"What?" Louis asked, startled. "What do you mean, 'you saved me'? What does that have to do with you losing your wings?"
Harry sighed, looking exhausted, "I saved you, Lou. Last night, I saved you when I wasn't suppose to. I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have stopped those men from beating you and leaving you for dead."
"Why?" Louis mumbled, puzzled with the response. "Isn't that what angels are supposed to do? Protect people?"
Harry looked up at him, eyes beginning to well, "I thought so. It's like what you see in nature, Lou. Some are meant to die, and some are meant to live. It's what creates a balance in the universe. Good and Evil, Heaven and Hell, rich and poor, it's all about balance. Same thing applies in the Kingdom of God as well. We can only save so many, and others we have to let go."
Louis gulped, "It sort of makes sense, I guess." It explained the reason why his prayers were left unanswered as his loving grandfather laid on his deathbed. It explained why no one was there to listen as Louis prayed for the mean children at school to stop picking on him. To stop making him cry and punching him for no apparent reason. Yes, it explained a lot of things.
"Last night, Louis. . . Last night you were supposed to die. It was already decided in your fate that you wouldn't live to see your 22nd birthday. Tonight, death had been literally over your shoulder, counting down the seconds of your time here on earth. With what lay ahead, there was no way you would've made it," Harry explained, his voice becoming more rasp as he supressed the need to cry.
"Then why?" Louis sniffled, letting the stupid tears roll down his face. He was just told that he should've been dead by now. He figured he could let some of his dignity deter for the moment.
"Why what?" Harry asked lowly, looking up at Louis.
"Why did you save me? Why didn't you just let me die?"
Harry's eyes grew the size of dinner plates, like Louis had just asked the most stupid question he's ever heard. "What?"
"Why did you stop those people from killing me? Why did you risk your wings just to save me? What's so special about me?"
Harry raked his fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots, "Argh, it's difficult to explain. It's just- I couldn't watch you die, Louis. You're so young and full of life. You've got a whole life ahead of you, and you've got this aura around you that burns bright as the sun. I can see it; it burns indefinitely and strong. An aura like that deserves a second chance at life, because it only accomplish things that are good."
"You must be mistaken then. The only things that I've accomplished is getting my family to hate me and blowing most of my income on drugs from homicidal drug dealers," Louis replied. "Maybe I should have died."
Harry shook his head fiercely, tears springing to his eyes, "No. Stop."
"Well, it's true. I'm no good-," Louis pressed.
"No, no, no, no! Just stop it okay Louis? Don't talk about yourself like that. NO!" Harry exclaimed, throwing himself into a hacking fit. Louis rushed to him and began patting his back, coaxing the coughs to stop. "Ok," Louis finally agreed, "Ok. I won't talk about myself in that way. Jeez, no need to freak out."
Harry coughed out, "Water."
Louis practically ran to the cupboard and filled it with the cold tap. He speedily reached Harry and handed him the water. He took the drink with earnest, downing the cup in less than ten seconds.
"So that night, the night you found me, how did you-?" Louis asked, taking the empty cup from Harry and placing it on the nightstand. Harry shuffled into the covers and briefly closed his eyes, "I followed you."
Louis froze. He didn't know whether to be creeped out or relieved. The paranoid feeling he had had that night where he felt like he was being watched now made sense, with the explanation that Harry had been indeed following him. Louis gulped, "Why?"
"I knew you were going to die. I knew what was in store for you, so I decided I'd follow behind you to make sure it didn't happen," Harry mumbled, exhaustion masking his features. "'m sleepy."
"Right," Louis suddenly remembered what the angel had just been through, "Right! Oh god, I'm sorry! I've been throwing questions at you and you probably just want some rest. Fuck, I'm sorry."
"'s okay," he smiled lazily, "I like that you're curious. It's cute."
Louis blushed, averting his eyes away from the beautiful boy, with his hair mused and his eyes glazy. "Harry, can I ask you one more question? You know before I let you have your sleep, of course."
