these bountiful silences

xvii. code

"I want to be more than what I am. I want to be someone that everyone will remember."

xvii. code

"I want you to begin the process of becoming an Unconformist."

Harry wishes he could do something dramatic, like balk at Louis for saying something so absurd or just standing up and leaving the room, altogether. Instead, Harry stays rooted to his seat, mind racing with possibilities and enough questions to fire up an inquisition. Louis' eyes are a muddled shade of blue, the quickly dying sunlight filtering through the window playing games with Louis' long eyelashes and making him seem ethereal, in a way. The shadows slant across his cheekbones and make Louis seem even more powerful, electric, and for some reason, Harry feels like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. Louis almost looks gentle, in a way. Caring.

"Have I shocked you into silence or summat? Or are you actually listening to me and thinking before you open up your massive gob?"

The illusion that Harry was slowly piecing together of Louis in his mind quickly shatters. He doesn't have time to miss it, the person that he was fabricating, because the real, annoying Louis is standing right in front of him with his legs shoulder-width apart and eyebrows furrowed. But it's there, Harry can see it, the cracks in his infrastructure. It's hidden in the twitch of his mouth and the tremor of his fingers. Louis is nervous of what Harry will tell him.

"No," Harry says finally. "Movement wants me."

Harry spares a quick glance down to his wrist, he only has 4 words left, and it might seem like a small account but it still makes his stomach dip with excitement.

"You really believe that, don't you? That the Movement has chosen you because you've shown such loyalty to them?"

The way that Louis says it burns, like he's mocking Harry. He picks idly at the threadbare couch and shrugs. He isn't sure what he's supposed to say to that. And the stubborn, proud part of himself says that he doesn't have to tell Louis anything. Louis is nothing but a classless, irritating Unconformist. And Harry is above him, he shouldn't waste his time on this pint-sized twat. It's only just a matter of convincing his conscience to feel the same.

"No." Louis' voice cuts, sharp like glass. "You actually believe all of that shite.. Fuck. Harry I'm going to ask you a question, and you have to really think about it before you say or do anything."

Louis' cold fingers, calloused and rough, suddenly land under his chin. Jerking Harry upwards until his looking right into a swirling supernova of electric blue. Harry pulls away, uncomfortable with the closeness -he's never been that close to anyone's face before, he realizes- but doesn't break the sudden stare-down that Louis initiated.

"What do you think made you seem like such an upstanding citizen to The Movement, when, in their eyes, the perfect example of a good citizen is one that does nothing to stand out from the rest?"

Louis' words resound in his mind long after he's said them. Contorting themselves in every which way until they're nothing but the syllables and letters that were drilled into his mind when he was young. He knows words, he was taught every single one in existence when he was little, he knows that they're impersonal things that are used for expression. But if words are used in the wrong way then they can lead to something that is irreversible and horrible: rebellion. That's why The Movement limits them; to keep people like Louis from obscuring good peoples' minds like his own.

So, Harry stands. He wipes his hands on his trousers and makes for the door. He doesn't have to listen to this. He is somebody, he is good. Louis can't patronize him like this. He is somebody, and it's not okay for Louis to always talk down to him like this. It's really, really not.