Wednesday begins as a mess.
Not physically, no. It begins almost too smoothly, which almost bothers Harry. As usual, he was all smiles and nods, with an occasional cackle he would give out exaggeratingly, for effect, of course, as he meandered his way around the school, an Oscar Wilde book in hand. Many expressed their happiness of him being back, which he thanked absently, before wandering off again. It was the usual, the ordinary, and almost going his way too well.
It was what was happening in his head that drove him mad.
Because his father was still gone. He had no idea where he'd gone. He's sent people everywhere, to scout for him. He's searched every single possible place he could think of, yet the fucker has set off, disappeared. It worried him to no end, because he knew Des wasn't stable currently and he's probably fucking high off coke and whatever else he does.
He was panicking.
He's growing more and more impatient, his foot tapping slowly growing more rapid as the day drags on, his heart beating faster and faster, as he bombards the people searching with phone calls, desperate for any hint that his father is okay.
But nothing comes.
"There's no sign of him yet", "We'll find him soon, don't worry", and of course the "He'll come back soon, I promise" calls that echo throughout the phone, and he nearly fucking screams at them, almost throwing his phone across the room, for saying shit like that. Because he knows the last one wasn't true. That asshole isn't going to come back, unless someone finds him. He'll just fuck himself up more and more, until he eventually fucking overdose or pass away from the sheer amount of drugs and alcohol he uses, if his absolute insanity doesn't get to him first.
So Harry worries.
As he gets a text from Zayn asking him to come to his rooms, Harry stands from the table, glad to have some sort of distraction. He gets up, approaching a large nearby group of people, a slew of females and two males, asking them to come with him to Zayn's rooms. They agreed, of course (because who in the right mind wouldn't), as the girls squealed in happiness and the boys grinned. They crowd him with thank yous and and praises, and Harry thinks that maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to forget about his father.
So the hands link, the crowd moves, and Harry is swept away, to Zayn's flat.
**
If Harry could take back everything he said about distractions, he would. Because Louis Tomlinson is here, again.
Every moment from when Louis took care of him came rushing back to him.
After nearly a fucking week of not seeing him, and the constant worry of his father, Louis had almost completely slipped his mind, with the exception of last night. He didn't think he'd be seeing him this soon.
He stares, as his lips tug into a forced half sneer, as he clutches his champagne glass tighter, firmly sticking his pinky out, ebony coat and bowtie on full display. He tries his best to glare at Louis.He didn't even have the motivation to do that, however, and he's pretty sure he just looks empty.
Kind of like everything, recently.
He doesn't even want to glare at louis.
Harry had to admit to himself. He was actually kinda thankful that Louis took care of him that night.
But he sure as hell isn't gonna tell anyone that.
"Well, well, Shady's back," he hears Louis mumble, and he watches as Louis glances back, hands in his pockets.. But it wasn't a glare, no. It was, awkward?
What the fuck?
He could see Louis attempting a glare, but falling short between confused and unsure. He watches, silently, as Louis shuffles around, not fully meeting his eye. He was almost gobsmacked. Because this was Louis Tomlinson, the one person who always had something to say about him, to pick with him. The only person who had the nerve to criticize him, the only person who actually expressed his true, whole, opinion about him. The only person who seemed to care.
"I told you he would be," he hears Zayn muse, which almost sends Harry into a state of utter shock. His eyes flew to Zayn, who merely smirks back, as Harry slowly drags his gaze to Louis, who is now refusing to look at him and instead glaring at Zayn with a force that could nearly set Zayn on fire..
Are they even talking about the same Louis Tomlinson now?
Louis Tomlinson, who apparently did not care about Harry? Louis Tomlinson, the guy who pretty much has a death wish on him? Has inquired about where he's gone? And was concerned for him? What happened he didn't care?
Louis Tomlinson, who took care of Harold Styles and saved him from the harpies?
Harry's mind is about to explode.
He decides that from this moment, he will not think about that night. He will forget it. Yes, forgetting it is the right thing to do.
But before he could ask more, or ask anymore questions, Liam and Niall butt in together.
"You failed your exam?" they utter simultaneously, Niall amused and Liam nearly flabbergasted.
