As soon as Harry stepped out of Ed's building, he was pelted with fat drops of rain. The dark clouds swallowed every single morsel of sunlight and hovered apprehensively over the cluster of city buildings below. In Harry's short time living in London, he had already grown to accept the fact that there was always something blocking out the English sun.
He walked a block to the car park he had left the Cadillac sitting in. Louis and Harry had both arrived together in the car, but Louis had fled the flat on foot. Looking up at the dense, angry clouds above, Harry wasn't particularly happy about that. He wondered, as the windshield wipers batted at the rain pelting on the windshield, if Louis had really left for the sole reason to grab a bag of sugar. Harry was sure that Louis had known they had sugar back at the flat.
When they had barely arrived at Ed's, Louis was chirpy and merry, eager to join in on the staccato conversation between the fallen angels. Though the corners of his eyes were weep in exhaustion and his caramel hair had been mussed underneath Harry's beanie, his little smile had still been present. Dim and vague, but it was still there. Then the next thing he knew, Louis had been closed up and quiet, refusing to look the worried angel in the eye. He just left the apartment, not even bothering to hug Harry goodbye (which, in Harry's delight, had become a regular thing throughout the last two months). Maybe his demeanor was a result from exhaustion. Both have been restless from the nightmares that plagued Louis' dreams. However, for some reason, Harry had an odd feeling in his gut that it wasn't exactly that. He just hoped that whatever it was, that he would be able to fix it.
When he saw the familiar neon-sign, he parked the car along the sidewalk and fed the parking meter before slipping into Nick's shop. The bell overhead jingled as he stepped inside, merrily announcing his arrival. Incense was lit by the abandoned register and the beaded curtains draped over the doorway to the backroom were pulled back to reveal fresh boxes of inventory. He bounded away from the door as a gaggle of teenagers tromped to the door with grimaces on their lip-gloss slicked lips. “I can't believe you don't carry Justin Beiber!” one called behind her.
Nick, dressed in khaki pants and a floral button-up, appeared from behind the shelves of CD's, armed with a spray-bottle filled with water. “Well I can't believe you wore those shoes with that skirt, but it what it is. Now please get out before your cheesy pop music and bubble-gum perfume ruin my carpet,” he sassed, spritzing them out the door.
The door slammed behind them with a chorus of shrieks. Nick rolled his eyes and groaned, draping himself across the counter. “Why do people even have children?” he wailed.
He had always been a bit over dramatic.
Harry laughed and slapped his shoulder, “I take it your day has been good so far?”
Nick raised the bottle and spritzed Harry, who shrieked bloody murder.
The 28 year old man muffled his reply against the wood of the counter, “It was going alright.” He lifted his head to speak properly, “This fit bloke who looked like a mix between Hugh Grant and 1970's John Travolta walked in earlier. And as you already know, I tried to chat him up and pull him with some of my mighty charm. I was so sure that by the end of the day I would have him in my bed, making sweet, sweet music 'til the sun came up, if you know what I mean, before this mob of teenagers trooped into my store and started to demand copies of that Beaver kid's new album. Like really, do they know who I am?”
Nick didn't wait for Harry's reply and kept gabbling, “When I told them I didn't know what they were talking about, they started throwing accusations at me because apparently, all of England listens to the kid? Anyway, by the time I went to go fetch this little lifesaver” - he shook the bottle of water - “my Hugh slash Johnny lookalike had vanished along with a Walk The Moon EP.” He went over to the back of the register and pulled from underneath the counter a bottle of shandy and a shot glass. “So, not only does this Beaver kid-”
“I think they said his name was Justin Beiber,” Harry spoke up.
Nick didn't skip a beat, “I don't care. Anyway, not only does Justin owe me ₤7.26, but also a night out in the town because I have a bad case of blue balls and haven't shagged a bloke in three weeks.” He tossed back his drink and added as an afterthought, “And a new bottle of shandy. Yes, he owes me that as well.”