"Sure," the boy sighed, his head burried in the pillows and his eyelids closed.
"What happened to those men? The men that attacked me last night?" The question had boggling around in his mind since the moment he woke up. He distinctly remembered the screams and the sound of Andy's car fleeing from the scene, but didn't see the men escape. It scared him to think they had, fearing that they could back looking for him.
"I killed them," the angel answered, "They didn't deserve to live. Not after what they had been intent to do to you. Their auras were dark. I could see demons in their eyes, and they had seemed to lost all of their innocence a long time ago. I killed them so they wouldn't hurt you anymore, so that you'd be safe."
Louis' mouth hung agape at Harry's easy response. The boy had answered him with ease and contentment, like he was smug with himself at what he had done. Louis didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened. Relieved, because he knew the men wouldn't be coming after him; frightened, because the beautiful boy that now laid in his bed had blood on his hands.
Before Louis could speak his mind to the boy, the angel was fast asleep, snoring softly. He shook the nagging feeling from his head, and tucked the sheets properly over the slumbering boy. He looked peaceful and youthful, just like he had when Louis first saw him the night before.
He sighed and clambered over to the kitchen, taking a can of tuna out from the cupboards. Cece appeared then, as if she had telepathic senses that just knew when she was about to be fed. 'She probably did,' Louis thought.
He dumped the stinky contents into her food bowl, and placed it on the floor. The orange mass of fur attacked the smelly heap and Louis wrinkled his nose at the smell. He made himself a cuppa, before heading back into the room and pulling up at chair. He pulled his laptop onto his lap and booted it up, placing the cup beside his feet. He'd decided to find some new music to add to his already large playlist.
He went onto the site where he got all of his illegal music downloads, looking up Radiohead and Muse. He found some tunes that he liked, and downloaded the files. He clicked on this new song "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore, mildly curious to why it received the most downloads. He listened to the tune, and while pop was not his usual cup of tea, he was sad to admit this song was catchy.
He decided to hell with it, and added the song to his music collection. He scoured a little more and when he was finally happy with his slightly larger playlist, he shut the laptop down and put it aside. He finished off his tea and placed it in the sink. He sat back down in his chair, and looked over at the dozing angel.
Louis still couldn't believe he found himself in his current situation. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd meet an angel, one that just happened to descend from the heavens and save him from unavoidable death. One that happened to be in his flat, sleeping in his bed.
To be honest, Louis hadn't really believed in angels before. He had given up on religion, figuring it was some fucked up thing to get people to believe that death wasn't the end of everything. His family had been religious, attending church and celebrating Christmas with large family dinners and dressing the whole house in tinsel.
Louis didn't really like Christmas because it was near his birthday. So when his special day would come around, people would wrap his presents in red and green wrapping, give him holiday cards that wished him a Happy Birthday, and would throw him Christmas-themed birthday parties. People usually told him how lucky he was because he got "double the presents", but in reality his birthday present was his Christmas present. From age seven to eleven, Louis would send Santa Claus letters of complaint, wondering why on earth he'd sent him a box of puzzles for his birthday. He could recall the time when he'd been in the school's Christmas play, dressed as the little drummer boy. When it was time for his solo, he went up to the mic and said, "Fuck Santa Claus."
But besides the point, Louis figured the reason he hadn't believed in angels was because when he had, they were never there when he needed them to be.
Ever since he was in school, he had always been a little bit more 'flambouyant' than the other school kids. He was happy to dress in braces and bowties because it made him look older and cool like his grandpa. He liked to give hugs to his friends and would always happily sing the clean-up song at the end of the school day. But the other kids didn't like it as much as he did apparently. They'd call Louis stupid, babyish, and silly. They'd push and tease him about, making fun of his short height and loud clothes.
