Wild Hearts Run Free

Chapter 2

Louis watches as the stranger sets the glass down on the edge of the coffee table just within Louis' reach and then backs away, retreating to a dining table across the other side of the space and sitting on a chair that's already pulled out. The man leans his elbow on the table and raises his chin, motioning toward the glass he's set down for Louis.

Louis picks it up and smells it surreptitiously before taking a sip, the cool liquid quenching his thirst and washing away the taste of his sick. "Thank you," Louis says and the man nods. "I'm Louis," he ventures, attempting to bridge the gap between them.

"Harry," he supplies, but no other words are forthcoming, a tense silence settling over the room as they regard each other cautiously.

Harry is staring at him with such intensity, the hairs standing up on the back of Louis' neck at having such a level of focus on him, and from a strange alpha no less. It's uncomfortable and he desperately wants to be anywhere else but here, the crack of thunder that rings out reminding him that he's not going anywhere.

Louis eventually breaks the stare, looking around in the hope of seeing his clothes so he can at least cover himself properly, but they're nowhere in view. He racks his brain, trying to remember what happened and how he ended up here. He remembers driving, the rain, the river, the water flooding the car, the smashing of the glass...

"You- you saved me," Louis states as the memory filters in, his eyes snapping back to the alpha, brows raised, mouth hanging slightly open.

Harry simply nods in response as he wrings his hands together, long fingers twisting around each other. There's an imprint of a hat still present in his long curly hair which falls to just above his shoulders that are cloaked in a flannel shirt, over the top of worn but sturdy-looking brown work pants, socked feet with holes allowing both big toes to poke through. He's attractive, in a scary, lumberjack kind of way; muscular, but from manual labour rather than gym sessions, Louis suspects. His facial features are larger than average, any one of which one their own would be out of place, but together they somehow fit.

A log settling in the fireplace catches Louis' attention and he turns reflexively, watching as the embers spit and crackle before vanishing up the flue. He takes in the decor of the cabin more closely now. There's no television or other similar appliances to be found other than a tired looking fridge, everything else seeming to be handcrafted, beautifully so, unlike Louis' own home which is filled with mass produced modern furniture. He sucks in a sharp breath as more memories come flooding back. Vincent. The heartbreak. Driving off into the storm. The realization that the future he had imagined for himself was gone. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, unblinking as he stares at the fire, anger and hurt welling up inside, a lump forming in his throat, choking off his air.

"Pain?" Harry asks from across the room.

Louis shakes his head, the blanket slipping down to pool at his waist. He lifts it back up again, skin goosepimpling in the air and lets out a frustrated huff. "No. I'm alright."

His muscles do ache and his head still feels like it's caught in a vice, but otherwise he seems to be okay, physically anyway.

He hears Harry moving around and turns to see him walk down a short corridor off the kitchen. Louis looks around for his clothes once again, but they're still nowhere to be found.

Harry returns with an armful of clothes; some socks, a white t-shirt, a blue and black flannel shirt, and a pair of brown trousers just like the ones Harry is wearing himself. He sets them on the other end of the couch silently. Louis noticies that he has more clothes balled-up in his other big hand and he recognizes them as the ones he'd been wearing earlier.