“That sounds terrible, mate,” Harry said, feigning sympathy. He placed his messenger bag on the counter and rummaged inside for the CDs Nick had lent him over the weekend. “That guy doesn't know what he's missing.”
“My golden dick that's what,” Nick said dryly, tossing the glass back and downing the shot. He smacked his lips and slammed the glass down onto the counter with a loud clink before pouring himself another. He raised the bottle to Harry, asking if he wanted any, but the angel shook his head, politely declining. Though he did like to drink, especially with Louis (because drinking with Niall could cause you to lose a kidney), he was sort of a light-weight. He really didn't think driving drunk in this weather would do any good. Nor would a bloody ticket.
The room grew silent, sans for the old stereo in the back playing a tinny song by The Smiths and the clinks of the glass every time it hit the wicker counter. Harry stashed the CDs he burrowed in the back with the new inventory, climbing over the mountains of boxes that had seemingly erected from the floor. By the time he came back to the front of the store, Nick's bottle was half empty. Nick swayed a little as he moved over to the register, popping open the money drawer. He sighed as he scraped up some notes, counting them before handing them over to Harry. “That should be this week's pay,” he said.
“Thanks,” Harry said gratefully, pocketing the money in the tight confinements of his jeans. “Mind if I borrow some more CDs?”
“No, help yourself. Some really old guy brought a shitload of stuff this morning. It's in the back if you're interested,” Nick said, shutting and locking the register. Harry said his thanks before diving into the first box.
“So,” Nick began, walking over to the the door to lock it and switch off the glowing OPEN sign, “Rita and I are planning to go to this club over in east London tonight. You want to come along? I think we both need some remedy for our blue balls.”
Harry snorted, “Who said my balls are blue?” He plucked up a CD that he thought Louis might like. He thought he remembered the boy rambling about The Wombats about a week ago.
“Well love, for the last four months I've known you, I haven't heard you talk about one single shag you've had. I think it's safe to assume that you haven't been getting any lately, unless you haven't been telling me anything...?” Nick trailed off, fishing for an explanation. He straddled the stool placed behind the counter, waiting for an answer.
That's because he didn't want a nameless shag, he wanted Louis. A part of him wanted to tell Nick. He was a loyal friend and one of Harry's best mates. Unfortunately, the guy couldn't keep a secret, especially when you got him drunk enough. Instead, Harry just rolled his eyes, hoping to come off as casual, “Not all of us are hornballs, Nick.”
“Maybe not,” Nick admitted with a smirk, “Or maybe it's because you've already got your eye on somebody that you have selfishly not told Grimmy about.”
Fuck.
“Now why would you think that?” Harry said wryly, flicking through the newest selection of vinyls.
“Well, apart from your very dry humor, you and I both know that when you step foot in a bar that women zero in on you like you're the last Prada bag on a clearance shelf. Yet you don't even try to chat anyone up. I'm sure, Harry, that if you haven't taken a bird, or bloke, I dunno, back to yours then you're pining after someone. And you're not telling me, which is rather rude, I think,” Nick said.
“I haven't taken anyone home cos nobody's caught my eye yet,” Harry lied, digging elbows-deep in boxes to keep his eyes diverted from Nick's patronizing stare.
“You're a terrible liar, Harry, I hope you know that.” Nick said, eyes squinting at him. He then went over to the shop's display window and skimmed over the billboards taped to the glass.“Ugh, I need to get more organized with this. There's so many fliers it looks more like a billboard store,” he groaned. He reached up and ripped half the fliers off the window before slapping them on the counter. “There. That should do the trick.” He turned away from the window and called, “Harry? Are we done here? Cos I really need to be locking up. Rita's meeting me soon.”
“Yeah, I'm done,” Harry said, putting his music picks into his messenger bag and hiking the strap onto his shoulder. As he passed by the counter, he paused over the bright, colorful flyer with the bold black writing: LEEDS MUSIC FESTIVAL. Seemed interesting. He looked it over before grabbing one and stuffing it in his bag.
