When Harry woke up the next morning, he could still feel Louis' lips on his forehead from the previous night, he could feel the strong hand in his own, and he could hear Louis' words echoing over and over again inside of his head.
I love you.
But he could also sense that something was wrong, because it's just one of those things. So instead of simply lying still and listening to the bird song outside of the living room window and fantasizing about the older boy who saved him from his own life, he pulled the thick duvet off his body and with a huff, hung his legs over the edge of the sofa, looking around him, trying to blink the sleepiness out of his tired eyes.
The flat was unusually quiet, and with people like Niall and Louis around, that was something new. Harry tried to recall the previous night - Niall going home after one or two or maybe three drinks and two boxes of chicken pizza, himself falling asleep on the sofa, Louis locking himself in his own bedroom after that wonderful kiss on his forehead.
Yeah, something was definitely unusual.
"Louis?" Harry called out blindly, blinking a few more times, expecting the older boy to come shuffling in with a grin on his face and a mug of warm tea for them both like every morning. Except nothing happened, and Harry eventually pulled his eyes away from the doorframe.
Sniffling a little, the wooden floor cold under his feet, he trailed out of the room, wrapping the duvet over his shoulders. There were no signs of life in the whole flat which made Harry wonder a lot and too much, which naturally led him towards Louis' bedroom doors.
Now, he wasn't intruding. He was simply checking for where the boy was, and that was why he let his hand push the wooden doors open, a small whisper of a 'Lou?' coming from his lips, before he pushed the doors opened fully.
The room was empty, just like the rest of the flat. The thought of Louis being in danger flew through Harry's mind, but he quickly shook it away - because he wasn't, right? He let his eyes roam over the room, realising that he'd never even seen it - a nice deep blue colour on the walls, some Coldplay and Westlife and The Script posters stuck on quite neatly here and there, a single bed tucked to one side, a wardrobe and a desk to the other, and a big window.
Harry liked the window, he decided, as he let himself walk into the room. There was an actual seat, with soft plush cushions, and he felt himself grin a little. He had a window seat before, that is at his old house. He remembered the days when his mum, Anne, sat with him, telling him endless stories of Peter Pan and The Beauty and The Beast, with orange juice on a summer day and hot chocolate in the winter, gazing out into the beautiful forest behind his house.
Except what happened there wasn't necessarily beautiful.
He felt himself breathe in a little, tears pinching at his eyes as he sat himself down on the soft cushion, images of Anne packing her bags and planting kisses on his cheeks through tears as she exited the house flashed through his mind. He was happy for her, actually. To be getting away from her abusive husband. It was better than anything, and even if it meant that he was all by himself with no one to support him, he was happy for his mum. He knew that she couldn't take him with her, not on his father's watch.
He heard a distant voice, somewhere in the back of his head, telling him to stay strong, please Harry, I'll come back for you and I'm sorry. It was his mum, he knew, but he let the thought drift away.
Snapping away from the horrible thoughts, he let his eyes linger on a book that was left abandoned on Louis' desk. Now, that was intruding. But Louis wouldn't mind, would he? He surely wouldn't. Harry lifted himself up from the window seat, hearing someone making their way up the staircase in the flat hallway, as he came to a stop in front of the desk. His fingered lingered on the hard black cover of the book, Louis' name ingraved in gold ink in beautiful handwriting. He had no idea what it was, and if was allowed to touch it, but he sat himself down on the spinning chair and took the book in his hands.
It was like an exercise book that you would get in college, except it was beautiful and original and different and definitely costed Louis more than any other book ever will.
He trailed his fingers down the black paper, finally lifting the cover, his eyes lingering over the smooth white paper with soft edges and pretty gold lettering in one corner, with three simple words, that made the boy's breath catch in his throat.
'Harry by Louis.'
Harry? As in himself, Harry, or another one that the boy had no acknowledge of? He impatiently turned the page, his fingers freezing mid-action, his heart picking up race as his eyes took in the image in front of him.
It was a carefully put together collage of some small, messy drawings and words. He could recognise his own curls sprawled around his head, his left hand tucked under his head, his eyelids shut. He took into notice the legs under his head, and then it dawned on him. It was himself, sleeping on Louis' lap on one of the first days that he was here. He didn't recall Louis doing anything in any sort of journal at the time, but - still. It was a lovely gesture, a flawless image, and Harry felt himself choke back a sob at the action.
He turned the page, eyes taking in another drawing. This time it was a bunch of words, all in different shapes and sizes. He did not read too much into it, however noticing that the creation had dated back to a few years ago.
He turned the page again, and again, revealing more messy scrawl and some carelessly done drawings, two more of him sleeping, one of him watching the TV, another one of him sleeping, one of him and Louis cuddled up on the sofa, a page with scribbles and a few messy sketches of curly hair and green eyes, and one of him sitting on the window seat, even though today was the first time he'd ever done it.
