Wilted Flowers [Edited]

6. Are You Decent

Harry put the phone down and cleared his throat, silence ripping through them.

After writing it, he had never opened the file again. He could feel the ache in his heart for his Mother all over again. He could feel the throbbing pain in his head from having it continuously beat senseless against the shower tile.

Though he knew he was not with Clay, he felt uneasy and wondered what would happen if he talked to him again. Would he be different? Learn from his mistakes and realize he had let go of a good thing? Or would he hit him again because he was hanging out with Harry?

Harry put the phone down and scooted closer to Louis, but he did not touch him. They were acquaintances, and he wasn't even sure if Louis considered him a friend or not, especially after reading that he was somehow a part of Clay's wrongdoings.

"Thanks for sharing that," Harry suddenly says. "I knew something was going on, but I didn't know the extent of it."

"You did?" Louis sniffles and rolls over, propping his head up against his palm, elbow digging in the meadow.

Harry nods, not elaborating any further. "Come on, let's get you back home." He offers his hand for Louis to pull himself up. "How are you feeling?"

Louis licks his lips as he begins to talk back to his apartment. "Numb, to be honest with you."

Feeling a gentle breeze lightly move his curly strands, Harry observes Louis somewhat shake from the sudden drop of temperature. His smile turns downward as he realizes the lack of fat and muscle on Louis's body.
Without a second thought, he removes his jacket and wraps it lazily around Louis' shoulders.

They approached the door and wordlessly toe-off their shoes. They giggle when they notice that Zayn is stretched out on the couch, snoring with his head in Liam's lap and using the armrest as a pillow. Niall is nowhere to be found, so they assumed he had retired to his bedroom.

"Um....it's only a two-bedroom, so we don't really have a guestroom. Do you want me to walk you back to the dorms?"

"No, no." Harry walks into the kitchen and pours a glass of almond milk. "I'll just sleep on your floor if that's alright."

Feeling insecure, Louis debates amongst himself. "Um.... okay..." he hesitantly agrees. "Only if you promise you won't judge me?"

Gulping down his drink, Harry lets out a pleased sigh and wipes away his milk mustache before retreating to the bathroom. Louis takes the opportunity to gather blankets and pillows and make Harry a makeshift bed on the floor and see if he needs to hide anything in a millisecond.
Before he could even unfold the blanket, he hears a knock on the door.

"Are you decent?" Harry calls out.

"Yeah, come on in." Louis blushes. He's such a gentleman.

After stacking the blankets on top of each other and fluffing the pillow, he jumps in his bed to let Harry have space to make himself comfortable.

"You still have that flower in your hair," Harry observes. "The purple one I tucked behind your ear."

Louis feels around until he grabs the flower, seeing it for the first time. "It's gorgeous," he squeals, twirling the stem around.

Harry contemplates what to say next, but he decides on the first thing that pops into his head. "You deserve pretty things."

He shifts his weight a few times before finally propping his head up with the palm of his hand. He stares at the ceiling as he tries to put the day into retrospect. His chest is heavy as he glances over at Louis, who appears to be doing the same thing.

"Have you ever wondered who came up with time?" Harry questions as he interrupts the silence, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hmm?"

"Yeah, like who was the one to dictate numbers and time. Oh, the sun is out, it must be AM. It's dark; that's called PM. Who gave someone the right to put us on a schedule?" He perches his lips out like a frog, an intensive thinking face.

Suddenly, Louis burst out in a fit of giggles. He couldn't remember the last time he felt himself laughing. Though his stomach muscles were burning, he seemed to not be able to stop. Harry watched and grinned fondly at him, admiring the smile and thinking how good it looked on him.

"Is something funny Mr. Tomlinson?" He tried to sound offended though his heart really felt happy at the happiness erupting from Louis. "It's a serious question!" He teases.

The remark intensified Louis' laughter. Harry can't help but stand up, latching his hands onto Louis's small frame, and tickle him. Louis tries to squirm out of his hold. Though he's still laughing, his mind is racing with the thought that Harry's grabbing ahold of his fat and judging him. 3He's having flashbacks of Clay holding him down, too. Oh fuck, I can't breathe, he thinks, though he's laughing.

As if by a sixth sense, Harry notices the tension and quickly lets go, mumbling a quiet sorry as he lays back down. He watches as Louis turns over and faces the wall. He feels all his energy wither away.

"Hey, Lou?"

"Yeah?"

"Goodnight."

"Night, Harry."

Sometimes, he reasons, the best thing you can do is just let people feel their feelings.