As he shuffled over to the door, Nick already waiting with his own bag packed and hood popped up, he sent out a silent plead to the heavens that the two phones in his pockets wouldn't get drenched from the storm outside.
“I know I already asked, Harry, but I don't recall getting an answer so I'm just going to ask, again, if you want to go out with me and Rita. Maybe you could have a bit of fun instead of staying holed up in your flat and pining,” Nick offered, shutting the door behind them and locking the shop up.
Harry gave his friend a small smile, “Thanks Nick but I promised Louis I wouldn't be long. Besides, he needs me back at the flat so he doesn't starve or burn the place down.”
“Pf-ft,” Nick said, flicking his wrist, “I’m sure he'll be fine. He was taking care of himself for five years before you showed up, so I think he knows how to manage all by himself. Come on, Harry, have a little fun! You might meet someone that you like.”
Harry shook his head and added sheepishly, “I'd rather be with Louis, Nick. He's much more of a riot than some random drunk girl with puke in her hair.”
Nick sighed. “Well, alright. We mustn't keep Princess waiting, should we? Off you go then. See you in the morning if I'm not hung-over,” he waved Harry away. “Make sure to pay Your Majesty my respects.”
“Right,” Harry said, giving the lad a small wave, “Bye, Nick.” He walked around the front of his car and opened up the driver's side. In the back seat were a few books he needed to drop off before he could make the wet itinerary back to the flat.
“Harry!”
Harry paused with one foot in the car to look back up at Nick, who had yet to move from the dry shelter the shop's eave provided. “What?”
“The person you're pining for wouldn't happen to be Louis now, would it?” he asked, voice raised over the rain's noisy downpour. He slipped an umbrella out from his bag and popped it open before a single rain droplet could touch his artfully-constructed quiff.
Harry shrugged before slipping into the car, green eyes glinting despite the lack of sunlight.
“You sly bastard. It is Louis, isn't it? Harry?!” Nick shouted, a smirk playing at his lips.
Harry gave Nick a cheeky smile before starting the car up. With a rattling cough of smoke, the engine roared to life. Harry waved goodbye to Nick through the car's window before pulling away into the streets.
He looked in the rear view mirror and laughed when he saw Nick's diminishing middle finger raised in his direction. With one hand on the steering wheel, he fiddled with the radio before leaving it on a station that he liked. Well, liked enough. The kind of music he preferred to listen to could only be found in the channels of Pandora and the lost videos of YouTube.
When he reached Frederick's Café, he pulled the car over and reached over the seat to grab the books in the back. He slammed the car door with his foot and hopped onto the sidewalk, not bothering to feed the meter this time because he didn't plan on staying long.
Harry and Louis both made a habit of visiting the cafe daily, after both had finished their shifts at their jobs. Zayn usually met up with the boys after his shift at Urban Outfitters. Some days he would just sit and write, only muttering a couple of words to the boys before retiring to his flat. Others, he would offer some of his insight or advice to whoever needed it or wanted it or, in some cases, didn't want it.
Niall and Liam already worked there, but as Harry's eyes swept over the quiet cafe, he couldn't spot the puppy-eyed boy anywhere. He did see the other boys though. Zayn was seated at his usual spot at the counter. He had his reading glasses on, but his head wasn't bent over a book or piece of paper like it normally was. He was in a debate with Niall, who was squawking from his position from behind the counter, green apron and all.
“No way, mate! Adventure Time is so much better! It's got unicorns and a candy village. They have walking donuts, Zayn,” Niall said, hands raised to his forehead in frustration.
“Yeah man, but like have you seen Regular Show?” Zayn asked him.
Niall dropped his hands and raised his shoulders, “Yeah, it was alright.”
Zayn shook his head, “Sorry, I didn't mean to ask you that. I meant to ask you have you seen Regular Show while you were high?”
