goodbye’s and be good’s and take care of yourself’s and I’ll miss
you’s. It’s all ridiculous, really, and by the end of it, Harry’s practically
pushing them out the door and slamming it shut behind them.
Finally he kind of just collapses on the floor. It’s nearly ten o’clock and
he’s exhausted but Louis and Zayn seem pretty intent on going out still. So
they all pile into Liam’s car because he’s automatically the designated driver
seeing as Zayn and Louis plan on getting shitfaced and Harry can’t even drive
yet.
The pub is very low key, located on the first floor of a small building. He
probably wouldn’t have even noticed its existence just walking past, but he can
hear the quiet pounding of a bass coming from inside. The guy at the door lets
them in right away, nodding at Zayn like they’re old friends. There’s a stage
(some band just finishing up their set) and some tables, but Zayn leads them
straight to the bar where a blond lad is throwing bottles around and mixing a
drink for a brunette with freakishly long hair.
Harry does a double take when they get closer because no wayis the blond old
enough to even be inthe pub, let alone be working as the bartender. He then
does another double take because the brunette sitting there is the same one he
saw in their apartment complex the day they met the Realtor.
Zayn slides into a seat like he lives there. “This is Niall and Cher. She lives
in our building, too, same floor as you.”
Cher turns a little and waves with her fingers, smiling at them with
brilliantly white teeth. “Hi.” Her lips are pursed and she’s staring at Harry
like she remembers him checking her out. He feels embarrassed and uncomfortable
all of a sudden.
Zayn glances back, between Cher and Niall, and the rest of the group, and says
something that sounds vaguely like “oh right” before “Cher, Niall, this is
Harry, Louis and Liam.”
Niall salutes them with two fingers. “Friends of Zayn?” Harry doesn’t really
know how to answer that, but Niall doesn’t wait for an answer. “What’ya want?
First one’s on the house.” He’s got a distinct Irish accent and Harry can see
Louis’ eyes light up, like Niall is a new toy for him to play with.
Louis and Zayn order themselves a drink, and Liam takes a seat at the bar,
asking, “How do you – I mean not to be rude, but – you can’t be old enough to
work here.”
Niall shrugs, smiling in an easy, carefree way. It somehow manages to lighten
the mood a little bit and Harry finds himself relaxing. “Own it . . . kind of.
Employees don’t seem to mind since I’m the one payin’ them. Everyone just kind
of . . .” He waves a hand around, gesticulating vaguely. "Looks the other way,"
he finishes. 
Zayn takes a swig of his concoction. “Niall lives upstairs. His parents gave
him the pub for his sixteenth birthday. They own like . . . fifty across the
U.K. and Ireland,” he explains. “Technically Mickey owns it, but . . .” his
voice trails off, and he turns back to Niall. “You work tomorrow night?”
The blond is still smiling, talking to Liam and Cher about something or
another, but he pauses to glance over at Zayn. He shrugs again. “Don’t have
to.”
“Thinking about going to the club that just opened up. Think you could get us
in?”
Niall’s grin widens, and there’s a glint in his eye. “Sure, sure. I’ll see what
I can do.” He holds up a finger. “Hold on a mo.” He walks down the length of
the bar, facing a crowd of young people sitting around a table. “Oi! Tony! Get
your arse up there already.”
The guy – Tony, he guesses – looks to be in the middle of a conversation with
some girl who’s draped over his lap. He waves a hand at Niall without pausing
to look away from her.
“Fine. I’ll get Zayn to sing in your spot instead.”
That seems to have Tony’s attention, because he’s up in a flash, muttering
something under his breath and heading for the stage.
Zayn buries his face in his arms and shakes his head. Cher laughs hysterically
and massages the back of his neck.
“You sing?” Liam asks, his voice unnaturally quiet.
Zayn shakes his head, but Niall rolls his eyes and says, “Yes he does,” at the
same time Cher says, “You should hear him.”
Louis perks up, seeming to catch on with what they’re talking about. “Wait. You
do karaoke nights here?”
Niall shrugs. “Sometimes. Mostly get cheap entertainment or whoever wants to
come and isn’t too awful I get a migraine after five minutes.” He rolls his
eyes and mutters something under his breath.
Louis turns his eyes to Harry, who shakes his head immediately. “No, don’t even
think about it,” he says. “I know what you’re thinking, Lou, and it is not
happening.”
The older boy gets up, leaving his empty glass on the counter for Niall to
refill. “Harry! It would be so much fun.”
“Why do you have this addiction with putting me in uncomfortable positions?”
Louis chuckles dirtily and Harry rolls his eyes.
“Pervert. You know what I mean.”
"It's good for you," he says quietly and then he’s jumping up and down, one of
his hands clasped tightly around Harry’s wrist. “Please, please, please. We
could become like a duo. It would be awesome.” There are stars in his eyes, and
Harry’s reminded of when Louis asked him to move to London, seemed like he had
the rest of their lives planned out. He wonders if this is what Louis had in
mind for them all along.
“What’s he going on about?” Zayn asks, looking between the two of them, his
brows furrowed.
“Harry plays guitar,” Liam explains. “And Louis sings. He’s always wanted to
make a living out of it.”
Louis’s taken a seat in Harry’s lap, and Cher’s looking at him adoringly, and
he feels extremely uncomfortable with everyone’s focus on him. He shoves Louis
away from him carefully. “And he’s always making me play for him.” He sticks
out his tongue at Louis to counteract his annoyed tone.
“That only happened like, once, okay.” Louis pouts and crosses his arms over
his chest.
Harry laughs once. "Try seventeen." 
“Actually,” Liam interjects; surprising Harry enough he swirls around on his
bar stool to look at him. Liam’s eyes are staring up at the ceiling, a
calculating look on his face. “It happened three times . . . right?” Harry’s
confusion must be shown on his face, because he continues. “Well, once at the
music store, and then in Doncaster, and once in London . . .” His voice trails
off.
Harry is a half-a-second away from asking Liam if he’s stalkingthem or
something, but then it dawns on him why he would know, and he whirls around
slowly to look at Louis. “Oh, Louis told you?” It isn’t a big deal or anything,
he tells himself; he just hadn’t realized it was something Louis talked about.
Louis shrugs like he doesn’t think it’s a big deal either. “I tell Liam
everything.”
Harry starts to nod like yeah okay, looking back towards Niall to ask him a
question, but then he catches on to what Louis’s saying. “Wait . . .
everything?” he asks, his voice quiet, meant for Louis’ ears and Louis’ ears
alone. He thinks of all the times he and Louis have kissed, made out . . .
cuddled. The cuddling especially seems like a bigger deal than the rest of it.
The older boy doesn’t answer for a moment, just stares at Harry. He nods his
head slowly. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Harry stands up suddenly, nearly knocking over his bar stool. “I have to . . .
I’ll be . . .” He stares at Louis, shakes his head, and heads towards the back
where he’s sure the toilets are.
If he had stayed a little longer he would have heard Louis nearly stomp his
foot like he was on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum. He would have seen
the way Louis stared at Liam and grumbled, “Liiiii-um!” before following Harry.
He would have seen the way Liam’s face crumbled, the way he kind of sunk in on
himself.
Niall pauses in the process of cleaning off the bar and glances between Liam
and Louis’ retreating figure. “Did I miss something? What the hell was that all
about?”
                                        
Louis is almost right behind Harry when they walk away, so Harry's only just
taken a space at the urinal when the door opens.
“Why are you upset?” Louis asks. It’s one of the few times he’s ever been
serious with Harry – and this time it’s not about his sexuality or Pete or the
mess Harry’s in, it’s about them so automatically Harry’s just full of nerves
and he’s trying to go to the bathroom, so really,he wants to ask, do we have to
do thisnow?
He shrugs his shoulders and just prays to God that Louis stays on the other
side of the bathroom.
“Whoever said I was upset?”
Louis narrows his eyes like that’s the stupidest question he’s ever heard. He
knows Harry too well; it would be hilarious and kind of endearing if it wasn’t
so sad.
“Really, it’s nothing,” Harry says, finishing and zipping his pants back up. He
turns around and heads to the sinks. “You just told Liam we’ve kissed, no big
deal, alright?”
“Obviously it is a big deal to you.” Louis leans up against the sink to Harry’s
right, resting his hip up against it. It reminds Harry vividly of the time at
The Script concert when they had met. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
Now it’s Harry’s turn to look at Louis like he’s an idiot. “Who would I have
told?”
Louis shrugs like yeah,alright. “It’s not a big deal,” Louis continues,
speaking slowly, repeating Harry’s earlier words.
Harry nods. “Yeah, I know. I think we’ve established that. I’m not upset,
really. Honestly. You didn’t need to follow me in here.”
“No, I mean . . . what we do; it’s not a big deal.” His voice is slow and
quiet, like he doesn’t really know how to word what he’s saying.
Harry freezes with his hands under the faucet and doesn’t meet the gaze he
knows is trained on him, waiting for some kind of reaction. He just nods
because he had suspected from the beginning that that was how it was. Louis
makes out with people for no apparent reason other than the fact that they’re
good kissers and he feels like it. That’s all. It means nothing. He’s known
that from the start.
So why does hearing it out loud, having it confirmed, hurt so badly?
“I know. I just didn’t think it was something you wanted broadcasted.” He
shrugs and dries off his hands.
“I tell Liam everything,” Louis defends. “He’s my best friend.”
And if that isn’t a stab in the chest, Harry doesn’t know what is. They both
know, without a shadow of a doubt, wouldn’t even have to question it, that
Louis is Harry’s best friend. And here Louis is, saying it’s not mutual.
“He thought we were like, secretly dating or something.” Louis half-laughs like
the idea of them dating – secretly or not – is the most ridiculous thing on the
planet. Harry can just imagine the conversation; me and Harry dating? Ha ha ha,
yeah right. Have you seen Harry? He’s not attractive at all and he’s so
pathetically damaged.Blah blah blah. He needs Louis to shut up like ten minutes
ago. 
“Right, well.” He brushes past the other boy. “I’m going to go return to the
group, if you don’t mind.” He leaves the bathroom before Louis can say anything
else.
When he slides onto one of the bar stools, Zayn looks him up and down quickly.
He must read something in his posture or on his face, because he smirks a
little and says, “Let me get you a beer.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, no beer. Don’t like beer." He huffs out a breath.
"Get me something stronger.”
And even though he hadn’t wanted to come out to the pub in the first place –
still regrets it, really – he’s the one who goes home shitfaced that night. He
hangs off of Zayn, who is drunk and giggling beside him, and really, through no
fault of his own, Harry keeps shooting Louis these looks that say look, I’ve
got a best friend now, too. I don’t need you.
 
