Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

_

prologue.

And oh, all of your Saturdays could end up in woe,

You hide behind curtains and fall between floor,

Just look at what you’ve become.

+

They meet like this:

Louis is nineteen when he meets him in a dimly lit indie bar in Camden; twenty three year old banking hotshot Matt Dixon, who’s all bright smiles, blue eyes and controlled quiffs. He’s charming and confident and Louis, at first, was incredibly overwhelmed. He’s only just come out, shy and bashful, blushing whenever Matt will wink at him or squeezes his arse.

They kiss on the middle of the dance floor, Louis grinding into Matt as Matt thrusts forward into the curve of Louis’ arse. Matt whispers dirty things in his ear and Louis shudders, and allows Matt to drag him back to his flat. He doesn’t even get to tell his friends where he’s going, but they’ll be okay. Niall is probably plastered and Zayn and Liam are practically fucking, so.

He has the best sex of his life that night. Matt’s actually gentle; asking Louis what he wants throughout with a low grumble in his voice that makes Louis painfully hard. Matt kisses his neck as he pushes in an out, Louis moaning and raking his blunt fingernails up and down Matt’s muscular back. His back arches off the bed as an orgasm rips through him, leaving him breathless and covered in his own come. Matt shudders as he comes into the condom, before pulling out and lapping the come off Louis’ chest. It almost makes him hard again.

Louis leaves the next morning with a sore arse and a phone number.

It starts like this:

Warm summer evenings and lazy kisses under oak trees. Louis’ and Matt’s fingers will be intertwined as they lay on their backs, the sun beating down on them. They talk about anything and everything; from the latest season of Game of Thrones to Louis’ intermittent shaving habits. They laugh. They smile. They whisper. They kiss. It’s love, Louis thinks – the feeling of weightlessness in your chest, your partner’s hand in yours and the feeling of their warm lips on your neck as the confess dirty fantasises into your ear.

They walk down the high street, their hands clasped together swinging in between them. They don’t care about people’s sideways glances and the occasional slur being thrown their way, because they have each other. Life is in Technicolor.

Matt treats Louis like a king – sweeping him off of his feet (sometimes in the literal sense) by showing up at his work unannounced, bearing an array of white and red roses in one hand and a box of Louis’ favourite chocolates in the other. Louis will grin and blush and Matt will kiss him on the lips, and Louis’ colleagues will cheer and whoop as Matt carries him bridal style out of the building.

They’ll eat the chocolates in Matt’s convertible with the roof down as Matt drives them to Louis’ favourite Italian restaurant. They’ll sip red wine and nibble the ciabatta and they’ll talk and talk and talk until they’re the last ones in the restaurant. Matt pays – he always pays – and they’ll walk out of the restaurant, bellies full and hands linked.

It’s great. They’re great. Everything is wonderful.

It continues like this:

They don’t go out as much as they used to. Going for a meal every night is expensive, Matt says, and he also thinks that Louis should stop eating so much. Louis’ getting fat and nobody wants a heavy lad, so they lay off going out for meals, for a while. Two months. Three. But, Louis’ can’t complain; Matt’s an excellent cook, and he’s just looking out for Louis. That’s all it is.

They’re still in love, though. There’s still gentle lips on foreheads and other places, warms hands and delicate touches –

But, just. Not in public. Matt doesn’t want people seeing how fat Louis is, and more importantly, he doesn’t want Louis to hear what people are saying. He’s so considerate. Louis’ lucky to have someone like him (Matt makes a point to remind him every day).

It’s good. They’re good. Everything is fine.

It remains like this:

The sex gets rougher, Louis notices. It’s no longer languid love making like they used to – now, it’s fucking in the literal sense. Louis’ still wears his shirt – he’s fat, fat, fat, and Matt doesn’t like seeing his stomach jiggle when they fuck – and he  will lay on his back and Matt will lay on top of him, thrusting in and out with jerky, uncontrolled movements and finishing with a guttural moan before pulling out of Louis, rolling over and falling asleep. Louis will roll onto his side and finish himself off silently, careful not to arouse his boyfriend from his sleep. He doesn’t cry into the pillow.

Matt has a new job. He’s the DIrector of the Barclays London Office – at twenty five, no less; the youngest in London and probably England – and it stresses him out. Matt comes home late, sometimes intoxicated and Louis will sometimes ask him about his day, but he just gets waved off and asked to fetch a beer. And, Louis will do so, without a fuss. (Matt hates it when Louis whines. It makes him sound like a “bloody bitch”.)

Louis stays home and cleans the flat like Matt asks him too. It’s not like he loves it, but it has to be done, and you make sacrifices for the one you love, right? He would actually love to be out and doing stuff, like have a job, but –

He doesn’t need one, he’s often reminded. That’s what Matt’s for. Matt provides for them. They don’t have to worry about money.

(Louis tries to tell Matt that it’s not about money, but that he just wants something to do throughout the day. Matt shoots it down, and they don’t talk about it anymore. It’s – whatever.)

Louis barely sees his friends now. He’s so wrapped up with Matt and his endless list of chores he has to do that he doesn’t even have time to call them or text them. But, when they call Louis, Matt gets mad. Like, really mad. He’ll snatch Louis’ phone away and hang up, and he’ll say, “you don’t need them. You have me now,” and he’ll pull Louis into a rough, biting kiss on the lips. He’s just being selfish, he’ll tell himself. Matt is everything he needs.

It’s –  it’s okay. It’s fine.

It progresses like this:

Matt gets irritable. So, he drinks. It calms him down, Louis thinks. That’s why there’s always, at least, one can of Stella in the fridge. It’s usually the only thing that’s in there, most days.

But – when Matt’s drunk, he yells at Louis a lot; be it about making him fetch something from their bedroom, or if he’s missed something off the chore list. His voice is booming and acidic, and he curses like a goddamn sailor when he’s mad. Louis will flinch and try to calm him down, which earns him a sharp slap across the face, but –

He’s used to it now. He’s used to Matt hurling abuse at him causally, like, “you’re so fucking useless,” or “you can’t do anything right, can you?” He’s used to Matt squeezing his wrists or slapping him across the face when he does something stupid. He’s used to hiding the purple bruises on his hands and arms and the ones on his face.

It’s fine. He deserves it. Or so he’s told.

It stays like this:

Louis is now twenty one, Matt is twenty five.

The once confident, outgoing lad from Donny who once was smiles and crude jokes is nothing but a docile creature that disappears into himself. He doesn’t speak without Matt’s permission, doesn’t eat without Matt’s approval – it’s all rather messy, Louis will admit, but it’s okay. He’s okay.

(He’s okay.)

Matt will sometimes hit him, spit on him when he’s on the floor, or he’ll call him names or make fun of anything and everything Louis does. It’s like second nature, Matt being horrible to Louis. The first time he laid a hand on Louis, he apologised profusely and kissed the bruises and repented with a weekend of (wonderful) make up sex, but now? Now, he can slam Louis against a wall, push him onto the floor and tread on his fingers without the slightest hint of remorse.

But, it’s alright, he tells himself.

Everything – everything is fine.

(It’s not. But Louis won’t admit that.)

Chapter Text

One

L

Louis’ not sure what time it is when he blinks himself into somewhat consciousness, but it’s either very late or very early, judging by the indigo colour of the sky and the moon beams that shine through the blinds of his bedroom. He squints through the darkness, only just making out 3:02 on his bedside clock. He releases a heavy sigh. This is the fourth night in a row when he’s woken up at the godless hours of the morning – it’s just he can never seem to have a decent night’s sleep. It’s not that his bed is uncomfortable – no, of course not, Matt paid extra for their ‘deluxe king sized bed’ mattress to be stuffed with goose feathers or some shit – but rather that he’s got terrifically large bruises that paint his skin in yellowy blues and purples.

Louis shuffles up the bed to lean against the metal rungs of his bed frame, propping himself up so that he’s not directly lying on his injuries. Matt stirs beside him, his brows furrowing as he squirms about in the duvet. Louis’ eyes glaze over Matt’s face. He looks so peaceful when he’s asleep, and Louis sighs and thinks, if only he were always like this.

In the quiet times like these – and he finds that they are somewhat scarce nowadays, what with him cleaning the grand expanse of their flat – he actually gets a chance to breathe. He finally gets a chance to relax. He doesn’t have to watch what he says or what he does to so he doesn’t have to encounter Matt’s anger. He tips his head back and inhales and exhales deeply, letting the tension drain from his body. He feels like he’s deflating, all the hours of pent up anxiety departing from him. He thinks these moments are so wonderfully therapeutic – the silence that surrounds him like a fog and the darkness that’s impenetrable protects him.

Sighing, Louis throws the heavy duvet off of him and tiptoes out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. His feet and legs kind of ache from standing on them all day and practically scrubbing the house clean (and kind of from when Matt threw him against the floor and his foot bent awkwardly, but) and he winces as he takes step after step, navigating through the darkness to reach the bathroom.

Stepping inside, he flicks on the light and goes to stand in front of the mirror, and in the artificial light of the bathroom, he can really inspect his injuries. There are one, two, three bruises on his neck and face, each purple and finger shaped. His fingers graze over them gingerly, wincing as he presses them to hard. Dragging his fingers down his neck and pulling on the low collar of his loose t-shirt, he reveals a litany of bruises on his chest, and he grimaces at the sight of the poppy blossom bruises that cover his upper torso. These ones are inky blue and purple and larger in size, splotchy and grotesque and hideous. He’s not going to be wearing t-shirts for a while, he decides.

His fingers shake as he raises the hem of his shirt, and – oh. The bruises are a lot larger and repulsive on his stomach. They’re absolutely huge; it’s only one or two, but they cover his ribcage and stomach, blue and black and plum coloured. His fingers tremble as he touches them and he presses carefully on them, his hand stretched wide and flat against them. He grits his teeth in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and immediately withdrawing his hand from his stomach.

Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, but he squeezes them shut again, refusing himself the act of crying. Crying is for the weak. Crying is for the victims and Louis Tomlinson is not a victim, goddamnit – Matt loves him. Matt loves him, loves him, loves him, he repeats as a mantra in his head as the touches the bruised flesh again. He was just angry and Louis was incompetent. It’s like corporal punishment, what Matt does, and it’s because he does something wrong. It’s okay. He’s fine.

He drops the hem of his shirt and lets his arms fall to his sides as he stares at his reflection. His hair is mussed from his tossing and turning throughout the night – with what miniscule amount of sleep he get – and grey bags hang under his eyes, and oh, his eyes – the once cerulean blue now dulled and lifeless, blank and dead.

He’s not a victim. He’s not a victim.

He braces his hands either side of the sink as he gulps in oxygen.

He’s not a victim.

His fingers quiver as he turns on the cold tap, filling the basin up with cold water. The sound of running water is so soothing and calming; Louis wonders why he doesn’t listen to it when he’s cleaning the house. He dips his hands in the water and carefully – carefully – drags his fingers down his face.  The cool water soothes his skin, dripping of his face and back into the water with a plop. He cups his hands together and splashes his face again, letting the water refresh him again. It’s so therapeutic, water. Who would’ve guessed?

He drains the sink and dries his hands and his face and sits in the empty Jacuzzi bath, closing his eyes and sliding in further. Life was simpler and less painful when he could have a decent night’s sleep.

He’s not a victim.

His palms still sweat the memory of Matt – um, correcting Louis. It was an accident. He thought he’d ironed Matt’s shirt so it would be ready for that big fancy dinner he’d been complaining about for a month now, but –

“Louis.”

“Yes, love?””

“What the fuck is this?” Matt’s holding up a white very crinkled shirt by the collar, his fingers wrapped around it like a bloody vice and the vein in his forehead is pulsing erratically.

“Um,” Louis stutters, “your – your shirt?”

“I can see that, Louis,” Matt says, his voice unnervingly calm, “but why is it still not ironed?”

“I have ironed it,” Louis rushes, trying to amend the situation before it gets ugly, “but, you see, I’m not very good with the new iron, and –”

He’s cut off mid sentence by a stinging slap across his cheek that causes him to stumble back. Louis whimpers in shock and his hand immediately comes up to cup his cheek, but Matt’s advancing towards him, backing Louis against the wall.

“I asked you do one fucking thing,” Matt seethes, “and you couldn’t even do that.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Louis mewls, “I’ll do it for you now, okay?”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and Matt leans his face in closer and Louis can feel his breath on his face. His eyes are hard and cold, and Louis thinks he’s going to hit him again, but Matt’s weight is leaves Louis’ body quickly, and Louis opens his eyes to see Matt walking away from him. He shirt is in a crumpled heap by his feet.

“Just fucking do it, Louis,” he growls before pushing open the kitchen door and disappearing inside.

It was his fault. Matt’s anger was understandable; like, who wouldn’t get angry? But then again –

Fuck, Louis thinks.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking bollocks. He’s only just gone and scorched Matt’s shirt and –

“Shit,” he whispers, trying to rectify the damage. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Are you done yet? The thing is in half a fuckin’ hour, hurry it up.” Louis hears Matt call from the kitchen and his feet slapping on the cold tile floor. He scrambles to hide the shirt as the kitchen door opens. Matt’s face is still like thunder and his jaw is clenched, and his fingers are wrapped around a pint glass of beer. Matt’s eyes fall to the shirt clenched in Louis’ fists.

“You done with it, then?”

“Uh – well, you see,” Louis stammers. His heart is thudding in his chest, threatening to break out of his ribcage and fall onto the floor. Matt strides towards Louis and rips the shirt from his hands and holds it up. Louis braces himself for a blow.

“What’s this?” Matt begins, his voice soft and incredibly worrying. “There’s a hole in this Louis.”

Louis says nothing, but looks up at his boyfriend through his eyelashes.

“You burned a hole. Through my shirt.” Matt’s speaking through clenched teeth and his fist is tightening around the garment.

“I’m sorry,” Louis apologises, “I didn’t know how hot it was, and before I could do anything, it just –”

Louis is cut off again, but not with a punch or a slap or Matt’s voice booming over his. Instead, Matt smashes the glass across the right side of Louis’ face, the glass shattering and digging into his flesh as the beer splashes on him and on the floor. Louis crumples to the floor, gasping in pain and crying silently. He lifts himself up on shaky arms to look at Matt again, but Matt kicks him hard in the stomach. The breath is knocked out of Louis as Matt delivers kick after kick to his body, and Louis can do nothing but to receive each blow. He cries out in pain as Matt yanks him up by his hair, his hand scratching at Matt’s large one that’s fisted in his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, “I didn’t mean to, I’m really sorry, love –”

“One fucking thing,” Matt spits in his face and Louis clamps his mouth shut. “One bloody thing – I have to go to this, do you understand? My career could be riding  on this, and you’ve just ruined my bloody clothes!”

Matt wraps his thick fingers around Louis neck and slams the smaller boy’s head back into the wall. Louis feels his lungs restricting at he gasps for air. “Please – let go,” he chokes, “you’re hurting me.” Matt tightens his fingers and hits Louis’ head on the wall again with such a force as to make the hung pictures fall and clatter on the floor. Black spots dot Louis’ vision and just as he thinks he’s about to pass out, Matt releases his grip on Louis’ throat and Louis falls back onto the ground in the shards of glass and puddle of beer, gasping for air and rubbing at his abused neck.

“Clear this fucking mess up,” Matt growls as he storms into their bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Louis stands up gingerly, his legs shaking as he does so. Every breath he takes hurts like a motherfucker and he can feel blood dripping down the side of his face, but he knows Matt will do worse if he doesn’t clean up the mess.

He fetches a dustpan and brush and paper towels from the kitchen and sweeps and mops up the mess. His fingers are still shaking and it pieces of glass fall from the dustpan to the floor again. It’s a tedious thing, cleaning up the mess, but he does and he does it without a fuss.

After the laborious task of cleaning up, Louis limps towards his bedroom, before pushing open the door and peering inside. Matt’s dressed in a tuxedo, standing in front of the mirror and making minor adjustments to his bowtie. Even though he almost near killed Louis, he can’t not admit that he looks incredibly dapper.

Louis shuffles his way into the bedroom, and Matt doesn’t but throw a glance at him. He just says, “I’ll be back a lot later. Don’t wait up – and clean yourself up, for fuck’s sake, you look a bloody mess,” before striding out of the  bedroom and out of the flat, leaving with a sounding thud that echoes throughout the flat.

Louis doesn’t clean himself up. He crawls into bed, blood dried on his face and small pieces of glass still wedged into his skin, and curls himself up into a ball and cries.

He shudders at the memory, still fresh in his mind.Louis climbs out of the bath. His body still aches but his bed is a lot more comfortable than an ostentatious bathtub.

He flicks off the light and pads back down the hall. He cracks open his bedroom door slightly to see Matt in the same position where he left him, snoring into his pillow. Louis creeps inside and closes the door quietly behind them before crawling back into bed. He lies awake for a long time,  tracing patterns on the blank canvas that is his ceiling, before he drifts off to sleep.

+

The next time he wakes up, the sun is shining through the blinds and Matt is still asleep behind him. His body is still aching and he’s still incredibly exhausted, but he hauls himself out of bed. Matt stirs and blinks himself awake, yawning as he opens his eyes.

“What time is it?” he grumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning love,” Louis replies in (kind of) faux pleasantry. “It’s just gone half ten.”

Matt nods. “You gonna have a shower then? I can smell you from here.”

“Was just about to hop in,” Louis replies, ignoring the comment.

“I think I’ll join you,” Matt says, stretching and shuffling in bed so he’s sitting upright. “Could do with a nice shower myself.”

Louis nods and gets up to leave, and as he has his hand on the door handle, Matt speaks behind him.

“Love you.”

Louis smiles despite himself and butterflies erupt in his stomach. “I love you, too.”

He exits and walks down the hall again and back into the bathroom. He slips off his clothes – not looking in the mirror for obvious reasons – before turning on the water in the shower. He steps under the warms spray and sighs with relief as the warm water soothes his aching bones and muscles, rolling his head back in pleasure and he puts his face under the water.

He’s gently – very gently – massaging his skin with jasmine scented soap as he hears Matt enter the bathroom and take off his clothes. The shower door is opened and Matt steps in behind Louis, rubbing his shoulders tenderly and kissing his neck as water splashes on both of them. Louis leans into the touch. It’s so rare for Matt to be willingly affectionate towards him, so he’ll lap up every second of attention he gets.

Matt’s fingers rub over his shoulder and he slides his fingers down Louis’ arms before wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist, causing the younger boy to wince a bit.

“You alright?” Matt whispers into his neck, kissing behind Louis’ earlobe, just as he likes.

“Mhm,” he groans, trying not to make his pain sound evident.

“You don’t sound it,” Matt replies, his voice with a slight edge to it that makes Louis’ heartbeat quicken. “Turn around.”

Reluctantly, Louis turns around to face Matt, his eyes fixed in his feet. Louis hears Matt gasps quietly and he feels the older boy’s fingers trace Louis’ bruises.

“I did this?” Matt whispers. “Yesterday?”

Louis can’t bring himself to speak, so he responds with a tiny nod.

Matt doesn’t say anything but rather holds Louis close and peppers his face and neck with kisses. “I’m so sorry, Lou,” he says in a small voice, and Louis’ heart swells as the use of his nickname. “I – I didn’t realise – and, fuck, I was drunk and mad and –”

Louis gets a burst of courage and leans forward to press a kiss to Matt’s lips, effectively shushing him. Matt kisses back, gently but surely. Louis almost melts.

“It’s okay,” Louis says, “you were mad. I get it.”

Matt nods but kisses Louis again on the mouth, and pulls the smaller boy into his arms as they stand under the water.

Louis likes it when Matt’s like this. Sometimes, he apologises and get’s cuddly and soft again, like they used to be and when he’s like this, it’s so easy for Louis to forgive him.

He thinks they’re fine. He thinks it’s okay. Matt’s not angry anymore.

They’re okay.

(But, at the back of his mind, Louis knows that it’s not going to last forever. It’s only a matter of time before Louis fucks up again and Matt gets angry – but he’ll take what he can get.

He’s not a victim.)

Chapter Text

Two

They end up having lazy morning shower sex. Matt’s so gentle with Louis this time – taking him slowly from behind, asking what he likes and doesn’t like, kissing the nape of his neck that drives Louis absolutely wild and whispering sweet nothings in his ear – and Louis ends up coming with a shout against the tiles of the shower walls, feeling boneless as Matt tells him how good he was whilst kissing up and down his neck (avoiding the bruises, obviously.).

They climb out of the shower eventually, damp and satisfied. Matt even offers to massage Louis in that fancy lavender scented oil that he bought him from Paris way back when, but Louis declines. He’s still aching from the bruises and he thinks he probably still has glass embedded into his skin, but he thanks Matt anyway by pressing his lips against his boyfriend and cupping his cheeks with his hands, running his thumb over his cheekbones.

Matt even makes Louis breakfast – Louis is incredibly overwhelmed at this point – cooking up eggs and bacon on toast with a brew, no less; he even cuts the toast into hearts and takes the time to decorate the edges of the toast with strawberry jam and Louis almost melts.
He could get used to the abuse if he’s treated like this more often, he thinks.

Matt washes up all the dishes in the sink, insisting that he should do all the work and he instructs Louis (there’s an edge to his voice, Louis will admit) to go and lie down, to relax. Louis – obviously – obeys, almost skipping out of the kitchen and into the bedroom.
He crawls into bed, snuggling into the duvet and almost drowning in the covers. There’s a warm bubbly feeling in his chest that spreads throughout his body, from the crown of his head to the ends of his feet. He hasn’t felt like this for months, years maybe, and he savours it – mostly because at the back of his mind he ponders how long it will be until he
feels like this again.

(He doesn’t bet on it being soon.)

Matt comes in a little later and crawls into bed next to Louis, gently taking him in his arms and pulling the smaller boy into his chest. Louis swoons and shuffles closer to Matt, basking in the warmth of the embrace as Matt clicks on the flat screen telly that hangs on the wall opposite their bed, choosing a film for them to watch.
They spend the rest of their morning wrapped around each other and the sheets, snuggling close to each other and enjoying each others’ company. Louis wonders if other couples feel like this all the time.

He loves Matt. He loves his boyfriend, and he is not a victim.

+

Louis doesn’t remember drifting off to sleep, but he’s jostled awake by Matt. He blinks, his blurry focus clearing to see Matt standing next to the bed, half dressed and leering over him.

“Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty,” Matt says, buttoning up the top button on his dress shirt. “You’ve been asleep for two and a half hours.”

“Oh?” Louis asks, shuffling up in bed, but wincing as he irritates his injuries, clenching his teeth in pain. Matt notices and winces also.

“Do – d’you think you’ll be alright? To go out in an hour or so?”

“I’ll be fine, babe,” Louis smiles, trying not to grit his teeth in pain when he leans on a bruise on his upper thigh. Matt sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and looks hesitant.

“You sure?”

“I’ll be fine, babe,” Louis assures gently. “You’re such a worrier.”

Matt’s face immediately hardens and his brows furrow and Louis wishes he could shove all those words back into his mouth. He’s usually so careful with what he says, but –

“Well, fucking hell, I was just trying to be considerate,” Matt snaps, his tone causing Louis to stiffen. Louis knew that Matt’s “Kind Phase” wasn’t going to last. Matt turns on his heel and strides towards the door, and as he has his hands wrapped around the handle of the door, he stops.

“Wear something that will cover your bruises. And for the sake of everything good and pure, don’t wear anything that makes you look like a fucking whale,” he adds as he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Well. It was nice while it lasted.

+

Louis’ dressed in a black turtleneck, coupled with black skinny jeans, a navy blue blazer and black Vans. Matt made him change three times because God, you look fucking obese in that and I’m not taking you out dressed like a fucking tramp, Louis – go change. Matt eventually approves of his outfit and he shoves his keys and his wallet in his back pocket, wraps his hand around Louis’ – very tightly – and practically drags him out of the flat.

The drive to the restaurant is silent. Matt’s hands are gripped like a vice around the steering wheel; his knuckles white under the tightness of the grip. His eyes are fixed ahead of him and his lips set in a tight line as he drives, not speaking or even glancing in Louis’ direction. Louis, however, has his hands in his lap, wringing them together nervously. His knee is bouncing and he’s biting his lip whilst trying not to do anything that will bother Matt.

“Christ, stop bouncing your bloody knee,” Matt growls, breaking the silence between the two. Obviously, he’s unsuccessful. “It’s like you’ve got a tic.”

“Sorry,” Louis hastily apologises, putting all his concentration into stopping bouncing his knee. It’s silent again, before Louis asks in a small voice, “S-so, um. Where – where’re you taking me?”

“We’re here,” Matt answers, parking the car abruptly and taking the keys from the ignition. Louis undoes his seatbelt and goes to open his door, but Matt stops him.

“I’m opening your door – it’s the gentlemanly thing to do on a date, right?” He smirks, winking at Louis attempts a smile back, even though he’s certain it doesn’t resemble one in the slightest. (He gets really thrown when it comes to Matt’s incredibly sudden mood changes, throwing curveballs at him all the goddamn time. He doesn’t know how to act and what to say in case he says something wrong and – oh god, it’s making him anxious just thinking about it.)

Matt opens Louis’ door and holds out his hand for Louis to take it, and with shaking hands, Louis does so, placing his small hand into Matt’s large one as he steps out of the vehicle. Matt interlocks his fingers with Louis’ as he leads him towards the restaurant.

“It’s the place we went on our first date,” Matt begins as they walk. “Remember?”
Louis, if he’s honest, really doesn’t, but he plays along for the sake of self preservation. “Oh yeah,” he lies, trying to feign recollection.

“...Aaaand, you don’t like it,” Matt says with an edge to his tone that causes Louis’ heartbeat to quicken. “It’s just my attempt at bloody romance because I thought you liked shit like this –”

“I do - it’s romantic, I promise,” Louis rushes out, trying to stop Matt from getting angry. “I love it.”
Matt looks at Louis out of the corner of his eye as if he’s trying to see if Louis’ faking it or not, but he nods curtly as he pushes open the doors of the restaurant, (not so gently) pushing Louis inside.

“Reservation for Dixon, please,” Matt says to the waitress. She scans down her book and nods, gesturing for Louis and Matt to follow her. Matt’s hand is clenched so tightly around Louis’ as they walk through the restaurant, weaving their way in and out between tables before the waitress stops at one of the booths. Louis slides in one side and Matt on the other. The waitress hands them the menus and takes a small notepad out of her back pocket.

“Would you be interested in any drinks?”

“Water for him and a pint of Heineken for me, cheers,” Matt orders and the waitress nods before walking away. Louis swallows heavily. He’s alone with Matt (well, not really, they’re in a public setting, but) and that fact alone makes him feel extremely anxious. His eyes dart everywhere; trying to avoid Matt’s stare and ignore the grip of Matt’s hands around his under the table.

“Look at me, Louis,” Matt instructs and Louis immediately complies, his eyes snapping to his boyfriend. “Chill out, yeah? Don’t be so nervous,” he soothes, running his thumb over Louis’ knuckles. Louis does feel himself relax slowly, tension leaving his shoulders as he sinks into the leather seats.

“Sorry,” he apologises, “I don’t know why I’m being like this.”

“Just stop, okay?” Matt says sharply and Louis nods quickly, and as a result, Matt’s face softens. The waitress comes back with Louis’ water and Matt’s beer and places it in front of the couple before taking out her notepad again.

“Are you ready to order, or?”

“Yes,” Matt says, but Louis’ not. He’s not even had a chance to even glance at the menu. “I’ll have the special and he’ll just have a salad.”

The waitress’ eyes – Dani, her nametag reads – flicker over to Louis and back to Matt. “Um, the salad is actually really light? I’m not sure it’s that filling; people usually order it with something else.”

“No, he’ll be fine,” Matt insists, smiling tightly at her. Dani nods curtly before looking over at Louis and smiling genuinely at him, shoving the notepad back into her pocket and taking the menus, before walking away.

Their food arrives more quickly than expected, Dani coming back with a steak, mashed potatoes and vegetables for Matt and a despairingly small bowl of salad and croutons for Louis. Matt nods as if to say thank you and immediately begins eating, and Louis’ about to as well when Dani says, “if you want anything else, just shout, yeah? I’m not too far away.” She smiles at him and Louis tries to nod and smile, but he’s sure that nervousness registered on his face.

“That won’t be necessary, thanks,” Matt snaps, giving her a tight lipped smile and waving her away. She glares in return before leaving to attend to other customers. Matt’s eyes follow her across the room before they turn to Louis.

“Eat,” he orders, pushing the small bowl of green towards Louis. Louis looks down at it with a rumbling stomach. He’s so bloody hungry and he really wishes he could have what Matt’s having, but he simply nods and picks up his fork, stabbing some lettuce and putting it into his mouth, chewing slowly. It’s kind of bland and soggy, but Louis eats it anyway. The last thing he needs is Matt going into Hulk Mode now, just as he’s started being nice.

They sit in (sort of, but not really) comfortable silence, Louis’ hand still in Matt’s under the table as Matt traces patterns with his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand. And, to Matt’s credit, he does try several times to strike up conversation.

“How are your, uh, bruises?”

“They’re getting better,” Louis lies in a small voice and looks at his boyfriend through his eyelashes. Matt’s lips are pursed and he’s staring at Louis, and Louis thinks that that wasn’t the answer Matt wanted.

“I could get you ice packs, if you wanted.”

“There’s no need, I promise,” Louis says and Matt sighs exasperatedly.

“Jesus, I’m actually trying here, you know.” His voice has returned to it’s usual cold, snappish self, and Louis sinks into the seat. “Is this not enough for you?”

“No, it is, I promise,” Louis says as he places down his fork, staring directly at his boyfriend with pleading eyes. “It’s just...” I’m so fucking hungry. I know I’m hideous and fat but, please, let me eat something other than rabbit food.

“It’s just what?”

“Nothing,” Louis dismisses, picking up his fork and finishing the little amount of food he has left. Matt doesn’t accept this answer and digs his nails into Louis hand again and Louis whimpers in pain and tries to release his hand from Matt’s brutal grip, but Matt simply holds on tighter.

“You’re being a little shit, you know that? I went out of my way to do all that bullshit this morning and I’ve even taken you to this shitty little restaurant because I thought you’d like it, but now you’re throwing it all back in my face? What the fuck is wrong with you, you ungrateful bastard?” Matt’s voice is rising with every word he speaks and Louis can feel the eyes of the other diners directed at them.

“No, babe, I love it –”

“Don’t interrupt me!”

“Please,” Louis pleads, “not here, not in public –”

Louis’ cut off when Matt clenches his hand even tighter and Louis yelps in pain. There’s probably going to be bruises in the morning. “Stop fucking lying to me,” Matt seethes, jerking Louis towards him with a sharp tug. Louis nods erratically, biting his lip and blinking the tears from his eyes that threaten to fall.

“Louis? Is that you?” someone says from across the room, and Matt and Louis’ eyes snap the direction of voice. “Holy shit, it is you!”
Louis’ eyes are flitting everywhere, trying to see who’s talking to him, when his eyes finally land on two guys navigating their way towards him. He can’t really see who they are through the blur of tears, but as they step closer he begins to distinguish their faces and –

Holy shit.

It’s – it’s Zayn. And Liam, and fuck, they’re getting closer to the table, broad grins stretched across their faces. Louis swallows and Matt glares, tightening his hand even more – if possible – around Louis’.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, it’s been ages,” Zayn breathes as he hugs Louis. Louis is internally screaming out in pain from Zayn putting pressure on his fresh bruises, but he musters an awkward, faltering smile.

“I know,” he says, “was just busy and all.”

“Fuck that,” Zayn scoffs, “you need to come see us!” He turns to Liam. “How long has it been, Li? What, a year?”
Liam nods in agreement and Zayn turns back to Louis, who is so desperately trying not to let the pain from Matt almost cutting off the circulation in his hand register on his face.

“Jesus, how’ve you been, Lou?” Zayn whispers, a sad smile on his face, and Louis’ heart drops like a stone.

“Y’know. Around,” he lies. “With Matt, and all.”

“Ah, yes, the boyfriend,” Liam speaks up, winking at Matt and leaning forward to shake his hand. Matt shakes Liam’s hand and smiles a tight lipped smile at Zayn, clenching Louis’ hand even tighter. “I’d doubt you remember us, eh?”

“I do – Zayn and Liam, right?”

“Right,” Zayn nods, smiling at the two.

“So, what brings you two here?” Louis asks after a minute of slightly awkward silence. Liam’s cheeks redden at the question and he looks and Zayn just winks at him an take Liam’s hand in his.

“We’re on a date, innit, Li?” Zayn says, shuffling closer to Liam, and Liam nods again.

“That’s great!” Louis says genuinely – he remembers those two dancing around each other when last he saw them, and he’s actually happy they’ve figured whatever it was out now. “How long have you been together?”

“Six months today,” Liam says in a quiet voice. “He asked me out at Niall’s first gig, didn’t you, Zed?” Zayn smiles, wrapping his arm around Liam’s shoulder. Liam pauses, before he says, “we really miss you, Lou.”

Louis’ heart clenches as does Matt’s hand. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Lou,” Zayn soothes, “but don’t be a stranger, yeah? Come see us sometime.”

Louis flicks his gaze to Matt, who’s glaring at him and showing every sign that he should end the conversation now, now, now, so he replies, “I will.”

“Promise?” Liam asks, voice hopeful.”

“Scouts honour,” Louis lies again. Liam takes a pen out of his back pocket with one hand and Louis’ napkin with the other and scribbles down his number before handing it to Louis.

“Give us a call at some point, yeah?” He pauses. “Please?”

Louis nods, even though he knows he won’t.

“Right, well. See you around, hopefully. We really miss you, Lou.” Zayn adds, smiling at Louis and nodding at Matt, before taking Liam’s hand and leading him back to their seat. Matt seems to decide that he’ll wait for the other two boys to go before he squeezes Louis’ hand so hard that Louis knows that purple coloured finger shaped bruises are forming.

“We’re going,” Matt says. “Get your fuckin’ jacket and be quick about it.” He signals to Dani to bring over their bill, and she arrives quickly with a card machine. Louis’ biting his nails nervously as Matt presses in his pin number and pays before he flashes a tight smile at Dani.

“Get up and move,” Matt growls, pushing past Dani and grabbing his boyfriend’s wrist with a deathly grip. His fingers dig into Louis’ soft flesh as he drags him out of the booth, the restaurant, across the carpark and into the car. Louis is practically pushed into the car before Matt slams it behind him, startling Louis. He’s trembling all over now, his body erupting in shakes as adrenaline pumps through his blood stream.