The Irish lad shook his head, looking slightly curious.
“Huge difference. It is the freakiest shit ever. You should come over when my mate Danny comes to London next time, man. We could go over to mine, get a few baggies and have a Regular Show marathon. I got the box set at home,” Zayn said.
“Or,” Niall suggested, “We could watch Adventure Time. I bet its better than whatever cush-comedy Regular Show offers.”
Harry slammed the books on the counter, secretly pleased with his loud interjection when the two boys jump slightly. “You two both sound high as a kite right now,” he teased, looking them both in their undiluted pupils.
“We're not though,” Niall quipped. “We're just discussing which show is better to watch if we were.”
“What do you think Harry?” Zayn asked, turning to the angel. “Regular Show or Adventure Time?”
“I don't watch TV much, so I've never really seen any of those shows. And I've never been high before, so I can't really answer that,” Harry said. “I'm just here to drop you off your books.” He pushed the books in Zayn's direction and reached for the Styrofoam cup Niall held out to him.
“Thanks. Did ya like them?”
“I liked that one guy in particular, Pablo Neruda. He's real good with words,” Harry replied. He took a sip of his tea and asked Niall, “Where's Li?”
“He's at home, crying I suppose. ’is girlfriend broke up with last night,” Niall frowned. “He didn't take it too good. He was crying all last night, and when he showed up for work this morning he looked like a mess. I told him I'd take over his shift today so he could get some rest.”
“Oh. That's- that's, um, unfortunate. Poor Li,” Harry said, slightly shocked. He'd met Danielle on occasion, when she'd drop by the shop for her break. She was a sweet girl and very pretty. From what he could tell, Liam was completely infatuated by her. Harry could see the love and devotion the boy had for her, and he remembered, on some occasions, wishing Louis could look at him like that. “That was very nice of you to do that for him, Ni.”
Niall shrugged, “'s no big deal. Liam's done so many things for me, so it's the least I could do. Besides, there haven’t been many people coming in, considering the weather outside. Just only...”
“Niall!” an old lady called from the other side of the cafe. “Niall, I need some more coffee!”
“...Ms. Duggart,” Niall groaned, before grabbing a pot of coffee. “I'm comin', Ms. D!”
The blonde scampered off to go attend to the old lady’s needs, leaving Harry and Zayn sitting quietly at the counter. “He's gonna be okay, though,” Zayn spoke softly, staring down at his cup of coffee. “As long as Liam knows he's got us, he's gonna be fine. I mean, we're here for each other, yeah?” He gently punched Harry on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” Harry affirmed. He nudged Zayn's side with his elbow and jerked his chin at the digits scribbled on the side of the boy's right hand. “What's that, eh?”
Zayn yanked his hand away from the counter and placed it in his lap away from eyesight. He cleared his throat, “It's nothing important.”
“Oh-ho, it's not nothing,” Niall said, reappearing from behind the counter. “You're talking about the number, right? I'm thinking it's that Cara girl Zayn's always going on about.”
“Cara?” Harry smiled, “Cara from your work place?”
Zayn threw a creamer at Niall's head, “Mind your own business, you little snitch.” He looked at both boys and sighed, “She wants to come over to mine to see some of my work in the art studio, that's all.”
“Sure, Zayn,” Niall winked. “Did she ask you to draw her like one of your French girls?”
Zayn lunged to swat a book at the Irishman's head, but the blonde dodged and cackled over to the register to attend to a rather discouraged customer.
“You guys are horrible,” Zayn said, shaking his head as Harry giggled quietly into his hands. “Where's Louis? Is he not working today?”
“No,” Harry said, once the giggles finally stopped. “He went home after we went to Ed's place. I just had to swing by Nick's and drop you off your books. I'm gonna be heading back in a minute, actually.” He just wanted to grab Louis' biscuits first. The two only had breakfast this morning and knowing Louis, the boy probably hadn't eaten lunch or dinner yet.