When he was dropped off at school, he would always be eccentric to start the school day. But sadly, when his mother would come and pick him up, his head would be hung and his eyes would be watery. At night, before he would go to sleep, he'd go on knees, bring his tiny hands together, and squeeze his eyes shut. He'd say a prayer, one that asked the angels to bring him a friend, for his grandad to feel better, and for his mummy and daddy to stop fighting. His prayers were never answered, but he didn't stop going to church. He would always be gripping his Bible tightly, waiting for a miracle to come.
When Louis was 14, he had finally come to terms with his sexuality. It had been after his friend at the time, Stan, had kissed him at a uni party. They had both snuck in, and had drank at least half of their body weight in alcohol. Louis couldn't remember much, but he did remember that he had liked the feel of the male's lips on his.
Stan didn't talk to him much after that, and moved away the following month. He left Louis best-friendless and confused. He didn't want to be gay, but it did explain why he had more pictures of shirtless football players than half-naked swim models.
He surfed through his share of friends when he was in secondary school, though none were considered "best friend" material. He was a player on the school's football team, member of the drama club, and kept up his grades with B's. He kept his sexuality quiet and was determined to not let anybody, including his mother, find out.
He did quite a good job with it, going through a decent amount of girlfriends in Year 12. Heck, he even shagged a few, even though he could have been less interested in the skirts and sticky lipgloss. Girls were cute, with their long hair, adorable giggles, and bouncing confidence, but that's all they were to Louis- cute. They didn't have flat, hard planes on their chests; they didn't wear musk that consisted of vanilla, cinnamon, and sweat; they weren't able to dominate Louis when he wanted to be submissive and held.
So Louis wouldn't change in the locker rooms and didn't use the restroom at school. He didn't want to get caught taking a peek at the flexed muscles and toned legs of the other lads, otherwise it'd ruin his lingo for sure.
He had been doing fantastic at covering up his sexual preference, using girls and discarding them like used tissues. His friends dubbed him as a player and their role model. For a brief moment, even Louis himself believed he was straight, that is until he met Michael.
The eighteen year old had moved from Italy the summer before, participating in a student-exchange program. Louis had met him in the halls, when he had accidently bumped into the tall, handsome lad during a hasty mission to get to class on time. He had dropped his books, and the polite Italian apologized and gathered the texts off the floor. He had placed them back into Louis' arms, giving him a warm smile.
With his chiseled features, inky black hair, and hazel eyes, Louis found himself blushing and acting like some giddy school girl. The boy seemed to take notice and had introduced himself to Louis. Louis shook his hand and managed to tumble his name from his mouth, before telling the boy he had to get to class. Michael offered to walk Louis there, and of course Louis eagerly agreed.
After their encounter, the two began to see each other frequently in the halls. Michael began to sit with Louis at lunch, and soon after handed him his phone number. They texted each other frequently, talking everything from music to art. They became close friends easily and quickly, and Louis was glad to finally let himself be more open to someone.
Of course, Michael had a bad boy vibe and Louis loved it. The senior would ask him to skip class with him, and together they'd drive anywhere. Some days they'd just cruise the streets of Doncaster, others they'd chill at the park sharing a bag of crisps and soda pop. He'd give Louis some of his CDs to borrow, and would even stop by his house to hang out after school.
There was one week, that Louis could recall, that he and Michael just completely ditched school. By this time, they had already been two months into their friendship. Michael had parked the car in the city park's abondoned parking lot, and had not made an attempt to get out. Louis had been worried, asking the eighteen year old what the problem was. When Michael had kissed him, Louis had been a deer caught in the headlights. He remembers how scared and excited and confused he was, but Michael's cologne and tongue seemed to be the only rational answer.
They snogged for almost an hour in the car, before Michael took Louis back home. The next day, they did the same thing, except there was less hesitance and more hands and tongue. They didn't talk about what they were now labeled as, friends or boyfriends, but Louis didn't mind. Having Michael suck bruises on his neck and nibble at his lip was all he could ever ask for.