Matt doesn’t say anything when he gets into the car. He simply puts the keys into the ignition, and drives. Louis notices his jaw is clenched and his arms are locked. His chest is rising and falling rapidly with his shallow breathing and his knuckles are, again, clenched tightly around the wheel of the car as Matt speeds them home.

Droplets of perspiration form on Louis’ palms. He’s wringing them together in nervousness as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, gnawing at the flesh. “M-Matt?”

Matt doesn’t respond, but Louis notices he clenches the steering wheel tighter.

He takes a deep breath before he continues. “I-I just wanted to tell you that, um. That I had a really great night tonight,” he speaks in a small voice. “I really love it when you –”

“Shut the fuck up,” Matt interrupts, voice hard and jagged like the glass that cut Louis yesterday. Louis clamps his mouth shut and says nothing for the duration of the journey, but in his head, he’s trying to recall what he did wrong, what he did for Matt to act this way – fucking hell, he can’t do anything right, can he? He’s stupid, stupid, ugly, fat and stupid and he wants to curl in on himself and weep and cry because he’s such a fuck up.

They pull into the carpark outside of their apartment complex. The colour of the sky matches Louis’ inky blue bruises, and he can barely make out Matt’s silhouette in the darkness. He barely makes it out of the car before Matt is reaching for his collar, holding the smaller boy tight against his chest.

“What the fuck was that, back there?” he demands, spitting in Louis’ face.

Louis knows he’s going to regret this after he asks, but he hasn’t the foggiest as to what Matt’s referring to, so he sheepishly replies, “w-what was what, babe?”

And, clearly, Matt doesn’t like his answer, as he throws Louis down on the gravelly tarmac and kick him hard on his ribcage, forming new bruises on top of old ones. Matt reaches down and pulls Louis up to his height by his collar again, this time leaning so close to Louis that Louis can still smell the beer on his breath. “You know what I’m fucking talking
about,” he growls, but when Louis doesn’t answer, he continues, “flirting with Zayn? Whilst we were on a bloody date? What is it, that I’m not good enough for you, or something?
You like him better than me?”

And – wait, what?

Louis is incredibly puzzled, because he was never flirting with Zayn, and Zayn and Liam clearly said that they were on a date, so he highly doubts Zayn was even looking at anyone but Liam. Matt was fucking there, right? He heard that Zayn said that Liam and Zayn had been fucking dating for half a bloody year, but of course, Matt’s toxic jealously that presents itself time and time again clouds his judgement and usually results in Louis not being able to leave the flat for days or even walk.

Obviously, he says none of this out loud. He does understand self-preservation.

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t flirting,” Louis gasps through the pain, “I would never do that.” He cries out as brings up a hand to his neck again, and wraps his fingers around it.

“Liar,” Matt accuses in a low voice, “fucking liar. I saw how you looked at him.”

“I didn’t look at him like anything, Matt!” Louis chokes as confidently as he can. “You’re the one I’m with! I love you, not Zayn! Why can’t you see that?”
Something flashes before Matt’s eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it came. Matt spits in Louis’ face and drops him on the floor with a heavy thud. Louis lands straight on his bruises and the pain is so great that his vision is clouding and he can barely hear his own cries of pain.

Matt doesn’t say anything else; he just looms over Louis before spitting on his face again and trudging away from the car and into the building, leaving Louis, beat and bruised on the floor with gravel in his palms, in his wake.

Louis can’t muster the energy to even cry anymore, so he lies next to the car, crippled in pain and riddled with injuries, before he shakily gets to his feet and limps towards the building also. The pain is excruciating, and he knows it would be a lot wiser for him to just go to the hospital, but that leads to questions, which leads to police reports, which leads to family and friend drama which is a fucking mess that Louis doesn’t want to be involved with.

He steps into the lift and presses the button, before wrapping his arms carefully around himself and breathing in and out heavily, letting tears drip off his face and onto his blood stained shoes.

He’s not a victim.

Chapter Text

Three

The space next to him when he next wakes up is empty, and – well. That’s a welcome surprise.

Louis’ not sure how he got so much sleep after last night. He’s in a colossal amount of pain and it takes up all of his energy for him to even prop himself against the headboard of his bed, let alone to have coherent thoughts. His mind is a blur of pain, pain, pain, don’t lean on that arm and where’s matt? What time is it? and ow, fucking hell.

Louis blinks as he tries to focus his vision. His bedside clock reads that it’s only just gone half past eleven on Saturday morning, which means Matt’s at work and he won’t be back until a lot later in the day. Louis releases a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding in. After last night, he’s not sure how well he was going to function this morning with Matt’s agonizingly long list of chores that Louis is more or less forced to do every bloody morning, so for Matt’s timely absence, he is entirely grateful to some higher being.

He gingerly peels off the covers and gets to his feet slowly, wincing in pain as he does so. Good lord, he’s never thought that feeling as much pain as he did now was even possible. He takes a step towards the door, and – nope, nope, abort mission. It hurts to walk, stand, breathe, but –

He exhales heavily. Baby steps.

He puts one foot in front of the other, shuffling forward slightly. He wants nothing more than for God to put him out of his misery and smite him there on the very spot he stands as he gasps in brutal agony, but he continues, placing one foot in front of the other, slowly and carefully until – at long last – he’s in the bathroom.

He hesitates to stand in front of the mirror out of apprehension to see the damage – he feels like this isn’t a normal occurrence for a lot of people – but nevertheless, he stands in front of it and he could almost faint at his reflection.

He looked like shit before, but fuck, he looks like he’s been hit by a bloody truck. The entire right side of his face is purple, blue, puffy and hideously grotesque, and the sight alone makes him want to both gag and cry. The finger-shaped bruises on his neck are like watercolour – paler, but there all the same – stretching from his chin to his collar bone, painting all the skin that’s there. His lip is bust open and decorated with the dark reds and rich browns of dried blood.

He’s the human canvas for calamity.

He breathes heavily, but winces as he feels his ribcage expand. Carefully, he raises the hem of his shirt for the second time that week to be greeted by the mother of all bruises. His entire torso is blue, black and purple – so much so that there isn’t even the slightest sliver of his usual tan skin. His ribcage – as expected is painted in bruises. It’s swollen and throbbing, and Louis can’t even bring himself to touch it because he knows the pain will be unbearable.

He turns around, still lifting the hem of his shirt to inspect his back. Upon inspection, it appears that it got the least amount of damage, but there are still yellowy blue bruises that adorn his lower back and under his arms. He lifts up his shirt further, but hisses in pain as his wrist is bent too far in the wrong direction. His wrist isn’t exempt from the damage; finger-shaped bruises garnish his skin, small, understated but still as fucking painful as ever.

Louis weeps silently as he strips to get into the bath. He wants nothing more than to submerge himself in three or so feet of hot water and forget about everything, to shut the world out. But he knows that if he gets to hung up on the idea of isolation, he’ll hate having to open the door and actually face his problems, and that thought alone is unspeakable.

So, with dried tears on his cheeks and bruises on his body, he climbs into the hot water of the bath and sits there for an hour or so, thinking, regretting and crying. The warm water does feel good against his bruises, but as he sighs heavily, he knows that warm water and sweet smelling bath salts won’t alleviate his pain to an effective enough standard.

He climbs out however long after, and makes the executive decision to go and get himself some painkillers from wherever. Matt usually buys everything for the two of them because I make the decisions around here, don’t worry your pretty little head about these sorts of things and get me a Stella, would you? but Louis doesn’t care at this point, juvenile rebellion growing in the pit of his stomach. He knows sure as hell Matt won’t do anything for him if he asked, especially of a nature such as this.

He gets dressed in the most understated clothes that he owns; black jogging bottoms that are ill fitting, a loose grey t-shirt that almost hangs off his somewhat wiry frame and a large black hoodie that he can disappear into if needs be. He arranges his hair so that his fringe is covering the bruise and he pulls the hoodie over his head, puts his wallet in his pocket, his keys and phone in the other and leaves the flat.

A feeling of relief sweeps over him as the heavy door shuts behind him, but an overcoming feeling over dread, fear and overwhelming pain consumes him. He can’t help thinking that Matt may or may not come home early and see that Louis isn’t there, or Matt may be out and see him and get angry at him, or – god forbid – he’ll bump into Matt and Matt will cause a scene amongst the frozen foods, and fuck, Louis’ literally shaking as he gets into the lift. He presses the button and the doors shut, and Louis has to remember – breathe, Louis. In, out. In, out. You’re fine, it’s okay.

In, out.

He pulls his hoodie further over his eyes and walks out of the doors of the apartment complex and into the cold November early afternoon air. The pain as he walks is getting more and more bearable, but it’s still a struggle to keep going and to not cry out in pain every time his foot touches the pavement.

He shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he limps towards the closest Sainsbury’s Local. It’s usually a ten or so minute for someone who hasn’t very recently been beaten to the point of near immobility, but Louis arrives soon-ish, stepping inside, and safe from the biting cold.

He picks up a basket that’s provided at the entrance and tries to buy food for the flat without drawing attention to him, but it’s not every day in the early afternoon on a Wednesday morning when you see a man dressed in all black, baggy attire, limping and bruised.

He limps throughout the aisles, picking up random things that they need for the flat, but as every step gets more excruciating, he valiantly searches out the medicine aisle. He’s so glad that the shop floor is near abandoned, because now he’s hopping about on his good leg and he’s 100% sure that he looks like he’s completely lost it – but, if he’s honest, he really doesn’t care, because his mind is all pain killers, swelling reduction, heat balm, pain relief.

He takes another step, and winces.

He’s not a victim.

He’s not sure how long he’s been stalking the aisles now, but at this moment, he thinks he could pass out from the agony.

Pain killers, swelling reduction, heat balm, pain relief, pain relief, pain relief –

Louis feels an overwhelming feeling of gratefulness when he spies a shop floor assistant on the canned foods aisle, frowning at one of the tins. He looks gentle enough, what with his head of chestnut curls and alabaster skin, but he’s – he’s very tall with long arms and biceps, and Louis figures he could do a right amount of damage, and he’s
considering turning back and looking for what he needs without anyone’s help, but as he takes another step –

He whimpers in pain and his basket slides from his grip and crashes to the floor, all of the contents flying out of the basket and scatter on the floor. At the sound, the shop floor assistant’s eyes snap over to Louis where he’s hunched over, trying to gather the items and inconspicuously flee – you can’t do anything right, can you? You’re so bloody useless, honestly – but Louis looks up through his eyelashes to see the gangly shop assistant much closer now (his heartbeat quickens), helping him retrieve the items.

“You alright?” the guy says, his voice low and gravelly – but gentle, and it unnerves Louis a bit. It doesn’t match his appearance in the slightest.

“’M fine,” Louis replies, his voice quiet and low, and his eyes fixed on the floor. “Thanks for, um. Helping me.”

“It’s fine!” the boy beams, his large, doe green eyes lighting up and revealing his dimples. “It’s what I’m paid to do.”

Louis nods, not looking up fully because he doesn’t want to showcase his hideous injuries, so he turns on his heel and limps away from the boy, hissing in pain as he advances.

Louis can hear the boy walking after him and he stops Louis, putting a hand on his shoulder, and Louis does his very best not to cry out in pain as he’s turned to face the guy.

“You sure you’re alright?” the guy questions. “You’re limping.”

“I’m aware, thank you,” Louis bites out in a clipped tone that he immediately wants to apologise for. He daren’t talk like this to Matt. “Sorry – just. Bad day, I suppose.”

The guy smiles again, large and bright, and Louis wonders if everyone smiles as often as this guy does. “Aw, don’t worry. Happens to the best of us – but, like, do you want me to carry that for you? It looks a little heavy and I noticed you limping, so –”

Louis immediately hands the boy his basket, and sighs with relief as the heavy basket is no longer a burden for him. The boy takes it with a smile.

“Awesome! Need help with anything else?” he asks, helpfully – not sarcastically as Matt always has, or spitefully, but genuinely as if he’s really trying to help Louis. Louis’ not sure how he feels about it.

“U-um, could you show me where the medicines and bandages are? Or y-you could point me in the direction, I don’t w-wanna be a bother,” Louis stutters, his eyes flickering from his shoes to the boy – Harry, his nametag reads.

The guy – Harry – smiles again, and wow does he even stop? It’s making Louis uncomfortable. “No worries, mate! It’s not that far, but I’ll show you if you like?”

Louis nods and Harry smiles for what seems to be the millionth time that day and walks next to Louis, and Louis follows, limping behind. When Harry’s standing next to him, the height difference in very noticeable; Harry towers over Louis, but not the way that Matt does – in a friendly way, like a benevolent giant, or something.

“So! I’m Harry,” Harry begins. Louis nods simply. “And you are?”

“U-um. Louis.”

“Louis,” Harry repeats. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Louis.” Wow. Is the guy for real?

Louis doesn’t say anything, but keeps limping, screaming out in pain internally.

“So, Louis. How’s your Wednesday going so far?” Harry asks pleasantly. Okay, this guy is taking the piss now, Louis’ certain. Nobody is this chipper, surely.

Louis shrugs and hums noncommittally, doing his best not to actually have to say anything, because his throat feels like hell and breathing is challenge enough, opposed to actually having a conversation.

Harry, however, is not deterred by Louis’ seemingly apparent lack of interest in the conversation, but he smiles and continues talking. “Wednesday’s have never been my favourite days, y’know? They’re smack bang in the middle of the work week – it’s like you’re so close to the weekend, but so far, right?”

Louis’ at a total loss for words, so in lieu of an intelligent response, he nods. Harry doesn’t continue talking.

As they plod along side by side, Louis’ eyes are fixed on the floor, allowing him only to see his feet, Harry’s feet and Harry’s large hands that swing by his sides as he walks.

Occasionally, when he thinks that Harry’s not looking, he glances quickly at Harry to get a better look at his face and –

Harry’s face is the epitome of youthful innocence; a constant smile etched across his face, full pink lips, wonderfully green mossy eyes, endearing dimples and a heedful of curls that’s kept in place by a poorly tied scarf, but it seems to work. Louis is entirely committed and in love with his boyfriend, but he allows himself to admit that Harry is rather attractive.

He doesn’t dwell on it for long.

“Here we are!” Harry exclaims, stopping suddenly as they arrive at their destination. “For all your medical type stuff thingy needs.” He grins, wide, bright and unashamed, and Louis just - wow.

Louis nods as if to say thanks and limps into the aisle, his eyes immediately scanning the shelves for pain relief and heat balms. As Louis does so, Harry’s immediately by his side like a fucking needy puppy, smiling at Louis.

“Do you need anything else?”

Louis shakes his head no.

“Are you sure? You see, I've always prided myself on being super helpful and stuff –”

“I said no,” Louis bites out as harshly as he can manage, and honestly, his tone surprises him. It’s as clipped and as callous and Matt’s usually is, and Louis wonders if he’s picked up his mannerisms from being around him all the time.

Harry doesn’t even falter, though. “Okay, sure. If you do though, I won’t be far away. Don’t hesitate to shout!”

Louis nods and Harry shuffles down the aisle, away from Louis. Louis releases a breath he didn’t know realise he was holding in, but his ribs crack and his chest aches and he remembers he’s in agonizing pain and if he doesn’t get any medication soon –

Pain killers, swelling reduction, heat balm, pain relief, pain relief, pain relief –

His eyes catch a glimpse of bandages and a heat balm that are placed on the top shelf. Louis looks up at them in frustration and inwardly curses his short stature, but he gets on his tippy toes as painlessly as he can manage, stretching his arms and his fingers to try and grasp the items, but he sighs in annoyance when he can’t even reach the shelf. He
tries time and time again, falling short and he’s seriously considering climbing up the shelves to reach it.

“Um,” Harry’s voice comes from behind him. “I saw you trying to reach the stuff, so, like. D'you need any help?”

Louis turns quickly to face Harry, but suddenly realises that his injuries are exposed, so he looks at the ground again, averting his eyes and nodding minutely. “Y-yeah. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Harry barely even stretches his arm as he grabs the bandages and heat balm before handing them to Louis. “No trouble whatsoever.”

Louis looks us through his eyelashes to see Harry smiling softly down at him and Louis shakily returns the smile, looking upward and stupidly, stupidly forgetting his bruises. Harry’s expression goes from gentle happiness to shock to concern in seconds, and Louis’ eyes widen almost comically before he grabs the basket out of Harry’s hand, puts the medication in the basket and pulling his hoodie further over his face before trying as best as he can to make a speedy exit.

Fuck, he scolds himself. Keep your head down. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t let them ask questions. It’s not worth it – you’re not worth the time, trouble or effort. You don’t need pity. You’re not a victim.

Harry follows after him, catching up with him with a few strides. He grabs Louis’ arm, and even through its gentle, Louis hisses in pain and rips his arm away from Harry’s grip and tries to continue getting away from Harry, because he’s sure he’s going to start asking questions, and that leads to a whole bunch of bullshit that Louis cannot be arsed to deal
with on a Wednesday.

“Louis, wait,” Harry calls, moving to stand in front of Louis, effectively stopping Louis from advancing further. Louis keeps his gaze fixed on his still blood-splattered vans and Harry’s tattered riding boots.

“Move out of my way.”

“No,” Harry refuses. “Well, I will, but –” He stops himself and opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if he’s trying to figure out the right words to say. “Um. Why are you - uh.” He flounders to finish the sentence.

“I don’t have time for this,” Louis sighs, trying to move past Harry, but Harry sidesteps him. Louis doesn’t actually have anywhere to go in a hurry, but the inner hypochondriac in him is fretting is Matt going to come home randomly and find me not there? Oh god, what if he’s there now? Fuck, fuck, fuck –

“Look at me, please,” Harry asks, his voice soft and gentle. “Please.”

Louis scoffs and nudges past Harry, limping out of the aisle and towards the checkouts. He’s got what he’s come for, so there’s no point in talking to far too friendly shopping assistants and making idle conversation. The sooner he can pay, the sooner he can go home, take the medication, do the strenuous chores and rest, because everything is taking
a colossal amount of energy and he’s so exhausted from the pain and fatigue of standing upright, he could faint where he stands.

It takes him a little longer getting to the self-service checkouts, what with the heavy basket still in his grip, but he pays and begins to hobble out of the mini supermarket, he sees Harry lingering at the shelves at the door, his eyes flickering between the magazines he’s sorting out to Louis. Louis rolls his eyes and sighs exasperatedly. Why can’t people just mind their own damn business?

He is not a fucking victim.

He walks out and back home, head down, medicine and pain killers acquired.

He doesn’t think about green eyes.

Chapter Text

Four

After a week, Louis finds, the pain doesn’t fully subside, but he’s more mobile and it doesn’t make him want to die every time he breathes, so. Things are improving.

He wakes up every morning – aching, but less agonizing as it as previously – and inspects his bruises And each morning, he discovers, the bruises pale; the ones on his neck have faded so that they’re barely noticeable, as the ones on his wrist are; his torso, however, is still a dark shade of mauves and indigos, but they are disappearing, nevertheless, and that’s all Louis can hope for.

But - he lives in a state of constant anxiety. He’s always bracing himself for the slap or the offhand comment that will come out of nowhere. He’s waiting for Matt to yell at him, or to shove him against a wall, to tell him you’re so fucking useless or absolutely pathetic or you know that I’m the only person who’s going to love you like this, right? No one else would want to put up with a sorry excuse for a boyfriend like you.

But, they never come.

And Matt remains somewhat distant. Louis’ not sure if it’s because of something he did wrong – because, knowing Matt, there’s alwayssomething that Louis has done wrong – but Matt can’t seem to look at him. Whenever he’s home – which is infrequent, Louis notices; he’s always stumbling into the flat in the early hours of the morning - he can’t even stay in the same room for ten minutes before muttering something under his breath, sighing and then leaving. It always leaves Louis in a state of confusion and his heart always sinks to his stomach, because is he that disgusting? Is he that hideous to be in a room with? 

He tries not to cry himself to sleep.

(He really does try, but he’s not a victim.)

+

“I’m going out of London for bit,” Matt says suddenly one day as he readjusts his tie in the mirror, looking at Louis, who stands in the doorway to their bedroom.

“Oh,” is all Louis can think to reply. “Um. For how long?”

“A couple of days,” Matt replies, turning to face Louis. His face is neutral and passive, and it’s slightly unnerving for Louis. “Some place in Manchester, I think.” 

There’s a small suitcase by his feet and his keys, phone and wallet are in his back pocket.

Louis nods, keeping his averting his eyes from Matt’s. Matt walks over to Louis and gently raises his chin so they’re eyes are level, and Louis’ braced for a slap or something, but what he’s not prepared for is Matt’s lips pressed against his, gently and carefully as if Louis is made out of glass, and he’s careful not to break it.

(It’s incredibly ironic, Louis thinks, because Matt’s broken Louis already.)

Louis squeaks in surprise, but melts into the kiss. He didn’t realise how much he craved gentle, loving touches.

“You know I love you, right?” Matt says it sweetly, but in a way that Louis can’t help but respond positively to, so he nods and gives his boyfriend a soft smile.

“I know you do,” Louis promises.

“I do what I do -” Corporal punishment, not abuse, not abuse, not abuse, Louis thinks, “- because I love you. You know that, yeah?”

Louis nods again.

“Good. You love me too, right?” This time, there’s an evident edge to his tone, and 

Louis doesn’t want to break Matt’s calm streak, so he nods but Matt frowns at Louis’ agreement.

“I want to hear you say it,” he orders, and Louis looks up through his eyelashes to meet Matt’s hardened glare.

“I love you, Matt. I do,” Louis promises as earnestly as he can, as if he’s desperately trying to convince Matt (and himself) and Matt smiles, appeased.

“Alright. Well. I’ll, um. Call you tonight, I suppose.”

Louis nods and looks at his feet again, and Matt awkwardly pats his shoulder and pushes past Louis with his suitcase in tow, walks out of the flat and shuts the door with a sounding thud. Louis deflates as soon as he hears the sound. He feels like a weight has been lifted of his chest, like he can breathe without having to look over his shoulder to see if what he did was wrong or if he’s upset Matt.

He feels so free, in fact, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

For the first hour or so of his temporary freedom, he cleans the house because it’s all he really knows how to do, to be honest. He dusts and polishes and tides and rearranges and scrubs and vacuums until his fingers ache and his muscles are sore. The flat is even more spotless that it ever has been, and Louis has a false sense of achievement, but –

He feels - well. Empty, sort of.

Without Matt being around to order him around, he realises he doesn’t do anything, if it’s not for Matt. He almost doesn’t have any time to himself to do anything he enjoys, and –

It’s - it’s kind of sad, if he’s honest.

(For fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even have a favourite TV show.)

So, he just sits.

He flops on the couch, turns on the TV so he doesn’t feel so alone, and he just exists. He doesn’t watch anything, he just sinks into the sofa cushions and stares blankly ahead of him for God knows how long.

He’s never felt more alone than he does now.

It’s not like he has any friends to keep him company, though, and the realisation of the harsh reality causes his heart to drop into his stomach. He lost contact with them after Matt more or stopped him from talking to them, texting them, meeting up with them. They all eventually drifted off and their companionship faded into nothingness. God, he hasn’t even called seen or heard from his family in almost a year.

Apart from the soft sounds playing from the TV, the silence is deafening.

+

He’s not sure what time he snaps out of his depressive mindset-slash-reverie, but the streetlamps are flickering on outside, flooding the streets below in artificial yellow lighting.

In his solitude, Louis has been left alone with his thoughts, lost in his mind, trying to keep track of all the innermost feelings and emotions bouncing around his brain. His mind drifts to his life before Matt. His life in Donny, laying out in the park with a football in his lap and Stan smoking next to him, cigarette in his hand and a beer in the other.

(He doesn’t think of green eyes.)

He thinks about his friends; Niall – fuck, how he misses his loud guffaws and his blue eyes and his infectious happiness. He thinks of Liam and his brown eyes and comforting hugs on cold winter days way back when, and his brown eyes and –

Zayn.

Zayn.

He has Zayn’s number.

He scrambles off the couch in search of the number that was scribbled on a crumpled napkin that’s probably stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans that is somewhere in the flat, clinging onto the sliver of a hope that he at least has one friend left.

He practically tears his room apart in search for his jeans, but he finds them in a heap the bottom of his wardrobe, and he almost cries with relief when he finds the napkin with 555-0125 – Z! (: call me, lou xx scrawled on the back.

With shaking fingers, he presses the numbers into his phone and presses it to his ear, his heartbeat picking up each time the phone dial tone sounds.

“Hello?”

“Zayn,” Louis breathes in relief, “oh my god, you picked up.”

“Louis?” Zayn asks, voice tentative,“is that you, mate?”

“Yeah,” he replies, voice thick with tears, “Yeah, ‘s me.”

Zayn releases what sounds like a sigh of relief, too, into the phone. “Fuck, you actually called. Didn’t think you would to be honest.”

“Is that Louis?” comes a familiar Irish accent from the background, and Louis heart stutters. “Put ‘im on speaker, Zee!”

“Is Niall there?” he asks, his voice shaking, threatening to crack with tears.

“Yeah, he came back from Ireland today. He’s been a little shit, eating all the food in the fridge,” Zayn jests.

“His appetite hasn’t changed, then,” Louis jokes, happy tears running down his cheeks. Fuck, how he missed them. “Is Li there?”

“Yeah, he’s here. Do you wanna talk to him?”

“I wanna talk to all of you,” Louis laughs through the tears, “It’s just – fuck, I miss you all so much.”

“WE MISS YOU TOO, LOU!” Niall shouts, causing a smile – a genuine smile – to grace Louis’ face.

“Louis!” comes Liam’s voice through the receiver. “You actually called!”

“Why does everyone have so little faith in me?” Louis teases.

“I dunno, maybe because you disappeared off the face of the fucking earth for a year,” Niall replies, and guilt tugs at Louis’ stomach.

“Yeah...sorry about that,” he apologises, “it’s just – you know. Was busy.”

“With the boyfriend, we know, Lou,” Zayn teases.

“Oh yeah, forgot Lou actually has a boyfriend,” Niall calls from the background. “What’s his name again? Martin?”

“Matt,” Liam corrects. “You remember – big lad. Rich and kept smacking Louis’ arse when they first met.”

“Oh yeah,” Niall says. “Jesus, Lou, you’re still with him?”

“Yeah,” Louis says carefully, unsure where the conversation is going. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno,” Niall muses, “didn’t know you two would last so long.” The comment is offhand, but Louis is hurt all the same. What, is he not good enough? Do his friends think he’s incompetent or something?

“Oh,” Louis manages to squeaks, his stomach knotting again.

Zayn, being ever observant as Louis remembers him to be, picks up on Louis’ tone and chides Niall. “Ni, stop being a twat – just because no one will date you.”

“Oi, lemme tell ya, I’m a fuckin’ ace boyfriend.”

“Is that why you’re still single, then?” Liam muses on Louis behalf.

“I’m single because we only ever go to gay bars, you twats,” Niall huffs, “me and that girl who works at the bowling alley– Barbara, I think? - would be shaggin’ me by now, but no, you have to drag me to your dark clubs filled with man smell and penis shaped straws.”

Louis laughs again, despite himself. Fuck, he misses them.

“Well then, how about we go there t’night and you and her can flirt till your heart’s content,” Zayn suggests, laughing.

“I say that we better, or I’m gonna hide all your lube again,” Niall singsongs. “Lou, you should come along too!”

“Oh, I dunno,” Louis says hesitantly. “Not sure I’ll be much fun.”

“Bullshit, Louis William Tomlinson, you’re buckets of fun and we haven’t seen you in an eternity so you’re fucking coming,” Zayn instructs, and his tone is so similar to Matt’s that it almost causes Louis to flinch.

“I’m not sure–”

“Louis, I will fight you,” Liam teases. “I will, I swear to God.”

Louis feels his resolve crumbling. “Fine. When are we meeting up?”

Louis can almost hear Zayn beaming through the phone. “Ace, mate! Say – I dunno – seven-ish?”

Louis glances at the clock that reads half-six.

“We’ll see you there, yeah?”  Zayn’s voice is soft. Hopeful.

“Of course, Zee. I miss you, and the others. So much,” Louis adds quietly, vowing to himself that he won’t let tears fall again.

Zayn sighs before replying. “We miss you too, you wanker. See you there,” and he hangs up.

Louis feels slightly less alone.

+

Louis gets to the bowling alley at seven on the dot. He’s waiting outside in the cold November air, watching his breath dance in the breeze before it’s swept away.

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, wringing his hands together as he looks out for his friends and his stomach is flipping and knotting like mad. He can’t help that he’s nervous – it’s been an entire year since he’s seen them, let alone hang out with them without Matt telling him what to do. He’s so afraid of looking like an idiot, of making a fool out of himself. God knows he does that without even trying, he thinks self deprecatingly.

(Matt tells him he does, anyway.)

He’s about to go inside – the cold is chilling the skin off his bones – when someone grabs him from behind. Louis jerks away from the touch and yelps in shock and agony, shying away from the touch and fuck, his bruises are throbbing and aching like hell. He’s trembling as he curls in on himself, hoping that whoever’s about to beat him up will do it fast.

“Lou?”

Louis looks up through his lashes to see Niall staring at him with an incredulous look on his face, head tilted.

“Y’alright, mate?”

Louis slowly uncurls himself and tries to calm himself down – in, out. In out – nodding shakily as he tries to smile at Niall. “Yeah, yeah. M’fine, you just – scared me a bit.”

Niall shrugs and walks forward, pulling Louis into a tight hug and Louis does his best not to whimper in pain. “C’mere, you fucker,” Niall says, squeezing Louis tighter, “I think I deserve a hug. Who t’fuck d’ya think y’are? Droppin’ off the face of the fuckin’ earth without as much as a goodbye. The very nerve, Louis Tomlinson!”

“Let go of him, Niall, you’ll kill him,” Zayn says from behind them, and Niall releases him, revealing a beaming Zayn and Liam, hand in hand. Louis probably got new bruises on top of the old ones and the pain is subsiding, until Zayn and Liam tackle him into another crushing hug, and Louis feels like he could pass out from the pain.

“I-I’m gonna need you to let go, now,” Louis gasps in pain, “I- c-can’t breathe –”

They release him, and Louis feels less suffocated and in pain. They’re all beaming at him, smiles wide and dazzling, and Louis has sink his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from crying. Fuck, he’s missed them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “I’ve missed you lot so much.”

“N’aw,” Niall croons, “we’ve missed you too, Boo Bear.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “I have not missed that hideous nickname.”

Zayn playfully punches him on the shoulder, and Louis winces. He doesn’t remember them being so physical with him. “You love it, I know you do.”

“Filthy lies, Malik,” Louis manages, rubbing his shoulder.

“Well, we could stay out here and freeze our balls off exchanging pleasantries,” Liam begins, “or, we could go inside and I could beat you  all at bowling and make you cry.”

Niall snorts, swinging open the door. “In your dreams, Payno.”

Louis follows them inside, instantly greeted by a blast or warm air, the happy shrieks of children and the background rumble of people talking, and he relaxes instantly. It feels so natural being around other people who are having a good time. He used to be really social and outgoing before he and Matt got together and before Matt put restrictions on Louis’ social activity – before they got to where they are now – but now, Louis feels like he can finally breathe.

God, how he’s missed this.

Niall makes his way over to the front desk to pay for a lane, and winks at the girl working there. Barbara, Louis thinks, as he watches Niall flirt with her, wiggling his eyebrows as he laughs and blushes. He walks back with four pairs of shoes balanced precariously balanced in his arms and a smug grin stretched across his face.

“Told you she was fuckin’ into me,” Niall winks as he hands the lads their shoes. “Did I not tell you? I told you. Louis, I told them, didn’t I?”

“Congratulations, Niall, do you want an award?” Zayn teases as he pulls on his shoes.

“I would actually, if you didn’t mind,” Niall quips back as he does the same, and yeah, Louis’ really missed it all.

“Yes, yes, playful banter and the like, but can we play now?” Liam pouts petulantly, and Zayn kisses him exaggeratedly on the cheek, making Liam smile and Niall gag.

“Yes, love,” Zayn singsongs, grabbing Liam’s hand and dragging them towards their lane, “we can play now.”

Louis watches on, pleased for them. They fit each other so well. They remind him of how he and Matt used to be, before – well.

He represses those memories.

“Absolutely disgusting,” Niall says beside him, bringing Louis out of his mind, “I’ve been the third wheel for a year now, so now you get to endure my pain too.”

“Aw, leave them, Niall,” Louis says as he watches Liam wrap his arms around Zayn’s middle whilst Zayn tries to bowl, “it’s cute.”

“It’s sickening,” Niall corrects as they begin to walk over. “You don’t have to hear them fuckin’ all the time, now do you?”

“No, but –”

Niall cuts him off by shaking his head. “Exactly! So come talk to me about how ‘cute’ they are when you hear Zayn moaning like a bloody pornstar.”

Louis laughs, loudly and unabashedly. Yeah, he’s really missed them.

+

They’re halfway through the game now. Niall is pissed of his head, stumbling about and the like, but he’s actually winning, somehow. Louis, who’s buzzed, but not as drunk, isn’t exactly sure how Niall’s managed to take the lead, but he thinks that it’s probably something to do with Liam and Zayn only having eyes for each other and Louis being absolutely shit at it.

Niall bowls and gets yet another strike – at this point, Louis’ stopped questioning Niall’s skill – and it’s Louis’ turn to bowl but he’s feeling so relaxed and cosy that he could sink into the wooden benches and sleep.

“C’mon, Lou, s’your turn!” Niall slurs, plonking himself down next to Louis. “Go on, have another go! Humour me!”

Louis giggles, and lolls his head to the side, blinking slowly and languidly and decides he really does like beer. He can see why Matt loves it so much. “Nope, I shan’t,” Louis whispers before dissolving into giggles.

“Louis, you lightweight,” Zayn laughs from Liam’s lap. “You’ve only had two beers and you’re drunk already.”

Louis shrugs before giggling again, putting his head on Niall’s shoulder. “I feel floaty.”

“You’re wankered,” Liam deadpans.

Louis shakes his head. “Nuh – uh. I’m buzzed, Liam.”

“I think we should get you home, mate,” Zayn says, standing up and walking over to Louis, but Louis shakes his head vehemently in protest.

“No,” he pouts, “I haven’t seen you guys for so long and I don’t want the night to be over yet.”

“Louis, you’re probably going to end up falling asleep on me if we don’t get you home,” Niall says beside him. He stands up, pulling Louis up with him.

“Carry me, Niall,” Louis whispers, throwing his arms around Niall and burying his face into Niall’s neck. Niall is so warm and cuddly, Louis thinks.