The angel got up and went over to the register and ordered Louis' usual, along with a muffin, before taking his seat next to Zayn. The conversation was light and casual, Zayn mulling over the story of how he got Cara's number and how he planned on cleaning up his flat before she came over. Harry's seen Zayn's flat, and ok, yeah, Zayn might be a little messy, but it was nowhere as messy as Louis was (he was the one that usually cleaned it up after all).
When Niall came over with his bag in hand, Harry handed him over the money and opened up his messenger bag to put the crumpled bag inside. The flier he had grabbed at Nick's fell out and Zayn reached down to pick it up. “What's this?”
The raven-haired boy looked over at the bright paper and smiled. “You're going to Leeds, mate?”
Before Harry could answer, Niall reached over and snatched the paper from Zayn's hands, “Let me see that.” His eyes skimmed over the paper before stating, “This is tomorrow. Were you gonna plan on telling us you were gonna go?”
“I was actually not planning to go at all,” Harry shrugged. “It seemed interesting, so I took one but I had no interest in actually going.”
“You should go. It seems like fun,” Zayn said.
“Yeah, one of my mates went there last year,” Niall said, handing the paper back to Harry. “He said it was sick.”
“What about Louis?” Harry asked, thinking about the other boy. There was just no way he was going to leave him. They'd only been separated for a few hours now, and he missed him terribly already. He couldn't imagine being away from him for one whole day willingly.
“Take him with you,” Zayn offered. “You both could use a break from work anyway. You and Lou have been working your arses off the last few months; this would really let you guys just chill out a little.”
“We'll see,” Harry said, giving them the only answer he had right now. Maybe Zayn was right. They were both working as much as they could lately, only allowing one or two days of the month to go out and have a drink with the lads. Even when they did have a few hours to themselves, they'd mostly be lying around in the flat, writing, reading, or just lying in each other’s laps as the TV whirred on in the background. He was restless, worried sick about Louis' frequent nightmares and the bone-settled fear of Death's threat he had given him months ago. It would be nice to just get a day or two alone, just him and his boy.
He left the cafe, promising both boys he'd text them later. He couldn't help let out a sigh of relief when he glanced at the empty windshield, glad to see there wasn't a yellow piece of paper with a fine for a parking violation tucked under the wiper. He climbed int the car, started it up, and started driving down the street to the flat he'd called home for the past month.
Sky spitting onto the windshield, the rain beat a heavy, but distantly soothing pattern over the car's roof. Through briefs cracks between the buildings, the clouds up ahead layered into lighter pinks as they reached the horizon. The light shadows slanted onto the street and the clock on the dashboard glared out 19:53 into the darkening interior of the car.
Harry turned left to the next street when he saw a girl running out from an alleyway, her legs barreling down the parallel sidewalk and her soggy, gray hoodie flapping in the wind. A man, dressed in a dark shirt and trench coat, appeared from the alleyway not even a second later and hurtled down the street after her.
There was no one around. Most of London had found dry shelter from the storm and didn't notice the frantic girl darting through the curtain of rain outside. No one noticed her except for Harry. For a heartbeat, Harry sat frozen in the car until realization kicked in – the woman was being chased.
He jumped out of the car, leaving it running in the middle of the street, and ran in the direction he had seen the man and woman go down just seconds earlier. His heart pounded loudly in his chest. It wasn't from the mechanism of his muscles or from the chilly air hitting the back of his throat with each breath he took, but from the fear that he wouldn't reach the girl in time.
Just as he turned the corner of the street, the man reached out and grabbed a handful of the girl's hoodie, yanking her into his arms and dragging her over to a nearby alleyway. “I'm sorry! I promise I won't come back here, just don't hurt me! I'm sorry!”
She let out a shriek before the man clapped his big, calloused hand over her mouth. “Shut the hell up,” he grunted, before disappearing underneath the lurking shadows of the buildings with the helpless girl in tow.