"Er, yeah," he hears Louis confirm, clearing his throat as he slides his shoulder bag off, as Harry regains his composure as he stares at him, "I didn't even know we had one today. It was by luck I'd managed to run into Cindy beforehand."
"Cindy who?" Harry asks immediately, that fire swirling in his stomach for a moment, before fading away. He watches as Louis fidgets with his belt, readjusting it.
"Jones," Harry watches as Louis adjusts it tighter, sliding the leather through the buckle more and fastening it to the next hole.
"I've had her," Harry drawls pleasantly, almost too pleasent, as he takes a swig of champagne, nearly fucking smacking his lips in absolute smugness, unable to get over the fact that Louis Tomlinson had wanted to know where he went, pushing all of that night out of his mind.
"Fuck's sake," he just catches Louis mutter out, rolling his eyes in disgust, and yep, that's the Louis Tomlinson he had envisioned.
"You've had everybody," Niall muses, and Harry smirks, before Niall clomps over to Louis, Harry watching as Niall throws his arm around Louis, "So then, Tommo. What happened?"
"What do you mean, 'what happened?' I fucking failed, didn't I? Nothing else to say," Louis snaps, his face angry, tired.
Niall doesn't seem to mind though, "Ah, well. Better luck next time," was his response, rubbing a soothing hand behind his back.
"You've been having trouble in that class," Harry's head whipped over to Zayn's direction, as he watched Zayn peer up, almost amused, always keeping his cool. He stares as Louis nodded slowly, hesitantly, eyes casting down to his hands, as he fidgets, looking quite adorable while he does so, despite the awkward tension between them.
"You should get some help with it," Liam pipes up earnestly, "George is an excellent tutor, so is Edward. And that bloke who is on the student union with us-Arthur-his grandfather used to teach the course," Harry's stare intensifies as he watches Liam glance at Zayn, who nodded, his eyes trained on Louis.
"I never needed a tutor," he finds himself saying, wanting to get rid of the awkward tension between him and Louis, acting more smug and narcissistic then he feels, sliding a hand through the nearby flowers, feeling their silky petals.
"Hey. You are good at Victorian literature," Zayn points out suddenly with a growing smile, eyes calm as ever.
Harry sighs, giving him a half hearted smile before muttering, "Yes, I am," his gaze already turned back to the roses.
"You should tutor Louis."
Harry's head snapped up, his eyes immediately sliding to Louis' face in an affronted glare, as everyone else turned to stare at Louis, which is now posed in absolute and total horror.
"No," he counters immediately, gripping a hand over his stomach defensively as if burned, fingers digging into the rich fabric of his jacket. No matter how grateful he was that Louis Tomlinson had helped him, he will not tolerate teaching him. He has some dignity.
"But you love the subject," Zayn breathes through smoke, his eyes calmed, unaffected. Liam's eyes curiously turn to him, quietly calculating.
"Well, I have a say in this as well, and I also say no," Louis added, pouring himself a very generous glass of champagne, his face starting to flush.
"Why not?" Liam asks, with a tone of naivete mixed in, resembling a small, golden retriever pup, as he stared at both of the boys, his eyes darting back and forth between them, before settling on Zayn once more.
"Some cannot be taught," Harry replies smoothly, just as Louis spits out a, "I'd rather peel my own skin off."
As they both registered each other's words, both whirling around, their faces set in glares that could kill.
"I beg your pardon?" Harry demands, the grip on his glass tightening, anger flaring, as his face morphs into disbelief, because why the fuck is Louis Tomlinson so fucking difficult?
"Say that again, Curly," Louis dares him, ignoring his question, settling down his own drink, his face taunting him.
"Some cannot be taught," Harry repeats out of utter, almost childish, spite. His voice laced in venom, causing Niall to burst out laughing. Which he ignores.
"Well, that's funny, that, because some cannot teach."
Harry stares, his head exploding with thousands of things he could say back to this absolute worthless excuse of a man in front of him, his eyes burning with anger, but all he could utter was a, "What are you trying to say?"
Louis batted his eyes sweetly, too innocently, as he smiles like a fucking angel dnunciating each word, "That you can't teach."