Niall shimmies out of Louis’ grasp, causing Louis to whine at the lack of contact. 

“Nope, you’re a big boy, Lou,” he laughs, and he smacks Louis playfully – but oh, so hard - on the chest and this time, Louis cries out in pain, earning concerned looks from a couple of other bowlers, and he collapses back onto the bench. Pain shoots through his nerves and he’s in so much agony that this vision whites out for a moment before he’s brought back into reality, clutching his chest and breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling.

“Lou, y’alright?” Niall says tentatively from above him. Louis gasps out in pain again, speech and words evading him, because Louis’ brain is screaming pain, pain, pain, bruises,  bruises –

“Niall, what the fuck?” Zayn hisses, sitting next to Louis and wiping the tears off his face that Louis didn’t even realise were falling.

“I didn’t even hit him that hard! It was barely a tap!” Niall defends, trying to console Louis also, but Louis flinches away from Niall and retreats into himself. He shouldn’t have come out. He’s such a fucking idiot – he’s stupid, stupid, stupid and Matt was right, so right –

“Shit, do you think there’s a mark or a bruise?” Liam says, trying to calm Louis down and quieten his sobs.

“I didn’t think I hit him that hard, Jesus –”

“Louis, do you think you can come to the loos with me?” Zayn whispers to Louis, carding his fingers through Louis’ feathery hair, and Louis nods, shakily getting to his feet and walking with Zayn to the bathroom.

The bathrooms stink of piss and grease, but thankfully, they’re empty. Louis’ still sobbing and Zayn’s dabbing the tears off his cheeks, still trying to calm him, but fuck, he’s in an unspeakable amount of pain.

“Let’s inspect the damage Nialler’s done, shall we?” Zayn says, kissing Louis’ forehead and lifting the hem of Louis’ shirt, and Louis doesn’t realise what Zayn’s doing until his shirt is almost raised completely off him, and he makes a wild scramble to cover his hideous bruises, but –

“Louis,” Zayn gasps, his eyes widening as they fall on Louis’ black and blue torso, flitting over every centimetre of skin. “What – how – Louis.”

“It’s not what you think,” Louis begins to lie, pushing down his shirt, “there was a bar fight a couple nights back, and –”

“Who did this to you?” Zayn whispers, still blinking in shock.

“It’s really not that bad, Zayn –”

“Not that bad?  Louis – ya ilahi – someone’s fucking beaten you black and blue! I can’t even see your actually skin, fucking hell,” Zayn spits with such venom, that Louis recoils. “Louis. Who did this to you?”

Louis considers spilling all of it to Zayn. He considers pouring his heart out in a grotty bathroom in a shitty bowling alley on a cold night in Camden and then sobbing his heart out whilst Zayn cuddles him and tells him it’ll be alright, but –

Matt. Louis has Matt, and he loves Matt, and everything is okay.

“It’s nothing,” Louis growls, storming past Zayn, but Zayn catches his elbow as he’s about to leave and pulls Louis back.

“No, it’s definitely something, Louis Tomlinson, and you’re gonna fucking tell me.” 

Zayn’s stare is so penetrating, so knowing¸ that Louis almost caves. Louis opens his mouth to protest when realisation washes over Zayn’s face and he looks back into Louis’ eyes, desperately as if he’s searching for the truth in Louis’ eyes.

“Louis,” Zayn begins slowly, carefully, “did – fuck – did Matt do this to you?”

Yes. “No.”

“Louis.”

“Zayn.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You’re avoiding the question. Did Matt do this to you? And don’t bullshit me, Lou.” Zayn’s voice cracks on the last word, and Louis eyes well with tears.

Louis flounders for a response. He – he can’t lie to Zayn. “I – I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Louis whispers, deflating with a sigh. “I don’t want Matt to get into trouble.”

Zayn sighs with relief, pulling Louis into his arms, and Louis wraps his arms around Zayn and sinks into the touch. “Z-zayn?”

“Yeah, Louis?”

“How did –erm, how did you know?”

Zayn runs his fingers through the soft hair at the base of Louis neck, rocking him slightly in his arms before he replies. “It’s not like I justknew,” Zayn begins, “but – I just remember that he could be really controlling, I suppose? Like, I knew back then that you didn’t think that any of us noticed – Li and Niall probably didn’t – but I saw...I saw how he would hold your hand a little too tight and how his hand would brace around your shoulder, and - fuck,” Zayn breathes, “and then you gradually stopped seeing us, and you’d tell us it was because you and Matt were doing something special, and – well. I suppose I put two and two together.”

They’re quiet for a little longer before Louis whispers into the darkness, “I still love him, you know.”

Zayn sighs despairingly. “I know you do, Lou. Wouldn’t expect you not to.”

Louis pauses. “I’m sorry.”

Zayn pulls back from their embrace and looks incredulously at Louis. “For what?”

Louis shrugs and hangs his head. “I’m just a bit of a mess, innit?”

Zayn tuts and gathers Louis in his arms again. “You’re not a mess. You’re still our Louis, aren’t you?” Louis smiles into Zayn’s skin and nods. “You’re coming to ours tonight, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna be a bother –”

“Fuck off, Louis, you’re never a bother,” Zayn chastises, smiling all the same. 

“You’re always welcome, yeah? Don’t forget that.”

Louis nods, but holds Zayn tighter. He doesn’t want their pity, just their companionship.

He’s not a victim.

Chapter Text

Five

Louis’ not sure how long he and Zayn stand in the bathroom. He cries silently on Zayn’s shoulder, freely letting the tears drip down his face and soak the fabric of Zayn’s shirt, whilst Zayn’s holds Louis, rubbing circles on his back and whispering it’ll be okay, Lou and we love you and let it all out, I don’t mind one bit.

Eventually, Louis dries his eyes and splashes his face with cold water to make it look like he didn’t spend God knows how long crying in the bathroom before Zayn leads him out. Niall and Liam are sitting where Zayn and Louis left them – Niall sitting on the bench biting his fingernails and Liam bouncing his knee and nibbling his lip. Both of the boys’ gaze snap up to Louis and Zayn, and Niall looks like he’s about to open his mouth and ask questions, but his eyes gloss over Louis’ blotchy face and red rimmed eyes, and he clamps his mouth shut.

“Lou’s coming home with us tonight,” Zayn says quietly, wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulder and Louis snuggles further into Zayn’s warm embrace. Liam’s eyebrows furrow as does Niall’s, but they both nod and say nothing.

“Well,” Niall begins, coughing slightly. “I’ll just – um. Get our shoes.” He sounds so broken and guilty that Louis’ heart breaks and he wants to assure Niall that nothing is his fault and that he shouldn’t be worried or feel bad or whatever, but his head is heavy as is his heart, and he’s so physically and emotionally exhausted that he can only just hold himself up.

Zayn nods and Niall hesitates before walking off to the front desk, throwing a concerned look over his shoulder as he goes. Louis sighs heavily and leans his head onto Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn presses a kiss to the hair on top of Louis head and holds Louis with a firmer grip, a protective arm slung around Louis shoulder, as if to shield him from the world. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Liam throwing Zayn a questioning and concerned look, but Zayn just shakes his head as if to say I’ll explain later. Liam frowns again, but he nods and smiles sadly at Louis, before placing a kiss on Louis forehead. Louis gives Liam a small smile and sighs again into Zayn’s shoulder.

He’s so grateful for his friends that it’s unfathomable.

Niall returns, shoes in hand. He’s wearing an extremely worried expression on his face every time his eyes fall on Louis. He looks like he’s about to rush to apologise for something, but every time he opens his mouth, the clamps it shut suddenly and averts his eyes. Louis wants to say something, he really does – but he’s just so overcome by fatigue, he can’t even muster a smile of reassurance.

The air surrounding them seems very thick and heavy with anguish and unanswered questions, but none of them acknowledge it. They simply pull on their shoes and Zayn helps Louis to his feet, helping him out of the door. Liam calls a cab, and they wait in the deafening silence, the cold evening air paling their skin and chilling their bones. Louis clutches to Zayn, Zayn clutches to Louis, Liam clutches to the silence, and Niall does the same.

No-one speaks.

The cab arrives and they all pile in; Liam scooting next to Zayn and Zayn next to Louis, whilst Niall immediately takes himself to the front seat. Louis thinks it’s because of Niall’s determination to not look at him, but he doesn’t ponder it for long because he falls asleep soon after the car begins to move.

+

It’s morning – the birds are chirping and the sky is bright outside the curtains – and Louis is not in his bed when he wakes up.

At first, he panics, wondering where he is and how he got there, but then he recognizes Liam and Zayn’s boots by the foot of the door, and Liam’s coat hanging off the edge of the bed, so he relaxes, the tension draining from his limbs.

He sits up in the bed, and swings his legs over the side. He’s aching a lot less, he finds when he stands up with little to no pain, and makes his way over to the door. 

The smell of pancakes wafts through the crack of the door that’s been left slightly ajar and his stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud grumble, so he walks out of the bedroom, still dressed in his clothes from last night, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely.

Liam, Zayn and Niall are all sitting on the couch, speaking in hushed tones, and their eyes immediately snap over to Louis standing in the doorway of the living room. Niall’s eyes widen and he diverts his eyes, casting them towards his hands in his lap. Liam clamps his mouth closed and Zayn gives Louis and awkward sort of smile.

“Good morning, Lou,” he begins with forced pleasantry, “did you sleep well?”

Louis’ brow furrows as he looks between the three of them, but he can’t help but notice something seems off. “Um. Alright, thanks. You?”

Zayn nods. “Good, thanks.” He stands up and gathers Louis in an uncomfortable hug, wrapping his arms around Louis’ wiry frame and Louis keeps his arms at his sides, not sure what to do with the recent abundance of physical contact. Zayn squeezes Louis a bit, and Louis hisses in pain, his bruises still quite raw, and Zayn immediately pulls back. “Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?”

Niall’s eyes snap up instantaneously, his blue eyes filled with worry, before he hastily stands up and rushes out of the room, muttering something about checking the breakfast.

Louis shakes his head. “Nah, you’re alright.”

Zayn nods, biting his lip. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He pauses. “Are you alright?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Zayn seems to pick up the hostility laced in Louis’ voice, so changes his protective-slash-worried demeanour for his usual chill, jokey self. “Cool, fine. Niall made pancakes and bacon, if you want anything.”

Louis nods and wriggles out of Zayn’s grip and walks towards the kitchen. Niall’s setting plates around the small table that’s situated in the middle of the room. His eyes meet Louis’ and Louis gives him a small, reassuring smile and Niall blinks before shaking his head and going back to setting the table.

“G’morning, Ni,” Louis begins, pleasantly enough. Niall looks at Louis again, nods, and walks over to the stove, hunching himself over it and frowning at the eggs. Louis’ brow creases and walks over to Niall, standing behind him and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Niall freezes, but continues frying the bacon, doing his best to ice out Louis. 

“Why’re you ignoring me?” Louis says, pouting. “Don’t you love me anymore?” He’s joking now, trying to get at least a smile out of Niall, but he’s greeted with a sad look and a heavy sigh.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Niall says, barely a whisper.

“You are,” Louis insists, “you’ve not said a word to me all morning, and if I remember correctly, you’re a strong believer in morning cuddles.”

Niall sighs again. “I just – I don’t wanna hurt you.” His voice is so small and fragile, totally unlike his usual loud, uncaring self.

“You won’t hurt me,” Louis promises.

Niall still looks unsure. “Yeah, but –”

“Niall, it’s okay,” Louis says, trying to calm him. “Don’t be so worried.” Louis presses a kiss onto Niall’s cheek and Niall deflates visibly before nodding and smiling slightly. Louis grins, too, appeased.

Liam and Zayn traipse into the kitchen and immediately sit down at the table. 

They’re still talking in hushed tones and Liam occasionally glances over at Louis, frowns and then turns his gaze back to Zayn, and something flips in Louis’ stomach.

He tries not to dwell on it.

He really does. He tries not to notice that when he’s eating, the other boys’ gazes are fixed on him, worried and concerned looks that Louis loathes. He’s not a fucking wounded puppy. He doesn’t need pity. He doesn’t need Niall offering to do something for him all the time. He doesn’t need Zayn’s constant questions about his wellbeing, and he sure as fuck doesn’t need those looks from Liam all the bloody time.

He’s not a fucking victim, and they need to stop looking at him like he’s one.

Liam goes to say something to Zayn again, and Louis snaps, slamming his fork down and glaring at Liam. “Anything to say, Liam?”

Liam’s eyes widen and his gaze flickers from Zayn to Louis in rapid succession, swallowing heavily before he answers, “Um. No?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “Bullshit. You two have been playing Chinese Whispers all morning, and I think I speak for not only myself, but also for Niall when I ask is there something you’d like to tell all of us? Please, Liam, do enlighten me.” Louis has no idea when he got so snarky and sarcastic, and usually he would bite his tongue, but he has a lot of emotions, damn it, he’s allowed to be a little pissed off.

Liam flounders. “Well, um. I –“ he sighs. “Zayn was just, um. Telling me what you told him in the, erm, bathrooms yesterday.”

Louis’ attitude and hot anger has vanished suddenly and it’s quickly replaced by a sinking feeling and nothing but regret. He shouldn’t have told Zayn, he knew he’d regret it, but – “Oh. Right.”

Liam nods slowly, seemingly gaining confidence. “Yeah. He told Niall and I this morning, before you woke up.”

Louis glares at Zayn through his eyelashes. “I told you that in confidence, Zayn.”

Zayn sighs heavily, and gives him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Lou – under other circumstances, I wouldn’t have –but. This is, um. A special circumstance.”

“It’s better we all know,” Niall chips in, “so, like, no one’s keepin’ secrets from each other, innit.”

Louis inwardly protests. No, it’s not better that they know, because Matt is going to find out somehow and I am going to get yelled at and I can’t take anything else, I simply can’t and –

“Louis,” Zayn’s voice cuts through Louis’ mind like a blade, “calm down, you’re shaking, mate.” Louis looks at his hands, which are trembling violently on the table. “Take a breath, yeah?”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. In, out.

In, out.

Louis opens his eyes slowly. Zayn reaches forward and places his hand gently on top of Louis, slowly running his thumb over the knuckle. “You’re okay, Lou.”

Louis would have been okay with Zayn saying that, but then Zayn gives him the most pitying look that’s probably ever existed and – he does not need pity.

Louis rips his hand away from Zayn’s grip and stands up quickly, knocking his chair back so it falls to the floor. Niall, Liam and Zayn stare up at Louis, confused and surprised, and Louis just can’t.

“Stop staring at me like I’m a fucking wounded puppy!” He yells, almost shaking with rage. “I’m not some sort of charity case and I’m not a fucking victim!”

“Lou –” Niall begins, but he’s cut off with a sharp glare from Louis.

“I am not a victim! Yes, sometimes Matt gets angry at me and yes sometimes he hits me, but I deserve it. It’s how our relationship works! And I don’t need you three – two of which that I’d just like to point out, are in a new fucking relationship, and the other who is single– to give me advice on how to handle my relationship!” Louis breathes out heavily through his nose, clenching his fists. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

The other boys all sit speechless, fish-mouthing at Louis, but before any of them can say anything, Louis storms out of the kitchen and grabs his wallet from the coffee table.

“Where the hell are you going?” Zayn yells, following Louis out of the kitchen. 

Louis scoffs and makes his way towards the front door, but Zayn blocks the exit.

“Move.”

“No. Where are you going?”

“Sainsbury’s,” Louis answers truthfully with a sigh. Zayn raises a questioning eyebrow and Louis just scoffs again and pushes past him. “I don’t need to explain anything to you.”

“Yes, you bloody well do, Louis, now come back here! –” Zayn yells, but Louis doesn’t hear the rest of what he says, because he’s slamming the front door and bounding down the stairs.

He’s fuming as he walks out the doors to the complex and storming down the street, eyes down and fists clenched. He hates that they were looking at him like he’s broken and fragile. He’s not. It’s how Matt and his relationship works, and –

Matt’s in charge and Louis isn’t. Isn’t that how all relationships work, right?

(Right?)

Louis snags a basket as he stomps into the Sainsbury’s, making a beeline for the ice-cream aisle. In his past experience, ice cream is incredibly therapeutic and Louis craves something sweet on his tongue, something with which he can curl up and ignore the world with.

He opens one of the freezers and grabs three cartons of Ben & Jerry’s Cooke Dough – he has a high affinity for the stuff, don’t judge him – and he doesn’t even think about the calories that he will consume, because at this point, he’s 100% apathetic to everything and everyone.

As he closes the door to the freezer, he steps back quickly and clumsily knocks into someone, dropping his basket in the process and scattering the ice cream on the floor. He goes to retrieve the basket, but someone is there quicker, picking up the ice cream and placing it in back into the basket. Louis looks up to see who’s helping him and – oh, of course it’s Harry.

The Universe won’t give him a fucking break, will they?

“Sorry,” Harry rushes to apologise, picking up the basket, “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I’m super clumsy.”

Louis just sighs and takes the basket from Harry. “It’s fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going either, so it’s just as much my fault as it is yours.”

Harry looks up as he recognises Louis’ voice and he smiles when his suspicious are correct. “Oh, Louis! It’s you!”

Louis raises and eyebrow. “Oh, so it is,” he says, deadpan and wryly.

“And your face is better!” Harry says enthusiastically. Harry’s beaming at him, dimples and all, positively ecstatic that Louis’ face isn’t bashed in, and –

Louis’ not sure how he feels about it.

Louis blinks, before nodding slowly. “Observant one, you are.”

Harry’s smile seems to falter a bit before he’s spurting out thousands of apologies. “Sorry, was that out of line? I mean, I don’t really have that much of a brain to mouth filter, and –”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Louis cuts in, picking up his basket and making his way out of the aisle, thinking he’s leaving Harry behind him, but no,Harry decides to walk next to Louis, his curls bouncing as he walks.

“So!” Harry chirps, and Louis inwardly groans, “How are you?”

Louis looks at Harry incredulously. Literally, nobody is this cheery all the time. He’s got to be on ecstasy or something, because a smile as wide as that simply cannot be genuine. “Um. I’m fine.”

Harry grins wider, if possible. “That’s great! Do you wanna hear a joke? Well, it’s a bit shit, but I wanna say it anyway, ‘cause it made me laugh loads.”

“Not really,” Louis says wryly, trying to make himself seem as aloof as possible, because Harry is bright and warm like sunshine, Louis is like heavy rain clouds, and Harry’s constant smile is somewhat off putting and disconcerting.

“Nah,” Harry grins, undeterred, “I’m gonna get a smile out of you before you leave, I swear on Herbert’s life.”

“Herbert?”

“My cacti,” Harry says nonchalantly, as if it’s a totally normal thing to say to a stranger. “Herbert James Styles VI. All the others died, so.” He pauses. “It’s a shame, really. Contrary to popular belief, they were quite good cuddlers and listeners.”

Louis can’t help but crack the tiniest of smiles. Harry is a fucking dork.

Harry notices and points at Louis, beaming and hopping in glee. “See! I told you I’d  make you smile, didn’t I? I did!” Harry’s positivity is so infectious that Louis almost laughs.

 Almost.

Harry continues nattering on as Louis makes his way to the self checkouts. He tells Louis numerous bad puns that makes Louis groan and Harry crack up laughing. Louis is very much intrigued and frightened by Harry. It’s weird that way – Harry has the personality of a butterfly stuck on a pink marshmallow, but he towers over Louis and has biceps and huge hands – like Matt, he thinks in the back of his mind – that could do a huge amount of damage. He just –

He doesn’t know what to feel about Harry.

Louis finishes paying for his (probably half melted) ice cream and bags them, Harry still animatedly talking. (The topic is now about his goldfish called Doris, who – apparently – is a wonderful listener. Even better than Herbert, Harry admits to Louis, but Harry makes Louis pinkie swear – pinkie swear, for fucks sake – that Louis won’t tell a soul. Louis obliges anyway.)>

“Are you feeling better now, Louis?” Harry asks, as Louis picks up one of his shopping bags. Louis raises a questioning eyebrow, so Harry continues, “it’s just – I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a bit – I dunno - down? Like, when you walked in, so.”

Louis feels a smile tug at his lips. “Is that so?”

Harry smiles, revealing is dimples as he nods, his curls bouncing. “Yup! I made it my personal mission to cheer you up.”

Louis doesn’t tell him that it’s going to take a lot more than tall, gangly shop assistants to cheer him up.

So, he just gives Harry a small smile. “Well, um. Thanks, I guess.” Louis begins to walk out the store, when Harry calls to him.

“Have a great day, Louis!”

Louis bites back a smile and makes his way back to Liam, Zayn and Niall’s apartment with a bit of a bounce in his step.

Chapter Text

Six

All of Louis’ light heartedness and weightlessness if forgotten the second he stands outside the door of Zayn, Liam and Niall’s shared flat.

He knocks on the door once and Niall swings it open, immediately inviting Louis inside. Hesitantly, Louis does so, clutching the shopping bag in one hand and clenching the other.

Zayn is sat on the couch with Liam, both of them with stoic impressions carved into their features, and honestly, Louis would be lying if he said that there wasn’t an atmosphere of tension around them. A cloud of unspoken words and unease hung over their heads like an omnipresent fog, lingering and heavy.

Louis’ mouth is clamped shut and Zayn’s jaw is clenched, but no one says anything until Liam breaks the silence with an awkward sort of cough.

“Louis,” he shakily and gently begins, “we know that we may have, um, pissed you off a bit earlier –”

Louis actually scoffs at this. “Really? Just a little bit?”

Zayn glares at him, his honey brown eyes burning holes in Louis’ cerulean ones. “Let him say his peace, for God’s sake,” he hisses, and Louis doesn’t think about how much Zayn’s voice resembles Matt, so he relents, sagging his shoulders a bit.

“Right,” Liam continues, “so. We know that you’re upset with us, but just know that we have your best interests at heart, yeah? We’re your friends, Louis. We love you loads, and –” He lets out a longsuffering sigh. “We’d do anything to keep you safe, yeah?”

Liam’s always been so gentle with Louis, always so level headed and calm. Louis loves that about Liam, how compassionate and willing he is, but –

But he just doesn’t want to be seen as some sort of helpless being who got himself into a stupid situation, and that he can’t do anything for himself, because he can – he bloody well can – and he’s not some fucking victim that they need to pity.

“I know that, Liam,” Louis begins in a small voice, “but – Matt loves me. I love him. We’re in love, and –” He cuts himself off. He doesn’t really know what to say next, because what is there to say? And he does it because he wants me to be perfect for him? And he does it because I’m a fuck up and I need someone to keep me in line?

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and breathes heavily through his nose. His chest feels tight and his lungs feel constricted by his ribcage.

In, out.

In, out.

“Louis,” Zayn says gently. “Mate.”

Louis opens his eyes again. “Can we just – can we leave it?” Louis’ almost pleading now, because he just wants ice cream and cuddles and for everything just to pause for a while. “Please.”

Zayn looks hesitant, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. Alright, Lou.”

Niall, who hasn’t said anything, shuffles up to Louis and hooks his chin over Louis shoulder and presses a kiss to Louis temple. “I say that we cuddle up on the sofa and watch Frozen. I think we could all do with arguably shitty Disney films.”

They all release a breathy sort of chuckle and the cloud of tension and awkwardness seems to have dissipated, and Louis is eternally grateful.

“S’good, ‘cause I’ve got three tubs of Ben and Jerry’s,” Louis adds, holding up the shopping bag, frowning at it. “They’ve probably melted now, though.”

“Gimme!” Niall yelps, grabbing the bag out of Louis’ hands and running to the kitchen.

Louis releases a breath he didn’t realise was trapped in his lungs. He’s glad that the previous not-really-but-almost conflict is soon forgotten, because he’s only just got his friends back, and he doesn’t want them to be lost so soon over something as silly and irrelevant as Matt sometimes hitting him.

It’s whatever. It’s unimportant. Completely and utterly irrelevant. Who cares?

It doesn’t matter, because he’s not a victim, and everything is fine.

It’s – it’s fine.

+

Some hours and three cartons of ice cream later, all four boys are squished on the couch, Niall’s trying to scrape the remnants of ice cream from the bottom of one carton, Liam’s dozing in and out of consciousness, Zayn’s complaining about how his he got no ice cream (and Niall counters that Zayn was not dedicated enough to eating it, so it’s his own dumb fault for being too patient and generous), and Louis is –

He’s comfortable, he thinks. He’s glad that he’s in the company of his somewhat estranged friends, and he’s definitely not thinking about the calories and fats and sugars he’s just consumed (even though there is a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he’s going to regret it later, but), and he thinks that Frozen is a good film, despite Niall’s passionate protests. He’s okay.

He’s not sure what time he falls asleep on the couch tangled in a copious amount of limbs, but the last thing he remembers is cuddling into Niall and Zayn complaining about Louis feet near his face before he falls into his slumber.

+

The next morning, everything seems to continue normally.

All of the boys are aching from their incredibly uncomfortable night tangled up on the couch – Louis woke when Niall’s toes were pressed against his cheek, and Liam screamed when he woke up because Niall had somehow managed to fart in his face – but all the struggles of their night were seemingly forgotten, as Liam made them all chocolate chip and bacon pancakes.

Louis declines breakfast, because his mind is screaming at him do you know how many calories there are in this? Think about how fat your stomach will look, how thick your thighs will get. Matt won’t want to fuck you anymore. He won’t love you, because you’re fat and disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. No one will want you, and he painfully watches his friends tuck in to the breakfast as Louis ignores the rumbling in his stomach, but –

He’s fine.

No one can really be bothered to clean up after breakfast, so they pile back into the living room and decide to watch the Batman Trilogy, whilst eating whatever remnants of junk food they have left, wrapped in thick blankets and huddled together.

Niall doesn’t stop talking and Liam throws anything in arms reach to get him to shut up, and it quickly escalates in a game of Hunt Niall and Bury Him Under The Furniture – and Louis even finds himself joining in and laughing along until his stomach hurts (and not just from the lack of food), and the bubbling feeling of happiness erupts in his stomach, and he doesn’t fight it. He lets himself enjoy his time with his friends, because he knows that it’s temporary. It’s a matter of time before they get bored or angry with him, and he has to go back to Matt and his punishments and the bruises, so he revels in the feeling of delightful weightlessness before it’s inevitably ripped from his grasp.

Aside from the aching burn of emptiness in his stomach, it’s yet another comfortable morning and afternoon with his friends – and yeah, he really does love being around them.

He’s alright.

+

He’s alright until Matt calls him later on.

The lads are finally cleaning up the kitchen, and Louis’ still on the couch, practically drowning in the warm blankets and savouring the last feelings of happiness, when he feels his phone vibrate against his leg. Sighing, he reaches down, pulls it out from under his thigh and looks at the screen, and –

 He feels the air leave his lungs as he sees Matt’s name flash on the screen.

His hands go clammy and his throat closes up and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.

He feels as if there’s a massive weight that’s settled on his chest, slowly crushing the life out of him, because his brain goes foggy and thick, his arms and fingers are numb and prickling – trembling, almost - and his chest is so tight and constricted that he feels so overwhelming breathless that he might pass out.

He’s such a fucking idiot. He knew that Matt was only going out of town for a couple of days and that he would inevitably have to leave the flat, but he’s so stupid, and asinine and idiotic that he so foolishly got caught up in the temporary bubble of happiness and comfort and love that his friends have provided and –

In, out.

In and out. Breathe in and out.

With shaking fingers, he presses the accept call button, and presses the phone to his ear, bracing himself for the impending abuse Matt will more than likely throw at him.

“H-hello?” Louis whispers, hesitant and shakily. “Matt?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Matt replies, his voice low and even and nothing makes Louis more nervous. Matt sounds dangerous, and his tone vaguely reminds Louis of a bomb that’s about to explode – the calm before the explosion.

“I-I’m, um,” Louis stutters, raking his mind for a feasible lie he can feed Matt. For the life of him, he cannot bring himself to admit that he’s at Zayn, Niall and Liam’s – he knows that Matt would go absolutely frenetic if he knew that Louis was with the very people that Matt’s repeatedly told Louis to stay away from. “I-I’m –”

“Spit it out, for God’s sake, Louis.”

Louis breathes heavily and opens his mouth to reply when Zayn pokes his head around the door and calls, “Lou! D’you want a cuppa? Niall’s making some!” And Louis squeezes his eyes shut and groans inwardly, because Zayn couldn’t have picked a more inopportune time to speak.

“No thanks,” Louis calls back, trying to make his voice sound a lot less fragile than he knows it is. Louis hears the kitchen door shut and he presses his phone back to his ear, only to hear Matt’s heavy breathing down the line.

It’s silent for a bit on both ends, until Matt breaks the silence. “Who,” he begins, “the fuck was that, Louis?” If Matt’s voice wasn’t dangerous, it sure as hell is now; growling and rumbling, low and calm and Louis’ heart is positively thundering now, beating heavy within his chest, and he can barely breathe.

“Nobody,” Louis rushes to say, “nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“That’s fucking bullshit, and I know it!” Matt yells, his voice booming down the line with such ferocity that Louis has to hold his phone away from his ear. “Don’t you dare lie to me, you fucking cunt. Who. The fuck. Was that?”

And Louis can’t help but tell the truth now. “It was Z-Zayn.”

“Zayn?” Matt spits. “Zayn?! That fucking Paki cunt?”

Louis flinches at Matt’s distasteful description of Zayn. He’s not sure where it comes from, but he feels a surge of confidence bubble within him, and he finds himself answering, “D-don’t call him that, p-please.”

That doesn’t seem to work, though, because Matt’s fuming now. “I’ll call him whatever I fucking like, thank you very bloody much!” The hand that Louis holds his phone in is shaking and his chest is constricting and his eyes sting with tears. “And answer the fucking question!”

Louis releases a shaky breath. “Y-yes, I’m at his flat,” Louis answers.

“And why the fuck are you there? Did you just decide to fuck off to his because your boyfriend was out of town, or something? Is that it?” Matt accuses, roaring at him. “Did you fuck him?”

“No!” Louis gasps, scandalised. “I-I would never, Matt! I love you!”

“I’ve never liked that Malik cunt, anyway,” Matt growls, ignoring Louis. “He was always a knob and now I find out that he’s fucking you! I’ll bash his head in, I swear to God, I will.”

“Matt d-don’t, p-please,” Louis whispers, almost choking on his own terror. “Don’t do anything to him. W-we were just hanging out, m-me, Niall, L-Liam and Zayn, I promise I didn’t do anything.” Louis’ begging now, and he sounds absolutely pathetic, he knows he does. “P‑please, you’ve gotta believe me.”

“I’m coming to pick you up,” Matt says in a hushed tone, still as assertive and aggressive as ever. “Go to the bus stop outside of the Sainsbury’s and I’ll come and get you.” Matt hangs up before Louis can say anything else.

Louis shakily gets to his feet, blinking the tears from his eyes as he walks over the kitchen. He gently pushes the door open to see the boys standing around with cups of tea in their hands, smiling, joking and laughing, and Louis’ chest aches because he so desperately wishes he could smile, joke and laugh with them, but he’s so exhausted and terrified all the time, he can barely muster a smile.

“I’m, um,” Louis begins, and all the attention in the room shifts to Louis who stands in the doorway, “I’m going back to mine to get some more clothes, yeah?” He’s not even sure that’s a believable lie because he’s been wearing their clothes, and his voice is trembling and cracking when he speaks to them, his eyes dropping low, desperately trying not to let them actually see the reality of what’s happening.

“You sure?” Niall asks. “You could just wear our things. And you have been,” he points out, eyebrows furrowing.

“And I’m not too sure how comfortable I feel about letting you go back to your flat,” Zayn adds, frowning slightly. “Do you want anyone to come and help you?”

Louis just sighs. He’s not helpless, he can do things for himself. He’s not incapable, and he’s not a fucking victim, but his fight and energy has been drained from him, so he shakes his head no. “It’s fine, I can do it by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Zayn, I am positive,” he snaps, with a bit more bite than was intented. He sighs. “Sorry, just -  don’t worry. I’ll, um. See you soon.” Or never again, he thinks as he shuffles out of the room and out of the flat. He’s not sure what’s going to happen when he and Matt come face to face, but Louis’ almost certain that he’s going to get punished in some way shape or form, but –

But, he can’t say that he’s not exactly surprised. He did disobey Matt, and Matt will punish him in return. It’s only fair. That’s how they work.

He ignores the sinking feeling in his chest as he plods down the stairs. He can’t say that he’s excited to go back to see Matt, he’s not, but – it was going to happen eventually. Nothing nice lasts, Louis’ found over the years, and this is just another prime example. He deserves a lot of what he gets. He knows he does, because Matt often tells him that, and Matt’s nearly always right, so.

He’s not a victim, he’s just –

He’s – he’s okay. It’s all going to be fine.

Chapter Text

Seven

Louis grudgingly drags his feet towards the bus stop, his head hanging low and his shoulders slumped as he walks.

There’s such a strong underlying feeling of apprehension and worry that’s curling in his gut as he walks, and the fear of anticipation of actually seeing Matt and having Matt deal with him is so crippling, that Louis is surprised that he doesn’t drop to his knees in pain. He’s almost positive that Matt is going to punish him – at home, if he’s lucky, rather than out on the streets – and Louis is convinced that he’s not a victim, but –

As time has worn on, he’s maybe starting to believe that he possibly might be.

(But he dismisses those thoughts as fast as they came, because he has spent two years of his bloody life dedicated to this relationship, internalising the pain and the fear and he’s not going to give up those two years of his constant perseveration over the slight inkling of a thought that something may or may not be wrong in his relationship.)

It doesn’t take him long to reach the bus stop. Thankfully, the stores are shutting and the sky is darkening and the only few people that are around are the commuters who are desperately trying to get home. The street lamps are flickering on, flooding the street with artificial yellows and oranges that penetrate through the inky darkness, allowing Louis to see if there are any cars approaching – but more importantly, allowing Louis to see if Matt’s car is approaching.

He twiddles with his thumbs as he waits, his breathing quickening and becoming shallower as his heart jolts when he hears a car drive past him. As of this moment, he’s never felt more afraid in his life because he has never, ever disobeyed Matt like he has recently, (he never would have even considered disobeying Matt like he has done now – he’s been feeling a lot more reckless lately), and he can only imagine the repercussions will be anything but merciful.

Louis has never been religious, but he prays to whatever deity for some sort of help, relief, or a fucking miracle at this point – he’s screwed, and Lord in heaven, does he know it.

