TW: nonconsensual acts between two characters and mention of rape. (not between Harry and Louis.) Please read carefully if this is difficult for you.
Louis
Dewy blades of grass peek between my toes, a chilling wind blowing slightly against my bare arms. A low glow of yellow shines through the thick fog from beneath a single street lamp, the only source of light beside the gleaming white of the moon.
I stand stagnant on a lawn, staring blankly at the brick house in front of me. An earthy green moss grows in between the bricks, the overgrown grass creeping up the sides like spider legs. No light, no sign of life to be found. Just me and this house.
I stare for a while longer, my mind foggy like the air around me. This house, it's familiar. Not in a sense of which I recognize, but by the feeling it gives off, the energy radiating from it.
It's My house. Why am I not inside?
I walk on light feet to the front door, the wet grass pressing beneath my feet and my own shallow breathing the only sound to be heard for miles. I walk the steps of the dark porch, gripping the cold knob of the door in my hesitant hand before twisting it and stepping inside.
The eeriness of the outside world pales in comparison to the atmosphere of the house. It's empty. The furniture, the decor, the pictures that usually line the walls, it's all gone. Not a single trace of it left behind.
"Hello?" I call out, my voice bouncing off the walls and filling the entire downstairs.
"Mum?" I walk throughout the downstairs, peeking into the empty kitchen, the bathroom, everything
"Girls?" I call out for my sisters as I walk up the stairs, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet as I peek into their vacant bedrooms.
Did they move away? Surely they wouldn't just pack up and leave without me, would they? They'd at least let me know they were leaving.
Confused and a bit creeped out, I sigh before walking into my bedroom, the air catching in my lungs at the sight in front of me. A single bed pushed against the wall, the window right next to it allowing the moonlight to beam into the room.
The air feels clouded, thick and heavy. The hairs on the back of my neck standing up almost immediately. Something isn't right. Not just because of the vacancy, or the intense darkness, an unidentifiable quality creating an obscure, almost evil feeling.
I open my mouth to call out, but the voice filling the room is not my own.
"I was waiting for you," the voice rings throughout the room, filling my head as if it came from inside there.
My throat goes dry, fear prickling down my spine almost instantly
"Who's there?" I croak.
"Aww Louis, you don't recognize my voice? I'm a bit offended, has it really been that long?"
"Who are you?" I call out, staring at the pitch-black corner of the room, the place where the voice came from.
And in this moment, as the man steps out from the dark corner and into the moonlight...well...I wish I could die right here and now.
"Y-you...you're...oh my god," I stutter, my hands trembling by my sides.
He looks exactly how I remembered, though I've tried my damnedest to push his face out of my mind. Dark hazel eyes, intense and gripping. Defined cheekbones, long eye-lashes, and jet black hair contrasting his ivory-toned skin.
By his appearance, he's someone you'd want to know, eager to learn how someone could look so impossibly flawless, but I know better. His beauty will always draw you in, but the evil within him is so intense, so unmistakenly apparent, one would wonder how they never noticed it before.
"Did you miss me, baby?" He says with a sinister smile, stepping closer to me so slowly that I'm not even sure if he's moving at all.
"Nate..." I trail off, my stomach lurching and a ragged breath falling out of my lips from the mere sound of his name.
He smirks at this, the corner of his lip twitching upward as he seems to feed off of my fear.
"I must admit, you look good. Are those tattoos?"
I'm silent.
"Surely not the same as when I left you, that's for sure. Hair grown out, skin a bit tanner. Still not exactly beautiful, but good enough," he says casually as if we ended on good terms...as if he didn't do what he did.
"You've got nothing to say to me?" He cocks his head to the side, almost offendedly.
"You need to leave."
"And before we're able to catch up? Not a chance, babe. Why are you so tense? You look like you've seen a ghost," He says with a wicked grin.
It feels like I've been taken back to that night, as if no time has passed. That fear of the unknown, the uncontrollable shaking of my body at the sound of his voice. It's all too familiar and just as dangerous.
"Oh I see, you're still mad about that night, huh? I must admit, I wasn't exactly gentle-"
"Gentle? You raped me," I seethe, shaking hands balled into fists and burning hot tears pooling in my eyes.