Harry could physically feel a sting, against his cheek, as he recoils. Because that hurt, as he stared at the man who, just the day before, was helping him, cleaning him up, tucking him in, wiping away his tears, who was now staring at him with utter confidence, inspecting his nails with faux casualty, look like he felt on top of the fucking world with the control of the situation at hand. That really hurt.
He doesn't understand.
He glances toward the side, trying not to rush up to Zayn and fucking clobber him over the head over the idea he'd put in everyones head, and was met with an amusing smile, a sip of wine, and patient eyes. Liam beside him looked, frankly, almost terrified, his eyes huge, while Niall, being Niall of course, scratches his stomach, stifling a yawn.
"You know, I've said so myself that there's nothing a knob like you could teach me," Louis continues, giving him an overexaggerated grin, "I could learn more from a broomstick. At least it does actual work."
And Harry's fucking done.
He takes a deep breath, trying not to walk into the nearby broom closet, getting an actual broom to smack Louis with, over and over, until he's bleeding all over his carpet, dead.
But that'd be too messy, and frankly, Harry isn't in the mood for jail right now.
"Broomsticks do not do actual work," he mumbles instead, his eyes fiery, ablaze, tainted with anger, "They are used for work-it's other people who perform the duties. They're just the tool." Harry pauses, before adding an additional, childish perhaps, resembling a five year old who just had a fight with another kid at the playground, spiteful, "So there."
Louis stared at him, amused, "That's what you got out of that? Really?"
Harry just continues to glare, a small childish pout starting to form.
So Louis smiles, poisonously sugary, placing a hand - chock-full of attitude, he may add - on his hips, tilting his head as he flouts, "Well, then, I suppose we're on the same page in thinking you can't teach worth a shit!"
"OUR FIRST SESSION WILL BE TOMORROW," Harry finally snaps, his chest rising and falling from indignation, as the urge to kill Louis with a broom grew with each second Louis is staring at him with that overly dramatic, sugary sweet smile, "You will be the best student in the fucking school by the time I'm done with you," Harry pauses, scowling, before adding as a final insult to throw back at Louis, "If that's possible."
"On your end or mine?" Louis counters immediately, smirking, and Harry is really wondering if there's enough money to pay someone off to take the blame for when he kills this, really fucking annoying, Louis Tomlinson.
"Tomorrow," he repeats instead, his voice low.
He watches Louis pause for a moment, before agreeing, "Tomorrow it is, then," And Harry extends his hand forcefully, Louis taking it and shaking with forceful finality, squeezing it with just enough force, as if to infer who's boss.
So Harry squeezes back, harder.
Then Louis squeezes harder, then Harry does, then Louis, and pretty soon, their hands are twisting in their, shaking and flushed as their faces contort in grimaces and growls, leaving the other three boys to stare at them, Niall mid-bite into a biscuit.
"Fuck's sake," Harry could hear Niall conversing with the other boys in the distant, "Nice one, Malik. Really brilliant suggestion you had."
Liam doesn't say anything back, instead his eyes slide to Zayn, hesitant, as he glances at his smiling profile.
Zayn doesn't respond either, as he continues to smile calmly, watching the scene unfold as Louis and Harry continue to struggle before them like a clumsy pair of rams.
**
Harry is not in a state of terrified discomfort. Nope.
Just because Louis is due to arrive in his rooms in less than fifteen minutes for his first tutoring session, it does not mean that he is in a state of terrified discomfort.
Nope.
(He's also not in a state of unease because he had called everyone once more, still finding no fucking sign of his father, who is most certaintly, probably, dead. But Harry continues, not willing to give up despite the protests, not willing to back down until he finds something to indicate his father is no longer here.)
But no matter.
He lets the guy in front of him continue to kiss him, spoil him with affection, more like, as he sits there with a gray knit jumper and jeans, attention he, frankly, didn't deserve, as he waited impatiently for Louis' arrival, which would surely spark some sort of new conflict between them. He lets the guy touch him, which he was insanely attractive, so to speak, with his sleek, coal black hair and devastating cheekbones, but Harry has seen so many pretty faces, they got lost in a sea of blur, fading into the background, lost to him. None stands out, except for one, which, well, was for a different reason entirely.