It doesn’t take long for Louis to hear the familiar low hum of Matt’s engine and the bright white lights of his car. Even from where he’s sitting, he can see Matt’s knuckles clenched around the steering wheel as he pulls up and Louis’ chest is rising and falling quickly as Matt shut off his engine and steps out of the car, and –

Oh, fuck, Louis thinks.

Matt looks absolutely murderous, and Louis’ heart plummets to his feet,  filling him with that all too familiar sense of foreboding and dread that he’s not quite gotten used to over the span of their relationship. Louis sends a silent prayer upwards as he stands on his shaking legs that almost give out from underneath him, his knees buckling as he does so.

Matt slams his car door shut and wordlessly walks over to Louis, his heavy footfalls against the pavement echoing and bouncing off of the building as he’s approaching. Louis’ eyes are downcast and his entire body is trembling – he’s not sure if it’s from the biting cold or the terror that’s engulfed his entire being; it’s most probably the latter, he considers – and he barely has time to look up into his partner’s eyes before a stinging slap is placed on his cheek causing Louis to stumble backwards.

Louis doesn’t even yelp or cry out in pain as he falls to the gravelly pavement; he’s decided that he’s going to take it, and he’ll take it without a fuss because he’s only just realised how overwhelmingly exhausted he is constantly – so he allows his body to be pliant as Matt all but picks him up like a ragdoll and spits in his face. Louis doesn’t even flinch.

“How dare you disobey me,” Matt growls, his voice so low and gravelly that Louis can almost feel it in the pit of his stomach. “How dare you!  And on the two days I have to go out of town, as well! The fucking nerve of it, Louis Tomlison.”

Matt drops Louis onto the ground, and spits on him again, saliva splattering Louis’ cheeks once more. “And with Malik? Of all people? Christ Almighty,” Matt swears disbelievingly. Louis doesn’t say anything, but keeps his eyes downcast and low, docile and silent – just as Matt wants him to be.

But, apparently, Matt doesn’t like this because he crouches down to Louis’ level and slaps his hard across the face again, the force of the blow causing Louis’ head to turn sharply and painfully. “You have nothing to say for yourself?”

Louis dubiously looks up at Matt through his eyelashes, and Matt’s face is inches from Louis’, the vein in his forehead is throbbing erratically and his jaw is clenched and set. He vaguely reminds Louis of a bull that’s about to charge, but he says nothing, casting his eyes down again.

“No? Nothing at all?” Matt asks, and Louis keeps quiet again. Matt picks up Louis by his collar, lifting him as if he weighs nothing and slamming him against the metal lamppost with such a force and brute strength that the post wobbles slightly. This time, Louis does whimper in pain and he’s certain that there’s going to be a beautifully coloured bruise decorating his back tomorrow morning, but what else is new?

Matt leans his face in close, and Louis can smell stale beer and cigarettes on his breath; thick, heavy and suffocating that Louis almost gags. The light they stand under illuminates Matt’s face, revealing how red faced and livid he is and displaying the veins in his neck, and –

Louis’ never seen him so mad, and it absolutely terrifies him.

“Answer me!” Matt yells in his face, his voice booming and loud, echoing in the street. Louis doesn’t though; he lolls his head to the side and tiredly blinks at Matt as if he’s saying that he’s totally ready for the onslaught of blows he’s about to receive.

(In Louis’ heart of hearts, he thinks that he might die on the streets tonight at the hands of his boyfriend, and – well. It’s awfully tragic, but Louis can’t help but see something pathetically poetic about it.)

Matt draws his fist back to deliver what is probably going to be a powerful blow, but by some sort of God given miracle, someone shouts, interrupting the impending punch.

“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing, mate?!”

It’s – it’s Harry, Louis could recognise his low drawl anywhere, and he’s never been so thankful in his life that he almost chokes on tears of elation and apprehension. He’s still wearing his Sainsbury’s apron and it’s totally beyond Louis why Harry’s still here so late - probably closing up the store or helping the last customers - but he’s eternally grateful.

No one has ever got inbetween Louis and Matt before, and Louis doesn’t think it would a wise move for anyone to start now. If anything, Harry’s only going to make it worse and he’s probably going to get himself pretty roughed up, also.

Louis sees as Matt’s eyes widen before he unclenches his ready fist and turns his attention to where the voice came from. Louis’ squinting through the darkness also, trying to locate his impeccably timed saviour, and he just about manages to make out a head of chestnut curls and a long, wiry frame approaching them through the darkness.

“Louis?” Harry whispers, his eyes wide, innocent and questioning. “What’s going on?”

“This is none of your fucking business, pal,” Matt seethes, dropping Louis and squaring up to Harry, and Harry – who is a fucking giant – is immediately dwarfed when he’s toe-to-toe with Matt, somehow seeming like a twig compared to the largest of oaks.

“I don’t think I was talking to you, pal,” Harry retorts, and Louis wasn’t aware that Harry could be so capable of speaking with such venom, because it almost causes Louis to shudder with fear. But, he’s immediately calmed again when Harry’s looking concernedly at him again, his orbs shining through the darkness. “Louis. What’s going on?”

Louis stutters for an answer, not wanting to say anything further if it gets him into further trouble with Matt, but desperately – oh, so desperately – wanting Harry to step in and be his awkward, long limbed hero.

Louis opens his mouth to form a coherent sentence, but he clamps it shut immediately under the heat of Matt’s warning glare that is screaming at him to be quiet. Say nothing. If you dare, you will live to regret it.

“N-nothing,” Louis eventually manages, succumbing to Matt, who now looks appeased and a million-and-one times less murderous than he was a second ago.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Matt says, flashing a quick and fleeting faux smile at Harry. “Now, bugger off, mate, this has nothing to do with you.” Louis isn’t sure how Harry doesn’t seem to pick up Matt’s clearly threatening tone because he doesn’t move an inch and just stares pleadingly at Louis with those eyes – those fucking eyes – that Louis can’t help but resist.

“Louis.” Harry’s gently demanding the truth, and his tone coupled with the look he’s been giving Louis is enough to make Louis confess everything.

“H-he – he was j-just,” Louis stutters hopelessly, his voice quiet and his eyes flickering between Harry and Matt, “we just have a little, um, problem, that we’re dealing with. Relationship stuff.”

“And it’s being dealt with, so kindly fuck off, yeah?” Matt’s not even feigning nonchalance, as if this is a normal interaction between any couple, because Louis can practically feel the heat of the anger that’s radiating out of him.

“Really?” Harry asks. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

“Nobody fucking asked what it looked like to you.” Matt is visibly seething now, and his forehead vein is so large, Louis thinks it’s going to burst.

“No, they didn’t, but I’m pretty sure that you were just about to punch Louis in the face whilst you had your hand wrapped around his throat.”

Matt gawps because he, nor Louis, expected Harry to be this explicit with his wording, but there it is – Harry’s sentence hanging in the air above them, waiting to be denied or objected.

“Fuck you, man,” comes Matt’s less than eloquent reply.  Matt opens his mouth - probably to verbally abuse Harry further, Louis guesses – but Harry’s hands are on Matt in an instant, yanking him roughly away from Louis and unceremoniously dumping him on the floor. Louis is more than mildly impressed, because Matt probably has a kilo of muscle on Harry and he’s a fairly big lad, but Harry has somehow managed to pry him off of Louis.

“No, fuck you,” Harry spits as he stands over Matt, kicking him hard in the ribs for good measure. “You never, ever, lay a hand on someone you love.” He punctuates each word with a kick and Louis isn’t sure if he’s elated, relieved or terrified.

Matt’s writhing around on the floor in what Louis can only imagine in agony; rolling around on the gravel and gasping in pain. Louis can’t help but feel an astounding amount of irony and – heaven help him – some sort of twisted form of satisfaction, because God knows how many times he’s felt like this and been in this position, and been put in that position by the very same person who’s getting the shit kicked out of him now.

Huh. Well.

Harry kicks him again and Matt’s yelp jerks Louis out of his mind and he’s rushing forward and tugging on Harry’s bicep, pulling him away from his boyfriend.

“H-Harry, that’s enough now, c’mon,” he coaxes, tugging on his arm, but Harry’s not having it apparently, yanking his arm out of Louis’ grip and accidently shoving him backward that causes Louis to trip over himself and land on his arse heavily on the floor.

Louis gasps in pain, a sharp intake of his breath that snaps Harry out of his violent state and he’s rushing over to Louis’ side, apologising profusely.

“Shit, shit, are you alright?” he asks for the fiftieth time in twenty seconds as he helps the smaller boy to his feet. “I didn’t mean to, I was just so mad, that –“

Louis wants to tell Harry that it’s okay, but he’s still shaking and,  truth be told, Harry kind of terrifies him a bit, so he nods jerkily and edges away from Harry, ignoring the fallen look on Harry’s face. Harry goes to reach out Louis again, but Louis flinches away, warily looking at Harry through the corner of his eye. Harry just sighs and speaks to Louis in a gentle tone that he familiar with, calming the smaller boy down a bit.

“Listen,” he begins softly, “You’re coming home with me tonight, yeah?”

“Like hell he is!” Matt protests from where he’s still curled up on the pavement, clutching his torso in pain. “He’s coming home with me.”

“Not if I can help it,” Harry growls, his face set hard and emotionless before he turns back to Louis, softness flooding his features and care lacing his voice. “You’re okay with that, right? Unless there’s someone else you’d like me to call, or –”

“No,” Louis protests, his mind wandering back to Zayn, Niall and Liam. He can’t bear the thought of going back to them now, what with their pitying faces and endless questions. “I’ll go with you. If that’s alright,” he adds, just for good measure.

“It’s fine. I offered, didn’t I?” Harry throws Louis a soft smile, revealing his dimples that allow Louis to relax a bit. “C’mon, my car is just around the corner.” Harry holds out his hand for Louis to take, and Louis does – albeit hesitantly, but he does, nevertheless – relaxing even more when his tiny palm is engulfed by Harry’s large, warm one.

They leave Matt on the pavement, whimpering in pain, and Louis can’t find it in his heart to be the slightest bit sorry.

+

The car ride to Harry’s flat is silent, save for the soft music that’s gently playing from the speakers. Louis tries to keep his eyes forward, but he can’t help that his eyes will flicker over to Harry and then back to the road again.

Harry doesn’t really ask questions as they drive, Louis notices, which is a good thing. He’s not put under a metaphorical spotlight and hounded with questions and pitied like he is at Zayn, Liam and Niall’s. Louis barely even knows the chap, for God’s sake; they’ve had a couple of short, random conversations whilst Louis’ looking for whatever he needed – mostly about Harry’s plants, or pets or strange dietary habits –and now Louis’ going home with him, but as Louis’ mind tries to rationalise the situation, he finds himself become more and more apathetic as he gets more and more fatigued.

They arrive at Harry’s flat ten or so minutes later; a small, similar looking apartment complex to his that’s garnished with roses and tulips.

It’s so Harry, Louis thinks.

Harry is ever so gentlemanly, stepping out of his side of the car and walking around to Louis’ and opening the door for him, and helping him out. Louis’ grateful for the darkness, preventing Harry doesn’t see the faint colouring of his cheeks.

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice almost takes Louis by surprise, despite his naturally gentle tone of voice. It’s the first time Harry’s breathed a word since they got in his car.

“Um,” Louis says, displaying the world’s greatest example of eloquence. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re not, like. Um. Bruised, or anything?” Harry says it with a wince, as if it’s physically painful for him to think about Louis being bruised.

“I’m fine,” Louis repeats. “Maybe one on my back, but. It’s okay.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow, and his lips part as if he’s about to ask a question, but he nods nonetheless. “Okay, well. Um, if you’d just follow me.”

Harry closes Louis’ door and puts a steadying hand on the small of Louis’ back as he leads him towards the building. Louis’ not sure how he feels about Harry’s gargantuan hand splayed across the bottom of his back, and it’s also grazing the bruise, so he shuffles forward a bit so he’s out of Harry’s touch. Harry doesn’t seem to notice.

Harry holds the door open for Louis and Louis walks in, bouncing awkwardly on the balls of his feet when Harry calls the elevator. The door dings open and they step in, Harry presses the button and the doors close with a quiet click.

The ride isn’t long, but it’s long enough for Louis to feel deafened by the silence. It’s like both of them are trying to breathe as quietly as possible; not trying to disturb each other or break the silence. It’s ridiculous, Louis thinks, how tentative Harry is being. It’s almost like he’s trying not to emit any loud sounds or make any sudden movements as if they might spook Louis, and honestly. He’s not some sort of fragile animal, for fuck’s sake.

Thankfully, the doors open and they step out into a long hallway. “Um, this way,” Harry says in his low drawl, before he’s striding down the hallway on his ridiculously long legs. Louis follows closely behind before they stop outside a door with the number ‘4’ hanging askew on it. Harry fishes his key from his pocket and he slides it to the lock, twisting it before it clicks, opening.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Harry smiles, opening the door wide for Louis, allowing him to step in. Louis responds with a sort of put-upon smile which he suspects looks far from genuine and rather tired, but Harry doesn’t call him out on it. He simply closes the door behind them with a soft click before he’s toeing off his boots.

Harry’s flat isn’t large, but it’s not small either. It’s rather quaint; potted plants dotted all around the living room and a couple of picture frames that hang off the wall. He’s got a large, purple, old looking loveseat that’s sat central in his living room, opposite a small, vintage T.V. and yet another potted plant. There are two beanbags – one orange and one lime green – and three doors that Louis suspects leads to a  bedroom, a bathroom and kitchen.

It’s nice. Comfortable.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” Harry apologises, as he comes to stand next to Louis, digging his hands into his pockets. “A lot of my furniture is what relatives and friends unloaded onto me.”

“Don’t apologise, it’s nice,” Louis replies, a small smile playing at his lips. “Very quaint.”

“Which is another word for hideous, but I admire your courtesy.”  Harry flashes him a toothy smile, dimples and all, that Louis can’t help to return.

“I suppose you’re incredibly tired,” Harry says, walking over to the couch and fluffing up the pillows. “So, you can take my bed, yeah?”

“No,” Louis protests, “I’ll take the couch.”

“I insist,” Harry persists. “This couch is lumpy and takes some getting used to, trust me. And you’re the guest, so it’s hardly fair.”

Louis nods hesitantly, before he removes his shoes and stands awkwardly, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Do you want any clothes or anything?” Harry asks. “Mine might be a bit too big, but it’s better than sleeping in blood stained clothes, eh?” Harry point to the small smear of blood on Louis’ shirt, and Louis didn’t even know it was there until Harry pointed it out.

“Oh,” he says. “Um. Sure, I guess.”

“Cool!” Harry beams. “Bedroom is just through here – follow me,” and Louis does, trailing behind Harry until he’s in the bedroom. Harry points at the top draw in the large chest of drawers that sit on the wall opposite the door.

“There’s a bunch of old band t-shirts in there, so have a look.”

Louis nods, standing awkwardly as Harry smiles at him. Louis wants to get changed, but he can’t until Harry leaves. He’s so self conscious about his body – something Matt has stamped into his personality over the duration of their relationship – and his bruises, but Harry doesn’t seem to pick up Louis’ hesitation, bless him.

“I’m just gonna get changed now...”

“Oh! Oh right – shit, sorry,” Harry rushes, finally realising. “You wanted to get changed and I was standing here, smiling like a creep – I’ll just, um. Go,” and Harry’s out of the door, closing it gently.

Louis can’t help but smile, pulling off his shirt and replacing it with a large, faded Ramones t-shirt that hangs off his scrawny limbs.  

He walks over to the door and opens it slightly, poking his head out. “Harry?”

“Yeah?” comes Harry’s voice from the couch, and Harry’s turning around so he can look at Louis.

“Um. Thank you,” Louis says in a quiet voice, averting his eyes.

Harry smiles. “My pleasure,” he says, and Louis believes him. “Sleep well.”

Louis responds with a smile and he closes Harry’s bedroom door, before he’s shuffling over to the bed, sliding in and pulling the covers over him.

 He’s practically asleep as his head hits the pillow, and he dreams of green eyes and potted plants.

Chapter Text

Eight.

H

The sun is peaking over the horizon, painting pink and orange streaks across the sky, and as usual, Harry is up and at ‘em.

He’s always like the small hours of the morning; the city is always so peaceful and the air is so still and silent, save for the gentle breeze that brushes past the leaves of his plants on the balcony. He revels in the quiet. He finds it easier to think, to meditate - to breathe.

It’s probably six in the morning, but Harry rolls out his yoga mat in the living room and does his positions as usual. His joints crack as he begins to stretch, and he’s never been too fond of the popping sound and the creak of his bones, but he ignores it as he sits on the floor and crosses his legs like pretzels – as Gemma has so eloquently put it before – before inhaling and exhaling.

In, out.

And again.

In, and out.

He can feel peacefulness flooding through him as he goes through his morning ritual, tension and stiffness draining from his shoulders as he breathes deeply again.

In, and out.

And that’s all it really takes for him to reach his morning bliss, usually.

In, and out.

+

It’s probably an hour or so later when he rolls up his yoga mat. The sun is still low in the sky, but as he steps out onto the balcony and gets chilled by the morning November air, he’s immediately greeted by the low hum and buzz of the London streets.

Bending down, he picks up his pink sunflower watering can that Gemma made him all those years ago and waters each and every single one of his incredibly impressive garden. He’s got a whole array of flowers – the hydrangeas, petunias, tulips and roses to vines and ivy’s wrapping around the iron railing of his balcony. He really does love flowers; he admires their delicacy, and how they’re so quietly beautiful, and so soft and meaningful.

Harry’s always been a bit of a sap, if he’s honest.

But, he does have his favourites – there’s Ophelia, his rather large lavender tree, his olive tree which he’s appropriately dubbed Olive, and of course, Mr. Hebert James Styles IV – his (rather small, but actually rather lovely) cactus which he’s had since he’s moved in two years ago.

He smiles as he reaches out to pet his soft spikes, and he almost wants to lean forward and kiss it good morning, but he stops himself short – he remembers how it went last time, and it was a painful experience for everyone involved.

(It was super awkward explaining it to the doctor, he remembers. He doesn’t like to think about it.)

He hums as he waters his plants, softly and tunelessly as he does so. When he thinks that he’s watered them and gardened them enough, after wiping their leaves with a small cloth he keeps on the balcony and tending to the overgrowing vines, he rushes inside and fetches his poetry book – a small leather bound book which he found in a small hipster bookshop (which smelled too much of weed than he was comfortable with) in Shepherd’s Bush, which he simply had to have – and runs back out on the balcony, sitting down in the middle of his garden and opening the book, his eyes falling on the first page.

“Alright,” he begins, his eyes raking over the text. “What should I read today?” He flicks over the pages, scanning the text, before he settles on a poem. “Ah! The Garden of Prosepine,” he says thoughtfully. “I’ve always liked this one.”

He shuffles so that he’s on his knees, his bum resting on the heels of his feet.

“This one is a bit long,” he says to his plants, “so I’ll probably read a verse or two.” He clears his throat theatrically before he begins in his most gentlest tone:

     “Here, where the world is quiet, here where all trouble seems, dead winds and spent waves’ riot, in doubtful dreams of dreams; I watch the green field growing, for reaping folk and sowing, for harvest-time and mowing, and sleepy world of streams.” He looks up briefly through his eyelashes to see if his audience is listening, but then he remember that’s they’re plants – lifeless and earless - and, Well. They can’t listen, not actually, but he continues nonetheless: “I am tired of tears and laughter, and men that laugh and weep; of what may come hereafter for men that sow and reap: I am weary of days and hours, blown buds of barren flowers, desires and dreams and powers, and everything but sleep.

    “Here life has death for a neighbour, and far from eye or ear, wan waves and wet winds labour, weak ships and spirits steer; they drive adrift and wither, they wot not who make thither; but no such winds blow hither, and no such things grow near.”

     The wind suddenly picks up, whipping a harsh chilling breeze over Harry, who is clad in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt, and his hair stands on end as his goosebumps raise. He shuts the book, and stands up, shivering and his teeth chattering, wondering why he couldn’t at least have worn socks, for crying out loud.

   “Well, that’s enough for today, I think!” Another gust of wind blows, more powerful this time, almost knocking Harry off his feet. “Goodbye!”

He rushes indoors and closes the glass door, protecting him from the bitter winter winds. His fingers and toes are still cold, and Harry frowns at them, pouting. He really should’ve worn socks.

However, despite his freezing appendages, he shuffles towards his kitchen to make breakfast for himself and for Louis, and –

He - he almost forgot about Louis. To be fair, his mind is still a bit hazy from waking up not that long ago, and he still hasn’t had his organic morning cup of coffee, but how did he manage to forget the bruised boy that lies sleeping in his bed not twenty feet away from him?

Bruised. Bruised boy.

He winces at the word, but there’s no other way he can describe it that would make it sound any less tragic. Louis, the boy from the grocery store with blue eyes and blue bruises, is sleeping in his bed after Harry punched his abusive and probably long-term partner in the face, effectively rescuing (Harry doesn’t like to think of it as rescuing, per se – he feels that it makes Louis sound like a distressed princess, and he believes that Louis should have more credit than that) Louis from his wrath, taking him to his flat and providing him with a safe place to say, at least for the night, and –

Yeah. It’s a lot to take in, Harry thinks as he releases a heavy sigh. Not bad for a day’s work, though, huh?

Harry tries to forget about last night and the soon-to-be reality of this morning as he whips a couple of eggs and pours them into the skillet, trying to focus on happier and less troubling thoughts, like I wonder if Louis would have preferred organic eggs, and maybe that poem was a bit too dark for the plants? I hope they don’t droop and would Louis prefer wholemeal or white bread? He doesn’t dwell on it though; he simply cooks the eggs and drops two slices of wholemeal bread in the toaster. The toast jumps out of the toaster just as the eggs have finished cooking, and Harry swipes them out of the air, lays them on a plate and puts the eggs on top of them.

It’s not gourmet, but it’s the best he can do for now.

He places the two plates of food, steaming and warm, onto the round table that sits in the corner of his kitchen, before he wipes his palms on his shorts and makes his way towards his bedroom to wake Louis up.

He knocks lightly on the door.

“Louis?” he whispers, before knocking again. “Louis, are you awake?”

He pokes his head around the door, and – no, Louis isn’t awake; he’s sprawled across the double bed, and, for a shorter chap, he takes up a lot of room. His hair is mussed and the pillows and sheets are everywhere as Louis’ heavy and steady breathing causes his back to rise and fall. The small amount of morning light that penetrates through Harry’s curtains scatter throughout the room and onto Louis’ sleeping body, highlighting his face so that he looks like he’s glowing.

Louis looks so soft in this light, Harry allows himself to think.  His eyelids are fluttered shut, and the crease lines on his forehead have disappeared. He doesn’t seem stiff now, as he lies amongst the sheets – he just seems a lot more...chilled. Relaxed.

Harry opens the door wider and treads lighter as he enters the room, trying to avoid the creaking floorboards so that he doesn’t jolt Louis from his slumber. He tiptoes over to the bed, and leans down, nudging Louis gently – barely even touching, really – on his shoulder.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, “it’s time to-”

Louis jolts awake and his eyes snap open, and as his eyes fall on Harry’s that are inches from his face, he flinches away quickly and jerkily, eyes wide in panic as he scrambles for the cover.

“Whoa, it’s okay,” Harry says, equally as spooked and worried as Louis seems to be, his hands held up in surrender. “It’s just me. Harry,” he adds for clarification.

Louis swallows audibly and nods, exhaling heavily as he appears to relax. “Y-yeah, yeah, sorry – you just. Um. Frightened me, that’s all.” Louis’ eyes dart around the room, before they drop to his lap, averting Harry’s eyes. Harry’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

“Sorry about that,” he apologises, sincerity apparent in his voice, and Louis seems to pick it up, dubiously looking at Harry through his eyelashes before he nods.

“It’s okay.” He yawns, bringing up his tiny hands – they’re so tiny, Harry thinks; they remind him of his cat’s paws – to cover his mouth. “What time is it?”

“It’s just gone quarter past seven,” Harry says, after looking at his watch. “I made breakfast, if you’re interested.”

“Oh. Erm – yeah. That – that sounds good.” Louis biting at his lip, his tongue swiping over them as he speaks, and Harry could have sworn that Louis seemed more comfortable around him last night, but again, he doesn’t call him out on it.

“Alright,” Harry says. “Well. It’s on the table. Eggs and toast – hope you don’t mind.”

“That sounds great,” Louis says earnestly, a small smile gracing his lips. He looks so delicate, Harry thinks. “I’ll just – I’ll change first, yeah? You don’t have to wait for me, if you don’t wanna –”

“It’s cool,” Harry says,  cutting Louis off gently. “I don’t mind. I’ll probably start burning some incense or something.”And, he always does in the mornings – he feels that it relaxes people and Louis sure does seem like he needs to be relaxed right now.

Louis smirks and raises a questioning eyebrow, but says nothing. Instead, he stands up off the bed, rolling out of the covers so that he stands on the opposite side of the bed to Harry, pulling down on the hem of his shirt and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Um – I’m just gonna change now, so –”

And, for the second time in less than 24 hours, Harry has managed to look like a creep again. “Oh, right, sorry,” he apologises profusely, shielding his eyes. “Didn’t mean to seem like a creeper, but I’ll just – I’ll just go,” he rushes, closing the door behind him.

How he’s managed to get this far in life with minimal embarrassing situations, he’ll never know.

Sighing as he shakes it off, he heads to the kitchen to make a cup of tea for him and Louis, because who doesn’t love a large, steaming mug of wet leaves in the morning?

He boils the water in the kettle, flicking on the switch at the base and drops the lemon and honey tea bags into the mugs. It doesn’t take long for them to boil, and he’s pouring an appropriate amount of water in each mug before he picks them up at the handle, walking slowly and carefully back to his room to deliver the tea.

He pushes open the door with his back, figuring that Louis would have at least got a shirt on by now, saying, “I’ve got a cuppa for you, if you fancy it –” but the words get caught in his throat in the colours seem to fade as his eyes fall on the bruised – oh, so terribly bruised – skin on Louis’ back, arms and chest.

Louis doesn’t even seem to notice Harry’s presence until the mug falls from Harry’s loosening grip and crashes to the floor, hot water and shards of pottery smashing and splashing everywhere. Louis’ head whips around and his eyes widen as they meet Harry’s also widened eyes, and he’s flying to cover his body with a pillow.

“What the fuck!” Louis yells at Harry, the emotion in his eyes flickering from worry to fright and then to anger. “Don’t you ever fucking knock?!”

“I – I’m so sorry,” Harry stutters, trying to regain his breath, blinking rapidly. “I – I didn’t know –”

“Get the fuck out!” Louis screams, throwing another pillow at him, and Harry does, as quickly as he can. Louis slams the door shut, and Harry thinks he can hear Louis muttering shit  repeatedly before releasing a breath, and –

Harry’s still in shock. Like, he knew that abuse victims (God, abuse victim) have a lot of scars – both mental and physical – but Louis –

His back is yellowed with bruises, a large one stretching from the base to the neck, and purple ones dotted all among his hips, lower back and neckline. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of the blue and purple finger shaped ones that mark the flesh on his arms and the poppy ones that litter his chest that seem to have faded, but they’re there all the same, and for the first time ever, Harry feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him and he can’t breathe.

And, fuck, he doesn’t know why he’s so traumatised – it’s not like he had the abusive partner, or the bruises, but –

He’s never seen anything like that before. He’s only heard about stories like these on the news or on  adverts and, honestly, it doesn’t feel like he’s somehow caught up in the reality of it now – if feels as if he’s in someone else’s body or he’s just watching a show or a documentary.

Harry releases a shaky breath and begins to walk towards the kitchen, his legs threatening to give out from underneath him, and just as he begins to walk, Louis swings the door open. Harry turns to face him, mouth agape and eyes wide and blinking. Louis’ wearing another one of Harry’s band t-shirts and his jeans from yesterday. His shoulders are slumped and his head is hung low, and his body language makes it look like he’s actually trying to disappear within in himself; as if he’s trying to take up the minimal amount of room as humanly possible.

“I’m – I’m just going to wash up quickly,” Louis speaks in a quiet, fragile voice, and even though Harry barely knows Louis, he feels his heart cracking.

“Alright,” Harry says, his voice equally as quiet, but it’s gentle – reassuring, almost. “Do you still want breakfast?”

Louis gives a tiny nod of the head before he’s shuffling past Harry and into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click. The flat is silent for a few seconds, as if the air is stilted, before Harry hears the running of the tap.

Harry releases a long suffering sigh and plants himself on one of the beanbags, putting his head in his hands and sighing heavily, because –

Well. Because why? Like, how did he even get involved in all of this? All he remembers doing is ushering a little old lady out of the store at closing time, and then looking out of one of the windows, recognising Louis held up against a lamppost, and Jesus, he looked like he was in so much pain that Harry couldn’t help but to intervene. He wasn’t even thinking coherently, he was just charged by emotions and testosterone that he just marched across the road and gave Louis’ (husband? Boyfriend? Long term partner?) a punch or two before he took the smaller, shuddering boy home.

Harry doesn’t know how long he sits there before he’s dragged out of his mind by a small cough coming from behind him. He lifts his head out of his hands and turns to see Louis standing there, looking slightly more fresh faced, but his eyes are red and shiny and his cheeks are flushed. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d bet that Louis was probably crying.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you know,” Louis says in a soft voice, his eyes darting away from Harry’s. “You could’ve just started without me.”

“Nonsense,” Harry responds as he stands, flashing Louis a quick smile to reassure him, almost. “S’only the polite thing to do.”

Louis returns Harry’s smile with a somewhat forced and shaky one, giving a small nod as he fiddles with the hem on his t-shirt. Harry coughs.

“Right, well. Breakfast, then?”

Harry walks towards the kitchen, Louis trailing behind him. The eggs are still steaming, thank god, and Harry pulls out a chair for Louis to sit on. Louis sits and Harry does also, picking up his fork. Louis does the same, but just stares at his eggs and moving them around the plate. Harry’s brow furrows as he puts a forkful of egg into his mouth, chewing slowly and staring at Louis, trying to figure him out.

They’re practically strangers, right? Harry barely even knows the guy, or the severity of the situation he was just in – so he just studies Louis; trying to read him, almost – observing how his shoulders are slumped, how his eyes are always down and how he manages – and sometimes succeeds – to make himself seem as invisible and insignificant and unimportant as possible

Louis seems to feel Harry’s eyes on him, and he looks up through his lengthy eyelashes to look questioningly at Harry.

“What?”

Harry puts down his fork, tilts his head to the side and keeps looking, staring right back into Louis’ eyes. “Nothing – just observing.”

“I’m not some sort of thing you can just stare at. I’m not a museum exhibit.” Louis says it like it’s venomous, his tongue sharp and his tone acidic. Harry’s caught off guard at how fast he can change – one moment as docile as can be and the next, sharp and cold. Fascinating.

“I wasn’t implying you were,” Harry replies, calmly and gently. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

“Please don’t,” Louis says. “I cannot bear being stared at.”

“Fine,” Harry replies easily, shovelling another forkful of food into his mouth. “Can I ask questions, though?”

Louis shrugs. “Depends.”

“Will you answer them?”

“Depends,” Louis says again, playing with his eggs again.

So, this is how it’s going to be. Harry can work with this. He’s nothing if not persistent.

“Fine.” Harry puts down his fork, rests his elbows on the table and puts hands together, interlocking his fingers. “So. You’re not hungry, then?”

Louis shrugs, eyes still downcast. “Dunno.”

“Do you not like eggs?”

Louis nods.

“But you won’t eat them.”

Louis shrugs again.

“I don’t quite understand,” Harry puzzles. “You like eggs, but you won’t eat them.”

“Not that hungry,” is all Louis says, but a loud grumble of his stomach gives him away. Harry raises his eyebrows and Louis exhales heavily through his nose. “Just – leave it.”

Fine. Harry can do that.

“Sure,” he says. “So – how long have you been with your boyfriend?”

Louis releases a breathy sort of chuckle. “You’re gonna be like this, then?”

Harry frowns. “Like what?”

“You know –“ Louis raises his head for the first time this morning. “- all...therapist-like. Trying to drag the story out of me.”

Yes. “Well, no –”

“I don’t need someone’s pity,” Louis spits, abandoning his mild-mannered behaviour completely. “I don’t need someone thinking they can just fix me.”

Harry blinks at Louis quick change of emotion and acidic tone of voice, before he composes himself. “I’m not trying to fix you, Louis,” Harry soothes. “I barely even know you. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” Louis asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Understand you. Your situation,” Harry says. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Why?” Louis questions again. “So you can help me? Feel big about yourself for helping the poor little gay boy who can’t look after himself, is that it? To be some sort of saviour-”

“No,” Harry interrupts, not threateningly, but enough to get Louis to be silent. “Not at all – God, no. It just – it physically hurts me to see people in pain, and fuck, when you walked in to the store a couple of weeks ago with your face like that – fuck,” Harry rushes all in one breath, before he sighs, calming himself. “I just want to help you – not take pity, not to be like a saviour – because I don’t like seeing people in pain.”

Louis visibly softens at that, his entire body deflating before he nods. “Okay.”

Harry smiles. “Okay.”

Louis smirks. “Alright, Augustus Waters.”

Harry beams wider and Louis smiles too, and it looks genuine, and –

Honestly, that’s all Harry could ask for right now. A smile is a hell of a lot better than bruises, that’s for bloody sure.

Chapter Text

Nine

Louis seems a bit more upbeat after breakfast, thankfully, and Harry releases an inward prayer to some deity. He’s smiling now, being a bit more cheeky and poking fun at Harry, but –

Louis is still kind of reserved, Harry observes. He sometimes starts talking about something, smiling at things he finds funny, moving his arms and become animated and actually seeming like everything is fine, until he stops himself and apologises to Harry for some reason, before he retreats into himself and doesn’t talk unless Harry urges conversation, keeping his eyes low as he fiddles with the loose threat on the hem of his shirt.

And, if Harry wasn’t as persistent as he is, he would’ve probably given up on trying mustering a smile or a laugh from Louis.

He practically has to force Louis to watch Frozen with him, gently dragging him to sit down on the couch before grabbing several questionably shaped pillows (he’s pretty sure he bought one that resembles a penis, but who cares, penis pillows can be fun and comfortable) and throwing the softest blanket he could find over Louis’ shoulder, before he presses play, sinking into the couch cushions.

“You comfortable?” He asks, looking at Louis. “I could get you more pillows, or make you a hot drink, or maybe light a lavender scented candle, because they’re always pretty cool, or –”

“I’m fine, Harry,” Louis interrupts, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t trouble yourself. It’s not worth it,” he adds in a quieter voice, and fuck no¸ Louis was almost smiling half a second ago.