***** Anything At All *****
Chapter Notes
     before any more of you get your panties in a twist, no there is no
     harry/cher in this.
When Harry wakes up he’s got a hangover from hell – of course, he’s only been
hungover like once before so any hangover he has would probably be from hell or
some equally painful place.
They haven’t set up their bedframes yet so his mattress is on the floor. Louis
is sitting cross-legged beside him, an amused look on his face. Its part I told
you so(even though he’s pretty sure Louis didn’t tell him so) and part
everything’s fine, let’s pretend nothing happened. But even though the majority
of the night’s events are a blur, Harry remembers the Bathroom Scene vividly
and he’s not sure he can let that go so easily no matter how badly he wants
to. 
Really he wants nothing more than to roll over, swallow some painkillers, and
fall back asleep; possibly pretend like Louis and the rest of the world don’t
exist – at least for a couple hours . . . or days. But then Louis is nudging
him in the shoulder and holding out a steaming cup of something and the
prospect of tea or coffee is too good to pass up.
“I made you some tea,” Louis says. Harry nods in gratitude and takes the cup,
sipping at it slowly. It’s perfect; the same tea Louis makes him nearly every
night before Harry goes to bed. “And here’s something for that headache I know
you’re sporting.” He holds out two pills and Harry swallows them down with the
tea.
He figures that’s it; Louis’s done his part and now he’s going to leave. But
the older boy stays seated on the other side of the mattress. He’s got a
curious look on his face, almost staring Harry down like he’s waiting for the
younger boy to say something. Harry rolls over, buries his face under his
pillow a little bit, careful not to spill the tea.
“How come you’re not hungover?” he asks after a few more minutes of silence. He
has a vague memory of asking this question before, the last time he was hung
over, but it hurts to think, so he just sits up a little and sips at his tea
some more.
Louis laughs, but not in amusement or even humor, almost like he’s frustrated
or upset. “Well, Li and I were too busy making sure you and Zayn didn’t drink
yourselves to death. Don’t really know Zayn that well, honestly, but I would’ve
felt bad if he passed out and got taken advantage of. He’s too pretty to leave
fending for himself, that’s for sure.”
Harry doesn’t say anything.
“He’s asleep on the floor in the living room. Think Li’s trying to wake him
up.”
Harry yawns. “What time is it?”
“Almost half nine.”
He blinks. “And what did’ya wake me up for?”
“You can’t sleep the whole day away, Hazza.” Louis laughs a little. He reaches
out, almost like he’s going to ruffle Harry’s curls, but pulls back at the last
second. He clears his throat. When he speaks again, the humor in his voice is
gone. “We’ve got things to do.”
“You’re the one who wanted to go out drinking in the first place,” Harry points
out.
“Yeah, well, I can hold my liquor better than you can.”
Harry wants to argue, but his head is pounding in agreement way too much.
“I’m going to go buy breakfast,” Louis continues. Harry groans at the idea of
food, but Louis ignores him. “Something extremely greasy and possibly from
McDonalds. You’re going to go take a shower and get dressed.”
“Can’t boss me around.” He’s about 0.5 seconds away from sticking his tongue
out at the older boy.
“Actually, yes, yes I can. Somebody’s got to.” And then the bed shifts and he
knows Louis’s getting up. When he speaks again, his voice comes from the open
door. “So get your arse outta bed."  
Harry does at least manage to throw his pillow at him, but by that time Louis’s
gone, his cackling laugh coming from down the hallway.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
“I like this one. What do you think, Harry?”
Harry looks up from where he’s seated beside Zayn; they’re in two identical
easy chairs, have the footrests pulled up so they can lean back, and had been
talking about tattoos. (When he asked Zayn how many he had, the boy just winked
and made it clear that there were more than just the ones on his arms.) Harry
had been in the middle of telling Zayn about how he wanted a tattoo, just had
to narrow his choices down, when Louis’ voice brought him out of their
conversation.
Louis and Liam are nearby, sitting on a couch that’s overstuffed and has three
large pillows. They’ve been to three furniture stores already and Louis still
hasn’t found exactlywhat he’s looking for – whatever that is. Their mums gave
them some money to buy some furniture, but Louis keeps changing his mind about
what they should get and what it should look like. Harry, really, couldn’t care
less.
Well, he could care less – he doesn’t want their apartment looking like a dump
– but right now he doesn’t want to be bothered. Louis’s not acting like their
conversation yesterday didn’t happen; he’s acting like it did but that there
was nothing wrong with it. He’s acting like he didn’t just bluntly say that
Liam’s his best friend and Harry’s not and that their kissing means absolutely
nothing to him and that basically, he doesn’t want to date him and the idea of
dating him is just plain ridiculous.
Really Harry’s just overreacting. He puts preteens to shame.
They’re at a thrift store and of course this would be the place Louis finds the
couch he actually wants.
Harry shrugs and looks away, turning back to Zayn. “I got this job working at
this café down the street from the apartments. Pay isn’t that great, but it’s a
start, y’know? Gonna put together a mike night.”
“The one with the windows all across the front?” Zayn asks. Harry nods. “They
have the bestcoffee there. Food’s not so good.”
Harry keeps nodding. “Well, I like to –” 
“Harry.” It’s Louis again. Harry turns back around, raising his eyebrows in
question. “Come feel it. You’ll sink right in.”
Harry sighs. “Then get it.” He stands up though and makes his way over to the
pair. He has no choice but to sit next to Louis so he does, and Louis’s right,
he does just kind of sink into the couch. “I like it.”
“Me too.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“What if it doesn’t match the other stuff we own?”
Harry stares at him like he’s ridiculous. “It’s black, Lou. Your entertainment
stand is black. There’s no problem. Everything goes with black.”
Louis huffs. “Fine.”
“If you don’t want it, then don’t get it.”
“I do want it.”
“Then we’ll buy it.” He looks down at the couch where the price is listed.
“It’s cheap enough we’ll have enough left over to save for rent.”
“Or,” Louis drawls out the word like there’s a dozen R’s in it instead of one.
“We could use the money to pay for a couple months of Netflix.” He wiggles his
eyebrows.
Harry sighs and then shrugs. “I don’t know. Do whatever you want.”
Louis frowns a little, his voice lower when he says, “Are you -”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he interrupts. Orever, he adds
mentally. He’s overly aware of both Zayn and Liam’s eyes on him.
“Yeah, but -”
“But nothing, Lou. Obviously we feel differently." He bites his lip and shrugs.
“It’s no big deal,” he repeats the words from last night, hoping the more he
says him, the more true they'll feel.
Louis’ frown deepens and he doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds. “It’s
just a crush,” he finally says. His voice is quiet, barely audible. “You’ll get
over it.”
Something inside Harry snaps. He feels like he's been slapped across the face
or doused in ice cold water. His hands tighten into fists and he has the sudden
urge to get up and walk away, or maybe throw something at a wall . . . or at
Louis.
He closes his eyes, almost laughs a little, and shakes his head. When he opens
his eyes, Louis jerks back a little bit. “A crush?” He wonders if this is
something Louis’s talked about with Liam, if they sat around on his bed and
laughed about little Harry and his stupid little crush. His chest tightens. “A
crush,” he says again, rolling his eyes a little and staring at the ceiling.
“Louis, I can’t even look at you without feeling like my heart is going to
burst out of my chest.” He looks back at the boy, whose expression is
completely blank. “And you call that a crush?" He pauses, tries to unscramble
the look on Louis' face, but there's nothing there. "Does it feel like that for
you?” he asks quietly. “Do you even feel anything for me . . . at all?”
Louis still doesn’t say anything.
Guess that answers that then. Harry shakes his head a little. “Right, well.”
His voice returns to a normal volume. “Buy the couch. I like it.” He stands up
again and walks back to where Zayn’s watching with curious eyes. “So anyways,”
Harry continues where they left off like nothing just happened, like he’s not
about to start crying any second. 
He can feel Louis’ eyes on the back of his head, but he doesn’t turn around,
just listens to Zayn talk. He’s barely aware of Liam saying, “He’s right, Lou,
you should probably save your money.”
Louis keeps silent.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They’re sitting on their new-old couch, eating pizza and watching Friends on
Louis’ TV, when Zayn pokes Harry in the side.
“Still want to go to that club tonight?” he asks quietly. It’s obvious his
words are meant for Harry and Harry alone, but Louis perks up. There’s
something unreadable on his face.
“Think me and Li might tag along, too, yeah?” he says. His voice doesn’t give
anything away.
Liam frowns.
Zayn nods like yeah, totally, why wouldn’t you?but gives Harry this lookand it
makes guilt eat away at his insides. He really didn’t want it to be like this,
Louis and Liam on one side, and Harry and his new friendship with Zayn on the
other.
It’s just that Harry’s been getting along with Zayn really well; he seems to
silently understand what’s going on with Harry and Louis even though neither of
them has mentioned their earlier conversation.
Harry just wishes he could put his feelings aside, because he really
shouldn't care that whatever was going on between him and Louis is nothing.
He'd already known that was gonna happen. He’s more pissed off about the fact
that Louis’s treating him like some child with a stupid crush that’s just going
to go away. Like Louis doesn't understand that Harry's already head over heels.
And now that Harry actually thinks about it should be pretty damn obvious. He
can't believe he didn't realize it sooner himself. 
Really, though, it’s not a big deal. And he doesn’t want their new friend
having to pick sides (though he does feel kind of smug that Zayn has obviously
chosen his.)
 
Harry almost thinks about not going to the club. Even as he’s standing in front
of the mirror, making sure he looks presentable, there’s still this voice in
the back of his head that’s saying maybe you should stay home tonight. He
thinks it’s probably Liam’s voice, reminding him he’s got work the next day,
but it may also be part he just doesn’t want to be around Louis right now.
Zayn hollers for him to hurry his arse up though and then ruffles his hair like
they’ve been best friends forever, so Harry tags along. He sits in the back of
the car next to Zayn while the darker-haired boy gives Liam instructions on how
to get there (and not so subtly checks him out; Harry figures that’s a
conversation for another time, though.)
Niall meets them outside of the club.
Harry didn’t have much time to spend with Niall the night before – he was too
busy getting drunk – so all he really knows about the Irish lad is from what
Zayn’s told him. He knows that apparently Niall is the ‘coolest, most laidback
guy you’ll ever meet’ and that him and Zayn went to school together.
He’s also insanely rich, but it’s obvious even to Harry that Niall’s not the
kind of guy to flaunt his wealth. Harry sure wouldn’t have known he was loaded
just by looking at him. Niall gives off this vibe, extremely ‘go with the
flow,' even now, standing outside one of the hottest club openings in London.
He’s wearing jeans, a polo, and has got his hat on backwards. He’s talking to
two tall girls that could be models with the way they look and are dressed.
They’re bluntly flirting with him (one of them even runs a hand down his arm,
squeezing), but when Niall sees the four of them approaching, he waves goodbye
like he has no interest whatsoever.
“Playing hard to get again, I see,” Zayn says, immediately giving the lad a
hug.
Niall leans his head back a little and laughs, showing off his pearly white
teeth. “Nah, mate. Tonight’s about the boys, right, yeah?” He looks them each
in the eye and nods once. “Plus the blonde’s got a boyfriend who’s like twice
my size, so.”
Zayn ruffles his hair. “Everyone’s twice your size, Nialler.”
Niall just chuckles again, mutters something about Zayn being an asshole, and
ducks his head before leading the way inside, not even bothering to get in
line. The bouncer just waves them pass and Harry wonders if anyone ever says no
to Niall.
The blond shows them the way to a booth in the back and almost immediately
they’re surrounded by people – some their age, some older. Cher’s there, curled
up next to Niall and laughing at some story he starts telling. A couple girls,
including the ones from outside, join them, as well as some boys. The girls
introduce themselves, shaking Harry’s hand and blinking their brilliant, large
eyes. Someone comes back to the table with shots and before he knows it, thirty
minutes have passed, and he’s pleasantly buzzed. Louis and Liam are on the
dance floor with each other, Niall’s off somewhere with Cher, so it’s mostly
just him and Zayn, sitting so close their arms are touching and Zayn’s legs are
practically in Harry’s lap.
Zayn’s eyes are out in the crowd and he nudges Harry a little too hard. “Are
you sure they’re not secretly together? Maybe that's why . . .”
Harry follows his line of vision, his eyes landing on Louis. The older boy’s
got his head thrown back, sweat trailing down his neck. He’s got a hand on
Liam’s shoulder and they’re both laughing, barely even dancing anymore. Liam’s
got obvious heart eyes.
Harry shakes his head and takes another shot. “I’m sure.” He doesn’t mention
the fact that he’s pretty convinced Liam’s in love with Louis, though.
“And you two aren’t together.” He motions between Louis and Harry. It’s more of
a statement than a question, but Harry shakes his head anyways. Zayn looks
amused. “I’m not the first person to ask that, am I?”
He shrugs then chuckles a little. “No.”
There are a couple minutes of silence – well, as much silence as you can get in
a club with pounding music – before Zayn continues. “He’s definitely gay,
though, right?”
Harry really doesn’t know if he should answer, it’s not his place, but he sighs
and nods his head anyway.
“Are you?”
He finally turns to look at the other boy. Zayn’s got curious eyes, but it’s an
innocent question. Harry doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to. “Does it
matter?”
Zayn shakes his head. “No. Just wonderin, s’all.”
“But you . . . you are, too? I mean . . . Liam,” his voice trails off a little.
Zayn laughs – half like he’s uncomfortable at being caught and half out of
amusement. “Nobody’s that straight, mate,” and claps him on the back.
Harry doesn’t really know what he means, but nods like yeah, alright.
“This is going to become a weekly thing, isn’t it?” he asks, looking around at
the club.
Zayn shrugs. “Maybe. Niall’s always getting invites to parties and club
openings. We’re young though; this is how we’re supposed to be spending our
weekends, isn’t it?”
Harry thinks back to how much everything’s changed. His weekends used to be
spent hiding from his step-father at one point and then at the hospital for a
while. He used to hide in the bathroom, cutting and throwing up, and now he’s
here with friends,actual other people, hanging out and drinking. If someone had
told him a year ago this is what would happen with his life, he wouldn’t have
believed them.
“You’re pretty young still.” Zayn picks up the conversation like they hadn’t
just been quiet for five minutes. “Guess you didn’t do this a lot back where
you come from.”
Harry laughs loudly and shakes his head. “Uh, no. Don’t even think there’s a
club where I come from. Definitely wouldn’t have been able to get in if there
was.”
He feels Zayn’s eyes on him and he turns, watching the boy look him up and
down. “I don’t know. I’m sure you could charm your way inside.”
Harry chuckles. “Are you hitting on me, Zayn?” His voice slurs a little bit.
Zayn smiles and winks. “Maybe just a little,” he teases.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Liam.”
“More worried ‘bout Lou, honestly.” His eyes drift off to the dance floor
again. He takes another shot. “He’d probably skin me alive."
Harry’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Did he miss the entire part where he and
Louis aren't dating? “It’s not like that.”
Zayn doesn’t have time to answer, because all of a sudden - (speak of the devil
and the devil shall appear) - Louis is tackling him, squeezing himself onto
Harry’s lap in the space between his body and the table. He reeks of alcohol
and his eyes are too big. Zayn just gives Harry this look like he’s trying to
convey something important that Harry’s not catching on to.
“I was having separation anxiety,” Louis says, cuddling into Harry’s neck. “You
two looked awfully cozy over here and I got jealous.” He presses his lips to
Harry’s in a quick, sloppy kiss.
“You’re drunk,” Harry deadpans. He’s torn between the urge to push Louis away
and pull him closer, the alcohol making it difficult for him to make up his
mind about what he wants.
Louis sits up straight, smiling. “That I am!”
Harry shuffles them around a little bit until Louis’s beside him instead of
straddling him.
Cher returns to the table with a drunk-looking Niall. The blond falls into the
booth and crawls over to Zayn, collapsing with his head in the boy’s lap.
“Zayn-ey. I think I drank too much.”
“Did’ya now?” Zayn laughs and runs his fingers through Niall’s hair.
Cher nods. “We were dancing and he practically collapsed on top of me. I had to
drag him over here.”
“You usually out-drink us all.”
Niall shrugs. “The bartender’s a floozy. She put something in my drink. Wants
in my pants.” And then he starts giggling like a three-year-old.
Zayn starts massaging Niall’s head. “The boy can drink us under the table when
it comes to beer,” he tells Harry, “but when it comes to hard liquor, the lad’s
a lightweight I swear.”
Harry laughs, watching Niall try to sit up and argue that he’s definitely not a
lightweightwhile Cher scoots in next to him. “Hi Harry,” she says. “You wanna
dance?”
He’s going to say no, really, but for some reason he ends up nodding his head,
overly aware of Louis pressed to his other side. “Sure. Why not?”
She smiles like he just made her day and takes his hand, leading him off to the
dance floor.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
He’s not as hung over when he wakes up the next morning. He’s got a small
headache, but that’s it. Zayn’s the one next to him instead of Louis and the
sight of the darker skinned boy confuses Harry a little bit. Zayn’s leaning
against the wall, checking his phone, but puts it away when he sees Harry stir.
He can’t help but notice that, unlike Louis, Zayn doesn’t have tea or
painkillers.
“Had an interesting conversation with Louis last night after you left to dance
with Cher,” he says.
Harry raises his eyebrows in interest. He only has vague memories of being on
the dance floor with the brunette. She tried to kiss him; Harry thinks he might
have let her.
“Yeah, apparently I’m not allowed to steal you from him, and if I try to . . .
well he got pretty creative, let's just leave it at that.” Zayn laughs like
it’s all a big joke to him. “He was pretty smashed. Thinks we’re secretly
dating or fucking or something.”
Harry just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “We are secretly dating, Zayn,”
he reaches out for Zayn’s leg blindly, patting his thigh, “you just don’t know
it yet.”
Zayn laughs and shoves him a little bit. “Alright babe,” he says. “Just don’t
tell anyone. Don’t wanna make your boyfriend jealous.”
Smirking, Harry finally looks back at him. “Isn’t that the point?” he jokes.
Shrugging, Zayn stands up. “Thanks for letting me crash here, by the way. I
don’t even remember how I got home. I gotta go, though, so I’ll see ya later.”
And then as he’s leaving, he says, extra loudly, “Bye boyfriend.” And Harry
cracks up. 
He buries his face in his pillow, trying to drown out the noise of Liam
hollering at Louis that I told you not to go out; now you have to go to work
with a hangover and it’s yourfirst day. Harry groans and wonders if it’s too
soon to call in sick. 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Zayn comes over after work that day, loudly proclaiming that he missed his
boyfriend even though Harry’s the only one home. Harry chuckles anyways and
they hang out in the living room. At one point Zayn disappears to go to the
bathroom and comes back seven minutes later with Harry’s acoustic guitar.
“So you really do play?”
Harry looks up from where he had been browsing through university brochures and
nods his head.
“I saw your bass, but it looked pretty, and I didn’t want to get in trouble for
touching it.”
Harry laughs. “Smart thinking.” When Zayn starts strumming the guitar, he asks,
“You play, too?”
Zayn shrugs. “A little.”
He hums a little as he plays (going to show he can play more than just a
little) and Harry goes back to narrowing down his choices for University.
“Hey,” Zayn says suddenly. “You don’t work tomorrow right?” After getting a
head nod in confirmation, he continues, “We should go out again tonight, just
the two of us.”
Leaning his head back against the armrest, Harry groans loudly. “Oh my God,
you’re actually insane.” He laughs. “I swear you’re going to corrupt me or
something." He goes back to flipping through one of the brochures and
absentmindedly says, "Bad influence is what you are. Should dedicate that Pink
song to you.”
Zayn stops strumming. “Pink, really?”
Nodding, Harry says, “Yeah, you know the one.” Zayn blinks, looking lost. Harry
sighs. “Lordy lordy lordy, I can’t help it, I like to party.”
The older boy shakes his head. “Nope, never heard of it.”
“What, do you live under a rock?” He starts singing again, “Alright sir, sure
I’ll have another one it’s early. Three olives, shake it up, I like it dirty.
Tequila forZayn, it makes him flirty.” He winks.
Zayn laughs. “Tequila does make me flirty.”
Harry leans his head back and chortles.
 
