these bountiful silences

x. insubordinate

"The only thing more important than our health is our sanity."

x. insubordinate

LOUIS' POV

"No way in hell did Harry Styles do that," Zayn scoffs and digs his finger into the massive bruise on Louis' jaw. Louis huffs and bats his hand away. "That kid is harmless, he even gave me cow eyes for hours just because I swatted at a fly, once."

"Well, he can, because he did. Can you just shut your gob so that we won't get caught?" Louis is resolutely not blushing as he pokes his head out of the old tube's window, trying to catch glimpse of the any security crafts that might not have been accounted for on the blueprints.

"You actually let someone hit you?" Zayn asks once he sits back down, because he obviously doesn't know when he's ran a topic of conversation to death.

"He had the element of surprise, alright?"

So what if Curly can actually pack a punch. And a kick. And Harry also might've scratched him a few times, as well, while Louis did not get one swipe in. Mostly because he has compassion and he can't fight back against someone that is crying while throwing punches. Also, he really did surprise Louis. He only planned on dropping off the refurbished hover board to the kid, not on having his face bashed in instead of an actual thank you or summat. And as soon as Harry was done, he just shut the door in his face - no explanation. Who in the hell does that?

"Maybe we were wrong."

Louis eyes Zayn warily, ignoring him and deciding to get his scribe out instead. Changing the frequencies so that The Movement won't pick up his activity. The satellite says that there's not any other foreign crafts around, but they can always be in ghost mode. So far, though, they're safe. There's a chance they'll get through unscathed this time. (Unlikely possibility, but hopefully they can.) Louis presses his forehead to the rusty, depleted shell of the tube, the clank of the wheels smacking over the aged tracks playing a soft melody that's he's came to accustom to home and escape. His scribe is still showing a blank radar, but there's never a such thing as being too careful. He sticks his head out of the window again, letting the air whip at his cheeks haphazardly, still no lights that would be pasted to the bottom of a hovercraft.

He settles back into to the cracked upholstery of the chair only to be met by Zayn's large, imploring eyes. One of his censors is sliding slowly down his temple and his silencer looks irritated around the edges from where Louis tried - and failed - to help him remove it. Louis reaches up and fixes it wordlessly, and Zayn nods in thanks.

"You never answered me," Zayn reminds. "Do you think that we were wrong? That he could actually do it?"

"No, we were right." Louis shakes out his hair and breaks eye contact with Zayn. "You said it yourself, kid's harmless."

"He obviously isn't if he could do that." Zayn divots his thumb into Louis' bruise again. "Gemma wouldn't have said that he could do it if she didn't fully believe it."

"Well, there's a difference between his sister recruiting him and us. Obviously he isn't our number one fan, even though I have no idea what I did to deserve the shiner."

Louis waits for the infamous question, the one that he can never answer because he doesn't have an answer. Where's Gemma? Everyone always asks him that. But the only answer he has, the one that he truly doesn't want to give, is: Dead, probably, but that stings too much to admit to himself, let alone to anyone else.

"Then find Gemma. If anyone can do it, its you. You have people on both sides, it should be easy for you to do that. Then we can have both of the Styles. The Movement wouldn't know what to do with itself."