By Christmas break, Michael and Louis had hookups almost every other week. The sex wasn't love, wasn't passionate, but it still felt a whole lot better than having sex with a girl.
Not long after, they began to ditch lunch to take get high at the back of the school. Yes, there was always that possibility that they'd get caught, but Louis was totally carefree. With Michael pressing kisses to his neck and the nice buzz stemming in his system, he had felt whimsical. In fact, he'd be so buzzed that he stopped worrying about what others thought about him. He began to hold Michael's hand down the hall, ignoring the glares and looks they both received. They didn't care. They had each other, and that's all that mattered. Besides, most people knew not to mess with the Year 13 boy, who was equally charming yet ill-tempered.
One day after sharing lazy kisses and two rolled-up joints, an administrator found the two boys, and sent them straight to see the head principal. Their parents were called and informed, and Louis had his phone confiscated for two whole weeks. His mum had picked him up and dropped him off everyday at school, refusing to meet his eyes. He stopped seeing Michael in the hallways and didn't receive any text messages.
Michael had left. Louis had received an email from the Italian, telling him he was headed back to Italy. He had been kicked out of the foreign-exchange program and that he was sorry it all had to end so soon. He said he had fun, and told him goodbye.
Just like that, Louis' life began to crumble. With his sexuality out in the open, his friends stopped talking to him. People would whisper "queer", "faggot", and "cock-sucker" as Louis walked down the halls. He would be pushed and shoved into lockers, and his books would be slapped out of his hands. He dodged lunch and instead would hide out in the loo until it was over. He quit the football team and dropped out of drama club the following week.
Every night, Louis would kneel at the foot of his bed and pray for someone to help him. He'd pray for the insults to stop; for the pain in his chest to not hurt so much. He prayed that he would find a friend, someone that would offer their shoulder for Louis to cry on. He'd pray for a person who could be strong for him, when he knew darn well that he couldn't.
But no matter how many times he prayed, no matter how many times he cried, no matter how many times he bowed his head, his prayers remained unanswered.
Louis began to skip school with this one group of goths and punks. They were pretty cool, or so Louis thought. They went out and bought alcohol with their fake IDs, smoked pot and other substances, and taught Louis how to get rid of his pain.
He'd come home doped up and hungry. He would raid the food pantry, walk into his room, and would slide the bolt in place. He'd pull from his pockets a razor, his cell-phone, and a small plastic bag filled with crack.
He'd drown his senses with the white powder, and afterward would slice thin cuts across his wrist. His whole body would feel numb, free of the sadness and disgust he had had of himself. He'd then plug in his iPod to the stereo, and fill his room with the grunge melodies of A Day To Remember and Five Finger Death Punch. He would lie there with blood trickling from his wrists, brain feeling like playdoh, and granola bar tucked between his teeth.
Louis could remember during those times that his mind was in another place. His mind was a white canvas, waiting for the next brushstroke of wisdom to paint its surface. But it remained blank, and Louis kept it blank with every pill popped in his mouth, every lineage of the powdery substance. He would find himself wishing he was just like the other teens, heterosexual and actually liking boobs and heavy perfume.
He skipped school and church altogether, only leaving his house whenever his stash of snowflakes was running dry. He wore all black clothes and always kept his hair in a beanie. He barely saw his mother, father, or sisters. They were all strangers to him, just like he was a stranger to them as well.
Finally, his parents confronted Louis about his problem, telling him he neede help. Louis shouted back at them, telling them that everything was fine. Louis and his parents got into a big and nasty fight. His mother shouted for him to get out, and that's what Louis did. He ran to his room, gathered his belongings, and slammed the door behind him. At age 17, he found himself with enough cash for a train ticket to London. When he boarded that train with nothing but a rucksack of his belongings, he never looked back.
The rustlying of sheets shook Louis from his trance, his eyes shifting to the sleeping boy. The angel moved around a bit, before settling back into a comfortable position and drifting back to sleep with a soft snore.