In the corner of Harry's eye, he spotted a pale figure dressed in black sitting on the bench on the other side of the street. Harry wondered, as his legs carried him down the street, why this person wasn't doing anything to help the girl. It wasn't until he realized who the person was did the fear in his chest spread down to his stomach.
Death rested with his arms stretched over the top of the bench and his knees apart, a cigarette dangling between his thin, colorless lips. Despite the rain, the orange end still glowed brightly against the city's bleak background. His dark, pulsing aura curled around the vapor of the cigarette, dissolving the nicotine fumes with its inky plume.
If Death was already here, then that meant...
Frantically, Harry rounded into the dark alley before a muffled scream stopped him in his tracks. A lone street light inside the alley pooled over the man that had the girl pinned against the brick wall in what looked to be a intimate embrace. But as Harry watched him pull back a few inches, he noticed the look of shock on the girl's pale, sunken face. His eyes trailed down to the glinting silver dagger the man had wedged just above her navel.
“No!” he shouted, hooking his fingers in the man's collar and yanking him back. The man released his hold on the dagger as he stumbled back, but the dagger was still dug deep in the girl's teeny body.
The bewildered man turned to Harry, but when he saw the angel's empty hands, he visibly relaxed. Harry quivered with rage as he quickly took in the man's profile. His short black hair was plastered to his head and there was a piece of chewing tobacco caught between his yellowing teeth. Stubble spanned the man's jawline and tiny droplets of blood oozing from the fresh gash on one of the man's temples washed in with the rain, dripping down onto his collar. The gun tucked into the waistband of the man's trousers and the faded tattoos that inked the man's knuckles should have intimidated Harry, but it didn't. He wasn't scared of this mortal; this mortal who thought he could play God by deciding who gets to live and who gets to die.
“'ey, get outta here son,” the man rasped, voice as gritty as a bed of rusted nails. “I don't want to have 'ta kill you too.”
Harry smirked, eyes growing dark and heart pumping chagrin into his bones and muscles. His spine prickled and he could feel the flesh above his shoulder blades tighten. “You can try,” he said, the street light flickering from above.
By the time the man had reached for his gun, Harry had slipped his coat off and rolled the sleeves of his white long sleeve shirt to his forearms. His whole body shook from the anger that was radiating off in his core. So many times, so many fucking times he'd felt helpless in protecting the people he cared about the most. So many times he had to see people, one being the love of his existence, die in front of him. He hated feeling helpless.
“You've got to be kidding,” the man chuckled, aiming the gun at Harry's temple and shaking his head. He dropped his gun and laughed, before turning to walk away, “You're not even worth th' trouble.”
Harry reached out and spun the man back around, landing a fist right under the man's nose. The man stumbled back momentarily before whipping his gun out, cocking it. “You son of a bitch.”
As the man squeezed the trigger, the flickering light up went out, sucking in the light from the alleyway, with dawn's weak rays only reaching the mouth of it. Harry's wings unfurled from his back and he flew up before the oncoming bullet could puncture his skull.
When the light flickered back on, the man was standing against the brick wall, looking back and forth for the boy. Harry smirked as he lowered himself back onto the ground, wings large and hovering from behind his back.
The look on the man's face when he saw the boy's wings was of absolute horror as he choked out, “You're him. You're that thing Andy's men saw at the parking lot. You're a – You're a-”
“I'm a what?” Harry pressed him, tilting his head mockingly as he strode slowly over to the man. “What am I?”
“You're a -” the man said, “You're a demon.”
“I wouldn't say that,” Harry chuckled dryly. “But in your case, I wouldn't call myself an angel either.”
The man tried to run, but Harry flew up and landed between the man and the alleyway’s exit. The man backed away, terror shown in his eyes.
“Do you work for Andy?” he questioned the man, keeping his advance. When the man didn’t answer, he hissed out the question again, “Do you?!”
“What’s it to you?” the man yelled, backing against the alleyway’s wall.