Right?
After a few more minutes of Harry painfully enduring the boy's presence, he finally hears a knock at the door. He nods at the boy, mumbling a 'leave when you want', before he slowly walks over, almost over exaggerating, before opening the door just as slow.
There he is, Louis, as he stood, still, staring at him as if he'd grown another head. Harry stares at him, unimpressed.
"It's rude to stare," Harry points out lazily, eyes continue to bore into Louis with an unimpressed look, as he watches Louis, arms crossed.
"You're wearing normal clothes," is all Louis can manage in surprise, and Harry merely glowers in response (because what the fuck? Louis is aware that he's a normal person, right), as he steps back, allowing Louis inside, no word said in response.
🎀
He watches as Louis stares at the room, gaping, as he looks at the paintings, a look of awe crossing his face.
"Zayn's?" he questions, motioning towards a large canvas of fiery stars hanging above the mahogany and marble fireplace.
Harry, glower still firmly intact, merely nods, standing at a distance with his hands folded behind his back.
Louis looks almost soft, dressed in a black t-shirt underneath his blue Jean jacket and black skinny jeans, along with a pair of Nike sneakers. But thanks to his noisy attitude and the way he's touching almost everything in the room harry is once again reminded that Louis is anything but 'soft'
"You've remodeled," Louis comments, eyes flicking to the candles that cluster the floors, shelves, and tables, woven between the large and worshiped collection of cat statues, and arranged neatly on the tables amidst champagne bottles. Antique guitars and lutes are scattered about, and crinkled sheet music litters the floors amongst soft yellow rose petals.
"I change my rooms every week," is the low, mumbled response coming from Harry's mouth, Louis' curiosity slightly getting on his nerves.
He glances over to him. "You mean, you hire someone else to change your rooms every week for you." Louis smiles brightly.
Harry scowls. What made this peasant think he can just talk to Harry like that? Harry doesn't say anything though.
There's silence.
"Let's just get this over with, shall we?" Harry murmurs in a growl, and slumps towards the large, antique wooden desk in the corner, flopping himself down in the plush velvet chair before it. "I'm just going to draw up an outline for you," he mumbles in a poisonously slow tone, eyes lidded as he grabs his quill, ink and parchment.
He can see Louis staring at him with wide eyes from the corner of his eye, and he smirks inwardly.
"Christ sake," Louis laments, standing before the desk, throwing his arms out in exasperation. "Can't you just use a bloody laptop, man? We're going to be here all fucking day if you do that. We're studying the Victorian era, not fucking living it."
A tiny quirk pricks at the corner of Harry's lips, but other than that, no reaction is made as he slowly dips his quill in the ink and smooths out the parchment before him. Wordlessly, he begins writing.
He's not gonna give Louis the satisfaction of knowing that Harry maybe, maybe, thinks he's funny.
Louis sighs loudly, and very dramatically, but Harry pays no mind, instead delivering an elaborate scrawl.
After moments of silence, in which harry is making the outline and sometimes peeking up to stare at the blue eyed boy who is trying not to turn around and ask harry what he's doing, failing miserably when he asks, "You can at least tell me what you're writing."
"An outline," Harry rumbles without hesitation.
Louis rolls his eyes. "So I heard. About what? You haven't even asked to see the course schedule or my books or-"
Harry cuts him off with a slightly exasperated sigh.
"I know the professor. I also know the course. I assure you, this is everything you'll need to know. Now, stop questioning me." And Harry's eyes never leave the paper, bored and confident and sightless.
"Oh, bravo," harry hears Louis mumble, but he doesn't pay any attention to it.
He gets a little lost in it, abruptly pulled out of his daze when louis speaks again.
"Do you play these old things?" nudging an ancient and beautiful lute with his toe.
"Yes. And don't touch them."
"I'm surprised they don't break."
"Well, if you're not an idiot, it's pretty easy to avoid those kinds of things."
Louis doesn't respond to that, leaving harry wondering if he really left the sassy boy speechless or if he's just trying not to get into an argument.
