The Talented Harry Styles | L.S

Chpt 8. When you open it to speak?

Louis seemed to have flipped from ice to sunshine in the span of a few days. He and Harry were back on track; brotherly close.

Harry was walking down the streets of Naples with Louis, and it was like old times. There was no tension, just silly banter and some light teasing.

Louis wore a navy suit and a hat. Harry wore his brown jacket. Louis still hadn't bought him a new one as promised, but he couldn't possibly be mad about that. Not when he'd just gotten Louis back in the first place.

With Freddie out of the way, it was much easier, too. Harry planned on never losing him again.

They'd picked up some mail in the American Express Office.

Harry cleared his throat and started reading aloud.

"Dear Harry, in view of the fact Louis shows no more signs of coming home than before you went, blah, blah, blah, I hope that the trip has afforded you some pleasure despite the failure of its main objective. You no longer should consider yourself obligated to us in any way."

Harry shoved the paper in Louis hand.

"Can't blame him," Louis said with a shrug of the shoulders. "You could hardly expect this to go on forever, Harry."

"Well, I thought you could write again. Especially now we're brothers." The corners of Harry's eyes crinkled. He adjusted his glasses. He didn't care about Mr Tomlinson. Most of all he was just happy to have Louis as his friend again.

"I can't," Louis admitted. "How can I, in all decency? You said it yourself. It's my dad's money you're spending."

Harry's face faltered, his hand going up to scratch at his head of curls. Louis wrapped an arm around his waist, sending shivers through his body. "We've had a great run though. Haven't we?"

"Well, what about Venice? Can we at least stick to that plan?" Harry asked sadly.

Louis screwed his face into a glare for a transient moment and stopped to look at him. "I don't think so, Harry. You can't pay your own way, can you? It's time we all moved on."

Harry went rigidly stiff at his words. Moved on? Harry couldn't go back. If Louis knew his life back in New York... Aunt Dottie, and how she had treated him. Beat him. Bruises scattered all over his body, and his heart. Aunt Dottie always complained to him that raising him had cost her more than his father's insurance had left her. Maybe that was true, but did she really need to tell Harry that?

Would a person with the faintest hint of humanity in them continue tormenting a child about that? Most people, lots of aunts, even strangers happily raised children without expecting anything in return.

He suddenly came to think about that one time she'd locked him in the piano room for a few days longer than she normally would. He distinctly remembered how dehydrated he was when he was finally let out. He was convinced he would die. He hoped he would. He had felt so weak and on the verge of death, he could barely speak and his skin was flaky from the deprivation of moisture.

"Besides, I'm sick of Mongi," Louis grimaced, shaking Harry out of his trance. "Especially now with everything. I really want to move to the North. I need to check out San Remo next week, find somewhere new to keep the boat."

Louis had started walking again, but Harry was nailed in place. He took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. He always got so angry when he thought about Aunt Dottie.

"It would be great, though, if you came with me to San Remo."

Louis walked back and took Harry's face in his hands. "There's a great jazz festival. We could say goodbye in style! What do you think?"