open hands and closed fists but nothing fills the silence ⌲ l.s.

chapter nine - the parking lots

Reaction / October 2019 / 10:47 pm

Harry waited up.

It was almost eleven by the time Louis's key scraped its way into the lock. He was bundled up in blankets on the couch, staring off into space with a cup of tea cradled between his fingers. It had long gone cold. His heart ached with hurt and his bones rattled with exhaustion, but his restless thoughts zipped through his mind without relent.

He had never been able to sleep after he and Louis argued. A lot had changed over their years together, but he wasn't sure that fact would ever really change.

He didn't look up when he heard Louis's footsteps, but he heard the older boy pause on his way into the bedroom. He couldn't decide if Louis sounded surprised or relieved.

"You're still awake."

Harry didn't acknowledge him. He set his tea on the side table with a soft clink of the delicate china rattling against the solid wood.

Louis padded across the room quietly, his sock-clad feet brushing across the rough carpet. He crouched down in front of Harry, desperately searching for eye contact that never came.

"I am so, so sorry."

His hands found their way to Harry's thighs, rubbing and squeezing at the soft muscle. Harry just gathered his blanket more tightly -- protectively -- around his shoulders, his eyes glued to his lap.

"Baby. Please," Louis pleaded. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I'm an idiot."

Harry stared intently down at Louis's hands, refusing to meet his boyfriend's gaze. Instead, he studied the way that the older boy's fingertips danced over his thighs; every little piece of them seemed to fit together, and sometimes, Harry found himself marvelling at the miraculous nature of the whole thing. As Louis's palms slotted perfectly over his soft muscles, he found himself wondering how they could physically fit like puzzle pieces and still argue so bitterly.

"At least tell me I'm an idiot. You know it and I know it." The hands on Harry's thighs stilled, Louis's thumbs drumming over his knees. "I feel so bad. I feel so awful. I wish you would just tell me what a terrible boyfriend I am."

Harry finally lifted his gaze from his lap, locking their eyes together. Blue melted into green as he gave a quick shake of his head -- because, no. No matter how reckless or absentminded Louis acted, he could never be a bad boyfriend.

He was all that Harry had, and he was all that Harry needed.

He also made Harry's head border on exploding sometimes, but that was a completely different story. As much as Harry wanted to cuddle into Louis's chest and cry until everything felt okay again, that wasn't the story they were living right then.

He stood abruptly from the couch, shaking Louis's hands from his thighs and brushing past him without even another head nod. Harry reached for his coat, then thought better of it, storming out the front door. He left it open behind him, knowing that Louis would follow.

"Whoa, whoa. What the fuck are you doing?" the older boy called after him. "It's the middle of the goddamn night! Where do you think you're going?"

The yellow, flickering lights in the hallway made Harry look small, his shoulders hunched and his arms wrapped around himself protectively. Louis snatched his keys off of the counter and hurried after his boyfriend, slamming their front door shut behind him. The abrupt bang echoed down the short hallway, following Harry down the staircase that led to the parking lot.

"Harry! Harry, seriously, come back!"

He didn't listen. His lungs heaved with the effort of walking so quickly and taking a few calming breaths and trying to forgive Louis for such a stupid, meaningless mistake. His boyfriend was so caring and so careless, and it never failed to make Harry's head blow up five sizes too big.