"Louis Louis Louis, always so dramatic." He rolls his eyes and chuckles quietly to himself, stepping closer to me.
"You...you came into my room and you pulled my pants down and you fucking raped me. There's nothing 'dramatic' about it." I snarl through clenched teeth.
"Oh really? You still telling people that?" His previous smug smile and twisted humor are wiped from his face, his eyes staring directly into mine without a single blink interrupting his gaze.
"It's what happened."
"Mhm, and who exactly believed you on that? I mean honey, you aren't exactly a lot to look at. No one could ever tolerate you in the way I did. What makes you think anyone would ever believe that I would ever want to be around you, let alone want to have sex with you?"
He stands directly in front of me, so close I can feel his breath hitting against my face with every word he speaks. My fear is slowly replaced with fiery anger as those feelings of rage that I've never been able to express to him hits me like a truck.
"That isn't true."
"Oh?" he challenges.
"Someone did believe me. And he did tolerate me. More than tolerate, actually...he loved me." I confess.
For a moment, I'm sure I see a flicker of rage on his features. It lasts for a fraction of a second, and I'm almost unsure if it truly happened, but the way he bursts out laughing confirms it.
"That's Impossible," he spits.
"Not impossible. He loved me. Actually loved me, and that's more than you could ever say," I growl, Nates' eyes boring into mine as I speak.
"Oh yeah? And where's your loverboy now?"
And the voice I hear next surely resolved every bit of anger I had left, the fear creeping its way back in so quickly that it dizzied me. I pray to god to just let the voice be coming from inside my head. Please don't let him be here. Not now.
"Lou," a quiet voice squeaks out.
I had hoped it was just in my mind, that perhaps the thought of him forced me to hear his voice but Nate turned his head in the voice's direction, and I wish he hadn't.
I glare at him at the same time Nate does. He stands directly in the line of moonlight, his beautiful curls falling perfectly over his round face and his emerald green eyes pleading with mine, the soft curve of his cherry-red lips prominent within his soft features as he looks utterly lost.
"Harry," I breathe, disregarding Nate who stands directly between us. I want to hold him, reach out and touch him, but Nate turning around and giving Harry his full undivided attention snaps me back into my terrifying reality.
"And who is this?" Nate smiles. Harry glances over to him, looking as confused as ever.
"I'm Harry," he says innocently.
"Harry don't-"
"Sshh, Louis. Don't be rude. Just making friends," Nate says without ever looking away from Harry's face.
Nate steps closer to him, Harry seeming to be a bit more afraid as he sees my reaction to Nate drawing closer and lifting a hand to touch his delicate face.
"Leave him alone!" I yell, ready to step closer, my body lurching forward willing to fight with everything in me, but my feet are glued to the ground. I can't move. No matter how hard I try, my feet can't lift from this floor.
Nate smiles at this, brushing a curl out of Harry's fearful eyes and smiling darkly to himself.
"Harry, was it? I take it you know Louis well?" He asks, circling around Harry like a lion ready to pounce onto a gazelle. His eyes observe every single detail of the smaller boy.
"Mhm," Harry nods.
"Nate leave him the fuck alone. Get away from him," I growl, trying my absolute hardest to move my body in their direction. At the sound of the name, Harry immediately tenses.
"I must admit, Harry, you sure are a sight to see. Beautiful, a certain trace of innocence written all over you." Nate hisses, truly something out of a horror movie. Harry doesn't miss this, gulping quietly to himself. His eyes dart between Nate's intense expression and my petrified one.
"Get your fucking hands off of him" I demand, attempting to sound as dangerous as I can manage despite the simmering fear in the pit of my stomach.
"Oh wow!" Nate says, realization setting in. "This is him, isn't it? The one you love?"
Harry stares at me, ignoring the way Nate strokes his curls. I can't say yes, that would give Nate all the fuel he needs to do what it is that he's thinking. I have no clue what he's about to do, but he won't stop touching Harry and Harry looks terrified.
"No...that's not him," I simply say.
"What?" Harry asks. "You don't love me?"
Fuck.
"Harry no, please just-"
"Well, what is it, Louis? Either you love him or you don't," Nate smirks, already knowing the answer.