“You killed this girl!”
“She shouldn’t have been here! This is Andy’s territory, the bloody whore knew that!”
Now standing right in front of the cowering man, Harry sneered down at him, “You are sick. You deserve to die.”
Before the man could raise the gun again, Harry slammed him against the wall and twisted his neck. The snap rung through the alley as his body slumped against the floor, unmoving.
Harry diverted his attention to the girl when she let out a painful sob. She choked out, dragging an unsteady breath into her gaping mouth. Her small fist curled around the handle of the dagger dug into her stomach. She sucked in a breath and ripped the blade out, emitting a startling cry from the girl as she slumped down onto the ground. She was heaving in erratic breaths, laying in a fatal position and turning her face to smother it against the gravel below. Her pained sobs were muted by the rumble of thunder above, but they still echoed tortuously in the angel's mind. Harry's heart, constructed over the centuries by the soft, gilded metals from behind the wrought iron gates of Heaven, never prepared him from the image of death.
He rushed to her side, grabbing her hand in his larger one. “Hey, hey, stay with me. Stay with me darling. You're gonna be fine, yeah? Can you tell me your name?”
The girl's lips moved slightly, letting a whisper echo into the alley. “Victoria.”
“Victoria? Alright Victoria, I need you to stay with me while I get you some help, okay?” He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone before an icy voice interrupted him.
“That won't be necessary.”
Death stood at the mouth of the alleyway, eyes cast down as he dragged in another lungful of cigarette smoke before dropping it onto the ground and smothering it with the toe of his boot. He strode over with his hands in his pockets, bringing with him the dank smell of a morgue. “Hello, Harry,” he said casually, standing over the angel and the girl.
“What are you doing here?” Harry hissed, his hand tightening around the girl's lax fingers.
“I've come to collect,” Death heaved out a sigh, looking over at the girl. “I was planning on just taking one but it looks like...” He indicated to the man lying still on the other side of the alley, “I'll be taking two with me instead.”
“You don't have to take her with you,” Harry said. “She's still breathing.”
“Harry,” Death sighed, face as sunk as the dying girl's below, “Look at her, she's already dead.”
“No, no, she's-” He pressed his index finger and thumb on the pulse point on her dainty wrist, counting the intervals of her heartbeat. It was diminishing...
“The poor girl was only 17,” Death said, though his voice lacked any sympathy. He crouched beside the girl and took in her features, eyes resting on the faint rise and fall of her chest. “But it was only inevitable. She was a crack addict, drug dealer, and a side prostitute. What else did she expect besides ending up dead in an alley?”
“She would've still been alive!” Harry screamed, tears springing to his eyes. “If that damn bastard hadn't killed her she would've still been alive! It didn't have to end like this!”
Death shook his head, “If it hadn't been Andy that killed her, it would've been the drugs or lack of food sooner or later.” He reached out to touch her, but Harry grabbed his wrist.
“Death, please. Give her a second chance.”
Death ripped his wrist away from Harry's grip, “You know better than anyone Harry that I don't do those.”
“But-“
“You should really be going back home now, Harry. If I were you, I wouldn’t be leaving Louis all alone by himself,” Death said, a malicious smile gracing his lips.
Harry shot up, his wings tucked back under his skin. “What do you mean? What have you done to him?!”
“Nothing,” Death answered, his hand circling the girl’s limp wrist.
“Don’t you dare lie. If you’ve hurt him, I’ll-“
“I can’t hurt a human being, Harry. I simply come to collect the ones that are already dead,” Death remarked, reaching up to brush his thumb across the girl’s pale lips.
‘Already dead.’
Louis.
Harry bolted down the alley, running full tilt back to the Cadillac. He slipped into the car’s upholstery seat and revved the engine, speeding down the street. Tears started to blur his vision, his heartbeat in congruence with the numbers of the odometer.