Probably the latter. he thinks.
And then a shuffle sounds from behind him, and Harry watches Louis spin around just in time to see a beautiful boy with devastating cheekbones and coal black hair emerge from Harry's room, clad in a disheveled school uniform and smoking a cigarette.
"Oh!" Louis starts, dropping his arms to his sides, taking a step back in surprise. "I didn't realize you had company." Louis says blinking, looking awkward. Harry goes back to writing.
"He was just leaving," Harry says mildly without a beat of hesitation, and the boy gives one last lingering look to Louis before nodding his direction and walking towards the door.
"See you, mates," he calls, before the door closes.
"Are you serious right now?" Louis suddenly bursts, turning to Harry who is completely unfazed. "Do you realize every single time I'm here, a random person emerges from your bedroom? How many people are in there? Are they like fucking gremlins? Do they multiply when you pour water on them?"
"Hm, very much so," Harry mumbles, a very faint smile playing on his lips. "And, as you can see, if you feed them after dark they turn into a nightmare in the morning."
Harry surprises himself a little with the joke he just made.
"Well, regardless, you could have told me there was another person here." he hears Louis say.
"Why?" Harry hums, bored, hand flying across the parchment.
"So I wouldn't wee myself when they suddenly materialized out of thin air."
"He didn't materialize."
"Says you."
Harry rolled his eyes. Why was Louis Tomlinson so fucking sarcastic and idiotic? It truly got on Harry's nerves how much of an idiot he could be.
"Well, that's all for today," Harry suddenly drawls, standing up with a flourish and setting down his quill. "This outlines the chapters you need to pay special attention to. I've written down the key words, but you'll have to look them up yourself. We'll go over the details tomorrow; this is just to familiarize you with the general concepts since you seem to have trouble grasping even that."
He can see Louis scowling at him. But harry doesn't care, because why would he care about Louis Tomlinson?
"Thanks so much," Louis glares, snatching the parchment out of Harry's hands. "No need to be a dick about it."
Once again, the boy surprises harry with how rude he can truly be.
Harry stares at him, cold, lips tight and pursed into a thin line. "You best run off, novice. I need to depart. I've an engagement I'm already quite late for."
Louis snorts. "An engagement? You mean you've got to meet up with your next potential fuck?"
"There's nothing potential about it. And it's 'fucks'. Plural," he says with a languid blink and dopey smile that masks the pain he's about to endure, along with all the kisses and touches and whatever the fuck they're going to do to him again.
Harry feels sick to his stomach just thinking about it, but there's really not much he can do about it.
"Oh, of course. There's never just one." louis taunts, making Harry's smile momentarily falter.
"Variety is the spice of life." he lied, cringing at his own words.
"So are venereal diseases."
Harry's eyes immediately narrow. "I wouldn't know."
"The trickiest ones are the silent 'uns. Best get on that before something falls off, mate!"
"Don't call me 'mate.' Now go." harry growls, walking towards the door and holding it open for Louis, supressing the urge to choke him.
But Louis just stands there in defiance, arms crossed and clutching the parchment, annoying Harry to the core.
After a moment of mutual distaste, Harry sighs and storms past Louis, heading straight towards his room, curls bouncing. It's just as he's about to stalk inside, that he pauses at the door, making firm, unyielding eye contact with Louis who glares from his spot on the other side of the room.
"And when you're finished with that," Harry finally says, motioning to the parchment in Louis' fist, "make sure to tap it and say, 'Mischief managed.'"
After that, he storms into his room and shuts the door behind him.
He shuts his eyes tightly, trying not to think about all the people he's supposed to meet in like, an hour.
He doesn't want to. He genuinely doesn't want to do this anymore. he can't do this anymore.
Taking deep, shaky breaths, he walks over to the piano and sits down on the bench, fingers lightly trembling as he puts them on the keys.
With silent tears falling down his face, he began to play.
This time it's a familiar tune he's playing. It's the song he wrote for his dad, hoping so desperately that he liked it.
As his fingers dance along the keys he chokes out a sob, taking a second to wipe away his tears and calm down, before closing his eyes and properly play the piano.