“Yes, it is worth it, and if I hear any of that self deprecating nonsense, I will force you to be comfortable.” Harry thinks his tone is jovial enough, but the colour drains from Louis’ face before he curls into himself under the blankets and – fuck, Harry’s spectacular at this lark, isn’t he?

“No, no, shit, I didn’t mean to –” he rushes to apologise.

Louis shrugs. “It’s fine. M’just being sensitive.”

Harry shakes his head, his curls bouncing as he does so. “No, I was being a prat – you get to call me that, you know, if I ever step over the line.”

Louis giggles, and Harry’s heart soars. Maybe he’s not as shit at this as he thought he was.

“You’re not a prat, Harry,” Louis smiles. “You’re just a bit...odd.”

Harry smirks. “I’m odd?”

"Yeah, clearly,” Louis scoffs, motioning to his banana bandana and the penis pillow. “How many grown men can say that they own penis pillows?”

“I just thought it was an oddly shaped hotdog thing,” Harry blushes, pouting.

“How on earth does that look remotely like a fucking hotdog?”

“...Maybe I did know it was a penis – so what? It’s comfortable, is it not?”

“Yes, but it’s weird,” Louis giggles, and Harry likes the sound of Louis giggling. He wants to hear it more.

“Shut up and let me watch Frozen, you menace,” Harry quips, turning back to the telly.

“This film is fucking awful,” Louis groans, burying his face in the blanket. “The story goes absolutely nowhere.”

Harry lets out an indignant whine of protest. “I’ll have you know that this is my favourite film of all time, fuck you very much.”

“Says a lot about you,” Louis murmurs, hiding his smile behind a pillow, and Harry pokes him with his toe.

“So what’s your favourite film, then?”

Louis shrugs. “Don’t really have one – Matt never really let me go out to see films and stuff.” Louis says it nonchalantly, almost as if that’s definitely not a thing that abusive partner would do, and even though Harry hasn’t known Louis for long, he knows that he would hate for Harry to make a big deal out of it.

“Oh?” Harry asks, trying to match the nonchalance that Louis’ just displayed. “What did you do for fun, then?”

Louis shrugs again, seemingly unbothered as his eyes are glued to the screen. “Dunno – it’s not like I could go out and see my friends, because Matt hated them – Christ, when I bumped into Zayn a couple of weeks ago, he –”

Louis’ face hardens and he clamps his mouth shut, jaw tightening and, for the love of God, Harry has only just got Louis to finally start talking, for fuck’s sakes.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Harry blurts, trying to drag Louis out of himself.

“I don’t,” Louis confirms, pulling the blanket up and over his shoulders as he continues watching the screen with dulled eyes that are glazed over.

Harry fidgets in the brief silence – his fingers are itching to comfort Louis, or to at least stop him from being tense, but he knows that is definitely crossing some sort of imaginary lines that would bring their acquaintanceship to perhaps a slightly more intimate level of acquaintanceship, which Harry certainly thinks that Louis isn’t ready or comfortable with, so -

“Do you want to meet Herbert?” Harry asks completely randomly, breaking fragile silence that hangs between them like a heavy cloud.

“Herbert – your cactus,” Louis says dryly, looking at Harry through the corner of his eye, and Harry nods enthusiastically.

“Yep! Like, why not?”

“You want me to meet your cactus,” Louis deadpans.

And of course Louis isn’t interested – like, who would be? Who meets cacti, anyway, Harry chastises internally because he’s really ace at this whole conversation stuff.

“Nevermind, it’s stupid – I just thought you would, like. Um. Nevermind,” Harry mumbles, blushing at his own stupidity because really? Meet his fucking cactus – well done, he congratulates, ten fucking points for you.

Louis smirks, and turns his body to face Harry, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Why the fuck not,” he beams, “let’s see Herbert.”

Harry beams in return. He stands up off the couch, and holds his hand out for Louis to take. “Come on then!”

Louis looks dubiously between Harry’s hand and Harry’s face, before he gives in, putting his much smaller hand in Harry’s significantly larger one, allowing himself to be lifted out of the blankets and questionably shaped pillows he’s buried underneath.

Harry leads him to the balcony and opens the windows, stepping out onto the cold steel.

“Cor, it’s a proper garden you’ve got out here,” Louis observes, eyes wide as he looks at the array of flowers and vines that adorn Harry’s balcony and Harry blushes at the compliment.

“Thank you,” he replies, “I like to think myself a bit of a green thumb.”

“I can see that,” Louis says good naturedly as Harry crouches down and picking up his small, quaintly decorated pot which Herbert sits it. He holds it out to Louis as if it’s some sort of gift, thrusting it in his face.

“This is Herbert James Styles IV,” Harry beams, and Louis looks at Herbert and smirks again.

“Y’alright, Herbie?” Louis greets, a soft smile playing on his lips

“Herbie?” Harry questions, scrunching up his nose. “Nope, I shan’t allow it – far too common for him.”

“Herbie sounds cute, and you sound like a poncey twat,” Louis quips.

Harry pouts petulantly. “Excuse you, some of us have class, unlike others.”

Louis raises his eyebrows and puts one hand on his hip. “Are you calling me a peasant, Harry?”

Harry suppresses a giggle as he perches Herbert on the railing. “No, no, of course not,” he titters, “how could I ever?”

Louis rolls his eyes – Harry hopes it fondly – and shakes his head, smiling at Harry all the same and –

Yeah, Harry likes it a lot when Louis smiles.

“Is that all you wanted to show me?” Louis questions, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arms, “because it’s fucking freezing out here, Christ.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m used to it. And,” he begins, “I usually read poetry to the plants and –”

“You read poetry to your plants?” Louis questions incredulously, interrupting Harry.

“Yes,” Harry says, stifling a laugh at Louis expression. “Why not?”

“I dunno, maybe because they can’t hear?”

Harry shrugs again. “I feel that plants have a soul, and every soul deserves to listen to the most beautiful poetry.”

Louis blinks, and he blinks again, seemingly bewildered, and then he releases a heavy sigh as he says, “You are truly one of the strangest people I’ve ever met.”

Harry grins his mega-watt smile – as his mum, Robin and Gemma like to call it – bright and wide. “Thank you, that means a lot – as I was saying,” he gives a pointed look at Louis, “I usually read poetry to them now, but you can go inside if you’re cold.”

“Nah, I’d quite like to see this,” Louis says, smirking again. “Could be rather educational.”

Harry grins again, and he’s doing it so much recently that his cheeks are starting to ache. “Great! I’ll just grab my book, then,” and he steps past Louis, grabbing his book from the bookcase and Louis blanket before he steps outside again onto the balcony, dropping the blanket around Louis’ shoulders.

“Warm now?”

“Mm, thank you,” Louis says, wrapping the blanket around as he sits down on the floor, shuffling to get more comfortable like a toddler on a carpet who is about to be read a story.

Harry sits down also, folding his legs like a pretzel and sitting in the middle of the balcony, clearing his voice as he flicks open the book, searching for the poem which he started earlier.

“Right,” he says to his plants, “This one is still The Garden of Prosepine, but since it’s incredibly long I’ll just read a couple of verses at random. Okay?”

“They can’t hear you, Harry,” says Louis behind him, but Harry shushes obnoxiously and clears his throat theatrically before he begins:

“There goes the loves that wither, the old loves with wearier wings; and all dead years draw thither, and all disastrous things; dead dreams of days forsaken, blind buds that snows have shaken, wild leaves that winds have taken, red strays of ruined things.

“We are not sure of sorrow and joy was never sure; to-day will die to-morrow; time stoops to no man’s lure; and love, grown faint and fretful, with lips, but half regretful, sighs and with eyes forgetful, weeps that no loves endure.”

Louis coughs behind him, effectively stopping Harry from reading futher. “Um. That’s – that’s kinda heavy.”

Harry shuts his book and turns to Louis at Louis, and yes – of bloody course, Louis’ shoulders and drooped and he looks all sad and broken and Harry internally punches himself in the face because Louis is clearly having relationship issues and Harry’s just read a fucking poem about how loves don’t endure, and – yeah. He deserves all the awards.

“Yeah,” Harry jests, trying to lighten the mood, “I think the plants are starting to droop.”

Louis gives Harry a forced and sort of shaky smile before he averts his eyes and plays with the edges of the blanket, shoulders droop and head hung – and Harry just wants to hug him for fuck’s sake.

“You alright, Louis?” Harry asks hesitantly, putting the book down and turning so that he’s facing Louis.

Louis gives a small nod but he doesn’t look at Harry, and Harry lets out a long suffering sigh before he shuffles slightly so that there is room to fit Louis next to him. He moves a couple of potted plants out of the way, sitting so his legs are hanging through the railings.

“Come sit by me,” Harry says, patting the space next to him, and after a few moments of stilted silence, Harry hears Louis picking himself up and plonking down next to Harry, moving so his legs are hanging out of the railings, his legs swinging over the side.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Harry asks after a pause or two, “or do I have to drag it out of you?”

Louis’ quiet for a bit, before he says in a small voice, “That – the, um, poem.”

“What about it?”

“It just – the thing about love not enduring?” Louis says, his tone wavering and unsure, but Harry hums in recognition. “It just – it kinda, um. Actually, never mind, s’dumb.”

“It’s not,” Harry says, “you can tell me. I’m sure it’s not dumb.”

Louis sighs, swinging his legs. “I – I just – like, I want to stay with Matt –”

“Matt?”

“My – my boyfriend,” Louis confirms.

And, it’s the fact that Louis doesn’t say ‘ex’ before it that makes Harry want to scream, because Louis thinks that he and his boyfriend – Matt, that bastard – can stay together, especially after what Harry witnessed.

“...Right,” Harry says after a beat of silence. “Continue.”

“I mean, like. I think I still love him? Like, he’s just so –” he pauses. “different, sometimes, but he’s so lovely and gorgeous, and he looks after me, and. I just don’t want that to go away?”

Harry wants to tell him that Louis is in a very toxic relationship with an abusive partner, but somehow he thinks that’s far too heavy and probably too early to be telling Louis these things, so he bites his tongue.

“O-Okay...” Harry says, because what can he say?

“Forget it,” Louis sighs resignedly. “It’s stupid. I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not,” Harry comforts, and his fingertips are itching to put his hand on Louis’ arm, “you’re legitimately concerned about your relationship. It’s normal.”

Louis scoffs. “Sure it is.”

“You’ll figure it out,” is all Harry says, because he’s really lost for words here, but Louis seems to agree with it before he lets out a heavy sigh and rests his forehead on the cool, metal bars.

They sit in comfortable silence for a long time, the cars and the rush of the streets below them, but they remain untouched by the hustle and bustle as they sit in each other’s company. It’s quiet, and Harry doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t think words can really be said now, so –

It’s nice to just sit and be silent sometimes. Louis seems to appreciate it, and he seems a lot less tense as their limbs gravitate towards each other, but neither of them stop it – and, before Harry knows it, Louis’ leaning on him, eyes fluttered shut and his bruises highlighted by the sun. Harry lets it be, because everyone deserves a little respite once in a while, and Louis has certainly earned his.

Chapter Text

Ten

L

It’s the third time Louis wakes up in a bed that isn’t his, and he half expects to feel Matt’s weight and hear his deep breathing next to him, but the space behind him is empty, and – well. It’s an odd sort of feeling; a bit relieved, a bit sad and a bit anxious. And, admittedly, Louis has been feeling a mix of those three feelings since he’s come to Harry’s, but he’s slowly growing used to the weird gangly thing with wild curls and moss coloured eyes, so all in all, it’s okay.

He thinks he’s okay.

He’s definitely a lot better than he was a couple of weeks ago, that’s for bloody sure.

He has no idea what time it is when he blinks his eyes open, but the sun is streaming through the blinds in Harry’s room, and he can hear Harry humming as he walks around the flat, so it’s probably the ungodly hours of the morning. (Louis will never understand how Harry is so fond of mornings. It’s completely bizarre.)

Two knocks come from the other side of the bedroom door, followed by a very enthusiastic, “wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! Oh, but if you’re, like a vegan, then wakey wakey, vegetables. Or something. I dunno,” and a chuckle, and then, “can I come in?”

Louis groans and pulls the duvet over his head. He just wants to sleep, for fuck’s sake – God knows it’s been too long since he’s had a proper rest. Louis hears the door creak open and Harry’s feet slap against the wood floors before Harry’s hands shake his shoulders gently.

“C’mon, Lou, time to get up!” Louis can hear the smile in his voice, and as endearing as that is, all he wants to do is fucking sleep.

“No,” Louis grumbles. “Let me sleep. I want to sleep.”

“You have slept, now it’s time to be awake.”

“No.”

“Aw, please?” Harry gently pulls back the covers to reveal his dimpled smiles and his wild hair, and Louis wants to both hug him and punch him. “Come and be my friend!”

“Why are you even awake?” Louis groans again, burying his face further in the pillow.

“The sky’s awake – so I’m awake!”

Louis giggles into his pillow. “It is far too early for fucking Frozen references.”

“It’s never too early for Frozen –”

“Debateable.”

“- so, get up! I want to read to the plants!”

Louis cracks open his eye and Harry’s still beaming his impressive smile, both dimples on display and that’s just not fair is it? Curse his dimples, Louis thinks defiantly as he sits up.

“Why do you need me to be there so you can read poetry to your fucking plants?” Louis yawns, wiping the sleep out of his blurry eyes with the back of his hand.

“It’s fun with you there, now come on,” and Louis’ being yanked out of bed, but Harry’s fingers curl around his wrist a little bit too tight on one of the bruises, and Louis winces, ripping his hand out of Harry’s grip.

“Shit, I forgot about your – um –”

“Bruises,” Louis supplies, his voice a lot softer now, rubbing his wrist gently. “You can say it, y’know.”

Harry’s face falls. “Sorry – I really didn’t mean to, and –”

“It’s fine,” Louis sighs, smiling and standing up. “Not a big deal.”

Harry frowns, and looks like he’s about to comment on it before he nods resignedly. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice is monotonous, completely the polar opposite to how he usually sounds, but before Louis can say anything, Harry carefully wraps his arm around Louis waist and steers him out of the room. “C’mon, then.”

Without a word, Harry takes Louis out onto the balcony. It’s early morning, the world is still asleep and the morning air is crisp and fresh in his lungs. Louis wraps himself in the blanket Harry’s draped over him and watches as Harry waters each and every one of his plants, paying each of them close attention. It’s kind of cute, really, the way Harry cares about his plants so much. He’s never really seen anyone care about anything the way Harry does with his miniature garden – nurturing it, cultivating it. It’s cute.

(Harry’s kind of cute, he thinks briefly, but the thought is gone as fast as it came. Louis still has Matt. Louis loves Matt, Matt loves him. There’s just a little bump in the road, that’s all. That’s all it is.)

Harry puts down his watering can and runs inside to get his leather bound book before stepping back outside onto the balcony again, cross legged in front of the plants.

“Are you comfortable?” Harry asks gently, and Louis frowns, but nods. Harry seems like he’s trying to be extra gentle with him, because he accidently touched one of Louis’ bruises, and really? It’s not a big deal; Harry didn’t mean to, Louis told him it’s okay. He’s not some sort of fucking weak person who’ll cry at anything and everything, he thinks petulantly. He’s not a pissbaby. He’s not a victim.

“What kind of poem would you like me to read today, then?”

Louis’ brow furrows. “I thought you were reading to the plants, not me.” Louis thinks his tone is more or less jokey enough, but Harry stammers and trips over himself, just like he did when they first met; apologetic and bumbling. Awkward.

“It’s – like, yesterday, you seemed kinda down? Because of, like. The poem I read? And I – I don’t want you to feel sad again.” Harry’s avoiding his gaze, looking at his toes and fiddling with his shorts, words mumbled and rushed. Wasn’t he smiling, like, ten minutes ago? Where did happy-go-lucky Harry fuck off to?

“Why are you doing that?” Louis asks, pointing to Harry’s hands.

Harry looks up, frowning. “Doing what?”

“Y’know,” Louis gestures randomly. “That thing with your hands when you’re being awkward.”

Harry flushes, averting his gaze again. “I’m not being awkward.”

“Then what are you being, then?” Louis demands. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so pissed at this, but fuck everything; he’s cold, it’s early, and he’s under no obligation to be kind to everyone. Matt’s not here. It’s not like he’s going to get reprimanded. “’Cause it’s really fucking annoying.”

“I don’t-”

“Ugh!” Louis groans, totally forgetting himself. “Like, you’re being too fucking considerate.”

Harry opens his mouth to respond, but he closes it, thinking, before he speaks. “I wasn’t aware being considerate was a negative trait...”

Louis sighs heavily. “Not, like – ugh. You’re just doing that thing when you go all soft and gentle around me like I’m going to fucking crack, and that’s not on.”

Harry looks genuinely confused now. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Louis.”

“I’m saying,” Louis says, exasperation hanging heavy in his voice, “that you treat me like I’m made of glass. I’m not going to break if you speak louder than a whisper, you know. You don’t have to cater everything to me – your poems, that is – just because I was being a pussy yesterday when you read that poem. I was being stupid. It’s whatever.”

Harry fishmouths, confused. “But you were upset.”

“Yes,” Louis says, “I was. But it was stupid. Do what you want.”

Harry pauses. “So you want me to read whatever, even if it upsets you? Like badly?”

And – Louis sounds like a twat now. Fuck. Matt was right about these things – he should just stop talking.

Louis groans, and puts his head in his hands. “Now that sounds stupid.”

Harry chuckles, and moves closer to Louis. “I’m still kind of confused.”

Louis peeks through his fingers, looking at Harry’s creased forehead and his concerned eyes, before he just thinks to fuck it all.

“Like, earlier,” Louis clarifies, “you touched a bruise. I said it hurt, and then you went all quiet and shy around me, being gentle and watching what you were saying as if I was going to burst into tears if you said something wrong, and – like, I’m not a fucking victim. I’m not unstable. I’m just a little bit bruised, that’s all.”

Harry frowns again, and he moves right next to Louis, so much so that Louis can feel the heat radiating off of Harry’s skin and hear his heartbeat in the still air.

“So what you’re saying is,” Harry drawls, “and correct me if I’m wrong – you want me to treat you as I would any other person, even if a lot of what I do upsets you – just because you don’t want to feel as if you’re some sort of abuse victim?”

“I’m not a victim,” Louis snaps, finality lacing the words. “I am not a victim.”

Harry looks as if he wants to say something further, but Louis stands up before he can, walking over to the couch, and flopping on it face first, ignoring the subtle ache in his bones.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to, Louis,” comes Harry’s gentle voice, “but you know that we inevitably will?”

Louis scoffs, albeit muffled from the way his head is buried in the sofa cushions. “Says who?”

“Me?” Harry says, as it that’s the obvious answer. “Talking helps, and –”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, thanks,” Louis bites, cutting Harry off completely. It’s silent between the two, before Harry coughs into the quiet.

“Okay. Did you want breakfast?”

And Louis kinda does, because he hasn’t properly eaten anything in a while – he can’t even remember now, fuck – but he shakes his head because nobody wants a heavy lad, Louis.

“Are you sure? When was the last time you ate?”

Louis shrugs, because he really doesn’t know. Who cares?

“I think you should at least have something to drink, Louis,” Harry says, walking over to the kitchen. “Tea?”

Louis hesitates, before he nods. Matt let him have tea. Sometimes. “No milk, no sugar.”

Harry pads into the kitchen, and Louis sulks on the sofa, because what the fuck is his life? He hasn’t seen his family in god knows how long, his relationship is up in the air, he hasn’t contacted or been contacted by his friends and he’s fighting an internal battle. Louis wants everything to stop, for at least a day, an hour, but –

If only it were that simple. If Louis’ learned anything, it’s that simple is exactly what his life isn’t.

+

Louis sitting across from Harry sipping his tea, and neither of them have said anything. Harry’s been staring, and Louis’ been looking at his tea, not daring to break the sacred silence between them, until –

“Do you like your tea?” Harry asks politely, and Louis nods.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, still staring at Louis. “I can hear your brain thinking,” Harry says after a beat of silence, leaning forward in his chair. “Care to share?”

“Not really, no,” Louis says, because a lot of what he’s thinking he doesn’t want to leave his mouth because once words are spoken, they become real and he really doesn’t want to deal with that. “I thought you weren’t going to do all that therapist bullshit.”

Harry sighs. “I wasn’t, but you clearly look like you need to talk, so. Do it.”

Louis considers, what does he really have to lose? Well, he has a lot to lose, but Harry’s eyes are so gentle and inviting, Louis wants to spill everything to him. Harry just makes him feel so comfortable; he feels like he can really just breathe without the fear of Matt hanging over his head or breathing down his neck. It’s comfortable.

Louis nods slowly. “Well – I guess I’m just confused?”

“About what?” Harry prompts, shuffling in his chair so he’s more comfortable.

“Well – everything, I suppose,” Louis admits, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the mug. “Like – I have no idea what my life is right now.” Harry nods, so Louis continues: “I have no idea what’s going on in my relationship, as of late.”

Harry’s entire being just kind of droops, but he nods good-naturedly. “Explain.”

“Like,” Louis begins. “It’s just Matt. I still love him – like, fuck, he’s all I’ve ever really known. It feels like he and I’ve been together forever. But, if we break up – I have no idea what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a job, so no money. I’ll have to move out of his place, and take all of my shit – if he let’s me –”

“’If he lets you’?” Harry parrots. “What do you mean if?”

Louis shrugs. “A lot of what I have, he bought for me. He insisted on buying me things – and I doubt he’ll let me keep them. Anyway,” Louis continues, ignoring Harry’s evident look of shock and mild anger, “I’d have nowhere to go. I haven’t talked to my family because they really weren’t on board with the whole – well. ‘Me being gay’ thing.”

“That must have been tough,” Harry interjects, leaning forward to put his hand atop Louis’. Louis doesn’t pull away and he ignores the warmth spreading through his chest when Harry swipes his thumb over Louis’ knuckles.

“I’m over it now, I think, but,” Louis releases a heavy breath. “My life is in fucking pieces and I’m only twenty-one, for fuck’s sake. Without Matt, I don’t even know who I am – I just love him so much. I can’t-“ He sighs heavily. “I can’t leave him.”

“Louis...” Harry says, after a pause of silence. “That’s some pretty heavy shit you’ve just dumped on me.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Louis laughs sadly, ignoring the tears stinging his eyes. “And thanks for the mental image.”

Harry laughs, and then sighs, still rubbing his hand over Louis’ knuckles. “To be honest, I’m not sure what to say now, but I can offer you more tea, a shitty rom-com and cuddles? If you want that is,” Harry adds quickly, blushing and averting his eyes.

Louis nods tiredly, standing up. He deserves a good cuddle. “I’m down – just not anything with Jennifer Anniston, please.”

+

Louis and Harry are curled on the sofa in a very large blanket draped over both of them. They’re on their sixth movie of the night, and it’s not even in English anymore; Harry apparently has an affinity for Gaelic dramas, and they’ve been kind-of-but-not-really watching them for hours now. The sky is dark, their tea is cold and Louis’ heart feels significantly lighter.

And, even though Louis knows that he’s going to have to curl out of his temporary cocoon of happiness, warmth and light-heartedness, he’ll enjoy it while he can.

Chapter Text

Eleven.

The days blur, and before Louis realises it, he’s spent an entire week in Harry’s flat. Which is – which is weird.

Because, honestly? It’s really strange how comfortable he is. He doesn’t really remember feeling as comfortable anywhere else than where he is now, and he’s staying with Harry, of all people – the eccentric shop floor assistant who he’s barely knows.

And, if he’s being totally honest with himself, the fact that he’s allowed himself to get this comfortable with a stranger terrifies him. He’s just used to being so guarded (he’s had years of practice from being with Matt), and he’s never really allowed himself to be 100% himself - not even around Zayn or Liam or Niall or anyone.

And Harry –

Harry has a way of just making everything so easy. He tells the stupidest jokes and reads fucking poetry to his plants, for the love of God. But, his dimples and the tea and the shitty day-time tv soaps and blankets and late night cuddles and questionably shaped pillows (which are very comfortable, Louis’ found) just make it so easy to forget that Louis’ life is a fucking mess.

Like, Louis has – had? – a boyfriend who is definitely more than pissed off with him and throws him around, and he’s inevitably going to have to face that; he knows he’s got three friends who are probably worried and scared shitless about him. His bruises (that are fading now, but) have practically become a part of him, and there’s not an inch of his body that doesn’t have the same dull ache that is omnipresent.

But, he can’t really find it in himself to worry about that all too much; not when he’s (yet again) on the couch with Harry under a blanket, watching yet another bad film from Harry’s rather impressive collection.

(But, in the back of his mind, he knows that it won’t last, this bubble of comfort and temporary elation. He’s deliberately turned off his phone and hidden it from himself so he doesn’t feel the temptation to turn it on and listen to all the voicemails that have most likely been sent by Matt, as well as the millions of texts messages that may or may not – they most probably are, though – in his inbox from Zayn demanding his whereabouts.

In his experience, nice things - like the arrangement that he and Harry have going on now – never last. But he can lie to himself that everything is okay, just for a little bit longer.)

+

Louis fallen asleep on the couch, yet again (it’s actually kind of comfy once you get used to the springs), but he’s woken up by hearing Harry’s gentle voice, coming from the balcony.

He blearily opens one eye and rests on his elbows, now able to see Harry sitting cross legged in front of his plants, reading more poetry to his plants. Louis stands up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and shuffling towards the glass doors that are ajar.

“Oh,” Harry says, closing his book and turning to Louis with a smile on his lips, “you’re up.”

Louis smiles and sits down next to him, and Harry shuffles closer. “What were you reading this time?”

“Bits of everything, really,” Harry says. “Roald Dahl, Edgar Allen Poe. Kanye West.”

Louis snorts. “Kanye West?”

“When you think about it, rap is sort of like poetry, right?” And he says it with a smile so wide that Louis can’t help but return it.

“Whatever you say, Harry,” Louis says, moving so that his head rests on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry automatically brings his arm up to wrap around his shoulders, pulling Louis closer.

“Oh, I meant to ask. How are your bruises?”

And for fucks sake. Can they not have one conversation where Harry doesn’t bring Louis’ hideously scarred body to his attention? “Fine.”

“Yeah? That’s good,” Harry says, probably picking up on the hostility laced in Louis’ tone. Louis releases a heavy breath and Harry pulls him closer, and they sit in silence just watching the sun set on London.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry comments. “The sunset, I mean.”

Louis hums in assent. “Sunsets usually are, but never really in London.”

“The ones back home were ten times prettier than these,” Harry says,  pulling Louis closer. “Me and my sister used to go out onto the roof and just watch them. Sometimes take pictures, but I’m pretty sure she kept them.”

“Sounds nice,” Louis says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“It was.” A pause. “God, I miss home sometimes.”

“Why did you leave? If you don’t mind me asking,” Louis adds, just for politeness’ sake.

Harry seems to think about it for a while before he answers. “I dunno – Holmes Chapel was really quiet? Y’know, one of those little villages that really only have old ladies, new mothers and bakeries. There wasn’t much there, so I just packed up, kissed my mum goodbye and moved here.”

“Seems a bit sudden,” Louis comments, and Harry nods his head in agreement.

“It was, if I’m honest. I just wanted a change of scenery, really. Didn’t have a lot of money when I came, though. Spent my first night sleeping in Hyde Park,” Harry says, with a laugh but then clicks his tongue when he sees Louis’ face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t that bad. Chilled with some pigeons. A little girl gave me a flower before her mother dragged her away for ‘taking to the hobos’. But, found a job soon enough, and managed to get a shitty little apartment – and here we are.”

“It’s not shitty,” Louis says, but Harry snorts.

“It is, but thank you for being courteous,” he says, lips tugging up into a smile. “What about you? Any tragic backstory?”

Louis tenses immediately. It’s something that he hasn’t thought about for a long time, and honestly tries to forget. Harry probably feels Louis’ muscles and joints lock, because he’s instantaneously tripping over himself apologising.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he blurts. “Sometimes, my mouth just runs away from me and – sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything, yeah?”

“It’s fine,” Louis grits out. “Don’t worry, yeah?”

Harry bites his lip before he nods. “Yeah, I’m – yeah. Tell me when I’m being a prick, though, okay? I’m just a bit scatter brained.” His cheeks are pinks – with cold, or embarrassment, Louis can’t tell – but Louis smiles, and cuddles in further.

“You’re not a prick, Harry. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever had the good fortune of meeting. It’s me who should be constantly apologising, barging into your home like this.”

“You didn’t barge, Louis, I offered,” Harry frowns.

“Yeah, but –”

“But nothing,” Harry interrupts. “And if you apologise again for taking help that I offered, I will tickle you until you cry, alright?”

Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. “Alright.”

“Good.” Harry gently squeezes Louis shoulder, and they fall back into comfortable silence, and it’s just nice.

(Nice while it lasts, anyway.)

+

Things don’t last.

“I’m gonna have to start going back to work,” Harry announces as he hands Louis his fifth (but who’s counting?) cup of tea, and Louis’ heart plummets because he knows what that means.

“Oh,” he says, cradling the mug. He braces himself for the impending this was cool and all, but you have to go now, because I actually have commitments other than babysitting some beaten up guy.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs apologetically. “It’s sucks, right? My manager called and said that if I don’t show up tomorrow, I’ll lose my job.”

“Oh,” Louis says again, voice quieter. “Sorry.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “For what?”

“Being a burden,” he shrugs, but continues when Harry opens his mouth, “because I was the reason that you’ve been away from work for a week and I’ve almost made you unemployed, so. Sorry.”

Harry leans over and pats his knee, a gesture that he’s been doing a lot recently whenever Louis feels like he’s to blame for something. Louis pretends not to feel the warmth that floods his body. “Don’t be ridiculous, Louis,” Harry says gently. “I did it out of my own will. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” He takes a sip of his tea. “Anyway, I work as a shop floor assistant. You’d be surprised how many salty old ladies get upset when you can’t show them the very specific brand of raisin.”

Louis giggles. “Can’t be that bad, surely.”

“I was spat on and then shoved by one,” Harry says very seriously. “It’s pretty lame.”

“N’aw. At least you try, Harry,” Louis patronises, poking Harry’s dimple. Harry beams.

They sit in silence for a while, sipping their teas and watching re-runs of Eastenders, before Harry speaks again.

“You probably don’t wanna be alone in my flat all day, though.”

Louis gut twists. What is he suggesting? “Um, probably not, no.”

“Do you – do you have anyone else you could, like, call?” And there it is; Harry’s fleeting presence in Louis’ shit-stain of a life. Ah, well.

“Um...” Louis stalling. Admittedly, he can call Zayn, but he knows there is going to be a lot of shouting and pitying and hugging and probably tears from Niall, and that sounds exhausting. “Yes?”

Harry sighs with relief. “You do? Thank fuck, I thought I was gonna have to take you to work with me.” And Louis does not scream at him, yes, please do because I do not have to deal with my life before it comes and ruins everything calm and orderly, despite how much he wants to.

Louis gives what he thinks resembles a smile. It probably doesn’t though. “Yeah.”

“Do you have their number? Or, like their name so I can somehow find them on Facebook, or –”

“I have their number,” Louis interrupts, and doesn’t add on but please don’t make me cal them. “Let me – let me just grab my phone, yeah?”

Harry beams, but as Louis stands up, he places his hand on Louis’ arm, stopping him. “Sorry – like, I don’t want you to think I’m kicking you out, because I’m not, I swear – it’s just –”

“It’s fine,” Louis says through gritted teeth. “I get it.”

“You do?” Harry says nervously. “I don’t wanna be rude –”

Louis gives Harry a tight smile. “It’s okay, Harry.”

Harry smiles at Louis again, and Louis turns to Harry’s bedroom, sitting down on the bed and turning it on and –

Wow. Fuck.

Seventy three text messages, all from Matt. Louis doesn’t, can’t read them as he deletes each and every one. He’s being so fucking stupid, provoking Matt further, he knows he is – he just. He just wants to remain happy, just for a little longer.

He goes onto his missed calls list, and Zayn’s called him thirty two times over the past few days, the majority being on the day he left, and didn’t come back, he remembers, wincing. Shit. There are fifteen voicemails, too, and with shaking fingers, Louis listens to the first one.

“Lou? It’s Zayn. You left twenty minutes ago, and you’re not back yet, and it’s getting late. Um. Call me back? Come home, please. You’re scaring us.” Louis deletes it.

“It’s been an hour now, and you’re still not home. Liam’s gone out to find you, and fuck, please be okay. We love you.” He clicks delete again.

“It’s been three hours and it’s two in the bloody morning. Liam’s out still and he keeps calling you, but it’s just going to voicemail. I’m getting so fucking worried now. Come. Home.”

“Eight. Bloody. Hours. Liam’s back now and Niall is crying and come home.”

“Louis?” Zayn’s crying. “It’s twelve hours now, and everyone’s worried. Oh God, please don’t be dead.”

“Liam convinced me not to file a missing persons report, but don’t think I won’t. Louis, it’s been two days. Please – please.”

“Right. I know that sometimes, you would just disappear because you wanted your space, and I get that. But we’re all really worried about you, and we all love you. So much. Please, just – come home, babe.”

“Louis. Please tell me you didn’t go back to Matt. Please. If he – fuck, if he hurt you, I would never be able to live with myself. I love you. Liam loves you. Niall loves you. Please be safe.”

“Okay,” Zayn sighs. He sounds so weary. “Four days. I don’t know where the fuck you are, but if you’re not back or if you don’t pick up your bloody phone for three days, I’m calling the police. Please, just be safe and happy. I love you.”

“Six days, now. If you don’t contact me by tomorrow, I will have to file a missing persons report, Lou. I’m not fucking around. I haven’t slept or eaten in days because I’m worried sick. We’re all worried sick. Please be safe. Love you.”

Today would be day seven, and Zayn has texted or called him yet, so he rushes to dial his number and presses the phone to his ear, biting his lip as the tone rings.

“Louis?” Zayn sounds relieved and tired and emotional and stressed and everything. “Louis, is this you? Please don’t be someone saying that they’ve found your phone, ‘cause I –”

“Zayn, I’m alright,” Louis breathes, before Zayn can continue. “I’m safe. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything on his end for a few moments, before – “Masha’Allah, you’re alright,” he breathes, crying, “You’re alright, you’re alright. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up my phone –”

And, apparently, cool and calm and gentle Zayn has flown right out the window. “You better be fucking sorry! Do you know scared I was? How we all were? Where the fuck are you? Where the fuck did you even go? How did you –”

“Zayn?” Someone says in the background. Niall – and fuck, he sounds absolutely destroyed. “Is that Louis?”