When Louis walks into the flat five minutes later, Harry has his laptop open
playing the song and he and Zayn are singing along, changing the lyrics
randomly and busting out laughing every few seconds even though they’re not
making much sense whatsoever.
Louis stares at them until the song is over, shaking his head, and Harry almost
falls off the couch trying to turn off iTunes while the beginning notes of
‘Family Portrait’ start playing.
From the floor, Zayn takes the laptop and starts scrolling through music. “Holy
shit,” he says suddenly, and Harry breaks his gaze away from Louis – didn’t
even realize they’d been staring at each other – and looks down at the boy.
“Thirty thousand songs, are you serious? Do you even listen to all of this?”
Harry shrugs. “I like a lot of different music.”
“You’re insane.” Zayn shakes his head. “Is that the time? I’ve gotta go.”
Harry’s already used to Zayn’s odd work hours, causing him to leave and show up
randomly, so he just nods, unperplexed. “Instead of going out, we should just
watch a movie later or something.”
Zayn shrugs as he leaves. “Ya alright. Later.” Once he’s at the door, behind
Louis’ back, he meets Harry’s eyes and whispers, “boyfriend.”
Harry chuckles again and looks away.
Once he’s gone, Louis walks over to the couch, stepping over Harry’s laptop.
Harry pulls his knees up to his chest to leave room for Louis at the other end.
“Where’s Liam?” he asks.
Harry shrugs. “Think he went out with Niall or something.”
Louis just nods and it’s quiet for a couple minutes. Then he says, “You sang
for him.”
Harry blinks in confusion. “What?”
“You sang. In front of Zayn.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well. No big deal.” He's been repeating those three words a
lot lately. Should be his new life motto. 
“I thought you get nervous singing in front of people?” 
“It’s just Zayn.”
Louis nods. “Yeah, right. Okay.” Then he stands up and walks out of the room,
and Harry doesn’t know why, but he feels like he did something wrong.
***** Disconnected (Fighting the Urge to Purge) *****
Chapter Notes
     i swear eventually this story will actually have a happy chapter. (;
     xox
They fall into somewhat of a routine the rest of January. On the days that they
work, Harry and Louis get up, get ready, go to work and then come home and veg
out in front of the television with Liam, watching Skins or Doctor Who or
Friends, sometimes a movie. Zayn joins them frequently. One night Niall tags
along and afterwards he becomes a permanent fixture in their life. It’s hard
not to want Niall around all the time, though; Harry can see why everyone likes
him.
The days that they don’t work, they sleep in, and Harry makes breakfast for
everyone. Niall comes over every morning that this happens (has decided he’s
making Harry move in with himso he can cook for him all the time; “You can be
my housewife, okay? I’ll be your sugar daddy.”) He always ends up hanging out
with them for the rest of the day. Zayn usually comes over, too, because most
days he doesn’t have to go into work until the afternoon.
It gets to the point that the five of them are always hanging out. On the
weekend they go out to Niall’s pub and later some club or party he’s been
invited to. They don’t go out on Sunday night, because that was about the
stupidest thing ever (and Liam gives them all evil eyes like look at your life,
look at your choices).
They almost always hang out at Louis and Harry’s apartment – though why, Harry
doesn’t understand; they don’t have a lot of furniture, and while they do have
a pretty good selection of movies, they’re bound to run out eventually. They
also have no cable. Whenever a game is on or something one of the boys wants to
watch; X-Factor, Next Top Model, they crash at Niall’s flat.
Niall’s apartment is nothing like Harry expected. There’s about as much
furniture in the two rooms as Harry and Louis have in their own apartment. It’s
all hardwood floors and open space – the living room, kitchen, and eating area
all one room, and then there’s the bedroom and a bathroom. Niall’s got a huge
telly though and pretty much every video game known to man, so they end up
there frequently, trying to beat each other at FIFA.
 
Harry wakes up early on the morning of his birthday to the smoke detector going
off in the kitchen because Liam and Louis had been trying to make him
breakfast.
They end up eating soggy cereal.
That night they all go out and get drunk, pretty much just like any other
night. The entire focus is on Harryand finding someone hot for him to hook up
with, which is what Zayn’s usually doing anyway except now Niall’s loudly
proclaiming to the people near them that Harry deserves birthday sex.
He gets plenty of offers from girls and guys (and older women) but turns them
all down.
At the end of the night - morning by now - they’re all laid out on the floor in
the living room, minus Niall who called dibs on the couch. Friends’ reruns are
running in the background and Harry gets up to go to the bathroom. On the way
back he runs into Louis, who he guesses is up to do the same. The older boy
grabs his hand and squeezes for a second. It sends electricity through Harry’s
body; he has to hold back a shiver at the contact, has forgotten how long it’s
been since they’ve really touched.
“Happy Birthday, Hazza,” is all Louis says, and then he’s walking past him.
It’s not the first time he’s said Happy Birthday to him that day, and it’s not
even his birthday anymore technically, but this feels different. For some
reason, after he’s laid down, with Zayn’s arm thrown across his waist, Harry
can’t get the way Louis looked at him, all sad but genuine, out of his head.
He doesn’t sleep.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
“He looks at me like I’m not good enough to be friends with his best friend.”
He’s in his weekly Saturday session with Cynthia. She’s a lot nicer than he had
originally thought. During the first session, which was just a basic rundown of
everything Harry’s been through, he had been very uncomfortable and nervous,
not knowing what to expect. She had kept asking him question after question,
trying to get him to lay everything out on the table. She’s tough with him,
doesn’t let him make excuses, and quickly got him to tell her things he’s never
told anyone, not even Louis, things he didn’t even know about himself.
They had made a list of all the things Harry wanted to accomplish in the
sessions, ranging from his self-esteem and fighting the urge to purge, to his
inability to let things go. When she asked him what kind of things he wanted to
let go of he had said, “Everything,” everything with his step-dad and his
biological dad, the confusion and anger he feels towards Louis, the fact that
Liam makes Harry feel like he’s never going to be good enough.
“I’m not mad at him or anything,” Harry says quickly; he hadn’t meant for that
small detail about Liam to slip out. That's what happens with Cynthia, though;
he should be used to it by now. “I knowI’m not good enough for Louis, but every
time I look at Liam it’s like I’m reminded of the fact all over again.”
“You think maybe it’s all a misunderstanding?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “No. I think Liam’s in love with Louis, and
he’s just being jealous.” He huffs out a breath and starts speaking quickly,
everything coming out in a rush. He leans forward in his seat. “Louis doesn’t
like me though, he made that clear! So shouldn’t Liam be happy? He doesn’t need
to look at me like I’m some stupid kid with a crush.”
Cynthia 'uh-huh's, hums a little, and nods her head. “I think this is something
you should talk to Liam about. And I think we really need to talk about why you
feel so undeserving of all your friends.”
They go back and forth like this for the rest of his hour, getting to the point
where Harry doesn’t want to talk or even thinkabout Liam or Louis or
anything anymore. Liam had left earlier that morning to head back to Manchester
for classes, and the look he had given Harry before walking out the door still
irked him.
(Deep down he wonders if Liam knows, if he knows about the things Harry has
done to himself in the past – still sometimes does to himself when everything
gets to be too much – and if that's the reason why he's always so disapproving.
Or if Liam just feels he needs to claim Louis as his own, mark his territory or
something.)
It’s on his mind so much that he’s mostly dazed when he gets back to the flat,
only half-listening to Louis ask what they should do for dinner. He thinks he
responds but next thing he knows he’s in the bathroom, door locked, leaning
over the toilet. His hand is already up, his finger reaching for his mouth. He
freezes and takes a staggering step back.
How did he get here? 
A knock on the door has him jumping out of his skin.
“Harry,” Louis says, “Zayn and Niall are here. Think we’re gonna order in.”
He nods his head, only half-aware of what he’s doing, and it isn’t until Louis
knocks again that Harry says, “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.” He splashes some
cold water on his face and leaves the bathroom as fast as he can.
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
He comes to the conclusion that Zayn is his new best friend; later that week,
when Harry’s trying really hard not to mope around, Zayn gives him a once over
and says, with the tiniest bit of sympathy, “Mate, maybe you just need to move
on, yeah? Get yourself a rebound, or a boyfriend, or something.”
And so Harry decides to give dating a shot.
                                        