**
It's friday.
It's fucking friday.
His engagement a couple days ago went well, the guests arriving at the exact hour and showering Harry with touches and kisses (which he didn't want but had to endure, by the way)
So, after crying himself to sleep two days in a row (one being because of the harpies and the other because his dad is still fucking gone) he prepares everything for his and Louis' second tutoring session, hiding all the important and expensive stuff and cleaning up his desk.
He sits at it after a bit, not feeling like playing the piano or doing anything else for that matter. He taps his foot on the ground, bobbing his knee up and down as he waits, lost in his thoughts.
Thoughts about his dad, his sister (who sent him a fucking /bird/, harry wouldn't be able to forget that so quickly) and about school.
and about Louis Tomlinson.
He would never admit it. Not even to save his life, but he was incredibly thankful that Louis saved him that night.
He quickly shook his head, reminding himself that he was gonna forget about that night.
He's pulled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door. He stood up slowly, sauntering towards the door and pulling it open to be met by a glare from the one and only Louis Tomlinson.
"You came" he grumbled, his tone set on the fact that he wanted the opposite.
"I came" louis responded, his tone flat and suggesting the same.
With a long suffering sigh, Harry walks back into his rooms, leaving the door wide open for Louis behind him.
"Anymore gremlins today?" Louis asks as he makes his way inside, dumping his bag on a chair and settling onto the chaise longue.
"I'm alone," is all Harry snaps, stalking past Louis in his black button up and black trousers, hair quiffed and messy with curls. "I'll just get this written up, then, seeing as it's Friday and I have a life to live."
"As do I. I have to get ready for that party Zayn's been talking about," Louis sniffs, annoying Harry.
Harry pauses, staring at him with a slightly unbelievable expression. "You're going?"
"Of course I'm going," Louis glares. "Zayn's my mate."
"He was mine first," Harry counters as he sits at the desk, eyebrows furrowed deep as he dips his quill in the murky ink, careful to dab the tip against the glass for excess drips. He then begins making work of the parchment before him, the quill scratching efficiently as Harry watches his own scrawl with lazy, pale green eyes, bottom lip bitten between his teeth, the dust-swirling sunbeams that shine through the room soaking him in gold and shadow.
"I'll just sit here, then. No need to talk," Louis mumbles, harry mumbling a "why would I want to talk to you?" Under his breath while Louis says "I mean, why would you want to ask me if I understood everything from last night's assignment? That would just be strange."
Harry's jaw sets. "I'll ask you on Monday, though I already know the answer." His murky stare flashes up to Louis'. "It's not like you'll be touching this during the weekend, anyway."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Louis snaps.
"That you're not going to touch this during the weekend anyway," he repeats slowly, and now he's stopped writing and is full on glaring at Louis, quill poised in one hand, the other clenched in a fist atop the desk.
Louis is so fucking rude and annoying, while he shakes his head and and scoffs. "You know, you really are the most incredible piece of-"
But Louis is swiftly cut off by the sharp vibration of the phone in his pocket.
Harry raises his eyebrows, as Louis grabs his phone and checks the caller ID, his face setting into a frown which confuses Harry.
"Fuck" he mumbles, as Harry watches him nervously Bob his leg up and down as he seems frustrated. Shutting his eyes firmly tight, he swipes the phone and brings it to his ear before he can change his mind.
"Hey!" he greets in his happiest tone, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Harry quietly raises his eyebrows, Louis not noticing that Harry is listening.
"Yes?" Louis asks after a bit, and Harry can make out a female voice at the other end of the line.
"What? No, I-"
Louis winces, taking the phone away from his ear momentarily as Harry hears a screech at the phone.
"What are you on about? I haven't even-"
Harry notices his fists clench on the armrest of the chair.
"Where are you?" He grits out.
After a bit of silence, he repeats the sentence, louder this time.
"Alone?"
Harry has completely forgot about the outline now, too invested in Louis' phone call.
"Where are the girls?"
That makes Harry's eyes go slightly big.
Louis isn't married, is he?
"She's only eleven. Now go home."
"Go. Home." He repeats again, confusing Harry even more. Who the hell was he talking to?