Louis glanced at the clock, and nearly jumped out of his seat. It was already 4 o'clock! The Doncaster native decided he wouldn't make his rounds in the streets today, and opted instead to fixing dinner. He really needed the money, but now it was pretty much pointless to complain. Right now, he had to get to work on getting the boy in his sheets back to full health.
No, he was no cook. Fortunately however, they did have a thing called frozen dinners and he was quite handy with a microwave. He grabbed two boxes from the fridge and discarded the wrapping. He stuck the dinners in one at a time into the microwave, and stuck two cans of Coke into the freezer. Once the meals were both done, Louis placed them on counter to cool. He walked over and picked up his beanie that was discarded on the floor, pulling it over his bed-hair.
Louis gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and poked lightly at the sleeping form, "Harry?"
Louis shook him, "C'mon Harry. Time to get up, love."
When the boy still no made attempt to move, Louis grew agitated and whined, "Harry! Get up! You've got to eat now. You can sleep more later, I promise!"
Harry popped an eye open and mumbled, "Promise?"
"Promise," Louis said, giving him a smile. "Hurry up, I don't want the food to get cold."
Harry sat up and threw the covers off, sliding to the edge of the bed and stretching. Louis was already at the counter, grabbing some silverware. "I've got Coke or tea. Which one would you like?"
"Tea," Harry answered, tugging the chair over to the counter and plopping down on it. Louis pushed his food toward his direction, filling a cup of tea to the brim. He placed it beside Harry's food, before grabbing a Coke and attempting to eat his meal standing up. Harry grinned down at the food then looked back at Louis, "Not much of a cook I assume?"
"Last time I cooked the fire department was called over to Zayn's flat," Louis answered, sipping on his drink.
"Zayn?"
"My mate. He's a good lad; him, Niall, and Liam. They've always got my back, and are practically family to me," Louis answered. A flash of relief passed Harry's features, but before Louis could wander whether or not he had actually seen it, Harry spoke. "I can cook you know."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's actually something I'm really good at," Harry smiled, stabbing his fork into the steamed green beans.
"You didn't happen to work in Hell's Kitchen, did you?" Louis joked, "Or did 'Culinary Chef' happen to be in the list of requirements when you applied to be an angel?"
"Shut up," Harry grinned, reaching over and lightly punching Louis' arm.
"This is my house so I can talk as much as I like," Louis teased, sticking his tongue out at the other boy. He paused briefly and continued, "So, I have a question for you."
"No surprise there," Harry chuckled.
Louis reached over and flicked him on the forehead, "Stop being cheeky. Anyway, I meant to ask you how did you get me home?"
"Flew of course," Harry answered. Louis eyes widened in shock. "What? You're not heavy or anything," he said, amused at the blue-eyed boy's expression.
"But wouldn't someone see you?"
"Nope. I'm an angel, Louis. We have years and years of experience on how to dodge the human eye. Besides, it was dark out and nobody was outside in that bloody weather," Harry reached out and touched Louis' hand that was resting on the counter, "You were dying, Louis. I had to get you home in time or you wouldn't have made it. The state you were in was absolutely traumatizing. You had a fractured skull, broken ribs, a black eye, a punctured lung, and internal bleeding. I thought . . . I thought I was too late."
"How did you . . . ?"
"Heal you?" Harry looked up at Louis, thumb tracing the scars around the smaller boy's wrist. "I had used what was left of my aura to fix you up. I was physically drained afterward, but I knew it was worth it when I washed the blood off and did not see one single scratch."
Louis' head snapped up to look at the other boy, "Washed it off? You mean you bathed me?"
Harry rolled his eyes, "Obviously mate. How else did you think you got into those clothes? You had vomit and blood in your hair as well. I sort of figured you didn't want to sleep in your puke."
"Well, yeah but," Louis' voice wandered as he felt the blush creeping up on his cheeks.
The angel laughed, "Don't worry, Lou. I know what a penis looks like. I have one of my own you know."