It’s really not much at first; Zayn hooks him up with a coworker; Niall
introduces him to a fellow bartender; they both point out possible candidates
wherever they go. None of them last more than a single date. He’s pretty sure
that’s partly his own fault; he’s grown up watching Disney movies and rom-com’s
and believes that there needs to be some kind of spark – also he’s comparing
everyone to Louis and well. There’s really no comparison to begin with.
One Friday, nearing the end of February, Louis approaches him while Harry’s
making dinner. They usually go out Friday nights, even if it’s just to hang out
at Niall’s pub, but they’re all knackered and have decided to have a One Tree
Hill marathon on Netflix instead.
Harry’s making breakfast for dinner, because that’s what Niall wanted, and even
he can’t turn down the boy. Louis comes into the kitchen and starts getting out
plates and silverware.
“So there’s this guy that I’ve met a couple times at the theater.” Louis’ voice
is quiet, but casual; obviously trying very hard to come across like this is
just any other conversation.
Harry’s eyes go blurry for a second, he forgets to blink, and he stares very
hard at the eggs he’s in the process of scrambling. He doesn’t know what he’ll
do if Louis is about to tell him he’s got a date. He’s already trying to come
to terms with him dating; he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle Louis
dating too.
Surprising him though, Louis says, “I think you’ll really like him. He works in
the music business or something.” He shrugs. “I’m not sure. You guys have a lot
in common though, so if you want, I can give him your number.”
Harry blinks and transfers the eggs to a plate. He nods. “Yeah, alright.”
Louis smiles. It’s small, but it’s there. “Great.”
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
His name is Jeremy and his father owns a record label. It’s the first thing
Harry learns when he meets the boy for lunch on Tuesday. The second is that
he’s got a thing for boys with curly hair. (Later he learns that Jeremy is
eighteen, in his first year of college, and likes to play piano.) He’s got
brown hair and brown eyes hidden behind glasses, a beanie over his head and
he’s wearing tight skinny jeans. 
The lunch goes by quickly and smoothly. They talk; they laugh; they flirt. The
conversation stays on music a lot, because that’s the main thing they have in
common (also Harry Potter) and Harry blurts out that he’s dabbled in
songwriting when the topic comes up.
He doesn’t know why he says it, because he’s only ever told Louis and Gemma
really, but Jeremy smiles like he already knew anyway so Harry makes a mental
reminder to not talk to Louis ever again.
“Are you any good?” he asks.
Harry shakes his head and chuckles quietly. “No, not really. I mean, I’ve put
some stuff up on the internet and people seem to like it, but.” He shrugs. “I’m
kind of an amateur.”
And then Jeremy looks him up on tumblr.
On his phone.
In the middle of their date.
“You’ve got potential.” His eyes are still on his phone. “I might be able to
get you a job actually,” he says. “I know a couple companies that are looking.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, slides a business card
across the table when he’s found it.
Harry stares down at it and laughs a little, scratches the side of his head
nervously. “Should you be recruiting for your competition?” he jokes.
Jeremy brushes it off with a wave of his hand. “It’s not actually a record
label. It’s for a music publisher. Basically you write songs and they sell
them. Sometimes you get hired to work for a label, writing alongside artists
and bands.”
Picking up the card, Harry wonders what it would be like, writing for a
publisher, getting his music out there in the world. It’s not really what he
expected upon moving to London. He doubts he’s good enough anyways.
He shrugs then nods. “Yeah, okay. What harm could come of it?”
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Saturday is the day of his interview and the first thing he does afterwords,
without even thinking his actions through beforehand, is call Louis. He doesn’t
bother shuffling through his contacts because he’s had the boy’s number
memorized practically since they met.
“Either it went really well or really bad,” Louis says upon answering, skipping
all greetings.
“Oh. My. God.” His voice is shaking and he finds a bench to sit on so he
doesn’t actually pass out.
Louis’ voice is quiet when he says, “Please tell me it went really well. Do I
need to come pick you up?”
There’s something in his voice, sadness maybe that Harry just barely catches on
to, and he tries to remember how long it's been since he and Louis have
actually had a full conversation that wasn't just ‘how was your day’ or ‘we’re
running low on milk.’
“They offered me a job,” he tells him, pushing the guilt down to be dealt with
later. “I’m going to write songs! Songs that might end up on the radio. That
rockstars and popstars and whatever-stars might sing.” He’s hyperventilating;
he’s definitely freaking out.
“Calm down, Hazza. That’s a good thing! I’m proud of you. I told you your songs
are good.”
“Wish you were here,” Harry says quietly, like a confession he’s not sure he
wants to admit.
Louis doesn’t say anything; there’s just a quiet intake of breath and then a
sigh.
Harry curses himself silently.
“Guess you should probably call your boyfriend then, tell him the good news.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Harry to call Jeremy. “Oh, yeah, right.”
They’re silent, the first ever uncomfortable silence between them.
“Anyways, I gotta go. Congrats. Celebratory dinner with the boys later, yeah?”
Harry just nods even though Louis can’t see him. 
“I’ll talk to you later.”
Harry keeps his phone pressed to his ear long after Louis’s hung up.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
His thoughts haunt him the rest of the week. He moves around like he’s
disconnected from his body.
A fight breaks out in the café. Which is weird because the café is the last
place a fight would normally break out, but Harry figures he did something in
this life or a past one to deserve all this bad karma. The fight is bad enough
that Harry’s kind of frozen in place, unsure of what to do and feeling
completely overwhelmed. He's the only one working, too, his other two coworkers
having left for a quick lunch break. He figured it would be fine, an hour by
himself, what could happen?
He should've known better.
People are yelling around him, at him, and it looks like the two customers are
about to start throwing punches. 
Niall walks in though, like some kind of superhero or guardian angel Harry
didn’t know he had. He takes one look at the crowd and yells at everyone to
shut the fuck upand even though Niall is actually kinda small they listen
because it’s Niall and everyone listens to Niall.
He helps Harry out behind the counter the rest of the lunch hour, talking to
the customers so Harry doesn’t have to and making jokes that ease some of the
tension that’s built up inside his muscles. At one point he even reaches up and
ruffles Harry's curls in a way that makes the younger boy wonder what he ever
did to deserve best friends like him.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
He and Jeremy date for a couple more weeks.
There’s nothing overly spectacular about their time together; Jeremy’s amazing
and all – comes to see him sometimes while he’s at work, brings him coffee and
takes him out to expensive restaurants with entrees Harry can’t pronounce. He’s
hilarious and just the right amount of cocky. He’s also extremely good looking
(though, really, his arse has got nothing on Louis') and well put together, but
Harry’s just not feeling it. He keeps pushing, keeps trying, thinking it’ll
happen, but he can’t see them as being anything more than friends.
He feels a little guilty about it, too, ‘cause Jeremy’s a really great guy and
it’s thanks to him that Harry’s working as a staff writer for a semi-popular
music publishing company.
 
It all falls apart one Friday evening and Harry hates himself a little for not
ending it the second he knew their relationship wasn't going anywhere.
There’s a problem with their dinner reservations, so they stay in and listen to
music and laugh and it's great, really. At one point, though, Jeremy reaches
over and places his hand on Harry's knee and squeezes.
It's innocent, he tells himself, it's just a hand. But next thing he knows,
they're making out on the couch and Jeremy's on top of him, unbuttoning Harry's
shirt. And Harry can't think or breathe.
(And there are memories, memories of dark sleepless nights, not enough light
coming in through his blinds from the street lamps outside, and the near-silent
creaking of the floorboards in the hallway, his bedroom door opening just
enough for one person to slip through. There are flashes of cold fingers on his
skin, pulling down his pajama pants, pressing and taking whatever they can get.
And finally a deep, husky voice in his ear that says, "You're gonna shut up and
take it.")
It's all too much, so Harry does the one thing he never could do before - he
pushes Jeremy off and shakes his head no.
 
When he comes home after the ‘date’ he’s on edge and shaking. His thoughts are
all over the place, and he’s not one hundred percent sure how he made it home
in one piece. 
Louis is on the couch. His glasses are on the edge of his nose and he’s got one
of his school text books open in front of him. (If it were any other time Harry
would make a joke and probably tease Louis for studying because this is Louis
they’re talking about and he never studies unless there’s a test coming up.)
“Welcome home. Have a good time?”
Harry doesn’t answer. Just turns and shuts the door, spends a couple seconds
trying to get the lock in place with his jittery fingers.
“Harry?”
When he turns around, Louis is standing there. The older boy’s eyes go wide and
he takes a step forward. Harry takes a step back though, pressed against the
door, shaking his head.
“Don't . . . I can’t. I tried. He wanted to . . . he almost . . . but I
couldn’t, Lou, I couldn’t. It’s never going to -” He can’t think, can’t speak.
What if it never goes away? What if he can never be close to anyone? What if
his step-father broke a piece of him that can never be fixed?
Louis takes another step forward. Harry wants to say don’t touch me but then
Louis’ hands are on his, leading him to the couch, and Harry finds he can
breathe just a little easier.
When Louis sits down on the couch he pulls Harry down next to him.
Automatically the younger boy tries to curl in on himself, wrapping his arms
around his legs and pulling them to his chest, but Louis wraps an arm around
him.
Giving in, he drops his head onto Louis’ lap and the older boy cards a hand
through his hair.
“I kept seeing him.” Harry’s eyes are wide, probably red-rimmed from refusing
to blink, and he can barely see a foot in front of him. “Every time I close my
eyes, he’s all I see.”
“Shhh, it’s okay.” Louis runs another hand through his hair. “He’s never going
to hurt you again, Hazza. No one is ever going to hurt you again.”
It isn’t until Louis presses his lips to his curls that Harry finally lets
himself cry.
                                        