Louis rubs his forehead, apparently having forgot that Harry is still in the room.
Harry watches his jaw clench, apparently trying to focus on a painting infront of him to try to calm down. What the hell is happening?
Suddenly, louis rises to his feet, walking over to the painting and fisting his jumper lightly. He seems angry.
"Just stop it. Please. Stop this and go home. Go now. You can't leave the girls on their own. You know this. You can't do that shit anymore- I'm not going to be there to fix it this time. I'm not."
And harry realizes he's talking to his mother.
(Don't ask him how he knows that. Just don't.)
"What?"
"No" is the next thing Louis says, his voice filled with anger and annoyance.
"Come home!" Harry hears from the phone, Louis' mom shouting at him.
"No" he repeats again, shaking his head.
"What? No! Go home, the girls are there, just go-"
Once again, he's cut off by his mother and Harry can only watch.
"WOULD YOU CALM DOWN," Louis begins to shout at the receiver, now gripping his hair in frustration. Harry flinches slightly at his loud voice.
"Don't you dare come here, I won't-" and Harry is surprised.
His mom wanted to come here and take him away?
she cared that much?
As louis takes his phone away from his ear (his mum having hung up) he quickly types something into his phone and turns back to harry, a frazzled look in his eyes.
Harry's got his brows furrowed as he lightly takes his hands through the feather of the quill, both boys staring at each other.
Harry clears his throat. "Who was that" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to be sure.
"My mum" louis admits lamely, running a hand over his face.
Harry nods, continuing to clean the quill with painfully slow movements. "She's coming to get you?" he asks, but his voice is odd, slow in its usual drawl, but off in timbre.
"Yeah," Louis says simply, and leans against the bookshelf.
"She's going to your flat?"
Louis nods dazedly, eyes lost in thought. "Yeah, she is."
He groans, then proceeds to bang his head off of the side of the bookshelf, reminding Harry of some kind of animal. "I would give anything to disappear right now," he laments, and he shuts his eyes, gripping the wood with both hands in a tight grasp.
"Well, you can't stay here," is all Harry says in a tart tone, sliding the freshly scrubbed quill into the drawer before adjusting his sleeves.
"I assumed as much," Louis says flatly, shooting him a glare. "Besides, it wouldn't help any. Niall would just tell her where I am. He's oblivious like that." He sighs, bringing his hands up to cup his face. "This is going to be horrible. Fucking horrible."
Harry's glare deepens as he begins picking at a loose hem on his shirt, but he remains silent.
"Might as well get it over with though, eh?" Louis continues. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." And with that, he pushes himself off of the bookcase and heads towards his shoulder bag.
And all he can think about is, he can't let Louis go.
Then Harry shoots up out of his seat.
"Follow me," he says suddenly in a clipping tone, and his eyes are emotionless as he makes his way forward.
This way he'll be able to repay Louis for helping him, and maybe he'll be able to finally let go of the lingering thoughts about that night.
Harry grabs his phone and a small cluster of keys off of the mantle, glancing at his Chanel watch.
"We can make it" he mumbles quietly to himself, before grabbing his fedora hat off of the coat rack.
He doesn't hear Louis' footsteps behind him as he moved towards the door, pulling it open and staring at Louis with a bored expectancy.
He raises his eyebrows. "Are you deaf?" he asks, but it's less snapping and more sighing, though his glare is still present and his general vibe reeks of supreme distaste.
"Don't sass me, Curly," he says, striding up to Harry. "Now walk."
And with a very slight smirk playing upon his lips, Harry takes off in his dopey skulk, Louis following close behind.
**
Hey guys! C didn't write an A/N in our writing document so it's just me this time lol.
Me and caroline both wrote half of the chapter, although I added some lines on her part which'll make it confusing if I use the ✨ again, so I just put a 🎀 where my part starts :)
I can't believe we wrote almost 6000 words for this chapter- I don't have a clue how velvetoscar wrote y&b since each chapter is nearly 6000 words, I only wrote half of it but I'm exhausted rn lmao.
Also I wrote an alternate ending to painless if y'all are interested <33
Don't forget to vote!
Love, Shade🤍