Louis' blush grew deeper. He was mortified that Harry, who looked like a Renaissance statue, had seen all of Louis' imperfections. He hated his soft tummy, large thighs, and the dimples on his lower back. To think that Harry had saw them made Louis want to crawl in a hole and die.
Harry grinned at the sight of color on Louis' cheeks and cut the rubber meat on his plate in tiny pieces. He gave up and dropped his fork, "Seriously mate, next time I'm going to make a proper home cooked meal because this is just ridiculous."
Louis was about to come up with a smart remark before Harry's words fully sunk in. Next time. Harry had said 'next time.'
Louis looked back at Harry, half-naked in his sweatpants at his counter. He blinked and asked the angel, "Harry? Erm, where are your wings?"
"Don't worry Louis. I've still got them, they're just out of sight right now. Do you know how much a pain it would be if we just let them run wild and free? We'd be freaking obvious to spot on the streets and wouldn't be able to wear a proper t-shirt."
"Where do they go?" Louis asked, peeking a glance at Harry's pale back.
"They just disappear. I guess they furl under our skin or something like that, I dunno. What I do know is that we can take them out whenever we like," Harry informed him, bringing the cup of tea to his lips.
The doorbell rang, alarming both of the boys. Louis told Harry to stay seated and finish eating, and went over to the door. He looked out the peephole and sighed in relief. He gave Harry, who looked tense and nervous sitting in his chair, a reassuring nod before unbolting the door and swinging it open.
He was met with a crushing hug from a blonde boy, who smelled of vanilla and coffee grinds. Two others stood in the hall, one with short brown hair and the other with a styled jet-black quiff, sporting a denim jacket and khacki chinos. They both smiled warmly as Niall squeezed the air out of Louis' lungs.
"Zayn. Liam. Can't breathe," Louis wheezed, practically being lifted off the ground by the Irish lad.
"Alright Niall, that's enough," Liam laughed, prying the taller boy from the shorter one. Zayn snickered by his side, watching amusingly as Louis breathed in air greedily.
"Sorry Lou," Niall apologized, "It's just that you didn't go by the cafe at all today. And well, we tried texting you and stuff, but you didn't answer. So, um, we got a bit worried."
"A bit?" Zayn said, jerking a thumb in Liam's direction, "I got this guy calling me at work practically having a panic attack on the other side of the phone."
Liam looked down, embarrassed. "Erm, yeah, I might've freaked out a bit. I didn't know where else you would be, considering you visit the place everyday. When you didn't show up, we walked over to the park after work and we didn't-couldn't find you at all. I'm sorry Lou."
"What have you got to be sorry for?" Louis opened his arms and welcomed a hug from his brown-eyed friend. "I'm the one who should be sorry. My phone's dead, so that's probably why I didn't receive any of your calls. I should've at least somehow contacted you guys, figuring you would overreact like this." Liam squeezed the tiny lad even harder.
"Eh? What about me? Do I get a hug too Loueh?" Zayn pouted, feeling left out.
"Depends. Were you worried about me too?" Louis asked, rubbing his hand soothingly over Liam's back.
"Of course!"
"Ok, c'mere," Louis moved away from Liam and wrapped Zayn in a tight hug. Zayn squeezed back, burying his nose in the crook of his neck.
They stayed like that for a few more heartbeats, before Louis pulled away. "So needy, you twat," Louis joked, ruffling Zayn's hair. He shrieked, running from Louis' assault, cursing about how it took him an hour to get it done.
"Louis?" Niall called from the flat.
Louis walked back into the flat and Liam and Zayn followed behind, shutting the door behind them.
"What is it Niall?" Louis asked, walking over to where Niall stood standing in the middle of his bedroom, a look of fright etched onto his face.
"Who is that?" Niall pointed toward the kitchen, where Harry stood leaning against the doorway.
~ * ~
5000+ words! Love meeeeeeehhhh