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs, “yeah.. He’s alright, thank fuck.”

Louis hears rustling and what sounds like a sharp slap before he hears Niall’s voice, thick with tears. “Lou? You’re okay?”

“Hiya, Niall,” Louis says, swallowing the lump that sits in his throat. “I’m okay.”

“Fucking hell, I was so terrified of the worst, Lou.” Niall’s sobbing, and Louis feels like shit.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I just –“

“I thought you had died.”

“I know what that must have felt like but I am so, so, so  sorry for not turning on my phone and the rest. I’m just – I’m sorry, Ni.”

Niall sighs. “Zayn and Liam were going batshit, you know.”

Louis winces. “I figured.”

“You’re okay, though? Safe?”

Louis nods, forgetting that Niall can’t see. “I’m safe.”

“That’s – fuck. That’s good, yeah? But, where are you? Where have you been for a week?”

“Um,” Louis bites his lip, “it’s a long story. I’ll explain, yeah? But just - not now.”

Niall sighs, but says, “Alright. Alright, cool, whatever. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. Zayn’s had his prayer mat practically in his arms these past couple of days, y’know.” And he doesn’t sound fragile anymore, so Louis allows himself to laugh. “Liam even joined him, at one point.” A pause. “Just – we’re coming to get you, yeah? And I demand answers.”

“Of course, Ni,” Louis says sincerely. “Love you.”

“I love you too, you twat. Here’s Zayn again.”

There’s some more shuffling before he hears Zayn’s voice again. “I demand answers as well, yeah? I think we all do.”

“I know,” Louis says with a sigh. “I’m okay, though. It’s just – it’s a bit of a long story.”

Zayn sighs. “Fine. Fine, whatever – but where are you? Who are you staying with, because –” He pauses. “You’re not back with Matt, right? Tell me you’re not back with him, Lou.”

Louis sighs. “I’ll explain, alright? Just – can you come? And pick me up?”

“Obviously, you prat,” Zayn says fondly, and Louis feels slightly more relaxed now that Zayn doesn’t sound like he did before. “Where are you?”

Louis rattles off the address. “Come fast, yeah?”

“Of course. I’m just – I was so worried.”

Louis looks at his feet. “I know,” he admits in a small voice. “I’m sorry.”

“I care about you, Louis – a lot. You’re one of my best friends, yeah? I’d hate it if anything happened to you.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say other than, “Love you.”

“Love you too, Lou. I’m on my way,” and then he hangs up.

Louis locks his phone and steps back out of Harry’s bedroom. Harry turns to face him, a hopeful smile on his lips.

“They’re on their way,” Louis says. “Three of them.”

“That’s great, yeah?” Louis nods, and Harry hums, patting the space on the couch next to him. “Now, let’s finish watching Bake Off – according to Buzzfeed there’s a whole lot of drama in this is episode!”

And Harry’s grin makes Louis temporarily forget that soon, Harry’s probably going to be gone out of his life, for good, but –

Even if it’s for a little bit longer, he’ll just enjoy it while it lasts, because that’s all he can do.

Chapter Text

Twelve

Louis’ sipping on his third cup of tea in order to distract himself from the inevitable conversation he’s going to have with Zayn. And Liam. And probably Niall. Shit.

Like, he’s been avoiding it. Obviously – that’s most of the reason why he didn’t want to turn on his phone for a week. He just wanted to forget that his life is up in the air since he and his (ex?) boyfriend that he may or may not love have not been talking for a week after the whole Incident (as Louis has dubbed it, because he’s not sure what to call it because abuse sounds so horrid on his tongue), and he was more or less “rescued” by Harry, the gangly, overgrown toddler who works in Sainsbury’s and reads poetry to his plants.

So. There was that.

And now, he’s almost drained the cup and about to request another when Harry laughs at him from the other side of the couch. “You’re downing that like it’s water, Louis.”

Louis frowns at his empty cup. “It’s not me. These cups are despairingly small. I need more caffeine.”

“You want another cup?” Harry asks, going to stand up, but Louis shakes his head no.

“Nah. I’m pretty sure four cups is pushing it.”

Harry smiles. “Probably.”

Louis bites his lip and looks towards the door. Fuck’s sake, how long is soon?

“You look nervous,” Harry says. “You alright?”

Louis raises and drops one shoulder. “I suppose,” he beings, “I just – like, I have a lot stuff I need to tell them that I –” really don’t want to say out loud because then it becomes real. “-I need to explain.”

Harry gives Louis a small smile and shuffles closer to him, so that Louis can feel the warmth from Harry’s skin and smell the organic apple and mango shampoo in his hair. It’s just so Harry. “It’ll be fine,” Harry reassures calmly. “They’re your friends. They’ll understand.”

Louis gives Harry a shaky sort of smile and bounces his knee. He’s really regretting those cups of tea, because now he desperately needs to use the toilet and –

Three solid knocks sound from Harry’s flat door. Shit.

“That must be them,” Harry says with a smile. “Do you want me to open it, or do you?”

“You,” Louis answers without hesitation. “It’s just – well. You know.” Harry probably doesn’t know, but whatever. Harry gives Louis and understanding sort of smile and stands up, striding across the room towards the door before he swings it open, revealing a very tired and worried looking Zayn, Liam and Niall.

Louis’ eyes snap towards the door and immediately lock with Zayn’s ones.

“Louis,” Zayn sighs in relief, ignoring Harry completely as he walks over to Louis and engulfs him in his arms, “Shukran Iellah, you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re alright.”

Louis can’t do anything but let himself be held tightly against Zayn’s chest, hugged tightly in the other boy’s arms. He just feels safe and secure and hugs Zayn back as best as he can, whispering, “I am and I’m sorry and I love you,” as many times as he can.

Zayn pulls back, and only then does Louis see that his eyes are red rimmed with tears and wow, now he feels like shit. Zayn cups his hands on Louis’ cheeks and gives him a watery smile “You motherfucker,” Zayn curses fondly, “I am never letting you leave my sight. Again.”

“Sorry?” Louis says, tears stinging behind his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips, but Zayn just sighs.

“Louis Tomlinson, I swear to God,” Niall says, his face buried between Louis’ shoulder blades, “I’ve never seen Zayn pray so much in his life.”

Zayn gives Louis a small smile, eyes shining with tears that threaten to fall. “You just had me so fucking worried Lou! Like what were you thinking?” And there goes what was left of Zayn’s temporary compassion. Ah, well. Louis’ going to miss it. “Like what the fuck?”

“Babe,” Liam soothes behind Zayn, “let him explain himself, yeah?”

“And you better fucking explain, you bastard,” Zayn growls. “I thought you had died.”

Louis winces. “Yeah…sorry about that.”

Zayn blinks. “That’s it? That’s all you have to fucking say for yourself?” Liam grabs Zayn’s wrist before Zayn can lunge forward to throttle Louis and Louis takes a cautionary step back. Wow, he’s really fucked things up.

“Zayn,” Liam says again fondly, as Harry comes walks over to stand next to Louis as if to protect him from Zayn’s wrath, “calm down. He’s gonna explain, alright? Don’t need to attack him, okay?”

“Yeah, that would probably be best,” Harry chimes in, and Zayn directs his fury towards him, narrowing his eyes threateningly.

“And who,” Zayn demands, “the fuck are you?”

Harry frowns. “M’Harry.”

“Harry,” Zayn spits. “And what the fuck do you have to do with anything?”

“Alright,” Niall interrupts, standing between the two, “let’s sort it out by talking –” Niall stresses, giving a pointed look to Zayn, “-instead of threatening people, okay?”

Zayn sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry sorry.” He sighs again. “I’m just so fucking sleep deprived I can barely think and function like a normalhuman being.”

“Right,” Harry drawls. 

"So," Zayn coughs awkwardly, and an air of awkwardness hangs over their heads.

"Louis," Niall says, breaking the silence, "did you wanna get your stuff?"

"Oh yeah," Louis says, "I'll, um. I'll just go and grab the stuff, yeah? And we'll be off."

"And you'll be off," Harry repeats, smiling at Louis, and Louis just blushes, from his cheeks to his toes. How does Harry do that? "If you'll excuse me lads, need a piss," Harry excuses himself, bounding towards the bathtoom.

"And then," Liam adds, once Harry's out of earshot, “you’re sitting here and you’re telling us everything, alright?”

Louis pouts. “Liam –”

“Now, Louis. I think we all deserve some kind of explanation, do you not?”

“Yeah,” Louis grumbles, frowning at his feet. “But.” He pauses, thinking about how to phrase it correctly, “Can we...can we do this when we’re back at your place? Please?”

Liam smiles gently at Louis and gathers him in a hug once more, and Louis melts into the touch, craving the feeling of simply being held like he’s worth something, held like he matters. “Of course, Louis,” Liam says softly, “you’ll explain when we’re home.”

Louis smiles into the skin of Liam's shoulder, exhaling deeply as if he's releasing all his anxieties. God, he loves his friends.

+

Louis gathers his things from Harry's bedroom - not much, really, just his phone and t-shirt and boots - before he steps back outside into the main living area where all four boys are waiting for him.

"All packed, Lou?" Niall asks, cheerily.

"All packed," Louis says, his eyes flicking to Harry and then back to Niall. 

"Right," Zayn says, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and walking towards the door, opening it, "shall we?"

Louis nods, and Liam and Niall follow Zayn towards the door and Louis does, too, but Harry stops him from walking, grabbing Louis' elbow.

"See you around, yeah?" Harry says it innocently enough, as if just a variation of saying goodbye, but there's something hidden beneath those moss orbs of his that makes it seem as if Harry's asking Louis, and who is Louis to deny Harry? 

"Of course, Haz," Louis tells him and the nickname just slips out but whoops, there it is, floating between them, waiting to be acknowledged.

But Harry doesn't acknowledge it - he just beams and says takes out a biro from his hair (and what the fuck, does Harry just store pens in his curls?) and grabbing Louis' hand, scrawling his number on the back of it. "That's my number," Harry says, drawing a banana on the knuckle of Louis' thumb and a smiley face beside it, "so you can, like, call me. Whenever. Or text me, whenever. Y'know."

Louis beams up at Harry genuinely, and nods. "Yeah, of course." Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Harry breifly, and Harry does the same, and they're holding each other for a bit before Louis pulls away. "Bye," he whispers, and Harry grins back.

"See ya around," Harry whispers back, and Louis smiles once more before he's lead out of the apartment and Harry shuts the door behind him with a soft and final click.

+

 "So, when exactly are you going to explain what happened?"

Shit. He'd hoped that they would have forgotten about that.

 They've been back at Liam, Zayn and Niall's flat ("the Zaniam crib!" Niall declared, and Zayn rolled his eyes and punched on him the arm) for about an hour now, and nobody had brought up the fact that they still haven't discussed or acknowledged the elephant in the room.

Until now, that is. Curse Liam and his attentive memory.

Louis groans and buries his face in the sofa pillow. "Do we have to?"

There's a collective sigh from the three other boys. "Yes, Louis," Liam insists, "we do have to talk about it. Ignoring stuff won't make your problem go away, you know."

Evidently, Louis thinks. "I know," he grumbles, "I'm aware."

 "Great!" Niall says, flinging himself onto the sofa with a heavy thud. "So you can tell us then, yeah?"

Louis looks at them through his lashes and swallows heavily at their patient, expectant faces. Fuck. He shouldn't have agreed to this. He shouldn't have even turned his phone on, for fucks, sakes; he and Harry could probably be watching Bake Off, or reading to Herbert or -

"Louis, can you just tell us?" Zayn demands, quickly losing patience. “We all deserve answers! You literally disappeared for a fucking week, and –” He takes a steadying breath. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just…I suppose I’m just wound up, yeah?”

Louis swallows again heavily and fiddles with the loose thread of the cushion. “Yeah, I know. M’sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Lou,” Zayn calms in a soothing voice, “I’m just – shit. I just really care about you, yeah? We all do.” Both Niall and Liam nod fervently. “And I think we deserve some answers, okay?”

Louis nods. “Y-yeah,” he says quietly. “You do. I know you do, s’just – it’s a long story. And I don’t necessarily want to remember some parts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, until Liam asks hesistantly, “What bits?”

And fuck it, Louis might as well bite the bullet. “Just – when Matt –”

“Matt,” Zayn seethes, and Liam has to place his hand on Zayn’s knee to comfort him or to calm him down, whichever – but it works, because Zayn looks a whole lot less murderous without his tightly clenched jaw and tight fists.

“How about you just go from the beginning, yeah?” Niall shuffles closer to Louis and swings an arm around his shoulder, pulling Louis’ head to rest in the crook of Niall’s neck, and Louis breathing becomes a bit more even and his chest isn’t rising and falling as rapidly now. “Go as slow as you like, Lou.”

Liam and Zayn sit on the floor in front of couch, looking up at Louis with encouraging, patient smiles and Louis just – he takes a deep breath, preparing himself.

Louis nods jerkily, “Yeah. Right, well,” he clears his throat. “So, um. It was when I was here for a bit, and it was all chill and stuff, and we were just hanging out how we used to, and um – Matt, he. He, uh, called me?”

“What he did say, Lou?” Niall asks gently, running his fingers through Louis hair.

“He was – he’d gone out of town – like to Manchester, I think – for business, or something? And, um, that’s the day I came to meet you guys,” Louis says with a smile, but his heartbeat is picking up, “and – yeah, he’d come home, and our flat was empty, and he was wondering where I was, just – you know. A bit more…angrily.” Louis takes a steadying breath, but Niall holds him tighter and continues to stroke his hair.

“He, uh,” Louis continues, after a brief pause, “he was shouting at me, asking me where I was and that, and I said I was here and he just – he fucking lost it.” Louis didn’t realise he was crying until Niall wiped the tears off his cheeks. He sniffles, “He was so mad, right? He just – he hates Zayn. He hates that I was here, with Zayn. And you two, of course.”

In front of him, Zayn frowns. “I hate him too, the bastard, but – like, why does he hate me so much?”

Louis winces. “He – when he and I were on that date – you remember, that Italian Restaurant and you and Liam spotted us? – he thought that you were, like. Flirting with me.”

Zayn makes a face, and Liam frowns. “But, we told you two that Liam and I were on a date,” Zayn says confusedly. “Like, we explicitly told him. Why would he think I was flirting with you of all people? No offence,” Zayn adds and Louis lets out a sad laugh.

“None taken,” Louis breathes with a small smile on his lips, “and I know. I told him that, but he seemed to have it set in his head that you were flirting with me, and he got so mad and h-he hit me,” Louis whispers, and beside him, Niall’s breath hitches. “Like, when we got home. So. That’ why he was mad that I was with you guys that night.”

“Oh, Lou,” Niall breathes, holding him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it wasn’t your fault,” Louis sighs tiredly as he wraps his arms around Niall’s waist.

“I know, but – I’m sorry it happened to you.”

Louis raises and drops and eyebrow. “Yeah, well. Anyway,” he continues, “so he was mad that I was here, and he accused me of cheating, and he demanded that I come and meet him – by the Sainsbury’s on the High Street; that’s where Harry works – and I-I…Well, I agreed. I could never say no to Matt.”

Liam leans forward and rubs circles on Louis’ knee and Louis breathes in deeply before continuing: “I made up a bullshit lie about needing more clothes or something equally as ridiculous and unbelievable, and I just – I left, I suppose.”

“I remember that,” Niall gasps in recognition. “I like – I didn’t know – I thought something was wrong. Shit. I should’ve said something.”

Louis squeezes Niall’s waist. “It’s okay, Ni. Can’t change what happened.”

Niall presses a kiss to the crown of Louis’ head, and Louis goes on. “Anyway, I left and I was walking to Sainsbury’s in the dark – and I was still in pain because some bruises hadn’t healed yet – and I was so fucking scared. I literally thought I was walking to go there and die,” he admits in barely a whisper. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

Zayn sniffs and leans into Liam and Liam clutches him, letting Zayn crying into his shirt. “Shit, Louis.”

Louis takes in a shaky breath before continuing. “So, I got there and I was waiting for him and I was – I was so fucking scared,” he whispers. “He showed up and he was yelling and screaming at he and – and he was choking me and I couldn’t breathe but then Harry came and he just – he threw Matt off me and –”

“Louis, take a breath,” Niall says, rubbing a hand up and down Louis’ back.

"Yeah, yeah," Louis sighs, "but Harry just showed up out of nowhere and threw Matt on the ground and started kicking him and screaming at him and I was so shocked - like, I'd only ever seen Harry before once - and he was, like, defending me? So," Louis sniffs, wiping at his eyes with his sweater paw, "I got Harry off Matt and he offered to call you guys, but I said no, because I didn't want you guys to worry and pity me -"

"We were worried when you didn't come back," Zayn mutters, but Liam tsks and flicks Zayn's ear and then nods at Louis to continue.

"- so, um, he offered to let me kip at his? And, I dunno why but I did and he was just so nice all week... I really didn't know what to think about him at first, but he was just so sweet and -" Louis' blushing - he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and Zayn raises an eyebrow and Liam gives him a knowing smirk, but he pretends he doesn't see either one of them, "-yeah. That's basically it." There's another pause. "I'm so sorry, guys. I'm just - fuck - I'm sorry."

"Hey," Niall tuts, tugging on Louis' earlobe gently, "you have nothing to be sorry about, Boo." And Louis doesn't even protest the hideous nickname, he just cuddles further into Niall. "We're just glad you're safe now."

"When Matt hit you," Liam spits, and Louis' shocked at the way he hisses out the word, "did you - like, do you have any injuries?"

"Um, I had a couple of bruises; wrist, neck, arms - but I had a massive one on my back, but it doesn't hurt anymore, so."

"You're not in pain?" Zayn enquires.

Louis shakes his head no. "The bruises have faded, but they don't really hurt now anymore."

Zayn nods, running both hands down his face and sighing into Liam's shoulder. "Good, that's - good." There's a brief moment of silence, before Zayn begins again, "Do you think you could press charges?"

And - no. No, no, absolutely not. Louis could never, ever press charges against Matt. The thought has never crossed his mind - mostly because he never really told anyone but - he doesn't wanna get Matt in trouble, or go through the stress of filing a report or -

"No," Louis says firmly. "Absolutely not."

Zayn's brows furrow. "Louis - Lou, you have to. It's domestic abuse -" Louis flinches at the word use of such a violent adjective, "-these things have to be reported. You know that, right?"

And the thing is Louis does know that cases of domestic abuse (he hates that word, God) but Louis refuses to be one of those people. He refuses to be a victim.

"Zayn," Louis pleads tiredly, "can we just leave it?"

"No," Zayn persists, "we are going to talk about the consequences that your fucking abusive partner needs to face! And -"

Zayn's cut off when Liam glares him into silence, and Louis can here the clank when he snaps his jaw shut.

"Louis," Liam begins softly, "what Zayn is trying to say is that there should definitely be a solution to this problem, yeah?"

"I know, but - he's my boyfriend, Liam. I - I love him." And, Louis won't say this out loud, but he's not sure if he even does at this point. What he and Matt had (have?) stopped feeling like love a long time ago.

(He pretends that the realisation doesn't scare him.)

Niall frowns. "Louis - what Matt did to you - that's not love. You don't ever lay a hand on someone you love."

"I know," Louis whines, "but I - can we - I just don't want him to get in trouble."

Zayn scoffs. "I don't give a fuck, to be perfectly honest - he hurt you, Louis, almost to the point where you could've died." And shit, when you put it like that, it does sound horrible. It's just -

Louis supposes that he's become so desensitized to everything that's gone on - he knows that it was't...normal, but he didn't really realise that there was something horribly toxic in their relationship. And Louis knows - he knows - that these things happen in other relationships. He's heard the stories, seen the Channel 4 documentaries - he's aware (and maybe he always has been) that what he and Matt had wasn't right.

"Alright," Louis sighs tiredly, "I hear what you're saying. But - can we just talk about this tomorrow?"

"Lou," Zayn begins with a frown, "you can just put it off -"

"I'm not putting it off," Louis hisses with a lot more venom that intended, "I'm just exhausted. I just want a cuddle, yeah?"

Zayn's face softens and he relents, standing up from the floor and sitting on the opposite side of Louis, wrapping his wiry arms around the boy. "Alright, mate," he whispers, pressing a kiss to Louis' temple. "I just want you to be safe, yeah? You're like family to me."

"I know," Louis breathes, melting into the hug. "I know. Love you all."

"N'aw, Louis," Liam coos, standing up and joining the group hug, "we love you too, kid."

They sit there for a while, Louis' wrapped in the loving embrace of the three people he loves most, and - 

Yeah. Yeah, he loves them.

+

It's late in the evening, the sky the familiar hue of inky blue that Louis' gotten so used to. 

Zayn and Liam have got of to bed and Niall's passed out on the sofa with a full pack of empty Stella cans littering the floor around him. Louis traipsed off to the spare bedroom ("your bedroom now, Lou," Niall had told him with a smile followed by a very boyish belch) soon after Niall fell asleep and now, he's sitting on the bed, legs crossed with his phone unlocked in his lap, the light illuminating the room around  him as he stares at the screen.

Harry's number is still written on his hand, albeit smudged and a bit faded, but in the thick darkness, Louis can just make out the figures and the poorly drawn banana next to it. And, he's not got a fucking clue why he feels so fucking nervous to text Harry of all people. It's Harry - he watches baking shows all the bleeding day long and reads to his fucking plants for fuck's sakes - the only intimidating thing about him is his lumbering height and his fucking baseballs mitts for hands but it's - it's Harry, and Louis is going to buck the fuck up and text Harry, because Louis is a grown ass man who can make his own decisions, fuck you very much.

To: Curlylocks, 11:34 P.M -  Hi Harry, it's Louis. xx

And as soon as Louis sends it, he regrets it, because shit, is it too early to text him? Was it too formal? What if Harry doesn't wanna talk, or -

His phone beeps. 

From: Curlylocks, 11:35 P.M - LOUUUUUIS! i thought you'd forgotten about me! :D

To: Curlylocks, 11:35 P.M - how could i forget about you and your curls?

From: Curlylocks, 11:36 P.M - yeah, ur right i'm pretty memorable

From: Curlylocks, 11:36 P.M -  how goes it? missing watching bake off and missing me reading romeo and juliet soliloquies?

To: Curlylocks, 11:37 P.M - ah yes how will i ever be able to function w/o you and your deep poem sessions

From: Curlylocks, 11:38 P.M -  excuse me, mr sarcastic

To: Curlylocks, 11:39 P.M - it's what i do best :)))

From: Curlylocks, 11:39 P.M - no, but seriously, did you clear the things up with your friends?

To: Curlylocks, 11:44 P.M - yeah...yeah they're clear on things

From: Curlylocks, 11:45 P.M - and that's good, yeah? xx

Do the kisses mean anything? Louis' not sure how to go about this whole texting lark. "Christ, I'm a twelve year old with a crush."

To: Curlylocks, 11:47 P.M -  yeah, it's good :) x 

From: Curlylocks, 11:48 P.M - what are they called again? i know there was an irish one and they guy with kind eyes and the one who looked like he was ready to fight me lol

To: Curlylocks, 11:50 P.M - lmao yh sorry about that 

To: Curlylocks, 11:51 P.M -  um well the irish one is niall and he'll eat all ur food, lol. um the one with kind eyes is liam and his boyfriend is zayn, the one who was ready to fight...soz about tht

To: Curlylocks, 11:51 P.M -  He's just super protective 

From: Curlylocks, 11:52 P.M - nah, it's cool they just care about you. :) xx

From: Curlylocks, 11:52 P.M - it's good you've got friends like that :) xx

To: Curlylocks, 11:53 P.M -  thanks, harry :) x

From: Curlylocks, 11:54 P.M - :) i've got work tomorrow so i need to go to bed, but sleep well, lou xx

To: Curlylocks, 11:55 P.M - night haz xx

Louis locks his phone and slides it under his pillow, burying his face into the fabric. His eyes droop shut and he dreams of brown curls and poetry.

+

Chapter Text

_____

Thirteen

Sleep isn’t something that comes easily to Louis.

It’s two in the morning and he can hear Niall’s snore from down the hall and the sound of a cat meowng from outside, and save for his heavy breathes and Niall, the flat is deathly quiet. And Louis can’t sleep. And it sucks, because he really does want to sleep - his eyelids are heavy and his limbs ache with fatigue - but every time he tries, his brain won’t shut up.

It’s whirring inside his head - his thoughts going from Harry and how he is and how his plants are and the latest poetry or raps he’s read to them and whether he’s caught up on Bake Off , and -

And then they flick back to Matt. And if Matt is mad, or looking for him, or if he cares or if he’s living his life as if Louis and he were never even a thing.

And Matt. Louis’ not sure how he feels about Matt.

He’s puzzled long and hard enough for their relationship, because is it love? Isn’t it love? What is love? He’s almost 100% sure that love isn’t crippling fear, and it’s not having to scrub bloodstains out of your shoes by the dim lights in the bathroom in the early hours of the morning. He doesn’t think it’s hiding from your lover or covering up bruises or lying to your friends or -

He’s just - he’s confused. Matt is all he’s ever known, and his first ever love and honestly? He’s scared. He’s terrified so much that sometimes he can barely stand it; terrified of what could happen if he were ever to leave Matt, terrified of what could happen if he weren’t  and -

It’s all a little bit unnerving.

But, only recently, now they’ve spent time apart, he’s only started - well. Living. He has his favourite T.V. shows - Bake Off or Australian Masterchef, he can’t choose between Paul Hollywood and George Calombaris - he’s finally got in contact with his friends, and he’s even made a new one.

Harry. Fuck. Harry fucking Styles; curls, dimples, poorly secured headbands, poetry, cold toes, cups of tea, and cuddles. Lots and lots of cuddles.

(That Louis has definitely got accustomed to, but he won’t say it out loud.)

But, now is not the time to be thinking about curly haired tall pretty boys with eyes that sparkle like emerald coloured seas or dimpled, rosy coloured cheeks that match his lips, because now? Now it is the time for sleep, and nothing but sleep but his stupid brain won’t let him.

He rolls over in bed, snuggling deeper under the duvet and shoving his hand under the pillow, his eyelids flutter shut and he almost feels a calming sense of tiredness that seeps through his bones -

And then, his phone beeps.

Groaning internally, Louis blindly searches for his phone under his bed and squints as his screen flashes, Curlylocks displayed on the screen.

From: Curlylocks, 2:27 A.M. -   are you awake?

And suddenly, Louis doesn’t feel all that bad for being somewhat sleep deprived.

To: Curlylocks, 2:27 A.M. -   i am now :P

From: Curlylocks, 2:28 A.M. -   oh, sorry!! i kinda forgot about sleep and stuff, so i’ll just leave u to is, sorry kk bye xxxx

He then leaves a string of banana and shrimp emojis, followed by the monkey emoji, and really, Harry is too adorable for his own good.

To: Curlylocks, 2:28 A.M. -   lmao, harry, it’s fine, I promise. i was mostly awake, anyway lol :P

From: Curlylocks, 2:28 A.M. -   couldn’t sleep? xx

To: Curlylocks, 2:29 A.M. -   nah, too much on my mind x

From: Curlylocks, 2:29 A.M. -   u wanna talk about it?xx

Louis considers. He could tell Harry about Matt, but -

To: Curlylocks, 2:30 A.M. -   it might be a little heavy x

Harry’s reply is almost instantaneous.

From: Curlylocks, 2:30 A.M. -   you can tell me anything, lou :-) xxx

Louis’ heart does not flutter. It doesn’t.

To: Curlylocks, 2:31 A.M. -   ok but don’t say i didn’t warn u x

To: Curlylocks, 2:31 A.M. -   I think i wanna break up with my boyfriend? but im just scared, i suppose xx

Harry’s reply comes seconds after Louis sends the text.

From: Curlylocks, 2:31 A.M.   –   scared? Of what? Xx

To: Curlylocks, 2:32 A.M . –   just a bit scared how he’ll react and what he’ll do or say and stuff :/ xx

From: Curlylocks, 2:32, A.M.   –   how do you think he’s gonna react? Like, examples xx

Louis really doesn’t wanna spell it out, but –

To: Curlylocks, 2:32 A.M.   –   um. He’ll probably shout a lot and hit me or something or throw things x

To: Curlylocks, 2:33 A.M . –   he’s a bit unstable like that xx

From: Curlylocks, 2:34 A.M.   –  Louis! :( you could always get someone to go with you xx what about zayn or liam? Zayn’s pretty scary and liam is like a wall of muscle lol x

And, despite the nature of their conversation, Louis finds himself smiling into the darkness.

To: Curlylocks, 2:34 A.M.   –   zayn’s TINY compared to matt, and liam’s a bit more of a pacifist tbh x

To: Curlylocks, 2:34 A.M.   –   and he’ll probably b even MORE annoyed that I brought ppl…he doesn’t really like getting people involved in mine and his “relationship”, u know? Xx

From: Curlylocks, 2:35 A.M. – I still think someone should go with u tho xx I could If u wanted me to?

And… Louis’ never considered that. Harry did prove to be pretty useful last time, and Louis could definitely use Harry’s general calming nature to slow down his heart rate, should the time present itself.

To: Curlylocks, 2:36 A.M.   –   yh, but…

From: Curlylocks, 2:37 A.M. – but what, lou? Xx

To: Curlylocks, 2:37 A.M.   –   Idk if I wanna break up w/ him? Like he’ll get mad sometimes but he can be super sweet and caring and stuff xx

From: Curlylocks, 2:38 A.M.   –   Louis.

From: Curlylocks, 2:38 A.M.   –   he HITS you. You have bruises, Louis. Don’t entertain the idea that you are considering getting back together with your incredibly abusive boyfriend.

And – oh. That was pretty curt, Louis thinks as he frowns at his phone. Especially from Harry. He doesn’t know quite what to reply to him with, to be quite honest.

From: Curlylocks, 2:41 A.M . –   Louis, please don’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself If u did :((((( xxx

Louis racks his brain for an appropriate response that's not you actually cares that much?  and oh my god, he actually cares that much.

To: Curlylocks, 2:42 A.M. -   aw, harry x

From: Curlylocks, 2:43 A.M. -  no, seriously, you have to go with someone - it's not safe for u to go alone xx

To: Curlylocks, 2:44 A.M. -  if i go and see him, that is 

From: Curlylocks, 2:44 A.M - yeah x but u can talk to me about anything, ok? x

And, okay, this time Louis' heart does  flutter. Don't judge him, Harry's unnecessarily cute. It shouldn't be allowed.

To: Curlylocks, 2:45 A.M. -  i know i can. thank u harry xx

Harry doesn't reply for a minute, but Louis' phone buzzes in his hand. He opens the message to see that Harry's attached a picture of himself grinning very close to the camera, dimples on show, and eyes bright despite the darkness and the grainy quality. Under, it reads, ur welcome lou! goodnight xx followed by a plethora of moon emojis.

Honestly. Harry is totally something else.

Louis locks his phone and slides it under the the cool of his pillow, before his eyelids become heavy and he finally wills himself to sleep. He dreams of moon emojis and emerald eyes.

+

It's four thirty-two in the morning, and Louis is awake. He curses everything in existence.

He stares at the ceiling, his fingers laced together and resting on his stomach as he inwardly debates texting Harry. He shouldn't text Harry, he really shouldn't; it's four in the morning, Harry has to work, and he arousing Harry from his sleep to make idle conversation would be immoral. Louis isn't going to text him. He is not going to do that, because Harry needs to sleep, Louis needs to sleep, and sleep is important. He is going to roll over, close his eyes and try his best to get to bed.

Instead, he pulls out his phone from under his pillow. Fuck sleep. Who needs sleep, anyway?

To: Curlylocks, 4:32 A.M –   entertain me.

From: Curlylocks, 4:33 A.M –   that sounds ominously like a bootycall, lewis.

Louis snorts into his pillow.

To: Curlylocks, 4:33 A.M. –   why are you even awake, Harold?

From: Curlylocks, 4:34 A.M. – why are YOU awake?

To: Curlylocks, 4:35 A.M. –   I asked you first :P

From: Curlylocks, 4:36 A.M. -   …im on a walk?

To: Curlylocks: 4:36 A.M. -   …in camden. at 4 in the morning. BY URSELF?

From: Curlylocks, 4:37 A.M. –   um yea?

To: Curlylocks, 4:38 A.M. –   are u TRYING to get urself killed???

From: Curlyocks, 4:39 A.M   – i just wanted exercise!!! stop judging me :((((

Heaven and earth, Louis can practically see Harry’s pout.

To: Curlyocks, 4:40 A.M. –   go to bed, harold

From: Curlylocks, 4:41 A.M. - make me, lewis ;)

Louis tries his best not to choke on air.

To: Curlylocks, 4:42 A.M. – cheeky now, are we?

From: Curlylocks, 4:43 A.M – I’ve been watching a lot of Bad Girls Club I don’t need your judgement

This boy is ridiculous. Harry is absolutely ridiculous and Louis just wants to be back on his couch again and fall asleep on the penis shaped pillows and pine smelling blankets.

To: Curlylocks, 4:44 A.M. – how are your plants, green thumb?

From: Curlylocks, 4:44 A.M – Herbert was getting v lonesome so I got him a lady friend called Bonsai

Louis can’t help but bark out a laugh.

To: Curlylocks, 4:45 A.M. – let me guess – a bonsai tree??

From: Curlylocks, 4:46 A.M. – nah she’s actually an orchid

From: Curlylocks, 4:46 A.M – I was high off lemon scented candles

To: Curlylocks, 4:47 A.M. – the only reasonable explanation, then xxx

From: Curlylocks, 4:48 A.M. – clearly ;) xxx

From: Curlylocks, 4:48 A.M. – goodnight, Louis xxx

And, attached is a dark, grainy photo of Harry, puckering his lips with his eyes squeezed shut. Louis’ heart flips in his chest.

To: Curlylocks, 4:49 A.M. – goodnight haz xxx

+

Louis blinks himself back into relative consciousness for the third time that morning when he feels a heavy weight settle on his chest.

“Ghng,” he grunts, eyes still bleary from sleep, “gerroff me.” He swats his arms wildly to try and get whatever or whoever is on his chest off. He’s thoroughly exhausted and he almost – really – regrets going to bed at ten-to-five in the bleeding morning.

But then again, he doesn’t, because Harry.

“Rise and shine, Boobear,” Niall singsongs as he wiggles his arse on Louis’ chest, “the day has begun the sun is shining, and I want breakfast!”

