(A/N: Okay, so this chapter was my plan all along, but now I'm realizing that it sort of sounds like Harry is leaving to commit suicide, HE IS NOT! Just read and I'll upload the last chapter tomorrow. Sorry for any confusion, but I promise it will all be okay.)
TRIGGER WARNING: MENTION OF SELF HARM MARKS
Sun shines through the lazily closed curtains that hang directly above the two boys' large mattress and the air is refreshing with a slight draft seeping in under the cracked window.
Softly closed eyelids dance open at the abrupt intrusion of light and the bright illuminations bring jagged shadows soaring across the delicately thin skin.
Harry is the first to fully rise, itching at the pillow indented creases on his cheek as he builds momentum to strategically shift without waking the other boy.
He takes long strides in his approach to a navy blue backpack before picking up the item and glancing back behind him.
His eyes soften with a sudden concern washing over that causes a sheen layer of gloss, glimmering radiantly in the early morning atmosphere.
The heals of his palms raise up to his face and claw at the flooding emotion. His arms lower and he's instantly compressed with rounded shoulders and grim features.
An arm extends outward to a blue cup filled with pencils and pens on the oak desk and he chooses a simple black-colored one. He then reaches for a tattered sheet of lined paper and begins writing.
His written words are frantic and hurried while he bends his knee in a 'rapping' motion against the brass handle of the desk drawer.
There seems to be no time for mistakes as the boy then messily double-folds his note. He travels back to the comforting bed and stands still, looking longingly to Louis.
Sliding his message half-way underneath the pillow at his side of the bed, he begins incrementally sniffling his nose to a scrunch as the edges of his bitten, pink lips turn down.
Unwillingly, a sob rumbles out of him mouth, although, he quickly clasps a hand tightly around his lips, wedging his nails far into his red, tear-stained cheeks.
The asleep boy rustles into his flattened pillow, lengthening his nearest arm to the first boy's neighboring side. Recognizing the vacant space, his eyes pop open, practically emitting blue beams of muddled rays at the strewn duvet opposite of him.
"Haz?" He calls out.
His tranquil doze is no longer visible in this roused state of worry, eyes peeling over every corner of the room, legs bicycling the fluffy covers at an unreasonable pace, and hands grasping for the phone on the side table.
Noticing no incoming calls or prior messages, he uses his thumb to search the device whilst he stands upright, causing the head-rush to slightly wobble his balance.
One last 'tap' to the phone and it's elevated to his ear as he journeys into the closet full of clothing, pulling out a simple outfit and dressing quickly.
"Haz babe, can you please pick up your phone? I'm getting worried about you." He claims once the washroom and kitchen are deemed unoccupied.
After terminating the voicemail, his feet slip into a pair of simple shoes while he phones another.
"Hey...No, no. Have you seen Harry?...Shit. I don't know...Can you ask Li?...No...The park?...No, he always wakes up next to me...How am I not supposed to worry, he's not fucking here!...K, bye."
Panicked steps and distraught deep breaths hurry Louis down the stairs and out of the door to head over to the park.
His anxiety is clear on his face as his hands fidget with the crinkled paper. Without noticing, a few tears slip from his eyes and he pinches them shut, hoping to block out the words scribbled in Harry's writing.
Once at the empty park, he takes a deep breath, wipes away his tears, and steps onto the platform.
There are clear sniffles echoing throughout the plastic tunnel with the boy's—his boy's—head dug in between his bended knees.
"What the fuck, Harry!?"
With the sudden outburst, the younger boy's head pops up. His hair is messily tousled while his forearms are covered with small forming bruises that Louis knows he gave to himself. The green eyes are almost scared, but also...just sad.
Harry opens his mouth, wanting to say something, but nothing comes out; the note already said everything that needed to be said.
Louis glares to the boy the best that he can—with risen tears of course—and he crumples up the note, throwing it on the ground and making Harry flinch.
After a few more harsh, deep breaths, Louis slumps his shoulders and plops down across from Harry.
"What the fuck, Harry?" He says with a sigh this time.
Harry only turns his head to sob into his knees once more.
Louis scoots closer to his Harry and knits his brows together. "Why don't you wanna be with me anymore?" He asks, voice breaking in a way that Harry's never heard.