these bountiful silences

xxviii. crusade

"The world is raining with bullets and there is no where to hide."

xxviii. crusade

Harry stares at the blank expanse of plush grass that surrounds the massive house from where he's perched on the window. A soft lull of wind is sifting delicately through the luscious leaves that adorns the trees and the sky is a dazzling azure that's achingly reminiscent of Louis' and Harry feels revolted at how artificial the scene before him looks.

Harry leans his head against the chipped window frame and let's a desolate sigh slip through his chapped lips. It's all a lie. The beautiful sky, the warm sun, the soft breeze -- it's all just there to pose as this false sense of security that distracts everyone from the reality that this society, this entire world, is a cold, vile place. For every chirping bird there's an innocent person silenced; for every beautiful day there's a night filled with darkness and evil lies to go with it, and Harry had never even sought to realize the contrast of the world he lives in until he realized that he is one of the dark attributes that lurks in the shadows and makes this 'perfect' world a little more jaded.

"Have you seen Louis?" A projected voice sounds from behind him. Harry swings his legs over the frame to turn back into the dark alcove of the room that he's called home for the past few weeks. "He never came down for lunch."

Harry shakes his head and reaches out for the wheelchair that he's been using to move around lately. He shakily eases himself into the rickety metal chair before wheeling himself and his IV towards where Zayn is hovering by the doorway. He stops right in front of Zayn, close enough to where he can smell the familiar scent of his warm musk and see the small traces of stubble that he missed while shaving across his jawline.

"He told me he'd be back by sunset," Harry's voice is still dry from misuse, but it sounds a bit more normal.

"Alright," Zayn nods to himself before the walking around Harry and perching on the small chair that's nestled in the corner of the room. Harry watches him, taking in his sharp cheekbones and warm eyes and the vulnerable slouch to his shoulders that's contrasted by his heavy leather jacket. "How do you feel?"

Like a monster. "I'm fine."

Zayn shakes his head, his cheeks lift to conform to the small smile that graces his dark lips. He taps his pointer finger to his forehead knowingly.

"You can't lie to me, Harry." Zayn says, Harry watches as the sunlight slowly filters in through the open window and casts golden shapes across Zayn's cheek. "I'm in your head, you know."

Harry shifts cautiously in his chair, the familiar ache of pain zapping through his ribs as he does so. Zayn is staring at him with a knowing glint in his eye and Harry feels like a small bird trapped in the middle of a tornado. He's drained, he's weak, and he's angry with himself. He doesn't have the energy to deal with Zayn's mind games, and he opens his mouth to tell him just that but stops when he Zayn raises up his hand and shakes his head once more. The sunlight glints off of his silencer and Harry's vengeful mind actually pauses to ponder the fact that he knew him before that tech was permanently embedded to his skin.

"You're killing yourself, Harry." Zayn deadpans. "You're not eating and you're hardly speaking and you're killing yourself and you're making Louis and I watch."

Harry looks down at his lap, he doesn't want to listen to this.

"This isn't how she would want you to act, you know. She would die if she saw you like this."