They ignore the world the next day, don’t leave the apartment or even change
out of their sweats. Harry doesn’t know what Louis said to the boys or even if
he talked to them, but no one comes knocking at their door.
They lay on the couch all day watching a wide range of movies. The only time
Harry really speaks is around mid-afternoon, and that’s only to argue with
Louis about whether Rose is a bitch or not for letting Jack die.
(Spoiler alert: she totally is.)
The next day Louis takes him to his therapy appointment, where Harry stays an
hour and a half longer than usual.
He kind of expects everything to change after that, but it doesn’t. He and
Louis learn to be in the same room together. They can laugh and joke and tease
each other, but it’s not the same.
Harry doesn’t think it will ever be the same.
***** Drowning (All He Ever Needs) *****
It’s the middle of March and Harry’s brushing his teeth, going through a mental
checklist of everything he has to do that day, when the doorbell rings.
For a minute Harry's not even sure it actually is the doorbell (maybe it's on
the telly or their neighbors’ doorbell) because their doorbell neverrings. Zayn
and Niall usually just pound on it until someone opens up; usually it’s
unlocked anyways and they don’t even bother.
Harry looks out of the bathroom and stares at the door for about three minutes
– listens to a couple more tentative knocks – before he walks down the hall and
opens it up, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and slightly dumbfounded look
on his face before he even realizes who it is standing on the other side.
Liam has his fist raised in the air like he's about to start knocking again.
His face is a little flushed and his eyes are wide. Harry barely has a chance
to take in the numerous bags at Liam’s feet before the older boy says, “I
quit.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t understand the joke, because this is Liam they’re
talking about, and even though Harry doesn’t know him as well as Louis does,
he’s like one hundred and ten percent sure Liam would never quit anything. He’s
stubborn like that, has a need to prove himself. If someone dared him to go
skydiving, he’d probably freak out the entire time, convinced he was going to
die, but he would still do it just so he could prove that he could. 
“Huh?” Harry finally asks.
“I quit,” he repeats. “I’ve decided to transfer. So I’m moving to London.” He
brushes past Harry, pulling his bags in behind him. “Louis here?”
Harry shakes his head slowly as he turns around. He doesn’t bother shutting the
door; Louis said he'd only be gone for a minute. “He’s grabbing something from
Zayn’s,” he says, but it comes out all jumbled and unrecognizable because his
toothbrush is still in his mouth and he’s trying not to get slobbery toothpaste
all over himself.
He can hear Louis’ voice in the hallway though, along with Zayn’s, and a second
later the older boy is brushing past him and stopping dead in his tracks at the
sight of Liam in their living room.
“Liam?” he asks, like he’s not quite sure his eyes are working right.
“I quit,” Liam says for the third time, his voice borderline hysterical. “And
I’m kind of freaking out right now, so . . .” he trails off. “Can we just -”
“What do you mean you quit?” Louis asks slowly.
Liam shrugs. “I dropped out. I couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t happy. I called
my mum up,” he starts wagging his arms around , almost knocking off the lamp on
the end table – Louis catches it before it can fall, “. . . and told her she
can’t control what school I go to and what major I take anymore. I told her . .
. I told her it wasn’t her choice. It’smy life. And I don't want to be a
doctor. I don't even like needles!” He’s rambling, clearly uncomfortable. He
looks like he’s about five seconds away from crying.
Louis smiles, a little tentative, but reassuring. “It’s okay, Li! Good for you!
Happy to have you here.” He pulls the doe-eyed boy in for a hug.
When Harry turns to look at Zayn the dark haired boy’s not smiling, but he's
got the brightest look in his eyes.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Liam only stays with them for two weeks before he decides to move in with
Niall. Harry doesn’t know whyhe moves in with Niall – they’ve got more room
than him – but he doesn’t ask. He thinks it might have something to do with
Harry’s recently acquired bits of grumpiness and how Louis doesn’t seem
altogether theremost of the time. (They’re a sad bunch, but Harry doesn’t
really know how to fix it.)
They all help Liam settle in, buy him food, take him out, make sure his mind is
off the fact that he just dropped out of college – which is a really big deal
for Liam; he’s never quit anything before and he’s not one to just give up.
They also help distract him from the fact that he’s pretty sure his mother
hates him. But he wasn’t happy, he was lonely, and his mum was being a control
freak, things weren’t working out, so he didn’t know what else to do.
None of them are really surprised when he gets into the same college Louis and
Niall attend, despite the fact that it’s the middle of the semester.
Harry can’t stop making fun of how ecstatic Zayn is now that Liam’s back in
London with them. He keeps claiming he just enjoysthe other lad’s company, but
Harry knows he’s lying, recognizes the glint in his eyes whenever the topic of
Liam comes up or the boy in question enters the room.
(Zayn thinks Liam’s straight, though, and Harry’s still convinced he has a
crush on Louis. So as much as he wishes Liam and Zayn could just get together –
really, that would solve so many of his problems – he doesn’t pressure the
older boy to do anything about his feelings.)
Two weeks later Liam comes into Louis and Harry’s apartment after his last
class of the day, informing them all he met a girlin his English class.
Zayn freezes where he’s sitting next to Harry on the couch, so he tries to pat
the boy’s knee to make sure he’s okay. (Later Zayn is all, “so what, he has a
date, no big deal, I don’t even really like him, he’s just, y’know, stupidly -
 stupidly -attractive.”)
Louis jumps up and asks for every single detail and the smile on Liam’s face
drops for a split second – making Harry even more positive (like ninety nine
percent sure ok) that Liam’s crush isn’t a figment of his imagination.
It takes everything inside of Harry not to just drag Louis down into his lap or
write mineacross his forehead. The only thing that actually keeps him from
peppering Louis in love bites is the fact that it’s pretty obvious the older
boy doesn’t feel the same way about Liam - either that or he’s just a really
good actor. (Also he knows he himself has no claim over Louis, but that’s
something he doesn’t like to think about.)
Louis convinces Liam to ask her out on a date, though, so that solidifies it
for Harry. Liam agrees and before they know it he’s been on three dates with
the girl – Danielle – and he brings her home to "meet the folks" as Louis puts
it.
Danielle is entirely too perfect for Liam. She’s a dance major and English
minor and also editor of the college newspaper. She’s sweet, but there’s a bit
of a teasing edge to her, too. She holds Liam’s hands, and runs her fingers
through his curls, and laughs at all their ridiculous jokes.
Harry’s pretty sure Zayn hates her. 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
“Come out with me tonight, Harry. It’s Saturday! We always go out on
Saturdays.”
Shaking his head, Harry tries to usher Zayn out of his bedroom. He has too many
things to do to be going out tonight. He has a mountain of homework due Monday
and an exam. Plus he’s got to finish this song, and for some reason it’s not
coming together like his usual songs do.
“If you keep staring at that piece of paper,” Zayn tells him, “you’re going to
go insane.”
“The song isn’t going to write itself, Zayn.”
“Actually, yes, it is. You’ve just got to stop thinking about it. Let’s go.”
Harry frowns. “Why’re you so desperate to go out?”
Zayn shrugs. “Haven’t been out in a while.”
“We went out last week,” Harry argues.
“Yeah, well, that was last week. I need me somethin’ warm to fall asleep to.”
Harry narrows his eyes in suspicion. “You never let your conquests spend the
night.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want a bunch of one-night-stand's anymore.”
The fact that his jaw doesn't actually drop to the floor in shock surprises
Harry. Zayn is the last person, the last person on Earth, Harry would expect to
want an actual relationship. If anyone were to believe in happily-ever-after’s
less than Harry, it would be Zayn. It’s one of their main conversation topic
points – Zayn didn’t have a great childhood; his parents split up when he was
real young and his mum basically blamed it all on Zayn. Zayn’s told him before,
if it weren’t for his sisters, he would have left home a lot earlier than he
did.
Harry takes a good, hard, long look at Zayn, noting the tiredness in his eyes,
the way his quiff isn’t as perfectly styled as usual.
He gets it then, he really does. He knows exactly what this is, why Zayn’s so
desperate to go out and find someone.
Zayn may have said he doesn’t like Liam, but Harry’s not stupid. He knows what
hopelessly head over heelslooks like because he sees it every morning when he
goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He knows what it feels like to want
a distraction, someone or something to get your mind off of the one thing you
can’t have. When you would rather have a relationship with someone who can’t
hurt you rather than pine after someone from afar when you know all it’s going
to cause is heartache.
So really there's nothing else Harry can do expect nod his head and stand up
and give Zayn exactly what he needs.
“Alright then, mate, let’s go.”
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
It becomes a regular thing; just like when Harry was looking for dates, he
starts pointing out boys and girls that he thinks Zayn would like, getting
phone numbers and talking to people at work. It’s a little harder because Zayn
reallydoesn’t do relationships or dates – thinks they’re pointless and has
never seen proof that foreverhappily ever afterreally exists. (Whereas Harry
just tellseveryone that he doesn’t believe in love to hide the fact that he’s
worried he’ll end up alone for the rest of his life, never good enough for
anyone.) It’s easier at the same time because Zayn is way too attractive for
his own good and basically has boys and girls lining up for a chance to date
him.
One girl in particular stands out. She’s blonde, not too short, with giant
eyes. Harry initially goes over there to talk to her for himself, but ends up
introducing her to Zayn. The two hit it off immediately and when Harry hears
her teasing Zayn that she doesn’t kiss on the first date he figures his work is
done.
                                        
Louis leans up against his door frame that night, humming to himself while
Harry gets ready for bed. 
“That’s nice what you did for Zayn,” Louis says. “Finding him a date and such.”
Harry shrugs, doesn’t think it’s a big deal; they all did it for him in his
time of need. That’s what friends are for.
“Gonna hook Niall up next?” he asks jokingly.
Harry laughs a little. “Yeah, maybe. Could open up my own matchmaking
business.”
“You’d be a triple-threat,” Louis chuckles, “song-writing, cooking, and
matchmaking.”
Harry nods. “Should print up my own business cards.”
They stand there for a little bit, still laughing some. When it dies down Harry
realizes they haven’t had a moment like this in a long time. And maybe that’s
completely his fault, he doesn’t know, but every time he thinks about mending
things – however possible that might be – he can’t help but wonder if he’s even
done anything wrong.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Harry comes out of his bedroom early one Saturday morning to see Zayn, Perrie,
and Niall lounging in the living room. He’s in the process of rubbing his eyes
to try and wake himself up more fully, and so it takes him a moment to remember
he’s only wearing boxer briefs and the hoodie he threw on just a couple seconds
ago. He hasn’t known Zayn’s girlfriend that long, so he thinks maybe he should
go put on some pants – and maybe at least zip up his hoodie - but then Niall’s
catcalling and Perrie’s laughing and batting her eyelashes at him
overdramatically.
“Oh, Harold, so sexy. Are you trying to seduce me?” she questions in mock-
horror.
He nods, and his tone is serious when he says, “That was my intention,
obviously. Is it working?”
“Completely. You should go put some more clothes on before I jump you.” She
winks.
Harry laughs; he knew he liked her for a reason. “I should go change before you
forget you have a boyfriend.” He doesn’t go change, but he does zip up the
hoodie over his bare chest, over his scars and stomach that he still wishes was
a little more flat.
Zayn snorts. “Like she could forget,” he says in a half-assed attempt at
sounding suggestive. He’s practically draped across Perrie, though, seems to be
half-asleep.
“Boyfriend? Who? Zayn? What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She
taps her chin with one of her long, manicured fingers.
“How come you never flirt with me like that?” Niall pouts.
“Because, Niall, you are too innocent; I’m afraid I’d corrupt you.”
Harry, Zayn and Niall both snort at that. Zayn sits up a little, eyebrows
raised. “Niall? Innocent? You must be new here.”
“Speaking of myself,” Niall says, focusing his gaze on Harry, “go make me some
breakfast.”
“Maybe that’s why she doesn’t hit on you,” Harry points out. “Demanding little
thing, aren’t you?”
Niall grins widely. “I have needs, Hazza.”
The use of Louis’ nickname for him causes Harry to freeze up a little. When
Niall gives him an odd look he just asks, “How did you guys get in anyway?” He
glances around, wondering if Louis’s up already. That rarely happens; Harry’s
always the first one up. He’s surprised Niall and Zayn were even up before he
was.
Niall’s grin turns to a frown. “I may have stolen your key and got it copied
before returning it to your lanyard.”
Harry shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised?”
There’s a knock on the door and he’s not sure if he’s shocked or not when he
opens it to find Liam and Danielle on the other side.
“Did I agree to make everyone breakfast without realizing it?” he asks no one
in particular.
Liam smiles apologetically, but Danielle just grins up at him. “No, but that
sounds like a good idea.” She presses a kiss to his cheek before skirting past
him into the apartment.
“Some help would be nice,” Harry hints, watching as Liam and Danielle make
themselves comfortable on the couch. He doesn’t miss the way Zayn curls into
Perrie automatically.
The blonde starts running her fingers through his hair. “I’d help, but I’m shit
at cooking.”
“I can’t cook either!” Danielle laughs a little, like this is something they
have in common so it should help them . . . bond. Danielle and Perrie do seem
to get along for the most part, but he can tell Perrie’s picked up on the way
Zayn always seems more distant around Liam and her, so that’s gotten in the way
of them becoming bff’s or whatever it is that Danielle’s always aiming for.
“None of you are good for anything.” Harry groans. “Why are you here again?”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Harry spins around to see Louis leaning against the wall that
leads off to the hallway. He’s still in his pajama bottoms, but his chest is
bare. Harry looks away instantly; blaming it on the fact that he’s just jealous
Louis can walk around comfortably without a shirt on. “Be nice to our guests,
Haz.”
“Did you plan this without telling me?” he asks, gesturing towards the group in
their living room fighting over what to watch on the telly.
Louis laughs and shakes his head. “I wish.” He skips into the room and grabs
the remote out of Niall’s hands, saying something about it being histelevision,
so hegets to pick what they watch. He doesn’t even look up when he says,
“When’s the food going to be ready?”
Harry groans again and buries his face in his hands. 
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Cher joins them for breakfast too, because Niall complains the air is too
couple-y and he needs someone to cuddle with. Harry points out that he has no
one to cuddle with, but Niall just gives him this look like he’s stupid and
gestures towards Louis like duh.
Harry tries to focus on cooking instead of thinking about how long it’s been
since he and Louis actually cuddled.
He doesn’t miss it, he really doesn’t.
So they all hang out and eat breakfast, then Zayn’s pulling out one of Harry’s
guitars and playing it. Niall starts singing along obnoxiously to the song –
it’s one of Harry’s, sung by the duo that won X-Factor, and is constantly on
repeat on the radio. They all join it, but it’s mostly just them trying to see
who can sound the most annoying and making fun of Harry.
Perrie takes the guitar and starts singing for real and then Cher joins in, and
Danielle pouts a little because she, apparently, isn’t a good singer. Liam
pulls her up though and they start dancing, and Danielle’s definitelya good
dancer. She moves across the room with ease and starts showing Liam some moves,
and he, well, he’s not a half-bad dancer either.
Harry’s only barely paying attention to the conversation, because his eyes are
on his guitar – he doesn’t really ever let anyone touch it; Zayn was okay, but
seeing it in Perrie's hands makes his stomach feel funny. He’s overly attached
to that guitar, and he’s not sure if he trusts her yet.
She catches him watching (half-glaring, really) and laughs, promising she won’t
break it.
“If you break it,” he tells her, “you’re buying me a new one.”
“And I’m not paying for it, because I’m broke as hell,” Zayn jokes.
Someone decides that they should have a movie night (or day?) and then Louis’s
telling Harry to go out and get some junk food, and next thing he knows, him
and Zayn are in the car, and Zayn’s driving down the road, rambling on about
Perrie thisand Perrie thatand I bet Danielle doesn’t . . .and really, he
doesn’t want to hear this.
They separate when they get to the market – Zayn’s getting the alcohol (because
apparently what’s a movie night without getting drunk off your arse?) and Harry
loads up on food. He finds himself automatically picking out food he knows
Louis would want and has a miniature meltdown where he shoves everything Louis
would want back on the shelf and gets everything Louis hates, and then changes
his mind and goes back to getting all of Louis’ favorites.
When he’s pretty sure he’s past the point of mentally insane, he starts
wondering around the shop, trying to get his mind on something else.
He finds himself in the housewares and cookware section for some reason,
stopping randomly in the middle of an aisle. It takes him a couple minutes to
realize why he stopped and what exactly he’s staring at.
There’s a long line of scales filling up half the aisle, just sitting there all
innocently, like they have no clue how much they’re torturing Harry just by
existing. For some reason Harry’s fingers start twitching. He wants to grab
one, wants to open it up right there and see how much he weighs because it’s
been so long and he knows he’s gained weight. Sure, he’s gotten better at
ignoring the voice inside his head that tells him he needs to eat less or needs
to throw up his dinner (and the slates not completely clean when it comes to
that) but right now it’s louder than ever, more persuasive than ever. He grabs
one at random and hurries to the front of the store, checking out and paying
for everything before Zayn can join him.
Zayn stares at the bags in confusion for a moment before Harry explains, “I
figure since you have to buy the liquor, I’d buy the snacks,” and he hopes the
other boy can’t see the white box in one of the bags and if he does, doesn’t
think anything of it.
Zayn just shrugs and nods like that makes sense and checks out.
Then they’re on their way back to the flat and Harry’s trying to ignore the
guilt eating him up inside.
                                        