Louis crakcs open an eye. “It’s literally pissing it down outside.”

“Yes, well,” Niall says dismissively, “I lied – but, I really do want food, so let’s go.”

Louis jerks his body violently, successfully managing to get Niall of his chest, and he smiles to himself when he hears Niall hit the floor with a very sudden and sound thud, followed by a whining sort of noise you'd hear from a kicked puppy. Louis would feel bad, under any other circumstances, but he's incredibly sleep deprived and he has no time for whiny Irish boys who demand food are piss o'clock in the morning.

"Firstly," Niall begins as he stands up, "that was rude. Secondly; Liam's making pancakes."

Louis grunts. "And?"

"And," Niall stresses petulantly, "I want to eat them before Zayn defiles him against the fridge."

Okay, gross. Those are not  them mental images Louis needs right now.

"You don't need me to get pancakes," Louis says as he pulls his blanket over his head. "Go by yourself, I'll join you in a minute." Or an hour, he thinks. Probably closer to that.

"Nope!" Niall protests as he rips the blanket from Louis curled up from. Louis whines and blindly reaches out for the blanket. He doesn't ever remember Niall being as insufferable as he is now. "You, me, pancakes. Now."

Louis slowly opens his eyes and sits up on his elbows, glaring at Niall. "If I go with you now, will you buy me a tub of ice cream?"

Niall snorts. "No."

Louis shrugs and lays down again. "Fine, go by yourself and eat your pancakes as you watch Zayn sucking Liam off whilst he prepares your breakfast."

"Okay, fine," Niall relents, and Louis grins to himself. Ah, manipulation. Such a great thing when it comes to getting your roommates to buy you ice cream.

Louis sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up. "Brilliant," he beams, patting Niall's cheek condescendingly as he walks past. He inwardly laughs at Niall's pout.

When they do get to the kitchen, Louis' more than thankful that Zayn is not, in fact, sucking Liam off - rather hooking his head over Liam's shoulder as Liam's cheeks darken as he flips pancakes. 

"How gross," Niall and Louis say in unison as they sit down at the table, but Zayn merely flips them off.

"I literally could get down on my knees and -" Zayn begins, but Niall places his hands over his ears and starts singing Let It Go at the top of his lungs.

"I don't need to hear this at this godforsaken hour," Louis says, making a disgusted face at the couple. "I'm far too tired to make witty insults, to be perfectly honest."

"Your insults are never witty," Zayn retorts, hoisting himself on the counter.

"Rude and untrue," Louis says waving his hand dismissively. 

"Why're you so tired, Lou?" Liam asks as he flips a deformed looking pancake. It looks more like the mauled creature than it does food. Liam should not be put in charge of providing sustenance, Louis thinks.

"I was having a conversation about the perils of walking alone at night and inappropriately named plants," Louis says with a smirk, and all eyes fall on him.

"Is that a euphamism?" Niall asks, "Because if it is, then I'd rather not know."

"It's a euphamism," Louis says, and Niall looks disgusted, "of sorts. It's completely tame, calm your tits."

"Don't have any, only hairy nipples," Niall beams, and Louis sighs heavily. His friends are so weird. "Who were you talking to, anyway?"

"Harry," Louis says, and now, they're all smirking at him. 

"Oooh, Harry," Niall singsongs, waggling his eyebrows, "how interesting."

"Not really," Louis deflects, "our conversations are quite PG-13."

"Sure they are," Niall says with an exaggerated wink. "Is the new bae, then?"

From the stove, Liam says, "What does that even mean?" What are all these new phrases used by the youths? I don't undestand!  Zayn gives him a supportive pat on the shoulder.

Louis ignores them and frowns at Niall, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Is he the new loverboy?" Niall enquires with a suggestive smile. "Am I gonnna have to get used to homoerotic behaviour now?"

Louis shakes his head slowly. "No...why would you?"

It's Niall turn too look confused now. "Aren't you two digging on each other?"

In his peripheral, Louis can see Zayn and Liam watching him with as much confusion as Niall is. "No?" Louis says, thoroughly perplexed. "I'm still with Matt."

There's a collective sigh that sounds around the room. 

"What?" Louis asks, looking at all of them. "I thought you all knew that?"

"Louis," Zayn begins gently, in that patronising tone of voice that he's started to loathe, "you can't go back to Matt. You know that, right?"

And here we fucking go again. "Oh for fuck's sake -"

"You know that, right?" Zayn interrupts, looking at Louis dead in the eye with a sort of subdued ferocity that Louis can't help but be intimidated by.

Louis swallows. "I - I don't see why  not..."

Beside him, Niall shuffles his chair towards Louis and looks at him with sad eyes. Sad eyes don't suit him. "Louis. You know why you can't."

And - yeah. He knows  why, he's not thick or anything - it's just that it's Matt. Louis would be lying if he didn't say that he didn't find Matt attractive - incredibly attractive, if he's being totally honest - and he's only ever been with Matt. It's nearly two years now, but Louis can't imagine anything different. He knows that Matt shouldn't be hitting him, he knows that a lot of what's happened wasn't right, and he's vaguely aware of the fact that there might be something wrong with him, and he's quite aware of the fact there was something very wrong in their relationship, but -

How the fuck is he supposed to end it?

He wouldn't even know where to fucking begin, for fucks sakes. He's not got the foggiest idea how to end a relationship that he wasn't 100% comfortable with but accustomed to without being completely fearful of what's to come after.

And after. What then? It's sad, but he doesn't know how to function without Matt. He's so used to living in fear and being told what to do, how to dress, what to be like - he's felt lost  without the instruction. And it's not like he craves it - he doesn't, he really doesn't - but he doesn't know how to break the cycle, how to get out off the loop of Matt.

And who'd ever love him? Who'd ever love the shell of a human being he's become?

Louis nods belatedly. "I - I do, but -"

"I really think you should press charges, or something," Zayn says. Louis' eyes snap towards him, and he's now leaning against the counter, arms folded, jaw clenched and eyes hard as he stares straight ahead of him, not focused on anything in particular.

 "Zayn -" Liam begins, casting a wary eye on Louis and then back to Zayn, but Zayn ignores him.

"That man is vile. He's cancerous. I hate him with every fucking fibre of my being and insha'Allah,  I will see him arrested and put behind bars for the rest of his miserable existence." Louis' never heard Zayn speak with such ferocity; never heard him speak with such venom and unadulterated anger as he has now. It's terrifying to say the least. "I want that man charged and convicted. I want him to be lead away by hoards of police. Fucking hell, I want him dead," Zayn spits furiously, "I want him to rot in the ground for what he's done."

Louis swallows and looks at his hands. "M'sorry I brought all this drama to your door," he says in a small voice. "I - just - sorry."

Zayn seems to snap out of his rage, as he rushes over to Louis and hugs him from behind, pressing his lips to the base of Louis neck and rocking him gently in his arms. "Hey, hey, hey," Zayn soothes, "I'm not angry at you. Don't apologise, babe, it could've been so much worse if you hadn't told us, yeah?"

Louis sniffles and Niall rubs a hand up and down his leg. "Y-yeah," Louis hiccups. "I love you lot, so much, yeah?"

"Love you too, Louis," Liam says as he walks over also, wrapping his arms around both Zayn and Louis.

They stay like that for a little longer, until Niall breaks the tender moment as he says, "right, so cuddles and angst aside, can we have pancakes now? And I don't want the deformed one, thanks."

+

Chapter Text

  fourteen

L

The days bleed into each other, and Louis seemed to have blink and a week has passed.

It’s been a blur of cuddling on the couch with Niall, crying on Zayn’s shoulder whilst Liam – sometimes, literally – holds him together.

And it’s not like he’s depressed or anything because he’s almost certain he doesn’t have anything near to clinical depression, but it’s more of an omnipresent sense of sadness with fear that’s got him so immobilised, too terrified to do anything.

God, he’s sick of these four walls that have been his almost-kind of prison for a week. He longs to go outside and walk around, to go out to the pub with Zayn and Liam and Niall, or to see a film, or to just hang out at the park or get high or something, but –

He’s just so paralysed with fear that if he leaves the house, if he leaves the safe heaven between these walls that he’s so recently grown to love and hate, that he’ll bump into Matt. That he’ll see Matt again, and his life will begin the downward spiral back into madness and fear that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to escape.

(Fuck, it’s a wonder how he even managed to get where he is now.)

He can’t fathom it; he can’t even begin to think about the idea of seeing Matt again makes him want to curl up into a ball and cry until his chest aches, until his eyes are sore and stinging.

(In the back of his mind, he wonders how he got reduced to what he is; how, by even thinking about his maybe-boyfriend, he feels the urge to cry.)

And, it’s kind of obvious that the rest of them have had enough. Niall’s less inclined to cuddle with him, and Liam makes bullshit excuses that he needs to go to gym or something equally as easy to see through, and Zayn –

“Oh, for fucks sake Louis, get off the bleeding couch.”

Louis sighs and peaks his head over the duvet. “What, Zayn?” he asks tiredly. “What do you want?”

“I want to be able to walk in to my fucking flat – yes, my flat that I actually pay rent for – and not choke on the smell.”

Louis sighs tiredly. It seems like for the past week, things have been building up to this - Zayn's inevitable burst of anger and frustration which he is prone to having every now and again - and, in Louis heart of hearts, it probably could've been avoided. He could've just not stewed in his self pity, but he thinks he's entitled to. "Yes, well. Sorry." Louis stands up off of the couch, makes a half arsed effort to tidy it - flinging the comforter back into it's relative position, barely moving the cushions so they don't look as if they were thrown - before shoving past Zayn. God, he's really in a strop.

Zayn catches his elbow. "What the fuck is up with you this week, hm?" In his peripheral, Louis can see Niall hovering at the entrance to the living room, lurking there as if he's too afraid to intervene. He's smart, Louis thinks. "You've been fucking sulking, and for what bloody reason?"

Louis snatches his arm away, and glares. "Just - fuck off, Zayn." He goes to walk away, to crawl back under the covers of his bed, when -

"It's Matt, isn't it?"

Louis pauses, and Niall slyly shimmies out of sight. Smart lad.

Louis breathes in through his nostrils and out through his mouth, but he doesn't want to answer.

"I'm right, though, aren't I? It's him who's got you like this, is it? It's him who has reduced you to this?"

"Zayn, please," Louis croaks. "I don't want to -"

"But we have to Louis," Zayn says, turning Louis to face him. "I just - I want to know what happening with you. You used to be so fucking full of life and happy and shit, and now - you - I don't -" Zayn sighs. "I thought you being away from him would help."

Louis averts his eyes. "It's just - I don't want to be with him anymore, I don't think," he whispers, and the tension that's locked in Zayn's shoulders dissipates.

“That’s good, though, isn’t it?”

“I just – Matt has destroyed me, Zayn,” Louis whispers. “I’ve – I’ve been thinking about what I’d do after –”

“After?” Zayn interjects?

“After I’ve – um. After I’ve left him,” Louis clarifies. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get by – like, Matt’s done everything for me and I just – how – I,” Louis chokes and Zayn gathers him into his arms, cupping his hand on the back of Louis neck, pushing Louis face into Zayn’s chest.

“Sh, babe,” Zayn calms, “you’re strong, yeah? Matt’s evil – fuck, I hate him,” Zayn seethes, but sobers his tone once he hears Louis’ sniff, “we’re all here for you, yeah? We’ll help you out of this – Niall, Liam, me –”

“Harry,” Louis adds with a whisper.

“We’re all here for you. And you, mate, are so brave for getting out of this relationship. It’s hard, I know, but it’ll be so worth it in the end.” Zayn presses a kiss to his temple and Louis relaxes, deflating in his arms.

It’s quiet again, before Zayn says, “I’ve got a pound of pot, and I ain’t smoking it on my lonesome, yeah?” Louis grins into his chest.

+

Louis turns on his phone for the first time in twelve hours. His phone flashes with fifteen unread text messages from: blocked number.

Louis calms the trembles in his fingers as he begins to scroll through them.

From: BLOCKED NUMBER, 7:33 P.M. – babe? I haven’t heard from you in so long. I miss you so much, Louis. I know we had a rough patch, but I’m better now. I love you. Matt x

From: BLOCKED NUMBER, 7:54 P.M. – I haven’t contacted you in a while because I thought you needed space. I feel so lost without you, baby. I love you so much and I’m so sorry for everything. I can get better, yeah? We can be better together. I really want to make this work. I love you, Lou.

From: BLOCKED NUMBER, 8:23 P.M. – I got help for my anger, you know. I’m doing so much better now. I’m so sorry that I ever laid hand on you. I love you, Louis. I want to see you again.

Louis deletes the others in rapid succession, inhaling and exhaling deeply to get his nerves under control.

He’s okay. It’s okay. He’s fine. Matt isn’t here; Matt can’t hurt him. He’ll be fine.

(He doesn’t pray, but he sends a silent pray to a deity for strength.)

+

Louis only ends up smoking a joint and a half before his limbs feel heavy, so he leaves Zayn and goes back to his room, cocooning himself in the blankets as he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

He goes to text Harry, but he thinks it all rather mundane now. He calls him, instead.

The phone rings – once, twice – before Harry picks up on the third ring.

A familiar deep voice sounds through the speaker. “Lou?”

“’iya, Harry,” Louis whispers back, as if it’s a secret. “Y’alright?”

“Um,” Harry drawls, “you’ve never called me before.”

Louis winces. “Yeah…is it a bad time, or –”

“No, no, ‘course not,” Harry amends, “but – you’ve never called me before.”

“Nah,” Louis grins, “you’ve upgraded. Texting is only for my side hoes.”

“So I’m the main hoe, am I?”  Louis hears his grin through the phone. “What an honour.” Pause. “You alright, Louis?”

Louis contemplates for a moment, before he says, “I need your help with something.”

“I’m not hiding a bloody body, if that’s what you want,” Harry tries to jest, but after Louis doesn’t snort or snicker into the phone, he says, “is it serious?”

“Kinda,” Louis answers, without actually doing so. “I just – you’re like –“

“Lou? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” Louis assures, “but you and I – we’re close now, init?”

There’s a brief pause before, “yes?”

Louis snorts. “God, don’t sound too excited.”

“No, I mean – we are close, yeah,” Harry stutters, falling over himself in ways to rectify himself. “’Course we are, Lou.”

“Right,” Louis says, taking a steadying breath. “Because – basically -”

“C’mon, babe, it’s alright; you can tell me, yeah?” And, perhaps it Harry’s baritone voice that soothes him or the fact that he says babe (!!!), but it calms Louis down, just enough so that Louis’ able to finish his sentence.

“I know,” he breathes into the phone. “I just – I want to get my stuff out of Matt’s flat.” And –

Louis checks to see if the line is still connected, and – yep. Upon inspection, it’s still there. Harry is still there, Louis can hear his breathing.

Louis clears his throat. “Harry? Still there, mate?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” comes Harry’s shaky reply, “yeah, I am.”

Louis pauses. “Are…are you okay?”

“Me?” Harry asks incredulously. “Of course I’m fine, I’m just – that’s wonderful, Louis, yeah? I’m so happy for you.” And, to his credit, Harry does seem to sound positively elated.

“Thanks,” Louis says, “but I – I need your help?”

“My help?”

“Like,” Louis expands, “obviously, I can’t go there alone –”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Obviously,” Harry rushes to say, “Yeah, obviously I’ll help you.” Another pause. “I’m so happy for you, babe.”

There it is again. Babe. Louis feels like he’s melting into the sheets.

“How – how’re you gonna do it, though? Like, obviously, all of your stuff is there, and –”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about that,” Louis breathes, “I’ll just get my clothes and stuff today, and God willing, he’ll let me leave there intact.” Louis aims for humour, but if falls flat when he hears Harry’s whine.

“Louis,” he chastises, “don’t say that. He won’t lay a finger on you, alright? I won’t allow it.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, “doubt Zayn or Liam will either.”

“They’re coming as well?”

“Well, hopefully,” Louis says, “once I get ‘round to asking them. And if they say yes, that is.”

“Of course they’re going to say yes, Lou,” Harry soothes with that voice that melts Louis like butter, “they’re your friends.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re going to say yes,” Louis whispers. Secretly, he’s waiting for them to get fed up with him and kick him out on his arse, and he tries to convince himself otherwise; he’s almost 100% sure they won’t, but sometimes, doubt creeps in.

“They’re going to say yes,” Harry insists. “They care about you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, resignedly, “I know they do.”

There’s another bit of a silence. “Lou?”

“Yes, Curly?”

Louis swears he can hear Harry’ giggle, but Harry continues, “Can I ask why you’ve decided to only do this now? I mean – like. You’ve not been with Matt for about a month or two now –“

“Two months, three days,” Louis whispers. Not like he’s counting, or anything. That’d be stupid.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “so – um. Why  now?”

Louis hums, mulling it over. He picks at the seam on his jeans. “I guess – I’m tired of being afraid of him? Like,” he elaborates, “I just – I was so scared of him, I would shake and – even though I’m not with him now, I’m still so afraid of him and I’m not even near him – how fucking pathetic is that,” he lets out a self-deprecating laugh, and Harry tuts.

“ Louis ,” he whines, actually sounding hurt, but Louis shushes him and goes on.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore – fuck, I’ll be twenty-two next month and I can’t be fucking afraid to ask my boyfriend to see my family, and –“ he sighs. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“ Louis ,” Harry whispers, and it sounds more like a choked sob than it does anything else, “ I’m so sorry that you had to go through any of that. You – you deserve so much better.”

“Harry –”

“ No,” Harry persists, “ I just – you’re so wonderful , it makes me sick to think of how anyone could ever make you feel like that. You’re so special , Lou. I-I’m so glad that you’re finally getting away from him.”

Louis – Louis wants to cry and smile all at the same time, and he wishes he had Harry’s ridiculous curls to bury his smile into, because Harry is too much, too fast. Yet, he loves the way his chest warms up and his cheeks heat when he listens to the conviction of Harry’s words. God.

“Harry… I – I don’t know what to  - you’re such a gem, Haz,” Louis whispers, “you’re so lovely to me.”

“ Well,”  Harry sniffles, “ someone has to be.”

Louis cracks a smile. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah? But – can you just be ready? Like, later on, in case I need you?”

“ Of course, Louis,” Harry breathes. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I’ll talk to you later, Haz.”

“ Take care of yourself, babe,” Harry says before hanging up.

Louis locks his phone, dropping it on the bed before standing up, ignoring the warmth spreading throughout his chest.

(Babe.)

+

“Is this some sort of family meeting?” Niall asks as Louis shoves him onto the couch.

“Um,” Louis says, wiping the sweat of his palms onto his jeans, “just – I’ll explain in a bit.”

“Y’alright, Lou?” Liam asks, settling down next to Zayn who instinctively curls into his side. “You’re a bit – like, jumpy.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis says, “just – shut up for a minute, yeah?”

“I barely said anything,” Liam mumbles under his breath, before he’s shushed obnoxiously by Niall.

Louis looks at the three pairs of eyes set on him as he gulps in a load of oxygen, preparing himself. “I – urm. I need your help,” Louis manages in a whisper.

“Our what?” Niall asks, leaning forward. “Can’t hear ya, mate.”

“Help,” Louis repeats, firmer this time. “I need your help.”

Zayn’s brows furrow, and he’s leaning forward with concerned eyes. “With what?”

Louis fidgets, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and avoiding eye contact. “Um. I wanna get my stuff out of Matt’s flat,” he whispers. “I want you – can you guys help me move my things out?”

He’s greeted with silence, and he’s about to renounce it all when he feels a pair of arms encircling him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Of course, Louis,” Zayn says, holding Louis tighter, “you didn’t even need to ask, babe.”

Louis pulls back. “I just – I just want my things back. I don’t want to be with Matt anymore.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief from them all. “Oh, thank God,” Niall breathes, standing up to join the hug, “we’re so happy for ye, mate.”

“I – I’m tired of being afraid of him,” Louis admits, squirming out of their arms, “I don’t want to be afraid to come down to the pub with you lot, or go to the park or come to the gym in case I see him there and he breaks my ribs and bashes my face in.”

Liam looks as if he’s about to burst into a ugly fit of tears. “Louis.”

“I don’t want to be scared to live my life anymore. I don’t want to be twenty two years old and not going outside in case my boyfriend sees me. I want to be able to see my fucking family – I want to hold my mother and –” Louis doesn’t realise he’s crying until he feels Zayn mopping up the tears from his cheek.

“You’ll see ‘em again, guaranteed,” Niall promises. “I swear to God, this Matt fucker – I’mma rip ‘im a new one the second I so much as look at that son of a bitch, and –”

“Chill, Niall,” Liam says, coming over to join the cuddle. “I think we all want to do that, yeah?” Liam grins, and Zayn flicks him fondly on the back of his head.

“We’ll have a proper go at him, yeah?” Zayn winks, but Louis shakes his head.

“No,” Louis adds, “can I do the talking? I want it to be me who – who ends the relationship, I want him to hear what I have to say.”

“That’s fine,” Zayn soothes. “When’d you want to do this?”

“Um,” Louis sniffs, “now?”

“I’m fuckin’ ready,” Niall says, pulling on his coat, “on we go!”

“No, wait,” Louis says, pulling out of the hug, “I’ve asked Harry to come as well.”

Zayn quirks a brow. “Harry?” Louis nods. “You’ve asked him to come and help?”

“Well,” Louis raises and drops a shoulder, “many hands make light work?” Louis tries for jest, but Zayn still looks thoroughly unimpressed. “He helped me the first time, and he knows what he’s dealing with. He’s nice,” Louis whispers, dropping his eyes once his cheeks start to colour.

“You ‘n’ ‘im are close, yeah?” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows, but Liam swats at his head.

“He’s nice,” Louis says again, “and I want him to be there. If that’s alright,” he adds.

“’course he’s coming,” Zayn says, winking. “Text him our address, yeah? Tell him to come ‘round, alright?”

Louis nods and goes to fetch his phone, but Zayn pulls him in for a hug again, whispering, “I’m so proud for you, Louis,” before kissing his cheek and letting Louis disappear.

+

Harry’s on their doorstep half an hour later, curls secured by a black headband as if to communicate the importance of the task ahead. Upon seeing Louis, he immediately pulls Louis into a hug and Louis melts into the embrace, breathing in Harry’s scent of warmth and tea and plants and instantly feeling calm.

Harry pulls back, face breaking out into a soft smile before whispering, “Hiya, bud.”

Louis finds a grin tugging at his lips before whispering back, “Hiya, pal.”

Niall coughs pointedly, and Harry drags his gaze from Louis to look at the three other boys who stand watching them curiously, before Liam reaches over and shake Harry’s hand.

“Alright?” Niall asks, and Harry nods as if to say hello. Zayn doesn’t say anything but just nods his head at Harry, and Harry grins nervously back.

“Don’t looks so nervous, mate,” Zayn tells him before patting him gently on the shoulder and walking past, descending the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” Harry is rapid to agree and Louis giggles into his shoulder.

They exit the building in relative silence, Zayn and Liam and Niall at the front with Harry and Louis trailing behind them. Louis palms begin to moisten and breathing gets shorter and quicker as they climb into the car, but Harry reaches down and takes his hand in Louis, and Louis feels instantly more at ease.

(Warmer too, but he tries not to let it show.)

Zayn’s car is a pretty small; too cramped for three grown men to be sitting in the back seat, but they squeeze in anyway – Niall, then Louis, then Harry – before the engine revs, and they’re off.

Louis’ knee bounces as they get closer and closer to Matt’s place, but he feels Harry thumb swipe over the back of his hand and fingers interlocking with his as they drive, and Louis smiles, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder as they go.

He feels better now, Harry’s large hand in his, drawing patters on his knuckle, and he can’t help but feel it’s going to be okay.

Chapter Text

____

xv - fifteen

Louis hands quake in his lap as they pull into car park outside of Matt's apartment complex.

Shit. Shit. This is really happening, isn't it? Louis is going to walk inside, Niall, Zayn, Liam and Harry in tow, demand his stuff back from his boyfriend whilst breaking up with him whilst his friends simultaneously move his things from the flat. And doing all of the above whilst definitely avoiding confrontation. Fuck. It's so surreal and strange that Louis could laugh. But, he can't laugh, because he fears that if he opens his mouth to do or say anything, it will likely result in a squeak, promptly followed by tears.

Zayn parks the car, removes the keys from the ignition and makes his way out of the car. The others do the same. 

This is happening. (In, out. In and out.) This is really happening.

Harry holds his hand out for Louis to take as he clambers out of the car, and feeling Harry's palm against his own momentarily calms him, until he looks up at the complex and his heart thunders against his ribcage again, his breathing becomes shallower and rapid with his chest rising and falling as quickly as his short breaths, and there's a dull throb in his head. Oh, fuck. He's going to die. 

"Louis," Harry frowns, closing the car door, "calm down, yeah?"

Louis flicks his eyes nervously up to Harry's, before he looks at his toes again and concentrates all his thinking into calming himself down. He tries to slow his breathing, but it's not working - his chest begins to feel unbearably tight, and Harry's close proximity to his is suddenly too much, and he can't think, he can't think, he can't breathe -

His head feels foggy as he jerks away from Harry's outstretched hand and crouches down onto his haunches, putting his palms flat against the gravel to steady himself and he tries to breathe in deeply -

In, out, in out 

- but now his head is throbbing and it hurts, and his vision is becoming cloudier and cloudier as he stares at the floor, and he thinks he's going to pass out, until he feels Harry's large hand - soft and warm and familiar - splayed out against the small of his back, and he's beginning to breathe evenly and his vision is clearing, and he's feeling better, and -

"C'mon, Lou, I need you to breathe for me," says Harry gently in his ear, and Louis blinks his eyes and takes two shaky breaths before he's feeling less faint. "There we go," Harry praises, rubbing his hand on Louis' back, "that's it. Feeling better?"

Louis blinks again, uncurling himself and standing up, ignoring the concerned looks from his friends he sees in his peripheral. "What - happened?" Louis rasps, his breath not completely back again, "I -"

"It's alright," Harry soothes, gathering Louis in his arms, and Louis immediately welcomes it, burying his face into Harry's jumper that smells like cinnamon and shampoo and Harry. "It was just a little panic attack, yeah?" 

Louis can't find it in himself to speak, so he just nods and bury's his face deeper into Harry's chest, gripping the hem of Harrry's jumper in his fists.

"Look, Lou - if you're not ready today, we can wait a bit, yeah?" Zayn's voice has a certain sort of uncertainty and concern laced within it. "C'mon - we can go home and watch somethin' on telly, yeah?"

Louis shakes his head. "N-no," he croaks, his voice muffled as his face is still burrowed in Harry, "we're doing this. Tonight," he manages with more conviction, pushing away from Harry and facing his friends. "If I don't do it now, knowing myself, I'll never do it."

"But, you just had a bloody panic attack," Liam pipes up, and Louis can barely make the furrow of his brows in the darkness of the night. "Louis, be reasonable -"

"I'm doing it, Liam," Louis interrupts, sounding surer of himself. "We're doing this, okay?"

They all nod, albeit somewhat hesitantly, and Louis nods himself, before he gingerly tangles his fingers with Harry’s and begins to advance towards the doors. Niall, Zayn and Liam follow a couple of steps behind, and as they get closer and closer, Harry crowds Louis even more and grips his land just a little bit tighter, his thumb rubbing gently over his knuckles.

As Louis swings open the doors, he feels oddly nostalgic about being back here after however long – three months? – as well as a sickly, sinking feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach. God knows how many times he’s had to drag himself up the stairs, battered and bleeding, sinking his teeth into his lip to stifle the moans.

Oh, God, he just wants to turn around and give up on everything. Clothes are just clothes – easily replaceable. He could easily get new ones. He’s pretty sure that Oxfam wouldn’t mind him buying a lot of the clothes in their stores. So what are a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts? He doesn’t need to do this. He can just get back into the car and drive home and pretend that everything is alright.

Instead, he takes in large gulp of air, squeezes Harry’s hand and begins to climb the steps.

Thankfully, Matt’s only on the third floor, which means that Louis doesn’t have to haul himself up numerous flights of stairs. Unfortunately, that means that it doesn’t take them a long time to reach Matt’s door, and Louis’ standing in front of it, eyes wide and wet, hand limp in Harry’s as his heart hammers in his chest.

Fuck. He’s gonna do it.

“You’re so brave, Louis,” Harry says beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling Louis closer to his side before leaning down and gently – gently – pressing his lips against the crown of Louis’ head. “I’m so proud of you.”

Wordlessly, Louis nods, before hesitantly raising his fist to knock on the door.

He places to firm knocks on the door – as firmly as he can manage with his hand trembling like it is – before he lets his hand drop down to his side. On the other side of the door, he can hear a groan, and then the sound of footsteps advancing towards the door.

He hears a collective sharp intake of breath around him.

 Fuck. This is happening. This is really happening.

Before Louis can take another breath or even clear his head to prepare himself, the door swings open and –

There’s Matt. Matt, standing there, looking as gorgeous as ever with a five o’clock shadow and still in his suit from work with the top button undone and his tie hanging around his neck and his fingers loosely wrapped around the neck of a Heineken bottle. His eyes are bleary and his blinks to focus – one, twice – and then they settle on Louis, before his brows furrow. Louis feels Harry’s arm tighten around him.

“Louis?” Matt says, voice low and rough like Louis remembers, just as it was before he got angry. “You – you’re here?”

Louis swallows, before he musters up the courage to say, “Matt – I need – we need to talk.” His voice is shaky and quiet, but he managed to get it out without stuttering.

Matt leans against the doorframe, his eyes flickering up at the rest before they settle on Louis. Louis manages to look at him right back, his gaze not faltering, before Matt cocks a brow. “That sounds rather ominous, babe.” Somehow, the term of endearment doesn’t sound right when it falls from Matt’s lips.

Louis persists. “I-I’m coming in.”

“You and the rest of your squad, then?” Matt asks again, his lips tilted up into a smirk which makes Louis’ blood curdle.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Zayn swears behind them, exasperation hanging heavy in his voice, “just let us in.”

Matt raises his brows, but steps aside, allowing Louis and the rest into the flat. Louis nods, as if to say thanks, but Matt seems to be distracted by the fact that Harry’s hand is still around Louis’ waist.

Matt closes the door behind them, and makes his way to the couch, gesturing for Louis to sit in the one opposite. Matt sits, and Louis does also, Zayn, Liam, Niall and Harry following suit. Louis’ hands are still trembling terribly, but Harry’s hand comes to rest on his back and he feels calmer once more.

Matt’s frowning. “You’ve not been returning my calls, Lou.”

Louis clears his throat. “Yes. Well – I think that we should – that, um –”

“Do you wanna finish your sentence or are you gonna stutter like an idiot?” Matt asks coolly, and Louis recognises that he’s sobering his tone for the sake of the company. Lucky him. Matt sips his beer and challengingly raises and eyebrow as Harry’s hand comes to lock his fingers with Louis’ again. Matt’s eyes flick from Louis’ eyes to where Harry’s hand and his are interlocked again, and Louis notices the flicker of anger before it shifts back to cool indifference.

Louis tries again. “I think that we should break up.”

Matt doesn’t say anything – he just stares – and then he’s leaning forward to place his beer bottle on the floor before leaning back against the sofa, staring daggers at Louis. “Don’t be ridiculous, Louis.”

“I –”

“We’re not breaking up.” Matt’s tone is vicious, final and Louis finds himself cowering into Harry and whimpering quietly. Matt leans forward so his elbows are resting on his knees, and Louis can see the pure anger that’s etched into his features – the same expression that would be the last thing Louis would see before Matt beat him into unconsciousness. “Now, I understand if you wanted to take a little break, and it’s been good for us, but I think it’s high time we put that behind us and move forward in our relationship, don’t you?”

Louis – he knew this was going to happen. He feels his eyes burning with tears and the lump forming in his throat, but he speaks. “I don’t want to.”

Again – harrowing silence. Louis feels Harry’s hand tighten in his.

“What,” Matt begins, voice low, “the fuck do you mean that you don’t want to? What could possibly be wrong with our relationship?”

“You – you hit me,” Louis admits in a small voice, eyes on the floor. “You used to hit me and throw things at me and kick me until I couldn’t breathe, Matt. You strangled me so hard that I blacked out.” Louis’ voice cracks. “You didn’t allow me to see my mother, or see my friends. Matt – I can’t be with you.”

Matt’s expression hardens, before it softens completely and he lean forward to look at Louis gently – almost as if it was when they first met. “Louis,” Matt begins, voice faux-apologetic, “I was – you know how I’d get angry, yeah? Sometimes, work would be to much and I would lash out and – I’m sorry about that now, babe.” Matt goes to hold Louis’ hands, but Louis flinches back and moves further into Harry’s side. Matt’s jaw clenches, but he continues: “I’m going to change, yeah? I’m going to get better and everything will be alright. I love you, Lou. So much.”

And, to anyone else, that would sound genuine – but it isn’t. Louis knows it; he can recognise a phony apology from miles away, and he knows that if the others weren’t there, he’d probably be on the floor now.

“Bullshit,” Harry swears, and the venom in his voice startles Louis, “that is fucking bullshit, and we all know it. Abusers don’t change – they just get better at hiding it and making shitty excuses.”

Matt’s gaze flickers to Harry and his eyes immediately darken. “And what the fuck would you know?”

“I know that you don’t hit your partner,” Harry retorts. “I know that you could go to prison for this.”

Matt seems to ignore Harry’s comment completely, as he turns his attention back to Louis. “Louis – you know I’m telling the truth, yeah? I’m getting better.”

Louis shakes his head though, seemingly gaining more and more confidence. “I don’t – I don’t believe you. It’s been going on for too long, and I can’t go on like this.” He pauses to take a steadying breath and stares right into Matt’s eyes. “I’m going to get my stuff, and then I’m going to leave, and you’re never going to try and contact me again, okay?”

Louis doesn’t wait for an answer – he just stands up and strides toward the bedroom – but Matt stands up also, and he goes to grab Louis, but Harry’s up in a flash, standing between Louis and Matt – so close that their noses are almost touching. 

“Don’t you dare,” Harry hisses. “Don’t you dare try and touch him.”  Matt doesn’t say anything, he just stares at Harry until Harry turns his head and looks to Louis, his face softening immediately as he asks, “Where’s your room, Lou?”

“Um,” Louis stutters, “just through here.” He walks out of the living room with Zayn, Liam, Niall and Harry in tow and into his and Matt’s shared bedroom and –

The nostalgia his him harder this time; it’s almost suffocating, as a mixture of amazing and incredibly unpleasant memories barrage into him all at once. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Harry wipes the tears off his face.

