SOLITUDE

Chapter Ten

The car comes to a stop in front of a small, brick house. It doesn't look perticularly different, or in this case, to be afraid of. But Harry sits back in his seat, his eyes wide, his fingers gripping tightly onto the seatbelt neatly swept across his upper torso, clicked into place. He moves his eyes to look at Louis, who's tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the house.

"Nice," He said, and Harry tensed up. Of course it wasn't nice - Louis knew that. It wasn't nice to Harry, not at all. But he speaks the truth - always - so he simply complimented the house.

Harry shook his head, one or two curls falling in front of his eyes, which fluttered shut for a few seconds. "Not nice," He mumbled.

"Not nice," Louis repeated his words, his eyes staring into Harry's, before his mind sprung back into its' work. "Uh- so, we need your identity card and your passport. You have a passport?"

Harry nodded, "I went on holiday with mum when I was younger, to Spain. T' was nice."

Louis doesn't even know anything about Harry's mother, or in this case his father, but now isn't the time to ask. "You think it's safe to go in?"

"It's never safe to go in," Harry replied, his lips dry and parted, his eyes distant and sad.

"I know, babe," Louis said sadly, feeling sympathetic for the younger boy. "I know. But we have to,"

"I know,"

They sit in the car for another twenty minutes, not speaking a single word, simply staring at the house.

"He's going to leave soon," Harry whispered, and Louis snaps his neck around to look at him.

"What? Who's going to leave soon?"

"My- my dad. He's leaving for work. Soon." Harry stuttered, fighting the urge not to glance at Louis, his eyes feeling safe staring down at his own lap.

"He's in the house?" Louis felt his own eyes widen, his voice reaching an impossibly high pitch for a guy, panic mode sweeping into his heart. "You didn't tell me, Harry! I didn't know!"

"I know," He whispered, his hands trembling, his long fingers gripping onto the material of his thin shirt. He was too close to what he used to call home, only meters within the reach of his father. He shuddered at the thought, feeling something pinch at the corners of his eyes.

"Baby? Are you- Oh god, you're crying!" Louis whined, unclipping his seatbelt, and pushing himself across to Harry's seat, pulling the boy onto his lap. "Please don't cry, gorgeous," He whispered into what he hoped was his ear, hiding under the thick curls.

"M' not," Harry mumbled, the sniffle following his words betraying him, and Louis frowned.

"Please," He repeated, his lips brushing against the younger boy's temple ever so lightly because Harry looked like he would break if he added a fraction more of pressure. "It's going to be o-"

His words got cut off, as soon as Harry pressed his long finger to the thin lips, his head nodding towards the car window. They both stared at the man locking the front door, frowning, angry, the keys small in his large hands. Louis noticed he had curls - but nothing like Harry's. As Harry's were soft and chocolate brown and swiftly swept over his forehead, the man's were short and in desperate need of a wash. But he had the same eyes. The same piercing green. Louis wondered how someone with such beautiful eyes could have such an ugly heart.

"Is that him?" Louis whispered, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, it is." Harry breathed in, as they watched the man walk down the road, away from the brick house.

They sat in silence, staring at each other. "Ready?"

"Ready," Harry whispered back.

Louis leaned in, his lips pressing onto Harry's gently, and they both sat still, their lips pressed together, and eyelashes fluttering. "Let's go."

They stumbled out of the car on shaky legs, slowly making their way towards the abandoned house. Now that they were closer, Louis could see plants, flowers that were once alive in colour, now dull and dead against the fence, the door needing a new layer of paint, and the window needing to be replaced, and the long grass needing to be shortened by at least ten centimeters.

"It's horrible," Harry whimpered, his fingers running over the wooden doors, cracks in the paint painfully obvious, the wood rough. "I hate it, Louis. I hate it so much."

"I know," Louis whispered. "I know, sweetheart. How are we going to get in?"

Harry took Louis' fingers in his own, pulling him towards the smashed window, his hand pushing on the thin glass, the whole glass pushing through the frame and falling onto the floor of the living room on the other side of the wall.

"That did the trick," Louis muttered, as they stared at the small pieces of glass scattered all over the floor.

"We have to be quick," Harry said, his voice shaking, as they stepped through the window frame, their hands gripping each other's.

"Do you know where the things are?" Louis mumbled, glancing around the living room. Old cans, cigarettes, dirt.

"Upstairs, my old room..." Harry trailed away, pulling Louis after him up the stairs, creaking under their every step.

Harry flipped through his desk, searching through the large amount of papers, his eyes watering at his old room, everything where it used to be.

"Harry," Louis whispered from the door, where he was looking out for anyone, as he watched Harry struggle with the documents. "Do you need help?"

"No- no," Harry whimpered.

Despite his protests, Louis stepped over to help him flip through the papers. And then, suddenly, a large man appeared in the doorway.

Unexpectedly.

"What are you doing?" He barked, his eyes angry, as he stared at Harry. His eyes turned to Louis. "Who are you? Get out! Harry!"

"D-dad," Harry stuttered, the warm tears spilling down his cheeks, his hands shaking as they clutched the paper. "Lou- I-"

The man walked over to Harry, grabbing him roughly by the collarof the jumper he was wearing, pulling him towards the doors.

"Harry!" Louis opened his mouth to scream, scream for help, for anyone, but he felt his lungs tighten as he watched the man push Harry against the wall, the young boy hitting his head hard and falling to the ground, curling up in himself, sobs taking over his body. "Harry!"

"Shut up, boy!" The man shouted back, kicking Harry once, twice, three times, before turning to Louis. "I will kill you. With my hands, I will-"

"Louis!" A familiar voice shouted from the doorway, and even Harry managed to glance at the person - Zayn - who was standing there, his brown eyes wide in fear, his mouth open, his chest falling up and down from the rush he was in. "L-Louis, come!"

"Harry!" Louis whined pathetically as the man kicked Harry once again, growling at the sight of Zayn.

"Get the hell out of my house before I kill you both!" He shouted, making the two boys flinch, and Harry cry out in pain as another kick hit his rib. "Get out!"

And before Louis knew what was happening, Zayn was pulling him out of the house by his sleeve, into his car, and holding him tight, trying to block out the sounds of the crying boy coming from inside of the dreaded house.