Harry hides the scale in the back of his closet and puts it out of his mind for
the rest of the night.
                                        
The scale stays in the back of his mind for the next few weeks. He doesn’t use
it, doesn’t open it, doesn’t even go near that part of his closet. Every time
he reaches for another crisp though, it’s there, reminding him, and every time
he takes a swig of regular pop instead of diet, it’s like an alarm goes off in
his head.
So he skips lunch nearly every day, and then breakfast and dinner when he can,
and tells himself he’s just losing a little weight, that he’s got it under
control this time, and it won’t end up with him on his knees in front of the
toilet like it has so often before.
He doesn’t think he’s being obvious, he and Louis don’t hang out as often
anymore, but the older boy watches him carefully – always has, if Harry’s being
honest with himself. He eats a little more in front of Louis, just to make the
other lad happy, and tells himself that it’s all okay, that everything’s going
to be alright.
He lies to Cynthia, tells her he’s doing great, and he thinks she can see right
through him, but she says nothing, so he must be better at this than he
thought. He misses a couple sessions here and there, though, ignores a couple
of her phone calls, and starts drowning himself in self-hatred.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
He’s tossing and turning in bed one night, can’t sleep. Louis didn’t make him a
cup of tea – that’s what he blames it on, because Louis always makes him tea
before bed and that’s always been what helps him go to sleep.
Really all he can think about is the scale though. It feels like his closet is
calling out to him, haunted by that stupid fucking scale. So he gets up, grabs
it and goes to the bathroom. He takes it out of the box, sets it on the ground,
and stares at it for no less than fifteen minutes. He turns, makes sure the
door is locked, and then steps on.
And it’s too much. He knew he gained weight, but he didn’t realize how much.
Louis kept telling him he looked so much better, so healthy. But how can he
look better when this is how much he weighs?  He stares down at his body, then
at the numbers on the scale, and back again. He feels everything in his stomach
churning – which doesn’t make sense, because there’s nothingin his stomach –
and when he throws up it’s mostly stomach acid.
He’s shaking, his vision’s blurry, but he reaches for the box that he knows is
under the sink, not even bothering to get up off the floor. The box has got
odds and ends in it, bathroom supplies he doesn’t use anymore and extra
batteries. Taped to the lid though is exactly what he’s looking for.
He pulls the razor blade into his fingers and can’t help the near silent sigh
of relief. It’s like nothing matters anymore. This right here is the answer to
all his problems. He doesn’t have to worry about his weight or what’s going on
with Louis, doesn’t have to think about his job or Uni. He’s about to get back
what little control he ever had over himself.
He sinks it into his skin to ignore the I can’t believe you’re doing this after
everything you’ve been through, after all the work you put into getting
betterand there’s a stinging, surprise, fuckpain – he hasn’t done this in a
while, didn’t remember how much it hurts. He does it again and again and then
one more time when there’s banging on the door and he jumps in surprise, the
razor blade accidentally sliding across his wrist.
The razor falls to the floor and he stares at the cut he unintentionally made –
too deep, deeper than the others – and listens to Louis’ voice saying, “Harry?
What’re you doing in there?” Usually Harry would make some remark like curing
cancer, solving world hungerbecause reallywhat does Louis think he’s doing in
the bathroom? But now he understands why Louis's always asking, why he’s always
knocking on the door when Harry’s been in there for far too long.
“Harry,” Louis repeats.
Frantically, he grabs the roll of toilet paper and wraps it around his cuts,
pulls down the sleeve of his jumper and thanks God that it’s a little chilly
tonight. He hides the razor blade and scale, and then opens the door, moving to
brush past Louis. He knows that there’s a good chance Louis is going to see the
scale hidden under the sink eventually and say something about it, but Harry
figures he’ll deal with that when the situation arises.
“I was just going to the bathroom,” he says, heading for his bedroom.
Louis grabs onto his wrist and Harry flinches, stopping immediately and pulling
his cut arm to his chest habitually. It’s a stupid mistake and Louis’ eyes
widen in surprise and suspicion automatically.
“I’m sorry,” Harry’s apologizing before Louis’s even rolled up his sleeve and
unwrapped the toilet paper from his cuts. Louis stares down at the four thin
bleeding lines, his eyes looking a little glazed over like he thinks he might
be dreaming or imagining them.
He's never seen Harry like this. He's seen Harry skip a meal and, despite how
hard he tries to hide his bad habits, Harry knows a time or two Louis's heard
him force all the food out of his stomach. He's seen the scars and he's seen
Harry in the hospital, but he's never seen him like this, broken, empty, with a
bloody wrist. 
Harry starts apologizing again, unshed tears blurring up his vision.
Louis just shakes his head, tells him it’s okay in that soothing tone he’s
always used, and leads him back into the bathroom. Harry sits back down on the
closed toilet seat and Louis goes about cleaning up the cuts, pulling out the
first aid kit to help assist him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“Did you eat today?” is all Louis asks.
Harry shrugs.
“Have you been taking your medicine?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry. I tried, I did. I just . . . I couldn’t
do it anymore.”
“Shhh,” Louis says, running a hand through Harry’s curls. “I know. It’s okay.
It’s alright.” He finishes up; Harry’s cuts are all hidden underneath gauze and
medical tape. Louis kneels down in front of him and brushes the curls off of
Harry’s forehead that have stuck there thanks to the sweat building on his
body. “Let’s get you into bed,” he says, and Harry nods.
Louis makes him tea and just when Harry thinks the older boy is going to leave
him all aloneLouis climbs onto the bed next to him. They don’t really talk
about anything; Louis just tells him about his day and one of his annoying
coworkers. Harry manages to chuckle a little while he sips his tea and when
he’s done he curls in close to Louis, wrapping himself around the smaller boy
like an octopus, reluctant to let go.
He was wrong; he missed this, he’s really missed it.
“You’re really important to me, Harry,” Louis says. Harry nods, because he
knows. “No, really. I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to lose what we
have. And I know I’ve said some shit things and I’m sorry. You're the most
important person to me. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He kisses
the top of Harry’s head. “It breaks my heart to think about you hurting
yourself.”
Harry squeezes Louis closer, murmuring promises about how he’ll try harder and
how sorry he is into Louis’ skin. Louis starts drawing patterns onto his skin
like he always does.
It may not be a lot, or definable, what they have; but he knows their kisses
are never going to be just kisses and their hugs will never be just hugs. It’ll
always mean a little bit more when he holds Louis’ hand or curls up next to
him. They may not be dating and Louis may not love Harry like Harry loves him,
but they have a part of each other that no one else will ever have.
And Harry thinks it’s probably enough. If he can have this, the late night
cuddles and secret kisses, then he’ll be just fine; it’s all he ever needs.
***** All Cause of You *****
Chapter Notes
     i told you there would be a happy chapter eventually xoxoxox
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Niall, Liam and Louis attempt to make breakfast the next morning while Zayn and
Harry lay half-asleep on the couch, cuddled up next to each other.
Harry’s glad it’s just the five of them for once; ever since Liam started
dating Danielle and Zayn started dating Perrie the girls are always around, and
it’s rarely just them boys.
He’s still wearing his jumper from the night before, and he’s freezing cold, so
he gets as close to Zayn as he can, soaking up the other boy's warmth. Zayn
automatically wraps an arm around him, rubbing a hand up and down Harry’s arm.
There’s lots of noise coming from the kitchen, banging and hollering and
cussing, and when the three other boys are finally finished, ninety nine
percent of the food is burnt. What isn’t burnt is divided amongst them.
The plate Louis brings Harry is filled with smaller portions and there’s a cup
of tea to go along with it. Louis sets the food down in front of him as if to
say it’s there if you want it but you don’t have to eat it. And Harry really
does want it; his stomach is growling, and he can’t remember the last time he
had a real meal. But at the same time, he knows he’ll probably regret it if he
eats it.
Louis wraps his fingers around Harry’s non-bandaged wrist though, applying just
a little bit of pressure, and smiles at hm. “I hope you know how proud of you I
am,” he whispers, not loud enough for the other boys to hear, his lips brushing
against the shell of Harry’s ear. “You’ve done really well.”
Harry smiles weakly and nods.
And then he picks up the plate and takes a bite.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
Later that day they’re lounging around Niall’s flat. Zayn and Niall and Louis
are playing some video game on Niall’s Wii, and Liam and Harry are on the
couch. There’s a wide gap of space between the couch and the television because
Niall always pushes any furniture out of the way when they play; one of them is
always prone to get violent, and someone almost always gets hit in the head.
Harry’s cuddled up against Liam because he’s still so very cold – he doesn’t
know when it happened or why, but it seems Louis’ clinginess has passed onto
all of them; they’re pretty much always touching. When he looks up, Liam’s eyes
are on Louis.
He catches Liam looking at Louis a lot, mostly because he actively seeks it out
and partly because Liam's rarelynot looking at Louis. This time, though,
there’s something different in Liam's gaze. He’s not as sad, and he’s not
making obvious heart eyes. He’s just kind of smiling fondly and shaking his
head like I can’t believe I’m friends with this fucker. Harry knows the look
well.
“Do you still like him?” he asks quietly, looking away from the older boy's
face.
His arm is wrapped around Liam’s middle and Liam’s arm is wrapped around
Harry’s shoulder so he can feel it when the boy freezes. “How did you know?” he
asks slowly.
Harry laughs a little. “Because I know what Louis’s like and I know how hard it
isnot to like him. I’d be surprised if Niall and Zayn didn’t have man crushes
on him, and they’re straight.”
For the most part, he amends in his head. Niall told him he was straight, at
least, but then went on and on about there being a couple boys he
probablywouldn’t kick out of bed. (Like, "Adam Levine, hot damn, have you heard
him sing?") And Zayn, well. Harry likes to think of Zayn as Liam-sexual.
Liam squeezes him a little closer. “Does anyone else know?” Harry shakes his
head and Liam visibly relaxes. “It’s not – y’know – it’s better now, now that I
have Danielle. I like her a lot. I mean, at first it was more . . .” Harry
nods, letting Liam know he understands, so the older boy shuts his mouth with a
slightly-relieved-sounding sigh.
“That’s good. I’m really happy for you, Li.”
The other boys get loud all of a sudden, and someone starts arguing that Niall
cheated or something. Liam and Harry stay quiet, watching the exchange with
amusement.
When they’ve toned it down (as much as they can at least) and gone back to the
game, Harry says, “Louis told me you were straight. I don’t know if he was
joking or not, but . . .”
Liam shrugs. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever had a crush on. First person I ever
had a crush on, really. Sometimes I think it’s the idea of liking Louis that I
like more than actually liking him. We would never work out. It’s taken me a
lot time to get that through my head.”
Harry frowns. “I don’t know. They say opposites attract.”
Liam’s laugh surprises him. “Yeah, it would definitely be interesting. That's
for sure.”
Louis looks back at them suddenly, eyebrows raised, but there's a smile on his
face. Harry doesn't miss the way he takes in the way Harry's practically curled
around Liam; his eyes light up just a little, like he approves.
“What would be interesting?”
“If you actually won a game,” Harry answers without missing a beat.
Louis threatens to throw his controller at him, but eventually turns back to
the game.
“He’s really fond of you, y’know,” Liam says. "I wasn't kidding when I said he
never shuts up about you." 
Harry nods, presses his face into Liam’s chest to hide. “I’m glad we’re all
friends.” He sighs a little then. “I thought you hated me,” he admits.
Liam’s grip around him tightens; Harry thinks he’s shaking his head. “Could
never hate you, Harry. Was just jealous you got a part of Louis I would never
have.”
                                  ~*~*~*~*~ 
That night Harry walks into Louis’ room with his guitar and drops down on his
bed.
Louis has his glasses on and a textbook open in front of him, doing his
homework and studying for the exams he has coming up. He looks up, though,
eyebrows raised when he sees Harry’s guitar. Harry hasn’t played for him since
the incident in the bathroom nor has Louis asked him to.
“What’s that for?” 
Harry starts strumming and says, “So, basically, it took me a long time to
realize it, but I know how much it bothered you that I sang in front of Zayn.
And I have no idea why, but I know you like it when I play for you and sing for
you. So, basically, erm . . . I want to play you this song I wrote for you.”
Louis’ eyes widen behind his glasses and he drops the paper in his hand. “You
wrote me a song?” he asks slowly, each word their own sentence.
He could probably laugh – he’s written Louis like five hundred millionsongs –
but he just nods and starts playing. “I’m sorry if it sucks,” he says before he
starts singing, laughing uncomfortably.
This is different, the song he wrote for Louis. The stuff everyone hears on the
radio – the few songs of his that have actually made it there – are fabricated.
They’re thrown together. They're products. Because that’s what the music
industry is all about, he's learned. They don’t care about real talent or, God-
forbid, meaningand honesty. All they want is something that sounds good,
something that sells. Those songs take him five minutes to write on a good day.
They don’t mean anything to him.
Not like this song. Songs he writes for Louis, songs he writes for himself,
they all mean something. He puts a part of himself into those songs, a part of
his heart, a part of his soul. They take days, weeks, months to write and they
keep him up at night, torturing him with their lyrics and melody.
He knows he’s written a good song when he loses sleep over it, when it’s all he
can think about, when he finds himself tapping out the beat to it during work
or humming the tune while cooking.
He doesn’t look up, too afraid to meet Louis’ stare. He’s never played him a
song like this before. It's never meant so much to him.
The tempo increases as he starts playing the chorus.
The song has everything he's ever needed to tell Louis, about changing his
life, saving his life, how there's a good chance Harry wouldn't even be here,
not just here in London, but alive if it weren't for him.
When he looks up, he’s surprised to see Louis’s taken off his glasses. His eyes
are red, like he’s about to start crying or maybe just didn’t get enough sleep.
Harry knows if he keeps looking at Louis, he’s going to start crying himself,
so he looks back down at his guitar.  
Now he is getting teary eyed; he can feel them trying to escape. He keeps
singing though until the very last line.
Even after he's done, he keeps playing a little longer, but finally looks up.
“You wrote that for me?” Louis asks. Harry nods and bites his lip. “It was
beautiful.”
Harry sighs, relieved, and relaxes a little. Just when he’s moved his guitar
off to the side of Louis’ bed, the boy tackles him and Harry falls backwards.
He doesn’t seem to mind though, just holds himself close to Harry.
“I can’t believe you wrote me a song,” he whispers, his face pressed up against
Harry’s neck.
“It’s all true, y’know. I meant every word. You really did save me.”
“And you call me a sap,” Louis teases. He sits up again and smiles, his eyes a
little watery still. “You know,” he tilts his head to the side, “I think you
saved me, too.”
                                        