Nate doesn't even give me time to answer before pulling Harry's squirming body closer to him and running his thumb over the soft curve of Harry's lower lip.
"Don't fucking touch him!" I scream. Harry froze in place under Nate's scheming gaze. My body still can't move, forcing me to stay exactly where I am no matter how hard I try to lift my feet.
"Oh you're going to be absolutely amazing," Nate says wickedly, glancing at me with a sick twisted smile before slamming his lips onto Harry's.
"No! Stop it!" I scream at the top of my lungs, my throat burning like a wildfire.
Harry writhes in Nate's clutch, working avidly to break free as his small body fights so urgently against the kiss, but Nates' persistence is unrelenting.
Nate keeps a firm hold on Harry's wrists, pushing him back against the wall and pinning his hands above his head.
"I'll fucking kill you!" I scream at the very top of my lungs, jerking my body with everything in me to make myself move from this spot, but it's useless. Harry kicks his legs and tries to turn his head, doing absolutely everything he can think of to get this sick monster off of him.
Nate grips both of Harry's wrists with one hand and buries his face into his neck. Harry uses this opportunity to scream. Loud. Louder than anything I've ever heard.
"Stop, please stop!" He screams, his red face crumpling as tears stream down his cheeks. His eyes lock with mine, the look of horror only worsening as he notices me watching the entire thing.
Harry knees Nate between his legs, giving him just enough time to break free from him. He runs straight for the door. I feel a moment of relief, thankful that he's able to get out of here, but his eyes catch mine, looking at me for a moment too long and it's too late. Nate's on him again.
Nate grabs him by the arm, spinning him around and slamming his fist against Harry's cheek. He cries out, Nate hitting him over and over as blood pours out of his reddened crumpled face.
"Louis help! Please, don't let him do this!" He cries out, suffering under Nate's bruising hands.
My screams drown out everything else, and I'm certain I can taste blood trickling down my throat. Harry doesn't look away from me as he cries, even as Nates hits land mercilessly on his delicate face.
Nate throws him to the ground, Harry falling directly in front of me. So close but not enough for me to touch him. He spits out blood, crying and curling in on himself in the middle of the cold floor.
Nate laughs to himself locking eyes with a sobbing and hysterical Harry, and for a moment, I think it's over. Maybe he had decided to spare Harry. But as he stands over him, fist raised and ready to beat on him all over again, I know that I'm wrong.
Right before his fist lands on Harry, who sobs horribly on the floor, I call out to him.
"Nate..please don't do this," I plead, sobbing and weak. "He's got nothing to do with this. Don't hurt him."
He glances between the two of us, allowing me to think that he's even considering it, but he's not. He never would.
Fist raised once more, an evil glint in his eye, he says,
"Guess you don't love him that much."
A scream rips from my throat, my eyes snapping open as I look around frantically. I can't breathe, I can hardly see, and everything seems to ache.
I glance around, chest heaving and my head pounding like a drum as I take in my surroundings. I'm in bed, my room back to normal, everything seems to be alright except for me. I look down at my sweat-drenched clothes and soaked pillow, breathing heavily. Everything seems to make sense again.
He's safe, probably snuggled up in bed sound asleep. Still, that doesn't stop the burning tears pooling in my eyes.
The sight of what was happening, the terror in his voice, and desperation in his eyes. It's all too much, enough to make me clutch my chest as I cry silently. I can't think of something like that happening to him. It wasn't even happening to me in the dream, but I've never felt so helpless. Seeing him like that, it's enough to fuel the nightmares for at least another 6 months.
I wipe at my eyes and rest my head back onto my pillow, staring up at the ceiling and trying to clear my head of all the heart-wrenching images in my head. I grab my phone and check the time.
11:25
I need to see his face, remind myself of his beauty to replace the terror of what I see each time I blink. So, doing what any sane person would do, I go to my camera roll.
I go to the album, titled 'H', which I've kept dedicated to him since the very first time I snuck a picture of him. My eyes study each and every photo. The ones of us on the couch, or the ones after we first woke up in the mornings. I study the pictures he took himself after stealing my phone and flooding my camera roll, and even the ones I took in secret when he was asleep or oblivious to the camera.
