Wilted Flowers [Edited]

4. Uncovering Secrets

He walks over to the small basket that sits on the accent table beside the door and looks around for his eyes. When he can't find them, his body is filled with callous anger.

"What the fuck...NIALL, WHERE ARE MY KEYS?" He screams as everyone looks at each other. Harry springs on his feet as he begins to clean up the glass and salad.

"We always hide the keys on game nights, Louis! You know this!" Niall slurs his sentence. His glossy red eyes are clearly on the verge of tears. "Why did you break that dish? It was my grandmother's...an antique from Ireland!"

Liam wraps his arm around Niall's waist as Zayn mirrors the gesture to Louis.

"It's alright, man. He didn't mean to..." Liam garbles.

"Yes, he did! He breaks them all the fucking time!" Niall slings his body around like a fish out of the water as he tries to remove himself from Liam's stronghold.

Louis scoffs, embarrassed and defensive. He's tired of being treated like a child. Niall knew he wasn't going to drink, so why would he hide his keys?

"Give them here, Niall! I need to go out!" Louis demands.

Harry clears the final shard and dumps it in the trash before making his way to the intense scene unfolding in the living room.

"N—o can d—o, Lad," Niall slurs, the alcohol rapidly changing his mood.

Zayn clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, making a popping noise. "Aww, I love you guys! Group hug!" He mumbles as he holds his arms out, but the only one to reciprocate is Liam. "This is so nice," he purred, petting Liam's head as Liam giggles.

Noticeably angry, Louis picks up the small basket. He needs to hear the crash. He needs to hear the immediate release of adrenaline that the crash will bring.

Yet, he isn't granted his wish when he sees long, bony fingers wrap around the basket. "You know, I have a better idea." Harry places the basket down in its place. "Let's go on a walk."

Louis sighs heavily in his chest, not wanting to let Niall have this small victory but not having the energy to continue. Relculateny, he grabs his hoodie off of the back of a chair and exits the house. Harry waves anxiously at his drunk friends.

Power walking with his arms folded in his chest, Louis made his way down a small path that led to a meadow of flowers behind the apartment complex. He laid down on the grass and began to pick at the small blades.

Harry follows suit but removes his boots, wanting to feel the texture between his toes. He stops when he sees a lonely purple pansy. Torn between letting it stay alive and plucks it from the Earth, he chooses the latter and puts it behinds Louis's ear.

"You know, I wanted to get to know you so bad in English Lit, but you were always with Clay before and after class." Harry suddenly confesses
.
"I can't believe Niall!" Louis huffs, changing the subject instantly, rage still painted on his face.

Putting his knees up to his chest, Harry allows his hands to hang between his legs in the air, trying to find the words to comfort the man who is obviously struggling with regulating his emotions.

"Who gave him the right to be my Mother?" As soon as the question finished, he feels his lip quivering, tears releasing. "I think you need to leave."

"I heard about her passing last year. I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine," Harry replies as he lays down beside him. He contemplates if he should wipe the tears away but isn't sure if they're there yet.

"And he enters my room unannounced," Louis cries out. "Did you eat today, Lad? How are you feeling? Let's hang out! Are you still alive in there?" Louis mocks Niall's Irish accent. "God, Harry, I'm so sorry. I bet he asked Liam to invite you."

Harry nods, listening to the best of his ability. "I'm glad he did. Aren't you? Besides, sometimes, I think our friends see things in us that we cannot. They're on the outside looking in, ya know?"

Louis nods, picking blades of grass to soothe his beating heart. "I guess."

"You changed the subject earlier," Harry points out. "When we were talking about Clay."

Louis bites his lip. "I don't like to talk about it. Maybe later."

The drunken text keeps vibrating his phone. Louis lays in the meadow, his back away from Harry. He swallows a lump in his throat before uttering. "I have a journal entry about it if you want to read it."

He feels some sort of reprieve having someone ask him about what he's been holding in for so long. Though he doesn't like to think about it, some universal pull asks him to share. It's like his cup is running over, and if he doesn't, he'll burst.

Harry nods as he turns over on his side. Louis hands him his phone, his note app open. The piece is dated back a few months.

"Can you read it aloud?" Louis asks, his lips quivering.

"Of course," Harry says as he scrolls to the top of the narrative.

Louis always found coping skills through writing. That's why he chose the career of a creative writing teacher. Having Harry read his entry. However, he suddenly felt exposed, naked.