They cuddle in Louis’ bed for the rest of the day, unable to stray too far from
one another. Louis manages to get some studying down after some prodding from
Harry.
He makes some dinner later and they sit in bed eating it. While they eat, they
talk, the conversation ranging from this annoying guy who’s the lead in one of
the plays the theater is putting on, to how this girl in one of Harry’s cooking
classes made her Crème Brule explode. They catch up on the things they haven’t
told each other, keep everything lighthearted mostly.
When they’re finished and Harry’s put their dishes on the floor with a promise
from Louis that he'll do them later, Louis starts studying again. He mostly
just draws invisible pictures on Harry’s skin, though.
“Sometimes I want to hand you a pen, just so I can see what you’re drawing when
you do that.” His arms are crossed under his head and he's staring up at the
ceiling.
Louis’ face lights up and he reaches across Harry to his desk where there’s a
jar of pens and pencils. He grabs a sharpie, uncaps it, and before Harry can
say anything, he’s grabbing his arm and writing ‘hi’. He keeps going, drawing
stars – his favorite shape, he’s always told Harry – and smiley faces. He draws
a penis on Harry’s wrist and after he’s done laughing, starts writing lyrics to
some of his favorite songs. Harry recognizes some words to The Man Who Can’t Be
Moved and Green Eyes along with some others less familiar and harder to read.
“You better hope I don’t have to go into work tomorrow,” Harry tells him.
Louis just smiles then pouts a little bit when he’s run out of room.
Harry contemplates for half a second and then he’s pulling off his shirt and
tossing it to the ground. If it were anybody else, he probably couldn’t do it,
but this is Louis.
Louis’ smile widens even more and he leans down to start decorating Harry’s
chest with scribbles and random words and lines from songs. He goes over a few
of Harry’s scars but neither of them mentions the way Harry's body tightens.
After Louis’s done, he sits up and grabs his phone. He looks at Harry with a
question in his eyes. Harry hesitates for a moment, but then nods, so Louis
snaps a picture and smiles down at it fondly before shoving him a little and
saying, “Now go take a shower!”
He does, because he always does what Louis tells him to do and he needs to take
a shower anyways. He manages to scrub off most of the sharpie since it didn’t
have long to sit. The ‘hi’ and the star are still on his arm though, the first
two things Louis drew. He kind of likes how they look, the dark of the sharpie
up against his pale skin, the ‘hi’ written in Louis’ slightly messy
handwriting, the perfect evenness of the star.
He doesn’t bother putting his shirt back on, but he does pull on some pajama
bottoms over his briefs before he gets back into bed with Louis. The smaller
boy curls up next to him and runs his fingers over the ‘hi’ and the star. He
kisses the space between them.
“I hope they never ever fade away and you have to walk around with hi and a
star on your arm forever.”
When Louis sits up on his elbows he’s got a wide smile on his face. He leans
forward a little and presses his lips to Harry’s for a moment. Pulling back
then, he studies Harry’s face, and must see something good, because he kisses
him again, this one lasting longer.
It’s the first realkiss they’ve exchanged in a while, months even, since they
moved up to London practically. Harry sinks right into it like he always has –
always will probably – tightening his grip on Louis’ waist while the other
boy’s hands rest on his chest.
“I missed you,” Louis says, murmuring it against his mouth.
Harry chuckles a little. “I’m right here.”
“Not what I mean.” Harry waits for him to elaborate, to say what’s on both of
their minds. Louis sits up a little but doesn't meet his gaze. “I just miss you
in general. I don’t like it when you’re gone.”
Harry knows what he means – gone like he gets when he’s lost inside his head,
in his thoughts, when he’s mentally and emotionally away from Louis, not
necessarily physically. Though he’s sure Louis doesn’t like that either, knows
he himself hates it.
“I don’t like it when we’re not talking. I need you, too, y’know,” he says,
sounding a little breathless. “It’s not just the other way around.”
Harry takes in a deep breath. “About what you said –”
“I know what I said, Harry. You don't know how sorry I am. If I could take it
all back - I didn’t mean to belittle your . . . feelings.” He looks down,
starts drawing invisible patters on Harry’s chest again. “I just thought . . .”
“That they would go away?”
Louis shrugs.
“I love you, Louis.” The fingers on his chest freeze. “I will always love you.
If I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will.”
“But you’re –”
“Just seventeen?” The older boy shrugs again, and Harry laughs. He flips them
over so he’s leaning over Louis. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t think love has an age
requirement.” He grins.
Rolling his eyes, Louis shakes his head a little bit and chuckles. “You’re
ridiculous, you know that?”
Harry shrugs, “Eh, only a little,” and leans down to kiss him again. “I missed
this. I could kiss you forever,” he half-sighs.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Louis tilts his head a little. “That could probably be arranged.”
He leans up a little, wondering if Louis’s really saying what he thinks he’s
saying. “Really?”
The older boy laughs and nods. “Yes. As long as you don’t go around kissing
anyone else.” He wraps his arms around Harry's neck, interlocking his fingers
as if to keep him in place.
He pretends to contemplate it for a minute. “I think I can live with that." He
smiles. "Y'know, as long as you don’t kiss anyone else either.”
Louis shakes his head. “Nope. Iget to kiss whoever I want.”
“Oh I see how it is. I stay home being all loyal and committed and you go out
macking on every cute boy you lay eyes on.”
“Pretty much.” There’s a flash of humor in Louis’ eyes.
Even though he knows Louis isn't being serious, Harry sits up and leans back,
moving so they're no longer touching. He doesn’t miss the half-whispered what,
where’re you going that comes out of the older boy’s mouth and the way he makes
grabby hands, trying to pull Harry back.
“Sorry. That’s not going to work.”
Louis pouts.
“That’s not going to work either.”
“You will be the death of me, I swear,” he groans, covering his eyes with his
hand, and then sighs. “Fine.”
“Fine what?”
Louis drops his hand. His eyes are narrowed. “Are you serious right now?” He
rolls his head back and laughs. “You really think I wantto kiss anyone but
you?”
Harry smiles and crawls back up next to him. “No.” He drapes his arm across
Louis. “But it’s nice to hear all the same.”
Chapter End Notes
     let's all have a nice lil cry now since all that's left is the
     epilogue ):
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Notes
     this is really short and might seem really fillerish but i think it
     sums up everything the one the saves me is supposed to be about (e.g.
     harry + happiness) i'm going to put a mega-long thank you at the end
     of this, but i know some people won't read it, so just in case, i
     want to give a massive general thank you to everyone who read this.
     also for some reason my laptop hates ao3 and crashes everytime i try
     to respond to comments (unless i do it like ONE at a time and have
     nothing else open) so replies will be slow.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
In the middle of July, after their six-month lease is up, Harry and Louis start
looking for a new place to live. It's kind of an unanimous decision. (There's a
draft that constantly sends Louis into a sneezing fit and has Harry bundled up
in sweaters despite the summer air; their floorboards creak in the middle of
the night, and Louis’s like nine hundred percent sure the place is haunted; the
freezer likes to randomly stop working; and five days out of ten the toilet
doesn't flush.) They love the place of course, but really, it's time to move
on. And thanks to Harry’s two paychecks (and Louis’ recent landed role in the
local theater's play) they actually have enough money to get a nicer flat.
Harry kind of falls in love with it the second he walks inside; he's not sure
if it's the large kitchen (island and new appliances included) or the living
room with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the park.
Either way he's hooked in three seconds flat.  
He feels a little guilty for leaving Zayn behind, but the lad just rolls his
eyes and tells him to fuck offfor dissing his 'starving artist lifestyle.’
(He’s not really a starving artist. He’s sold a couple paintings over the last
six or so months and could probably afford a nicer apartment if he really
wanted to. But he’s stuck in his ways.)
Even though their new flat has threebedrooms (the third originally intended for
Liam so he could move out of Niall’s) Harry and Louis always end up sharing the
same bed – usually Harry’s because it’s big enough to fit all five of them and
then some.
They ease back into cuddling like they never stopped and it's almost strange
for Harry to go too many hours without feeling a hand brush against the back of
his own or fingers pushing the fringe off his face.
Louis still makes Harry a cup of tea every night before they go to bed and has
gotten into the habit of giving him his pills in the morning and evening to
make sure he actually takes him. And despite Harry's promises that he's not a
child and can drive himself, Louis accompanies him to his weekly Thursday
therapy appointment. 
(He doesn't actually mind. He enjoys the different ways Louis takes care of
him.)
Cynthia had welcomed Harry back with open arms, though got on to him for not
calling her in his ‘time of need.’
He was ashamed and embarrassed and depressed, but that’s what she’s there for
(as she keeps reminding him), to help him through his low points. So when he
ends up on the floor of the bathroom one evening, he calls her and they talk
for thirty five minutes – free of charge.
Afterwards he goes and has a long talk with Louis which results in the older
boy literally tossing the bathroom scale over their balcony.
 
