In Too Deep (Dancing With The Shadows)

seventeen

A/N- TW// mentions of death and abuse.

Knock, knock.

Louis rolls over in his bed, humming to show the person on the other side he's acknowledged them. The door opens to reveal Harry who smiles lightly over toward him. Louis' heart instantly warms up, and the pain in his head subsides just by seeing the dimples. 

"Hey, Mabel said you were up here. You good?" he asks, sitting on the end of the bed.

Louis nods. "Yeah. How was the call with Jeff?"

Harry groans at the mention. "So he wants me to have finished three songs before I go back."

Louis' eyebrows shoot up. "Three? In the span of two weeks? Is he insane?" 

Harry shrugs. "Apparently so. You know how you said you have a guitar," he says hesitantly.

Louis nods, points to the guitar case on the other end of the room. "Knock yourself out."

Harry springs from the bed, skips toward the guitar case and brings it over on the bed. The sound of it unzipping bounces off the wall and he pulls out the guitar by its neck. 

He whistles lowly. "This is a good make," he points out.

Louis nods, sitting up in order to lean his elbow into Harry's shoulder, resting his head in his hand. "Granddad got it for me for my sixteenth."

Harry strums a few chords before beginning to tune it. He rifles through the case to find a pic when he comes across the small blue fabric covered notebook from within. He quirks a brow, looking up to Louis.

"What's this?" he ponders, touching the cover.

Louis smiles down toward it. "It's my songs I wrote throughout the years. They're absolutely terrible, and I'm pretty sure there's one in there about farting that Phoebe dared me to make."

Harry giggles. "Can I look through? You can say no, I don't have to if you don't want me to," he rambles, chewing on his cheek.

Louis motions toward it. "Go for it. Just know they're really embarrassing and I only did it for fun. They're not as good as yours."

Harry plucks the book up, props the guitar on the floor, and flips the pages open. There's a silence hanging over them whilst he reads, a crease in his forehead from the concentration of reading each syllable of each word, probably turning it over on his tongue. At one point, he laughs.

Louis flops back into the bed, groaning, throwing an arm over his eyes to hide himself. "No need to be so rude and laugh at them, I know they're bad."

Louis feels a weight on his lap and he pulls his arm away to find Harry's head laying in his lap, hair laying all over the place. 

"I'm not laughing at them! I just found the one about farting." He begins singing the lyrics. "Phoebe smells, Phoebe smells, never once has she known the scent of flowers, because all she protrudes are smells to make dogs howl at her. Gas and raspberries, may as well be in World War Two, because nothing hurts more than the stinging of the eyes from her farts."

Louis whimpers. "It's so bad! In my defence, I wrote that years ago when I was still in school."

Harry is giggling, flipping the page over. His giggles stop as he reads the next song, sitting up and crossing his legs beneath him. He plucks up the guitar, still reading. He looks to Louis.

"What song is that?" he whispers.

Louis' brows furrow and he leans over Harry to read the first few lyrics, heart twanging and the plummet of his stomach feeling unpleasant. He wants to throw up.