There's one in particular, which was once my lock screen so I could see it each time I opened my phone. It was him beneath me, my legs straddling him as he cups his blushed cheeks with his dainty hands, eyes screwed shut, mouth agape, and a beautiful carefree smile painted on his red lips.
I wish we could've stayed that way.
The memories comfort me, and it doesn't hurt as much. The sharp pain dulling to a subtle ache and I'm able to smile, genuinely smile, but his name flashing across my screen wipes the grin clean off.
I stare at the ringing screen for a while, wiping my eyes to see if they're playing a trick on me, yet it's there. He's calling me.
I answer, hesitantly bringing it to my ear and swallowing thickly before speaking.
"...Hello?" I croak.
"Lou! You answered!" he cheers.
"Harry? Are you alright?" I ask instinctively.
"Just peachy," he slurs, a smile clear within his voice. "You busy? It's late, hm? Oh were you sleeping?"
"No," I lie. "No, I was awake."
"Fantastic!" He yells a bit too loudly, followed by a sudden thump and a hushed giggle.
"I fell," he slurs, his voice accompanied with quiet laughter.
The casual tone of his overly-enthusiastic voice unsettles me. I won't complain about this, I've never been so thankful to hear someone's voice in my entire life, but that doesn't make it any less strange. The last time I checked, which was pretty recently, we aren't on speaking terms. Unless he's hit his head and lost his memory sometime within the last 24 hours, something's changed.
"I miss you," he sighs into the phone. He sounds ages away, as if his mind isn't here in the conversation, wandering somewhere only he knows. Still, the small confession catches my full attention. I've wanted nothing more within these last few weeks than to hear him say those words.
Three little words have never sounded so sweet.
"You what?" I know what he said, just can't quite believe he said it.
"I miss you. Can't stop thinking about you, Lou. Can't ever...stop," he confesses, stopping briefly for a hiccup.
"Oh."
"Do you not like that? Do you not want me to think about you?" He breathes into the receiver, his soft raspy voice sounding so close, so distinct and I feel that familiar warmth in my chest. The one I haven't felt since the night he left.
"No..."
"No?"
"No I mean I do... I just...I don't mind you thinking about me," I whisper as if someone else were around to hear.
"Good. Do you ever think about me? Do I ever cross your mind the way you cross mine?" He slurs, so close to the phone it's like he's whispering right into my ear.
It dawns on me now, the slurred hushed tone of his voice and his vulnerable confessions. It could only mean one thing, and it saddens me once I realize it.
"Have you been drinking?" I ask.
"Nope."
"Harry-"
"Okay yes," he says through a laugh.
"Of course you have." I stand to my feet and look for my shoes, slipping them once I spot them before grabbing a jumper. It's not that I'm upset he's drinking, though I wish he weren't, it's just that I can't trust anything he says. Everything he's said up to this point could just be the alcohol talking.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"How much have you had?" I ask, ignoring his previous question.
"Well let's count, shall we? 1 sip, 2 sip, 3 sip, 4 sip-"
"Yeah, I get the picture. Are you home?"
He tells me he is.
"Stay where you are, I'll be there soon."
I grab my keys and walk straight out of my bedroom, out of the house, and over to my car. Maybe my eagerness to get to him has more to do with my need to see him after the dream I just had, to hear more of the sweet things he's just confessed, but I'll use any excuse I have.
---
His driveway is empty, which could only mean that Anne is at work. In a way, it's common sense. It's not like Harry would get piss drunk with his mother sleeping in the other room.
The lights in the house are off beside one room, and if my memory serves me correctly, it's the living room.
I step out of the car, sighing as I stare back at the house. It reminds me of my dream, though that house was mine, but the feeling is still the same. That fear of the unknown.
I have to force myself up the porch steps, and it takes me a few minutes to talk myself up enough to open the door, but I eventually do it.
And what I see on the other side of the door is truly a sight to behold.
"Now here you goooo again, you say you want your freeeeedom. Well, who am I to keep you down?" Harry sings along into a wooden spoon to what I believe to be Fleetwood Mac blasting on the speaker. One of his favorite bands.
He's dressed in an oversized black sweater, his underwear, and pink socks. Utterly adorable if you ask me, but that's beside the point.