When he turned the page for the last time, he felt his heart stop. He was only halfway through the journal and he already felt like he'd intruded on a personal part of Louis' life. Either way, he swallowed hard when he took in an imagine paper clipped to the page, a woman with four young girls and Louis right in the middle of them, looking young and gorgeous with long hair and shiny blue eyes.
Harry wasn't good at showing feelings, and that was probably the only one of his bad features.
"Say, kid, do you know who Harry Styles is?"
His head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice saying his name, and he shot up from the desk, throwing the book back onto the surface with a light thud before sneaking out into the hallway. No one was there. But a small noise sounded from outside the front door, and Harry froze.
"Can't say I do?" Louis' voice replied, a soft edge to it, calm and collected. Harry felt himself breathe out in relief knowing that he was close.
The rough voice scoffed, and Harry stepped one step closer towards the door, pressing his ear against the wood, frowning at the sound of the deep voice against Louis' voice.
"Don't joke with me. It's a yes or no question, so reply to it."
"And what if I won't- ugh, do fuck off!" Louis' words were cut off by a small groan, and Harry jumped up, his hands fumbling with the lock.
He managed the pull the metal lock open, pulling on the door, revealing a rough-looking man that he'd seen somewhere before, and Louis, halfway through pulling out a key, one hand resting on his hip and a grimace of pain on his face.
"Louis! Lou, are you okay-" Harry jumped forward, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, hands trembling. He tried to recall what Louis did when Harry was in this situation. The older boy simply sighed, attempting to turn back towards the man but was stopped by Harry tugging on his hand, big eyes shining at him in hope of silently asking him to drop it, don't get hurt further.
"Hurts, a bit," Louis supplied through his parted lips, eyes trailing around him helplessly and eventually meeting Harry's. He felt guilty, for being the one in pain - when in reality Harry was the one wrapped in bandages. He pushed himself up, leaning on Harry just a little bit, gasping in a sharp breath. "Sorry- I-"
"Harry."
Harry's eyes snapped up, and met the cold blue eyes of the man standing above them.
"Your lovely dad sent me, you know?" He spat, an ugly smirk on his face and Harry froze, Louis clutching on his hand harder.
After a long moment, Harry smiled back softly and innocently, nodding, and tugging on Louis' hand a little as he pulled him towards the flat. He watched in silence as the younger boy spat - he actually spat, oh god - on the man's face, before pulling Louis into the flat, locking the door safely behind them.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered frantically, his eyes wide and searching Louis' for any clues, but found only confused blue and he leaned closer. "I'm so sorry, if it wasn't for me you wouldn't have any of this trouble. I can go- I'm sorry,"
Louis breathed in deeply a few times, and instead choked out an, "I love you,"
"I know, I do know! Louis, I know. Tell me - what did he do?" Harry whined pathetically, as he brushed his thumb over Louis' cheeks to wipe away the tears, doing what the boy did to him before.
"He asked me - He asked if I knew you," Louis hesitated a little, and then chuckled humourlessly. "Sorry. I'm being stupid."
"No!" Harry whimpered, arms pulling Louis tighter, as they breathed in each other. He pressed his lips to the boy's collarbone, pressing small kisses up the side of his neck, making Louis sigh, his head rolling back. "Tell me,"
"I just - I guess I was being a little bit cheeky, yeah? He just shoved me a little bit-"
"Louis!" Harry cried out, eyes wide as his fingers trembled against Louis' soft skin, and the older boy shook his head a little, leaning forward to press a small kiss to the side of Harry's lips. "It's alright. You've been hurt worse. I'm sorry for being so dramatic,"
"You're not! You were hurt - hey, Louis? It's okay not to be okay." Harry smiled a gentle smile, quoting what Louis had said to him a few days earlier. Louis only grinned back.
"You cheeky little-" He cut off, laughing to himself, before looking up to meet the green eyes, shining with happiness. "I love you,"
"I- I do," Harry choked out, hanging his head in shame when Louis laughed at him. "Sorry, I'm just..."
"It's okay, sweetheart," Louis said, lips pressing to Harry's soft cheek, both of them laughing quietly under their breaths, Harry's hand trailing over Louis' hips hesitantly.
"You really okay? Maybe take some paracetamols or something-" Harry started, fingertips lifting Louis' shirt, glancing down at the bruised skin. "Oh,"
"It's alright, babe," Louis laughed a little, because in all honestly Harry's fingers were tickling him. "That tickles."
Harry smiled a little, lips curling into a lovely smile, and Louis grinned. "How about we go to your room and acknowledge that great window seat?"
"My window seat?" Louis eyes met Harry's, and he smirked. "Hey, were you in my room, Styles?"
Harry grinned, stretching his hand out to Louis, pulling the boy into the room. "Perhaps, I might have been."
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