 
Way too early one morning (three or four maybe) they wake up, legs and arms
tangled together, in Louis’ bed for once. The smaller boy’s head is resting on
Harry’s chest and the younger lad is running his fingers through his hair idly
while they lay there. There are glow-in-the-dark stars on Louis’ ceiling, just
like back in Doncaster. They put them up the night they moved in. They hadn’t
even gotten their beds put together yet, but Louis had dragged in a chair and
told Harry to get to it, snapping his fingers when Harry just stared at him
like he was ridiculous.
“You started talking in your sleep again last night,” Louis says. There’s an
amused tone to his voice.
“Huh? Really?”
Louis nods, yawning a little before he continues. “Yeah, something about a
cat.”
Harry chuckles, snuggles in closer to Louis. He remembers vague flashes of his
dream. A round, lazy cat welcoming him home. Louis almost tripping over the
cat’s tail.
“I want a kitty,” he pouts. “Why don’t we have a kitty?”
“Can barely take care of ourselves,” Louis snorts, “don’t know how well we’d do
with a cat.”
He squeezes the older boy closer to him and shrugs. “I think we’re doing just
fine.”
 
 
“I have a surprise for you,” Louis says a few days later, giddy and looking
like a little kid at a surprise birthday party.
Harry shakes his head and groans. He's pretty sure he mutters something about
no, tired, work, ugh but Louis doesn’t listen; of course not, when does he ever
listen? The older boy just grabs Harry’s hand, halting his journey to his
bedroom, and pulls him out the door and into his car. Next thing he knows, Liam
and Niall and Zayn are piling into the backseat, grinning like mischievous
little shits.
Harry narrows his eyes. “Where did you all come from?”
“What?” Niall asks innocently. “We’ve been here the whole time. NOW! GO LOUIS
GO!”
Louis sings along to the radio as he drives and Harry tries to figure out where
they’re going just by their surroundings. When they pull up in front of a
building, he has to look around a bit before he spots the ‘Animal Rescue’ sign.
His eyes widen.
“Are you seriously going to buy me a kitty?!”
“Actually, they’re free, so -” His voice trails off. “But I’ll buy you a cute
little bed for said kitty!”
He shrugs, “Fair enough," and then jumps out of the car. He pulls Louis along
behind him and they start hurrying across the car park, with the boys trailing
behind them, trying to keep up and yelling obnoxious things about how he’s such
a child.
But Harry really doesn’t care.
 
 
That night they’re sitting on Louis’ bed with their new kitten, trying to
decide on a name.
“We should name her Garfield,” Louis says, “because she’s orange and so is
Garfield.”
“Garfield is a boy’s name.”
“Yeah, well, so.” He sticks out his tongue. "We don't have to succumb to gender
norms."
The kitten is small, small enough to fit in Harry’s palms. Nothing like the cat
in his dream - not that he minds; the kitty is freaking adorable.
She’s jumping around on the bed, chasing things the two boys don’t see. When
she reaches the edge of the bed she crotches down low, with her tail up in the
air, like she’s trying to decide whether or not she can jump. Louis grabs her
before she can and snuggles her to his chest.
“Don’t smother the poor thing,” Harry says, but he’s laughing.
He pulls the kitty away from his chest and pets underneath her chin. “Baby,
baby, baby, little kitty,” he coos.
“We should call her baby.”
“We can’t call her baby,” Louis argues. “That’s what I call you.”
“You have never called me baby before. Ever.”
“Well. I’m going to start. Right now.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “What if we name her Tiger?”
“Tiger,” Louis says, like he’s trying out the name for himself. He sets the cat
in his lap and she scampers off again. “Hm. What about Tigger? Then we can get
a yellow cat and name him Pooh!” 
Harry snorts a little but nods in agreement. He falls backwards onto the bed
and Louis crawls up beside him, resting his head on Harry’s chest.
“I’m really happy.” It’s a simple fact, couldn’t be more true, but he hadn’t
realized it until that exact moment. And it kind of hits him in the chest all
of a sudden, how happyhe is. And he kind of wants to cry because he’s not sure
he knows how to be happy or handle being happy, because he’s never really been
happy before. Not like this.
“Me too,” Louis says, smiling. “You make me happy.”
Harry rolls his eyes but laughs. “You are such a sap.” Louis’ grin just widens.
“You totally are,” Harry continues. “You’re like a clingy girlfriend I can’t
get rid of. Except I’m not even getting any sex out of it!”
Louis laughs, says, “Mm, sex? You know, that could be arranged,” and leans up
to kiss him.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
When they go to bars or clubs, they’re usually the group that draws everyone’s
attention, whether it be the vibe that Niall gives off that has everyone
wanting to be a part of their conversation, Zayn’s too-good-to-be-real looks,
or Louis’ loud voice and enchanting laugh. There’s always a crowd; they’re
never alone; and they’re always on the verge of getting kicked out.
(Thankfully, though, they have Niall, so that never really happens.)
(Only a couple of times due to Louis starting some sort of food fight – once
even dumping a pitcher of beer down some guy’s back because he’d been an
arsehole. And then one time when Zayn got in a fist fight with some dude who’d
been hitting on Liam and wouldn’t let go of his arm . . . but they don’t talk
about that.)
Things are different right now though. The pub is nearly empty; it’s too early
for there to be any real customers. The five of them are at a table in the
back, alone, crowded together so they’re practically all on one side. Liam’s
head is on the table, his forehead pressed against the wood, and Niall’s got a
hand in his hair, massaging gently while Louis squeezes the lad’s shoulder.
Harry’s at a loss, doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps glancing between Liam
and Zayn. Zayn's had the same look on his face for the past half hour; torn,
half wanting to smile, jump for joy, and half wanting to cuddle the boy to
death. He does neither.
“I’m sorry,” Niall says. “She didn’t deserve you.”
Liam grunts.
Louis, on the other hand, snorts. “You definitely didn’t deserve her. Did you
seehow fit she was? And damncould that girl dance. She was one of a kind, not
gonna find another girl like that no matter how hard you look.”
Zayn and Niall are both staring open-mouthed at Louis, like they can’t believe
he’d say these things to his best friend – his best friend who recently found
out his girlfriend's been cheating on him. Harry just tries not to smirk; he
knows exactly what Louis’s doing. He’s been on the receiving end on multiple
occasions. It’s nice to see it happen to someone else for a change.
“God, if I was straight . . . no actually I’d probably give her a go either
way.”
Liam sits up suddenly. His forehead looks a little sticky and there’s a small
piece of lettuce stuck to it.
“I swear to God, Louis, if you say one more word . . .” his voice trails off as
they all break out laughing, unable to take him seriously when he looks like
that. “What?”
Niall peels the piece of lettuce off of his forehead. “Where did that even come
from?” He stares at it intently for a moment – like maybe it’ll answer – before
throwing it over his shoulder.
“Where was I?” Louis asks, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh right. Danielle.
Mate, you should’ve seen that coming. Way out of your league, Li.” He clasps
Liam on the shoulder, but the younger lad just shrugs him off. Louis gets out
of his chair just in time; Liam swipes out for him. In a blink of an eye the
pair is up and across the room, chasing each other around the bar and nearly
missing running into chairs and empty tables. There’s a moment though, where
Louis corners Liam, says something to him quietly, and Liam visibly relaxes.
“Shit,” Niall says. “Can’t believe she did that to him.”
Harry nods. “I know. And Danielle of all people. She seemed so sweet.”
Zayn rolls his eyes, snorts a little, but says nothing.
When Liam and Louis come back, Liam looks around the table expectantly. “Well?
Who’s gonna go get the drinks?”
“What?” they all four ask at the same time.
Liam rolls his eyes. “No way in hell am I spending the night sober.”
Zayn chokes out a laugh and Niall says, “Right . . . well I’ll get right on
that.” He stands up so fast his chair falls to the ground.
                                        
By eight o’clock Liam is wasted. He hasn’t even drank that much, but he can
hold his liquor about as well as Harry can, and so it doesn’t take long. The
rest of them are only mildly buzzed, minus Zayn, who’s been drinking twice as
much as Liam, but is only about a third as drunk - which is still, really,
pretty drunk.
Someone gets up on stage for a bit of not-so-sober karaoke and Liam stares at
the girl wide eyed before turning to Niall. “I wanna do that,” he says,
gripping the other boy's polo. “Get me up there, Nialler, I can do that.” He
jumps in his seat a little, looking like an overexcited puppy dog.
Louis shakes his head in amusement and leans back in his seat, crossing his
arms over his chest. “This should be interesting.” He meets Harry’s curious
gaze and wiggles his eyebrows.
“Can he even sing?” Zayn asks as they all watch Niall lead Liam to the stage.
“I don’t know,” Harry says at the same time Louis says, “Hell yeah he can
sing.”
Zayn stands up suddenly, a little wobbly, and rests his hand on Harry’s
shoulder. “I need – I need to not be here right now.” His voice is low, meant
for Harry's ears and Harry's alone.
Harry starts to get up right then and there - he knows that tone - but, as if
she’s appeared out of thin air, Perrie comes sauntering towards them.
“Hey, love,” she says, pressing a kiss to the side of Zayn’s mouth. “You smell
like the inside of a vodka bottle.” She smirks. She’s wearing one of Zayn’s
leather jackets and it practically swallows her up. She shrugs out of it and
drops into the seat next to her boyfriend.
As Zayn sits back down, he stares at Harry with a look that says dear God help
me but Harry doesn’t know what he wants, what he’s supposed to do. He starts to
stand up again, reaching for Zayn and about to make an excuse like need a
smoke, yeah?orI need some fresh airbut it's too late; Liam’s onstage and is
tapping the microphone.
“Helllllooo,” he says, like he’s trying to be seductive or charming, but he
just giggles and it’s all completely ridiculous.
“Oh my God,” Zayn groans, again only loud enough for Harry to hear. “I cannot
do this.”
When the beginning notes of On Call by Kings of Leon starts playing, Zayn
groans even loader, even mutters a few choice cuss words under his breath.
“She said call me now, baby. I come a running.
She said call me now, baby and I’d come a running.
If you’d call me now, baby, I’d come a running.”
Liam is actually a good singer; even though he’s drunk, he’s hitting every note
he means to. He’s swaying a bit on stage though and looks like he’s about to
come toppling off.
“I’m on call tobe there, one and all, to be there.
When I fall to pieces, Lord you know, I’ll be there waiting.
To be there, to be there.
I’m on call, to be there, one and all, to be there.
And when I fall, to pieces, Lord you know, I’ll be there waiting.”
He starts doing this little dance, running his hands through his hair, and
laughing more than singing. Louis practically falls out of his seat and yells
at Niall to shit, grab your phone and record this. Zayn’s just staring up a
Liam, though, like he’s never seen him before. He turns in his seat and buries
his face in Harry’s shoulder.
“I am so fucking screwed.”
And Harry has the decency to feel at least a littleguilty for the fact that he
really can’t help but laugh at him.
                                   ~*~*~*~*~
They don’t go far that night. They all end up upstairs in Niall’s apartment
laid out on his floor, but all still touching in some way or another. Arms and
legs are intertwined; Harry’s got his head on Zayn’s stomach and his legs in
Louis’ lap, and he’s comfortable, thinks it’s quite nice right here with his
boys.
Every once in a while one of them will randomly start singing On Calland they
all burst out laughing. Liam has to be too drunk to really understand what’s so
funny, but he laughs along anyways.
“Good song,” he says. “Good song.”
They fall asleep like that.
When Harry wakes up too early the next morning with sunlight streaming in
through the window, Niall’s head is in his lap. They’ve all just kind of dog
piled on to each other somehow. It’s kind of weird and he has to move a little
bit before he’s comfortable again, but it’s nice and he doesn’t think he’d
trade it for the world. 
 
 
 
 
. . . to be continued
 
Chapter End Notes
     I want to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read
     this, and those who left comments or kudos! Thank you especially to
     those who found my tumblr and left me cute messages that always
     spurred me on. (*cough*stylindamnson*cough*)
     I want to thank my beta, who I feel lucky to have found. You're
     amazing and I hope we keep working together for the next part. I'd
     love to have your input. x
     Most of all I'd like to thank Jess. There are no words. I could sit
     here and talk all day about how much i adore you. But it would get
     cheesy and make people uncomfortable. And no one is probably reading
     this anyways. but OMG. I would not have finished this if it weren't
     for you. There's a lot of things I wouldn't have done if it weren't
     for you. I am seriously never satisfied with a chapter until I've
     gotten your approval. Thank you for everything. I love you. xoxoxox
     (Also thanks to my sister and mom who each did their part to help
     with this despite never actually having actually read it :P)
     It really means a lot that so many people read it and enjoyed this
     (partly because seventy five percent of this is based off of personal
     experiences and was originally just free therapy.) I wasn't expecting
     that at all.
      
     *I'm going to take a break to just write before posting anything from
     the next part. I might have some Louis!pov's that I post up before
     then though.
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