His hips sway side to side as he sings, not yet noticing my presence in the doorway. He holds his arms above his head, curls falling beautifully as he lolls his head to the rhythm of the song.
He turns on socked feet swiftly, surprised at first, but quickly recovering with a sly smirk pressed on his pretty lips as he pauses the song.
"Lou! You came!" he cheers, bouncing up and down slightly before losing his footing and falling straight on the ground.
I cross the room immediately, squatting in front of him and staring right into his lovely eyes.
"Hi," He says meekly, and for a moment I think he may be sober. Our eyes pour into each other and it's too intense, too overpowering, and too foreign for me. I'm not used to this anymore.
"How much have you had?" I ask, glancing over to the half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table, not even needing him to answer.
"Harry, you get drunk off of 3 shots, what made you think you could handle this?" I stand to my feet and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water for the drunken boy.
"I can handle it." He calls out after me, following me into the kitchen.
"Yeah, whatever."
"What's the problem? You drink all the time," he says casually with a roll of the eyes. He's got a point, but that's neither here nor there.
"Yeah but I can handle it, you can't." I defend, Harry hardly listening to a word I say.
"We should make cookies!" He squeals, running straight for the fridge but I catch a fistful of his sweater and pull him back to me.
"I think handling an oven is probably on the list of things you shouldn't do tonight," I defend, pulling him back into the living room before he can plead for me to let go.
He plops down on the couch, licking over his lips and fluttering his eyes shut. I swallow thickly at the sight, trying my hardest to look anywhere else.
"Uhm...are you hungry? You should probably eat something, you know? Soak up all that alcohol."
He shakes his head, his eyes looking into mine almost as if he's daring me to look away from him.
"You'll regret it in the morning. The hangover is gonna be brutal."
He shrugs. Still silent. Still watching me.
"Well," I begin, placing down the glass of water. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright, and you seem fine so...maybe I should just go..." I look over to the door, ready to leave and be done with this awkward meeting, but Harry seems to have other plans.
He's on me in seconds, hand pulling me down onto the cushion next to him before taking his familiar spot in my lap, his thighs straddling mine.
"Harry-" I begin, but he shakes his head and puts a finger up to my lips.
"Don't ruin this," he breathes, his glossy eyes pleading with mine. I hadn't even noticed the blotchiness of his cheeks or the deep red lining of his eyes. He was crying before he called.
"You're drunk."
"I'm not."
"You are. You wouldn't have called me if you weren't." I whisper. I'm not naive enough to believe he meant for this to happen. If he were in the right state of mind, he'd be screaming at me right now. By the time he sobers up, he'll hate me all over again.
"You never answered my question on the phone," He mumbles, stroking my cheek as his gaze darts between my lips and hesitant eyes.
"What question?"
"Do you think about me? Do you ever think about it? About us. About what we had. It was beautiful, Louis. So fucking beautiful. I know you think about it. I just know you do."
"Harry don't go there right now. I can't do this tonight, please," I beg. I can't even begin to tell him how much I miss it, how little sleep I've gotten since he left. How I've lost weight, how I have nightmares every time I'm in my room. I can't tell him any of it, because it'd be worthless. He wouldn't understand any of it.
"I miss you," he whines.
"No, you don't."
"I do. So much. Things have gotten so messy between us, you know? I want it back. I want us back."
"You don't mean that."
"And what makes you so sure? I'm saying it aren't I?
"Anything you say right now is just a product of the alcohol. If you were sober, you'd be screaming at me right now." I say firmly, looking down at his chest and trying to ignore the needy boy on top of me.
"Hey hey hey, that's not true," he assures, curling a finger beneath my chin and lifting my gaze to his. "Don't be like that, okay? Please."
"We aren't okay. We haven't been for a while and that doesn't just change because you're feeling lonely." I explain, praying to god he gets it. It's getting harder to deny him, to remain distant and reserved when everything he's saying is like music to my ears.
"Can't we just stay like this? Can't it just be simple? Aren't you tired of all the fighting, and the drama? I miss you, Lou. God, I miss you so much, I don't have to be drunk to know how much it kills me to be away from you. Please just stay here, stay like his, stay with me."
