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

chapter nine - the parking lots

A gust of frozen wind assaulted him as soon as the staircase spat him out into the parking lot, and Harry gasped for air. He clasped his hands together in front of him, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His fingers felt stiff and useless. He wanted to hold Louis's hand.

"Harry --" Louis's voice followed him.

Harry swallowed hard. There were only three cars in the small parking lot, including their own cheap 2006 Kia Rio. It was metallic blue (a hand-me-down from Louis's lovely grandmother) and as much as Louis grumbled about the embarrassing color, Harry knew that the older boy loved that stupid car just as much as he did.

Loving things is easy. Loving people is hard.

Louis never listened, and sometimes, Harry just wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. Like, he never thought he would have to say, "Hey, my lovely boyfriend, please don't try to pummel this random stranger in the middle of the history department just because he happens to be acting like an insensitive douchebag!" He never thought he would have to say, "Hey, Louis, I'd really prefer if you didn't go out clubbing with your friends after an argument! We're two reasonable people with a healthy relationship who talk (well, "talk") about things, so I'd really like it if you would stick around and talk this out with me!"

He never thought he would have to say it until he couldn't.

"I'm serious! Stop fucking . . . could you just . . . can you stop ignoring me? I don't know what you're trying to tell me, and we can't have --" to be fair, Louis thought as his pessimism kicked in, they couldn't have a conversation normally "-- a conversation like this!"

Harry's skin prickled with cold goosebumps, offset by the sweltering heat of Louis's eyes on his back. His stomach twisted with loose bundles of nerves. It had always been hard to argue with Louis -- the older boy was hard-headed and stubborn, but Harry was, too.

At least he was before.

Now, he felt useless, like his every opinion stayed locked up tightly in his chest. His heart ached with everything he couldn't say. What else could he do -- he couldn't do anything to defend his position on the matter, but he wouldn't just roll over and take it.

Maybe Louis thought he was acting childishly, but Harry felt completely trapped inside of his unwilling body; he didn't have any other way to express himself.

"The silent treatment doesn't quite have the same effect, Harold!" Louis shouted, exasperated.

Harry shot him a sharp glare over his shoulder, finally bursting the protective bubble that he had formed around himself, a useless attempt to avoid his ever-persistent boyfriend. He kept walking briskly through the dark parking lot. Then he stumbled, his clumsiness making a heart-stopping appearance, and Louis cursed loudly.

"Jesus Christ, watch your fucking ankle!" he called out, ramping his fast walk up into a jog. He caught up with Harry in a few stretched-out steps, steadying the younger boy with a gentle grip on his elbow. "You alright?"

Harry shook him off, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.

"Harry, stop -- just stop!" Louis exclaimed. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and whirled him around forcefully, holding fast. "Stop running from me."

His green eyes glistened under the parking lot lights, and Louis realized all at once that he was on the verge of tears. He cupped the younger boy's jaw, swiping the rough pad of his thumb over Harry's soft cheekbones. Harry seemed to melt into his touch, whether he wanted to or not.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, but . . . what else is wrong? There's something else going on. I know it."

Harry shook his head slightly, his messy curls falling over his eyes. Then he wrenched himself out of Louis's hold and kept walking, heading straight for the street.

"Harry, come on. We can't keep doing this. We can't --"

Harry tripped again, and Louis found himself fully trying to catch him this time, lunging for his clumsy boyfriend in a useless attempt to soften his fall. They hit the hard concrete at the same time, both grunting on impact. Louis had one arm laced behind Harry's back, and he pulled the younger boy closer to him, wincing when his elbow hit a particularly pointy rock.

Harry still looked a bit shocked at the fact that they had actually fallen; that they were actually laying on the ground in the parking lot of their apartment complex. His curls had fallen over his face, and Louis brushed them back behind his ear, his hand lingering on Harry's cheek.

"Alright?" he asked, his tone soft and gentle. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Harry just stared back at him for a moment, his green eyes wide and glistening under the yellow parking lot lights. Then he shoved Louis back by the shoulders, curling into himself protectively as he stood from the ground. Louis could have screamed.

Action / 3:41 pm / June 2018

Louis leaned back against the side of his car, his arms crossed over his chest. He had come home for the weekend of Harry's high school graduation, and he felt a bit odd and out of place standing in the student parking lot again.

About fifteen minutes had passed since Harry called promising that he was on his way out, but Louis wasn't worried. Harry had a habit of running into teachers and students and coaches alike on his way out of school, always ready to strike up a conversation with anyone who offered him a friendly smile.

His face lit up when he caught sight of his boyfriend, and he stood upright, pocketing his phone. Seeing Harry after a long month apart sent his heart thundering into his throat and a smile tearing across his face. Harry had a way of making him feel like a schoolboy with a crush, and he didn't mind at all. He felt young; he would never let go of that feeling, and he would never let go of Harry.

Harry tripped over something invisible, and Louis almost laughed -- then his heart thudded to a stop, sinking down into his stomach. His laughter blocked his throat, nearly choking him.

Even from across the lot, he could make out the tears staining Harry's flushed cheeks. But even worse: his clothes were torn, his t-shirt ripped up the center to expose the tanned, toned muscle of his stomach.

The tanned, blistering skin of his stomach, the delicate paleness tainted with red, angry lines.

He stepped away from the car, taking a few fast, long strides to close the remaining distance between him and Harry. "Hey, hey! What the hell happened?!"

Louis's voice was frantic. As Harry tried to rush into his arms, Louis pushed him away, locking his elbows to keep his boyfriend at an arm's length. Through the strips of Harry's tattered shirt, he could see the blisters forming on his pretty pale skin.

"Stop, stop. You're going to hurt yourself," he directed, trying his best to keep the terror from his tone. His eyes flicked downward, settling on the rows of red, angry skin that layered the younger boy's stomach. "H-Harry, baby, what . . ?"

Harry crumbled, his knees giving out under his weight. Louis only barely caught him on the way down, twisting around painfully to avoid the red slashes across Harry's stomach. They ended up a mess of arms and legs on the concrete, Harry's back against Louis's chest, his head slumped on the older boy's shoulder.

With a soft whimper, Harry turned his face into the older boy's neck. His breathing was ragged, and his fingers dug into Louis's thighs, pain zipping through his entire body. His brain had gone muddled, his skin numb and his vision blurry.

"Baby," Louis whispered again. He reached out to touch one of the burns, then recoiled, bringing his shaky hand up to cup the side of Harry's neck instead. "Oh my god. Oh my god, baby, what happened? What . . . who did this?"

Harry passed out there in the parking lot.