Be My Eyes || Larry Stylinson

t w e n t y

chapter twenty

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The two boys sat across from each other in a booth hidden in the corner of the small tea shop. Louis sipped on his cup of Yorkshire tea as Harry picked at a scone, his face contorted into a look of concentration. Louis attempted to resist the urge to let his curiousity best him. Oh, how he failed. 

"Something on your mind?" Louis questioned, taking another sip from his cup.

"Louis," Harry started, tapping finger on the table while speaking, "Are you hurt?"

Louis froze, "No more than a simple bruise," his answer was hesitant, giving time for Harry to question the sincerity in his voice - seeing that there was none. But Harry did not speak; he was finally able to have a normal conversation with the other boy, and he did not want to ruin it now.

"Is the tea here good?" Louis nodded, but soon spoke a simple, 'yes', as he realized Harry could not see. He stared at the curly headed man, thinking of the relationship he could have with him. Not in that way, of course. Louis didn't swing in that direction; but Harry, oh the sweet sweet blind child had a heart of gold and a mind set on positivity - at least that's what it seemed like. 

"Harry, why do you help me? I've done shit to you; and here you are. You remind me of a naive child with nothing but happiness in mind, you know that?" Louis spoke the words, any insults completely unintentional. 

"Then you're more blind than I am, Tomlinson." His words feel from his tongue, bitterness intended. "And I won't pour my soul into explanation either, so don't expect much. I don't believe one should suffer pain no matter how small. Punishment - if necessary - is an exception I allow, but suffering due to pain caused by others is not an exception I am willing to make, no matter who they are or what they have done."

Louis stared on at the boy, watching as his jaw clenched so tightly Louis was sure it would be stuck there. He watched as the hand, once lightly tapping the table, clenched into a fist. A look on Harry's face that the Doncaster boy knew all too well. Betrayal and the longing for revengeance he would never deliver.

Louis scooted to the edge of his seat, placing a gentle hand on top of clenched fist.

"Thanks, Harry."