“This is weird,” Louis answered, immediately regretting his words as Harry stiffened in response, “I don’t mean it in an offensive way—it’s just that, well, we’re not that friendly… Or intimate. And this is both of those.”
“Is it bad?” Harry asked quietly, and Louis closed his eyes, his stomach twisting.
“I’m not sure,” he whispered back, “I don’t really know what to think.”
“Well, there’s your problem,” Harry responded, his tone still soft, “You should stop trying to think for once.”
“Does this really not freak you out?” Louis asked him, slightly hysterically, “You aren’t confused by this—thisthing we’ve gotten into.”
“I try not to think about it,” Harry told him, “I try to focus more on what’s happening than what happened in the past. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“What have you got to worry about?” Louis muttered bitterly, “You’ve got the perfect life.”
“It’s far from perfect,” Harry rasped, and Louis was shocked to hear a whimper fall from Harry’s lips, “You don’t even know.”
“So tell me,” Louis pleaded, “Just tell me.”
“I—” Harry cut himself with a shuddering breath, curling further into Louis’ chest, “Six years ago today—it’s the anniversary of—my dad—” Harry’s voice broke, and he sobbed desperately, his tears rolling off his face and soaking into the skin of Louis’ chest. Louis wasn’t sure what to do—he wasn’t used to this Harry. He stroked absentminded patterns into Harry’s bare back, waiting for Harry’s cries to subside. “I’ve never—I’ve never been away—” he managed to stutter out before dissolving into tears again.
“Sh,” Louis hushed him, rubbing circles into the small of Harry’s back with one hand, while the other continued tracing patterns across his shoulder blades, “Take your time.”
“I’m always—I’m always home for this,” Harry wailed, his voice breaking as he mentioned home, “For the anniversary.”
“The anniversary of what, Harry?” Louis prodded gently, and Harry took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself.
“Of my dad’s death,” he managed shakily, before he lost it again. Louis paused his movements briefly as this information sunk in, before resuming them hastily. “I don’t know what to do—I don’t know how to cope.”
“Well,” Louis started, moving his hand up to tangle in Harry’s curls, “I think a good thing to do is shower—you’ll feel a little better when you’re clean, yeah?”
“Will you come with me?” Harry asked, his voice childishly vulnerable, “I don’t want to be left alone.”
“Yeah,” Louis answered, sitting them both up, “Come on, then.”
Louis gently guided Harry toward the bathroom, the younger boy following quietly. It was weird for Louis, being around this Harry—this vulnerable, sad, quiet Harry. He wasn’t sure he liked it—he didn’t like it. Harry was supposed to be loud, and arrogant, and in control. Louis wasn’t supposed to be in control. Harry watched him silently as he pulled his shirt off, then shucked his pants. They stood there, watching each other, in only their boxers, before Louis sighed, moving forward and pulling Harry’s off for him. Harry should have been the one undressing him.
He turned the shower on, waiting for the water to heat up, before stepping back and pulling Harry forward. Harry climbed into the shower, turning around to look at Louis, who climbed in after him. They watched each other for another, slightly awkward, moment.
Chapter 6
Start from the beginning