"We can't. Not like this." I try my hardest to sound firm, but it reminds me of the night of our first kiss. In a way, it's very similar, Harry pleading while I'm the voice of reason, but we were in an entirely different place relationship-wise. While that night opened a new door in our relationship, this will only board up the door that is already slammed shut.
"Just kiss me. Please kiss me. You can hate it if you want to, hate me if you need to, but please just kiss me. Let me feel you, Lou. It's killing me," he breathes. His voice breaks, the pain shining through between the cracks. His hips stutter against my lap as he tries his hardest to be closer to me.
But I can't. Because in the morning he will hate me. Regardless of what happens tonight, in the morning, when the alcohol passes through his system and his mind is clear, he'll hate the person who stands before him.
And I'd rather him hate me for being here than hate me for taking advantage of him.
I shake my head and he does the same, but his is more frantic, urgent even.
He presses his lips all over my face. Cheeks, forehead, chin, eyelids, nose, every single part of my face he can reach except for the place he wants the most. He smells so good. So sweet and comforting just like how I remember and I really don't think he realizes how much it hurts me to deny him right now.
He pulls back and stares longingly into my eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and...are those tears? Is he crying?
"Curly," I say sympathetically, wiping the pad of my thumb over his wet cheek.
He whimpers quietly, biting onto his lip and squeezing a few more tears out of his closed eyes before leaning his head into my cradling hand, nuzzling into my palm.
"I need you. I can't keep pretending I don't. I need you," he whispers brokenly, still nuzzling into my palm.
"I'm here."
"Not for long. You're gonna leave me."
"Not unless you want me to," I comfort him, using my free hand to rub soothingly up and down his back. I notice now that he's wearing my sweater. I missed seeing him in my clothes.
"Never want you to. Never leave me," He shakes his head, eyes finally fluttering open to meet mine and he smiles at me. One of his sweet innocent smiles that I've been longing for.
"You should drink some water," I sit up and reach around him, grabbing the glass and holding it up to his lips for him. He nearly drinks the entire glass, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his sweater.
"Lou?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we stay like this? Can you hold me?" He asks shyly, looking down at our laps and playing with his fingers.
And I know I probably shouldn't, but denying him earlier took all of the strength I had and I just can't do it again. More importantly, I can't deny myself.
I nod. Harry offering a broken smile and curling up into my chest, nuzzling his face into my neck and resting his head on my shoulder. We're quiet for a while, and I subtly match my breathing to his, just to feel closer than we already are.
I'm not sure how much time has passed. Maybe hours, but eventually he's asleep, his chest rising and falling gently and his heartbeat slowing to a melodic thump.
Peaceful and angelic as ever.
I stand, making sure to disturb him as little as possible before taking him into his room and laying him down onto the bed. There's a chance he'll wake up swinging, so I'd like to not be in his line of fire.
After pulling the blanket over him and watching him for a few minutes, I decide to sleep on the floor, but not before noticing the open journal on his nightstand.
Hesitantly, I pick it up and read over the written words.
"I gotta get better. I gotta get better. I gotta get better. And maybe we'll work it out"
Sighing deeply, I glance back over at him before setting the journal back down. I don't want to think about the songs he's probably written since I broke his heart. The pain of which he'd write about would be enough for me to hate myself entirely.
I grab an extra pillow and blanket from his closet and make myself comfortable- or as comfortable as I can be- on his floor.
Come morning he'll hate me, but he'll hate himself even more for knowing he needs me here. I have no idea where I stand with him anymore, but I know that I don't regret tonight. I held him. I felt his heartbeat, felt his skin on my skin, his lips against me, listened to the pattern of his breathing. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, we were us again.
Wherever I stand with him by the time the sun rises, I hold no regret for tonight.
---
What's shakin bacon?
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I was hesitant to write the nightmare part and thought about deleting it because I just didn't want to go too far with it. But I hope the second half makes up for it. So much is coming for this story, so I hope you stick around to read it.
HARRY WON A GRAMMY LAST NIGHT, LOUIS' STARTING HIS OWN MANAGEMENT COMPANY, SARAH AND MITCH ARE HAVING A BABY???? TOO MUCH AT ONCE. PROUD PROUD PROUD
Please vote:)
I love you, pumpkin -A (hehe it's been a while since I said that)