The storm clouds now dispersed as twilight eased in from the east. His fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel as he reversed the car into his parking space. He couldn’t go fast enough. He needed to go fast enough.
He cut off the ignition, swung his bag over his shoulder, and quickly locked the car door with unsteady hands. As he crossed the lobby and punched the lift button rapidly, he bounced on his heels. Tears threatened to spill and he felt dead weight on his chest. ‘Please, God, no. Please don’t let this happen again, please.’
When the lift doors opened, he repeatedly stabbed his floor’s button. His whole body was shaking, quivering with the idea of finding Louis with a bullet in his head. If Andy had found him…
If Andy found him when Harry couldn’t be there to protect him…
The angel’s body slumped against the lift walls, feeling his knees beginning to buckle. He’d gotten so fucking far, this couldn’t happen to him now. He wouldn’t know what to do after going this far. ‘Please be okay, please be okay.’
The doors dinged open and Harry sped down the hall to the door branded with ‘6F’. Grabbing his keys from his pocket, he hurriedly turned the lock and pushed the door open with his shoulder.
“Lou?” he cried out, dropping his bag by the door. “Lou?!”
‘Stay with me.’
He heard a soft “Haz?” from the living room. He cried out in joy and rushed over to the sofa, where buried under couch pillows and a fat ginger cat, Louis laid talking on the phone.
Harry wanted to scream with glee, pepper the boy he loved with kisses, cuddle with him for the next 1,000 years, but he knew he couldn’t frighten him. Death’s warning had been silly, just something to scare him.
Or so he hoped.
Louis threw a few pillows to the ground and wriggled his body around until he made a Harry-sized space. He patted the space, indicating the angel to come snuggle, and Harry happily obliged. He joined Louis on the couch, spooning Louis from the back, and nuzzled into the boy’s soft brown hair that smelled distinctively like his own shampoo.
He listened to Louis’ lilting voice speak in a soft hush into the phone. “I know, Li. Okay. You need to listen to me; it’s going to be okay, yeah? You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere, alright? You’ve got me and the boys and we’re all here for you, okay? You’re still wonderful, and you did nothing wrong.
“I don’t know how many times I have to say it to convince you, but you did absolutely nothing. You were the best boyfriend there was. Okay, sweetheart. Alright. Well, I gotta go now, okay? I’m going to call you tomorrow to check up on you, okay? No more crying. Okay. I love you too, Li.” He hung up the phone and reached back to scratch Harry’s hair. “Hiya, Curly.”
“Hi,” Harry whispered, wrapping his arms tighter around Louis’ torso. He missed this. He couldn’t imagine losing this ever again. Louis’ body was so lithe and soft against his own, and he reveled in the heat that radiated from his golden skin. He was beautiful. ‘So, so beautiful.’
“Harry, I can hear you practically purring from behind there,” Louis teased, his body rumbling against Harry’s chest with each word he spoke. Harry hummed, resting his head on Louis’ as he glanced at the programme muted on the TV. Elijah Wood and some man dressed in a dog suit were bickering on the screen, clutching bongs to their chests. “Missed you,” Harry said, speaking the words into Louis’ hair.
He heard Louis’ breath hitch slightly, “I missed you too, Curly.”
After that they settled into a welcomed silence, counting each other’s breaths and feeling one another’s heartbeats against each other’s skin. When Harry was in the middle of memorizing the freckles on the back of Louis’ neck, an erupt growl sounded through the room.
Harry lifted his head slightly, back poised and arms tensed around the boy in his arms. “What was that?”
“Oops,” Louis said sheepishly. “Apparently my stomach missed you, too.”
This. This is what he couldn’t lose ever again.
author's note: i'll go over this and edit if there's any mistakes. if i don't like it, i'll be sure to fix it. thank you so very, very much for reading, commenting, voting, and fanning. your kind words always render me speechless. i hope you enjoyed the chapter because honestly, this is all for you. sorry i update a day later than i originally planned. my hands got full last minute and i had to move the update a day later.