Mind Me (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter two

A few minutes later, Harry parks in the driveway of his house. His house isn't anything immaculate. It is a simple bungalow but it suits Harry just fine and he is happy there.

Harry pulls the keys from the ignition once he has his car turned off before he turns his head to face the boy seated limply next to him. He stays silent, observing the younger boys current state. His lip has fortunately stop gushing the blood that it had been earlier when Harry first found him. Blood is smeared and dried on to his tanned skin, and the boy himself still seemed to be a little dazed and out of it. That is only to be expected after the severe beating that he had to endure.

Harry, at first, thinks the boy has fallen asleep despite his orders not to, but after a closer look he realises that he is still awake. His swollen eyes and weakness had Harry thinking otherwise.

He reaches over, dropping the car keys into the pocket of his coat that he had left draped around the boy's wet shoulders. Despite the heat being left on full blast throughout the drive and his coat given to the boy, Harry notices that his small body is still violently shivering in the seat. He isn't surprised though. God only knows how long he was left on the footpath, people turning a blind eye to him while they passed just so they wouldn't have to deal with the burden of caring for the beaten boy.

Harry soon pulls his gaze away from the younger boy. The last thing he wants is to worry or scare him with his staring. He steps hurriedly from the car to avoid the rain, making his way over to the passenger seat door instead. He pulls it open, leaning in over the boy in an attempt to block him from the rain.

"Tell me if I hurt you," Harry speaks while he tries to ease one arm beneath the boys thin legs, his other behind his back. He carefully lifts him into his arms, managing with some difficulty to carry him bridal style and as quickly as he can to the door of his house. He has to deal with unlocking the door all while keeping the boy securely in his arms and without accidentally inflicting any more pain onto him.

"Are you okay?" Harry tries to ask while bringing the boy inside, being taken aback by the sudden scrambling of the boy in his arms. Harry watches with worry, trying to help him down from his tattooed arms before he falls from them instead.

"I'm just trying to help," he reminds, watching with slight alarm as the boy drops himself onto the timber of Harry's hall floor, sitting down with his legs pulled up towards his chest.

Harry takes a step back from the whimpering boy. He has clearly found some energy left within him. He looks up at Harry with wide eyes, tears starting to trickle down his bruised cheeks all while trying desperately hard to stay quiet, forcing his sobs to be unnoticeable.

Harry frowns slightly with confusion before cautiously stepping towards the unfamiliar boy again.

"I promise I just want to help. You're hurt," he points out, outstretching a hand to assist the boy back up to his feet. He stays in that position for a moment, a small look of defeat coming to Harry's face when he realises that his hand isn't going to be taken. Instead, he stands up and leaves the boy where he is, making his way into the bathroom instead.

The boy stays curled up on the floor, watching the man walking away from him while he pulls his aching legs closer to his bruised body. He wipes frantically at his wet eyes, looking around the room with sheer dread. What is his master going to say when he realises that he isn't on the path where he was thrown? Is this man going to finish him off completely with yet another beating?

He figures the best thing he can do at that moment is to stay silent and hope for the best; that the man won't notice his features that he is keeping hidden.

He peers cautiously up from his arms when he hears the soft squeak of the mans wet runners enter the room, before he ducks his head yet again in case he somehow manages to make eye contact. He was taught not to do that. It is highly rude to stare, especially when it's at a person.

He sniffles weakly when he hears the footsteps stop, jumping slightly when he feels something brush against his knee. He tries sneak a subtle glance, breathing out a tiny sigh of relief when he sees that it is simply from where the man has kneeled down next to him.

"What's your name?" The tall man asks while opening the first aid box that he has got from the bathroom cabinet, fishing through it for some plasters. "I'm Harry."

He grabs the damp towel he has left over his shoulder, holding it in his hand while he looks at the boy next to him, unsuccessfully getting him to say anything at all.

"Would you mind if I cleaned you up a bit?" he asks, gesturing to the towel he has with him.

Surprise hits him when an arm is slowly outstretched towards him, Harry meeting it half way with his own hand. He carefully starts dabbing at the boy's bare arm, carefully cleaning the dried blood from the clotting scabs and scratches. He looks at the boy who has his eyes opened but his head facing downwards.

"What's your name?" Harry asks yet again, his eyes flickering between the boys arm and the boy himself. He soon moves on from his arm, cautiously reaching over towards the boy's face. He helps tilt his head up slightly, catching a short glimpse of his striking blue eyes but they are gone just as quick. The boy has shut his eyes yet again, desperately tight, Harry notices.

"Are you still hurting?"

Harry gets a reply this time. Even if it is just a tiny nod of the boys head, it is much better than being ignored.

"Am I hurting you by doing this?" Harry asks him softly, still trying to gently dab at the boys face.

"N-No," is whispered back to him, the boy's eyes still unopened.

Harry smiles slightly, finishing cleaning the boy up before he disappears down the hall to his bedroom. He comes back with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He hands them to the boy while offering him his hand yet again.

Surprisingly, the boy lets Harry help him up and he peers at the clothes that are handed to him before he follows the man's directions to the bathroom.

He limps off without a word, feeling a little better to be cleaned up and a little warmer now but still unbelievably sore and afraid.