“You did so well, babe,” Harry whispers as he gives Louis a sad smile. “You’re so brave, love. I’m so glad you’re doing this, yeah?”

Louis nods shakily, and Harry bends down to press a kiss on his forehead, his nose and at the corner of his mouth, before he turns around and joins Zayn, Niall and Liam in gathering his belongings.

It doesn’t take them very long. Louis sits on the bed and stares at the blank wall in front of him as he wills himself not to cry as Zayn, Niall, Liam and Harry pack his things up in suitcases.

The tears manage to fall – they always do – and he finds his cheeks damp and his eyes moist before he realises. The run down his face and his neck, pooling in the dip between his collar bones. God, he’s so fucking pathetic – here he is, crying, even though he should be happy that he’s finally leaving Matt to live an undoubtedly happy life without him. He can get a job, now. He can see his friends whenever he likes, make new friends, go and see his sisters –

He could even get into another relationship. Better than the one previous, obviously.

And, somehow, it feels all too much at once. The thought of being free of all of his definitely overwhelms him, he realises as he wipes the tears from his cheeks with the balled up sleeve of his jumper.

“We’re almost done, yeah?”

Louis is pulled out of his thoughts again and turns his attention to Niall, seeing him shove a pair of his shoes unceremoniously into a bag.

“Less than twenty minutes I reckon, okay?” Niall says, his voice as gentle as ever. “Don’t cry, alright?”

Louis nods and gives him a sad smile before shakily standing to his feet and croaking, “I’m just gonna get a tissue, alright?”

Niall hesitates, but nods and Louis gives him one final smile as he shuffles out of the room and into the hallway, towards the bathroom as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

(God knows how many times that’s happened before.)

He reaches out to turn the knob of the door before he feels something hit him hard in the back, and he stumbles forward, not even managing to put his hands out in front of him to protect him as he smashes his face against the wall. He’s almost certain that there’ll be a hideous bruise to adorn his face later, but he can barely think about that before he’s being hauled to his feet again and spun around quickly as Matt slaps his hand over Louis mouth to stop him from crying out.

Matt’s other hand comes to rest on Louis’ throat and he feels Matt’s fingers squeeze familiarly as Matt pushes him hard against the wall. Matt’s fuming, his eyes dark with rage and his lips pursed.

“You motherfucker,” Matt hisses as he tightens his grip on Louis. “You fuck off for two months and then you come back here with the fucking cavalry to come and tell me that you’re leaving me? What kind of fucking bullshit?” Matt punctuates his words with squeezes to Louis’ throat, and Louis tries his best to wiggle out of Matt’s strong hold, but it simply tightens, immobilizing Louis further.

“You are not going to leave, is that clear?” Matt spits on his face, and Louis flinches and whines as loudly as he’s allowed to arouse the attention of his friends not ten feet from where he stands, but Matt shoves Louis’ head back on the wall. “I could kill you, right here,” Matt says, “I could squeeze the life out of you, but I won’t because I don’t want a body to deal with.”

Dark spots cloud Louis’ vision as Matt strangles him again. His lungs feel tight and his chest is aching him with an almighty pain. He’s well aware that Matt could kill him, especially now that he feels his eyelids drooping. He’s very aware that he’s being dangled over the cusp of death. Matt loosens his grip slightly on Louis’ throat, and he’s able to breathe in through his nose now, but he’s still gagged and pinned to the wall.

“Listen to me,” Matt growls in a whisper, shoving Louis further into the wall. “I am going to have you back. You can’t walk away from me like this. You need me. I’m not going to let you do this.” And, maybe it’s the fact that he still can’t breathe that well, but he’s almost certain he hears a crack in Matt’s voice.

Louis struggles again, and his head thuds on the wall, loud enough to make it echo through the apartment.

In his peripheral, Louis sees the door of the bedroom opening. “Louis? Where are y- what the fuck?” Harry exclaims as his eyes fall on Matt and Louis, and Matt doesn’t even seem to register that someone’s there before Harry rushes down the hall and tackles him to the floor.

“How dare you fucking touch him!” Harry is screaming as he lands blow after blow on Matt’s face, neck and chest. “How dare you try and hurt him whilst we’re all here! You fucking scum, you piece – of – shit –“

Louis sobbing bitterly and unabashedly as Harry keeps hitting Matt, and he’s startled when he feels someone’s hand on him, but he jerks around and sees that it’s Niall who’s got him, and he immediately collapses into his chest and clutches to him for dear life as he weeps into his chest.

His eyes are screwed shut, and he’s not sure what happens, but the sounds of Harry punching Matt stop abruptly, and he opens them to find Zayn and Liam pulling him off of Matt as he continues to curse.

“You’re disgusting – you fucking piece of shit, how dare you,” Harry sobs angrily as he’s restrained and Matt manages to get off of the floor, blood flowing down his face and dripping onto the collar of his starch white dress shirt, “you deserve to burn in hell, you scum –“

“C’mon, Lou, we’ve got your things,” Niall croons in his ear, as he pulls him away from where Harry is still struggling out of Liam’s arms to charge at Matt again. Louis nods and he’s still sobbing as he grabs two of the bags and Niall grabs the two large suitcases, before he wheels them out of the room and towards the front door.

“I’m going to see you arrested and rot in a bloody prison cell for the rest of your miserable existence,” Harry’s still yelling, but Matt stands there, stock still and just watching as Harry spits at him. “Go to hell and burn there – “

“Harry,” Louis croaks quietly to rouse Harry’s attention – and it does, because Harry’s jaw clamps shut and he turns to look at Louis. His eyes are dark, his face is the epitome of rage, but his features soften as his eyes fall on a still teary Louis, a blue bruise forming on his forehead and purple ones around his neck. “Can – let’s just go.”

“I’m calling the police,” Harry insists, but vehemently shakes his head.

“Can we go,” Louis begs, tears beginning to fall again, “I don’t want to be here, I don’t like it, please –“

And Harry’s nodding before he rushes over to Louis and wraps his arms comfortingly around the crying boy, gently pulling him over to where Niall’s standing, the door already open.

Liam and Zayn grab the remaining bags and they rush out of the apartment, but Louis turns around to catch the glare that Matt’s directing at him and his lips quirk up into a smile that makes Louis feels sick before the door slams shut behind them.

+

Louis sobs into Harry’s chest all the way home, and Harry just holds him tight against his chest, whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over again, and pressing kisses to Louis’ bruises.

+

The bags are quickly unloaded out of the car.

Niall, Zayn and Liam carry them up the stairs whilst Harry’s still holding onto Louis as his body still racks with tears. The door to the apartment is swung open, and the bags are dumped by the door.

Nothing can be heard apart from Louis’ hushed sobs.

“Do you – do you wanna be left alone, babe?” Harry asks, breaking the silence. Louis shakes his head, and cuddles further into Harry’s side.

“N-no,” he whispers, “can you – can you take me to my room?”

Under any other circumstances, there would undoubtedly be a cackle from Niall and wolf whistles from Zayn or Liam, but instead there’s silence as Louis drags Harry to his bedroom and closes the door behind him and promptly falls into Harry’s chest and cries even harder. Harry shushes him and carries him into bed, throwing back the covers and tucking Louis underneath before crawling in the other side and shuffling close to Louis. He reaches out and pulls Louis in close, and Louis immediately curls into his chest, balling Harry’s jumper in his hand as he continues to weep.

“I’m so proud of you, Louis,” Harry whispers, “you were so brave today.”

Louis sniffs. “I – I w-wasn’t though, w-was I?”

“You were,” Harry insists, kissing Louis’ head and holding him tighter, “you were so brave.” He pauses. “I’m so sorry I – I didn’t come out earlier,” he whispers, “I didn’t know, and –”

“Don’t f-fucking apologise,” Louis hiccups, “you literally tackled him to the floor.”

“He was strangling you, and I didn’t notice,” Harry’s voice cracks, “and he could’ve – he could’ve –”

“But he didn’t,” Louis soothes, which is a strange turn of events because he was the one who was bawling not two minutes prior, “and you came to save me, yeah?”

Harry gives him a morose kind of smile. “Louis – ”

“M-my weirdo knight in shining armour who wears h-headbands and reads to plants,” Louis teases, tears still on his cheeks.

Harry just grins and kisses Louis on his forehead, his nose and his cheek. “Rest now, yeah? You must be tired.”

And Louis is – his eyelids begin to droop and his breathing gets heavier, and he’s practically asleep in Harry’s arms in seconds.

+

Chapter Text

sixteen

H

It’s the early morning. The sky is that familiar dark blue hues mixed with indigo and ink, and the wind is whistling through the gaps in the window.

Louis sleeps whilst Harry lies awake next to him, brushing his finger across his forehead to remove the stray hairs from his face. They lie face to face, their legs tangled together under the sheets and Harry’s been awake for at least half an hour and so have the other boys, but he didn’t have the heart to wake their chests rising and falling in unison.

Louis had been fitting all night – whimpering and trembling and tossing and turning and waking up covered in a thin sheet on sweat, babbling and sobbing quietly and clutching to Harry, and Harry had to hold him flush against his chest and rock him until his breathing became shallow again. He’d sleep with his brows furrowed and Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss his frown and smooth out the creases.

Louis’ breaths are quiet as shadows – slow, shallow and steady – and Harry holds him closer to his chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart.

+

Louis stirs when the sky colours. He blinks himself awake, frowning at the brightness of the room before groaning in annoyance in the most adorable way which makes Harry swoon.

“Wha’ time is it?” Louis grumbles, batting a sweater-pawed fist at Harry’s face. Harry giggles, pathetically.

“It’s –“ he flicks his gaze towards the clock on the wall, “-only half seven in the morning, babe,” Harry replies, holding Louis closer. “We don’t have to get up, though. I don’t think the other lads are, either.”

“

Good, because I don’t wanna get up,” Louis yawns before grinning and curling into Harry’s chest. “Wanna stay with you, Hazza.”

Harry smiles softly. “You’re embarrassingly clingy in the morning,” Harry remarks.

“Shut up and hold me,” Louis commands. Harry complies – obviously; it’s not like he can do anything else.

There’s a brief moment of blessed silence, before Harry breaks it by clearing his throat. “Do you – do you wanna talk? About…about yesterday?”

Louis lets out a tired groan. “Please, Harry, I’m knackered,” he begs. “Later, yeah?”

“Louis –“

“Later,” Louis says more firmly, his brow wrinkled, his lips pouted.

Harry sighs and nods resignedly, holding Louis closer, pressing his lips to his head and breathing in Louis – Louis; coffee and Zayn’s shampoo and the lavender body wash that everyone knows is Niall’s but that he profusely denies – and letting his heart ache for a short while.

“I just want you to know I’m very proud of you,” Harry whispers to Louis. “You were brave – so brave, yesterday, love.”

Louis’ cheeks redden and he buries his face in Harry chest, lips red and raw from being bitten. “It wasn’t brave. It was pathetic – I was pathetic.”

Harry lets out a sound of disagreement and tuts. “You were not, Louis, don’t be stupid – do you know how brave you were in going back to that flat? With that – that bastard who hurt you for such a long time? You managed to leave, Louis. Not many people can, babe.”

“Because they’re too fucking afraid to,” Louis mumbles, and Harry vehemently shakes his head. “I was such a wimp, Harry, it’s just – I just –“he lets out a heavy groan of frustration. “I was always so scared,” he admits in a small voice, pulling his knees up to his chest and tucking his chin into his collarbones, blowing a frustrated sigh through his lips. “I didn’t know – I didn’t know if he was ever gonna, like, properly hurt me.”

“You can tell me all this, Lou,” Harry coos softly, his heart breaking at how quiet Louis’ voice is. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” says Louis, tearfully, eyes red and wet with tears that threaten to fall, “I know I can. It’s just…it’s hard, trying to articulate something that you kept bottled up for a long time.”

Harry nods slowly, curls bouncing around his face, and he bites his lip. “Do you – do you think you’d wanna talk to a professional? Like, nothing major like a psychiatrist, but maybe a counsellor, or –“

“No,” Louis says through gritted teeth, his body stiff and rigid. “Absolutely not.”

“Maybe you should think about –“

“I could barely tell my best mates,” Louis persists. “How the fuck am I supposed to tell a stranger who is going to be analysing my every word and gesture and facial expression? I don’t want to talk to a bloody therapist, thank you.”

Louis tongue is sharp and his tone is venomous and the words he spoke hang in the air above their heads, heavy and foreboding.

Louis lets out a heavy sigh. “Sorry…just – it’s hard. And too soon.”

Harry nods gently. “I understand. Sorry for suggesting it.”

“Don’t be sorry, Harry,” Louis says, rolling his eyes fondly, putting his head on Harry’s chest. Harry wonders if Louis can hear the beats quickening. “You’re just looking out for me. I appreciate it, Haz. A lot.” A beat. “I don’t – I don’t think I tell you enough. I don’t think I tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Harry’s cheeks colour. “Louis.”

“Harry,” Louis throws back, teasing. It’s like nothing happened. Almost.

Harry lets out a breath through the gaps in his teeth. “How…how do you feel about this?”

“This?”

“About being away from Matt,” Harry answers carefully.

Louis bites his lip and hums in thought. “It’s definitely nice. Being away from him – I hated living in constant fear of him, and stuff – but it’s strange….being away from him. I still kind of feel like he’s going to pop up somewhere,” Louis says with a sad and tired sort of laugh which makes Harry’s chest ache with dolefulness.

“I’d never let him come anywhere near you,” Harry says, almost with a growl that surprises even him. “I promise it. I’d bash his fuckin’ head in.”

“Please don’t, I want you out of prison,” Louis sighs with a smile. “I’d miss you far too much.”

“Plus, I don’t think orange jumpsuits would suit me,” Harry adds, and they both chuckle tiredly until it dies on their tongues.

There’s a minute of brief silence, until Louis says, “Harry?”

Harry hums in acknowledgement, stroking his fingers through Louis’ hair.

“Do you think it’s weird how I feel like I’ve known you for longer than three months?”

Harry frowns. It’s fucking weird that; them being as close as they are but only barely knowing each other. Harry doesn’t really know what it is that’s made them so close – perhaps it’s the way he loves watching Louis light up whenever he smiles about something, or how he loves having someone to hold and coddle or maybe just because it’s Louis –

Oh, god. He’s got a fucking crush. How poetic.

(Or stupid. He can’t decide yet, but he’s learning towards stupid.)

Harry belatedly realises he hasn’t answered. “I suppose it is, but I rather like it.” He grins. “Don’t you?”

Louis looks up at him through his eyelashes and a smile spreads across his face, slow like dripping honey. “I do.”

(Harry’s stomach flips and his heart races. He is so pathetic.)

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but then Niall bangs on the door twice loudly, and Louis startles and then giggles, eyes crinkling in the corners and his lip tucked behind his teeth.

“Excuse me, lovers, but are you gonna lie in bed all day and be disgusting, or are you going to get up and be useful members of society?”

*

They eventually crawl out of bed and emerge from the bedroom – after a lot of coaxing, mind; Niall threatened them with eating all the breakfast foods, and Harry had a craving for parma ham – their bones still aching from the night previous, weighed down with unasked questions and reluctant answers.

Harry hadn’t noticed Louis’ bruises until now. The light that beams through the curtains in the apartment that shed light on the bruises on Louis’ neck; they’re small, purple, green and finger shaped and maddeningly familiar. Maybe he didn’t see because he didn’t wish to, or maybe because Louis was aware of the bruises and hid his neck in the monstrous amount of bed sheets but when he catches sight of them when they step into the hallway, his chest aches all the more.

Zayn’s in his batman pyjama bottoms and one of Liam’s oversized lumberjack shirts that hangs loosely off his wiry dram, his hair soft and without product and his glasses balanced on the slope of his nose. His eyes immediately snap to Louis who is tucked comfortably under Harry’s arm, and Harry can’t help but notice that there’s some sort of hesitation before he speaks; it’s like he’s so ready to say something, but as the words get to the edge of his tongue, he decides against it.

Harry decides for him, instead.

“Morning, Zayn,” Harry says, prompting a sort of response. Zayn nods at Harry with a smile and then fixes his gaze upon Louis, who squirms in Harry’s arms.

“Morning,” he says, quietly, and then, “how’d you sleep, Lou?”

“Fine,” Louis answers without actually doing so. “You?”

Zayn shrugs, raising and dropping his shoulders lazily, but his gaze is still fixed on Louis like he’s trying to figure something out. “Everything – you alright?”

Louis sighs. “I’m okay. It’s just,” he raises and drops a shoulder, as if it’s some sort of explanation, “you know.”

Zayn nods. “You were really brave yesterday,” Zayn comments. “Don’t think I told you.”

Louis’ cheeks colour. “God,” Harry hears him say, even though Louis’ face is buried in Harry’s peck, “is it Congratulate Louis day or something?”

“Don’t put yourself down, Lou,” Liam chimes in, walking out of the kitchen with two mugs before handing one to Zayn with a pathetically so-totally-in-love smile. Absently, Harry wonders if he smiles at Louis like that. “You did wonderfully. Considering everything.”

In his peripheral, he sees Louis biting his lip and averting his eyes, and decides now would be a wise time to speak up. “Louis doesn’t really feel all that up to talking about what happened yesterday,” Harry tells the others. “You know. Later, and stuff.”

Both Liam and Zayn frown, but they nod in acquiescence.

Harry catches Liam’s eyes flicker down to Louis’ bruises and his brows furrow a bit. Harry hopes Liam will be smart enough to not comment, but apparently, he has too much faith in Liam about being tactile, because he blurts, “Holy shit, your bruises.”

Louis face hardens and Harry sighs internally. And things were going well (as well as they could be, anyway).

“I’m aware,” Louis replies, steely, his lips pursed and his eyes piercing.

Liam looks distressed. “Do you – do you know how to cover them up?”

Zayn sighs. “Liam…”

“I know how to cover them up, I’ve been doing it for ages,” Louis says with a sort of nonchalance that makes Harry’s bones shiver. “And you could always pass these ones off as sex bruises.”

Harry frowns and his gut flips. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

Louis looks up at him, confused. “Say what?”

“Talk about your bruises so nonchalantly,” Harry clarifies with a sad frown. “I really wish you didn’t do that.”

Louis looks apologetic and wraps Harry’s arms around him, leaning back into his chest. “Sorry, Haz,” he whispers quietly, and Harry smiles sadly and presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

Zayn regards them curiously, raising his brows, and Liam does the same – but this time, he has the sense not to comment and he pads into the kitchen with Zayn, Harry and Louis in tow.

Niall’s sat on the counter, hair askew and furiously munching on a sandwich. There’s mayonnaise on his chin and, somehow, crumbs in his eyebrow, but he beams at them with a toothy smile, showcasing the food in his mouth.

“G’morning, lovers,” he greets, pleasantly. “Sleep well?”

They all let out grunts of affirmation, and Harry sits on a chair and surprisingly, Louis situates himself in Harry’s lap, curling into his chest and tucking his head under Harry’s chin. Liam sits opposite them, and smiles at them softly, whilst Zayn takes four mugs out of the cupboard, drops a teabag into each and flicks on the kettle.

Then, Zayn turns and sighs, crossing his arms across his chest and frowning. Which is never a good sign.

“I think,” Zayn begins, “we need to talk about yesterday. Seriously.”

Niall swallows audibly and Louis squirms on Harry’s lap uncomfortably, until Harry settles his hand on the small of Louis back, and he calms.

“I’d rather not,” Louis replies. “I – I don’ think I’m quite ready to talk about it.”

“I understand that, Louis, but Matt is literally dangerous,” Zayn emphasises. “He could’ve killed you yesterday.”

Louis pales and Harry lets out a disgruntled sound. “Um, Zayn –“

“Be gentle,” Niall hisses between mouthfuls of sandwich, actually managing to look scolding with his cheeks full. “It’s still pretty raw.”

Zayn frowns sadly and sighs. “Yes, sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you, Lou.”

Louis shrugs lazily, raising and dropping his shoulders.

“Anyway,” Zayn begins again, “I think –“

“We know what you think,” Harry says benignly, “but I honestly don’t think now would be a great time to talk about it.”

“When, then?” Zayn demands impatiently.

“When it’s literally not the morning after,” Harry says mildly, holding Louis closer.

Liam fixes a sharp gaze on Zayn, as does Niall, and Zayn relents resignedly. “Fine. Not now then,” he says. “But we will talk about this. Very seriously.”

Louis nods tiredly, and Harry lets out a long breath through his nose. The kettle boils, and the water is poured into the mugs, stirred and then distributed out.

Harry sips his slowly and careful not to spill any on Louis, his hand still splayed comfortingly on Louis’ back. Louis leans back into the touch, blowing on the surface before sipping it gingerly, his hands wrapped around the mug tightly.

They settle into silence, sipping their teas and keeping their eyes averted from Louis, and it’s almost painfully uncomfortable, until Louis declares, “Zayn, since you seem eager to discuss things, I feel we should all discuss how the tea you make somehow manages to taste horrendously shit.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows at Louis and a smile slowly spreads across his face, and he laughs. “Wanker.”

“Yes, well, at least I can make tea,” Louis shoots back and settles into Harry’s chest, raising his eyebrows challengingly. Zayn beams in response.

Liam smiles and Niall giggles around mouthfuls, and the atmosphere of the kitchen becomes a lot lighter than it was previously, and there’s a lot less foreboding that hangs in the air above them. It’s comfortable.

(For now, Harry’s mind adds unhelpfully, but he can’t really think about all the bad when Louis smiling and perched in his lap, dressed in an oversized jumper which makes him looks too adorable for words.)

*

Chapter Text

Seventeen

H

They sit in their pyjamas all day, drinking copious cups of tea and consuming what Harry thinks is frankly alarming amount of biscuits , but it’s nice, because it’s just the two of them. Harry enjoys Louis’ company – even though tension hangs heavily in the air above their heads. Louis’ soft and sweet and has the most adorable smile and he gets these crinkles around his eyes when he laughs at one of Harry’s puns, and oh, God, Harry has a pathetic crush.

But he can’t concentrate on that because Louis’ disgruntled face is too adorable, Harry almost forgets to breathe.

“Scrabble is a fucking stupid game,” Louis pouts. “What the fuck does gnu mean, anyway?”

“It is a word,” Harry grins, tucking his bottom lip behind his teeth to keep his fond grin at bay. “I promise. Scouts honour.”

“Yeah, well, scouts bloody honour can suck my arse,” Louis frowns and the promptly flips the board, the letter tiles going everywhere.

“I told you that Scrabble was a bad idea,” Niall says from the doorway of the living room. “Louis hates board games.”

“I don’t hate board games,” he spits, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly, and oh God, Harry wants to gather him in his arms. “Scrabble is shit.”

“That’s not very nice,” Harry chastises easily.

“Your face isn’t very nice,” Louis retorts with a grin.

Harry gasps in mock offence. “Well.”

Louis crawls over to him and pats Harry fondly on the cheek. “Just kidding. Your face is very lovely.” Harry grins. “Your dimples redeem you completely.”

“Oh, gross,” Niall groans. “I can’t deal with this.”

“Shut it, Neil,” Louis sighs, turning to grin at Niall.

Niall flips him off. “It’s Niall, Lewis.”

“Children, children,” Harry calms, beaming at them both, “can we just call each other by the names given to us by the person who pushed us out of her vagina?”

Louis makes a disgusted face and throws a pillow at Harry’s face. “You can shut it too, Harold.”

“You guys are so disgustingly fond,” Niall remarks. “First Zayn and Liam, then you two. Makes me sick.”

Harry – as hopeless as he is, heaven and earth – blushes at the insinuation of Harry and Louis being a thing, but Louis seems to show nothing other than fond disgruntlement towards Niall as he flips him off with both hands.

“Go and bother Zayn and Liam, please,” Louis says, flopping dramatically on the floor and shooing Niall away. “Leave us.”

Niall shakes his head no. “Absolutely fucking not. They’re probably naked and rubbing all over each other.”

“Isn’t that more of a reason for you to be there?” Louis grins, and Niall’s eyes widen before he skips down the hallway.

Harry smiles at Louis – and sue him, he can’t help it because it’s Louis, and he’s hopelessly enamoured. “Do you think they’re naked and rubbing on each other?”

Louis props himself up on his elbows and looks at Harry, his eyebrows scrunched together as he considers. “Perhaps.” A pause. “When are they not, though? They’re insatiable.”

“I think it’s cute,” Harry grins, flopping back down next to Louis. “It’s sweet.”

“Wait until you hear them bang. It’s disgusting. I’m trapped here, listening to Zayn fucking Liam’s brain out. I want to stab myself in the balls,” Louis sighs theatrically, his hand falling on his forehead in his faux plight.

And, maybe it’s because Harry’s incredibly smooth, or perhaps because his brain is processing things faster, but before Louis can say anything, Harry blurts, “D’you wanna go out this evening, then?”

Louis frowns, facing Harry. “Sounds dubious.”

“It’s completely innocent, I promise.”

Louis’ hesitant. He hums.

“Scout’s honour,” Harry grins.

Louis sighs heavily, but he smiles. “You and your bloody scout’s honour.”

“It’ll be nice,” Harry persists. “We could get food. And see a film. Or, we could go to the arcade, or –“

“You’re really persistent, you know,” Louis grins. Harry smiles back.

“But of course,” he says. “If I wasn’t, we’d have never met.”

The corners of Louis’ mouth curve up into a grin as he looks at Harry. “That’s very true, Harold.” He pauses. “So, since you’re being persistent,” he teases, “I think I’d fancy an evening out.”

Harry’s heart thunders in his chest and he can’t help that his fingers tingle with anticipation and a smile cracks his face, wider than he ever imagined possible. “Really?”

“Really really,” Louis says, smiling back softly.

A cough comes from the door of the living room, and both Harry and Louis turn to look, only to see Zayn there with his arms folded across his chest and his eyebrows raised as he looks at the pair of them.

“Are you flirting with lines from Shrek?” he enquires.

Harry blushes. “No, Zayn.”

“Hm,” Zayn hums, eyes narrowed and flicking between the pair of them curiously. “Why are you lying on the floor?”

Louis shrugs. “Couches are boring.”

“Alri – wait, why are there scrabble tiles everywhere?”

Harry smirks at Louis. “Someone,” he says pointedly, “decided that the game was finished, and demonstrated so by flipping the board.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and sighs at the ceiling. “Ya ilahi,” he whispers, “help me.”

Louis sniggers, and Zayn flips him off, turning and then sauntering into the kitchen.

“Right,” Harry begins, standing up. “I think it’s time we got dressed.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “I’d rather not. PJ’s are rather comfy.”

“You can’t go out in pyjamas.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” Harry says, holding out a hand for Louis to grasp onto.

Louis holds it and Harry hauls him up as Louis says, “So are you the one who dictates everything, then? Who defines what is and isn’t acceptable to go out wearing?”

“No,” Harry grins, “but we both know that Zayn isn’t going to let you out in pyjamas.”

Louis groans, but he’s smiling still, the same soft one that Harry loves. “He’s such a mother hen, that one.”

“I can hear you,” Zayn calls from the kitchen, “you turds.”

“Go and put some clothes on,” Harry urges, giving Louis a gentle shove out of the room.

“Oh, if I must,” Louis says dramatically before grinning at Harry and traipsing down the hallway.

*

What to wear. What to fucking wear?

All Harry has on him is the black skinny jeans which he practically lives in, a jumper that is sodden with Louis’ snot and tears – and, he knows if it were anyone else it would be gross, but it’s not because it’s Louis and he’s pathetic – a ratty white t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination and a sock.

Heaven and earth. He really didn’t think it through.

Harry sighs, looking down at himself in the mirror in the bathroom with a frown. He can’t wear this. He’ll freeze. And, he also looks like a jobless youth or a diseased tramp. Neither, he thinks, are a good look for a date.

Heaven help him, the way his heart flutters when he realises he’s going on a kind-of-but-not-really-but-it-is-isn’t-it date with Louis. He places a hand on his chest and whispers, “Be still, my beating heart.”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom door, tiptoeing down the hall to Niall’s bedroom and he knocks on the door. He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he pushes the door open.

Niall’s sat on his bed, one hand down his boxers and the other in a bag of Wotsits. His face is orange with the dust from the snack and his hair is mussed, sticking up in all sorts of directions. The room is musty and there’s a questionable stain on the bedspreads, and overall, Niall’s entire existence at the current moment in time looks like the colour snot green.

Niall’s staring at the telly that’s playing Jeremy Kyle, but his eyes flick lazily up to Harry when he walks in, and then back to the screen where a woman is arguing with one of the security guards.

“I could have been wanking,” Niall tells Harry, eyes still fixed on the screen. Goodness, she’s threatening to throw a chair, now.

“Yes, but you weren’t,” Harry says, stepping into the room and pushing the door closed with his one socked foot.

“But I could’ve been.”

“I have no doubt that you were earlier,” Harry murmurs, eyeing the stain on the bed sheet. Niall follows his line of sight, and then throws him a boyish grin.

“What can I do for ya, Harry?” he asks, taking his hand out of his pants and wiping them on the pillow. Harry does his best to hold down the vomit.

“I need clothes,” Harry says. “For…a thing. With Louis.”

Niall wiggles his eyebrows. “A date?”

Harry flushes. He’s so sad. “It’s not a date.” Even though he desperately wants it to be.

(In the back of his mind, he knows it’s ridiculous to be wanting a date with a boy who just broke up with his abusive boyfriend and then cried into his jumper for a day following the break up. He knows it isn’t a date. He just – he wants it to be.

How sad.)

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Harry says without heat. “I need something nice. All I have is a jumper soiled with his bodily fluid, a sock, and a top that exposes my nipples.”

“Planning to woo Louis, then?” Niall asks again, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Of course not,” Harry scolds. “That would be wildly inappropriate. Especially after – after Matt.”

Niall deflates a bit. “Of course. I was only teasing.”

“It’s okay,” Harry assures. “I know you are – but what I’m doing for Louis is just a little treat, yeah? Like….I think he deserves a nice evening out.”

Niall beams at him. “Harry Styles, you’re a little saint, aren’t you?”

Harry snorts. “Hardly.”

Niall claps his hands together. “But, you need some lovely clothes for your strictly platonic outing with our Louis!” Harry nods. “And you’ve come to the right man! I am the fashion king. Zayn gets all his tips from me, I’ll have you know.”

“I was always en vogue, you lying arse,” Zayn says as he passes Niall’s room, but Niall just barks out a laugh. Harry gets a chill down his spine from how seemingly omnipresent Zayn is.

Niall stands up of his bed, walks over to the cupboards and swings the door open. “You will look fab by the end of this, I swear to you.”

“I hope so,” Harry breathes.

*

“Et voila!” Niall says, standing back and raking his eyes over Harry. “You look amazing. I might as well call myself Gok Wan.”

“I don’t even know what I look like, yet,” Harry reminds him. “I could look like a struggling aunt.”

Niall gasp. “O, ye of little faith. Close your eyes.”

Harry obeys. Niall places his hands on Harry’s shoulders and spins him around.

“Open,” Niall commands, and –

He looks good. He looks really good. Niall’s jeans are even tighter than his, but comfortably so, and they cling to his legs and make him look slim and sleek. He’s wearing a loose button up that compliments him and a dark red jumper over it that Niall insisted he wear. His hair has just been fluffed a bit differently, the curls fall more accurately and orderly around his face.

“Well,” Harry sighs, teasing. “It’s a bit underwhelming –“

“I made you look fabulous, you ungrateful swine,” Niall glares, but then it dissipates and his face breaks out into a blissed grin. “You’re welcome.”

Harry grins at him. “Thank you, Neil, you’re spectacular.”

And before the door closes when Harry leaves the room, Niall calls, “I know!”

Harry walks over to Louis’ bedroom door and taps on the frame softly. “Lou?” he calls. “You ready?”

Louis opens the door and grins up at Harry, and Harry’s heart does a little leap in his chest. Louis looks amazing. He’s not wearing anything fancy, not in the least – indigo acid wash jeans that hug him in all the right places and a black oversized jumper that swallows him whole, going below his belt and past his knuckles. A dark grey jacket hangs off of his frame and slightly scuffed Vans compliment his feet, and he just looks perfect. “I’m ready,” he tells Harry.

“You look lovely,” Harry says honestly, and the tips of Louis’ ears redden.

“I don’t,” he brushes off with a shrug. “I just – it’s what I nicked from the rest of the lads.”

“You still look wonderful,” Harry tells him, and Louis grins again, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes making an appearance. Harry holds out his arm. “Shall we, then?”

Louis looks hesitant, but he puts his arm through Harry’s and looks up at him through his chestnut sweep of lashes. “We shall,” he responds, beaming.

Harry lets a smile tug at the corner of his lips as they begin walking towards the front door of the flat, but they’re foiled when Zayn steps out of the kitchen, his hands wrapped around yet another cup of deathly black coffee and a dubious eyebrow raised.

“And where are you off to?” he asks them both, but he looks directly at Harry with a shadow of a glare.

“I’m treating Louis,” Harry tells him. “Probably gonna go for a meal.”

“Or a film,” Louis inputs with a smile. “I feel like a princess.”

“Right,” Zayn drawls. “Well. Have fun,” he tells them in a way that sounds like they are to have anything but fun. “I’ll be waiting up.”

“You’re not my mother, Zayn,” Louis snorts.

“Be home by ten,” Zayn tells Harry, without a hint of irony. “Keep your filthy hands off my son, alright?”

“Filthy hands?” Harry gasps in mock offense.

“I’m older than you,” Louis says rolling his eyes, and then he turns to Harry and says, “Your hands are probably very clean. I’m positive you uphold a very good state of hygiene,” as he pulls them towards the door.

“Thank you,” Harry replies with a grin, and then he calls over his shoulder at Zayn, “and I’ll see you at ten!” before the door slams behind them.

*

“So!” Louis asks for the third time in five minutes. “Where are you taking me?”

Harry’s fingers are curled around the steering wheel, and his eyes are fixed on the road with concentration, but in his peripheral, he can see Louis’ knee bouncing with anticipation. “A place,” Harry answers, without actually doing so. Louis lets out a groan of frustration.

“Oh, please, tell me,” Louis pleads. “Please. I won’t flip the board the next time we play Scrabble.”

“I don’t plan on playing Scrabble with you in the near future,” Harry smirks, and his smile grows when Louis pouts with frustration – his bottom lip jutted out, his arms crossed over his chest and a thunderous frown.

“Just tell me, or I swear I’ll – I’ll –“

“You’ll what?” Harry challenges. “You’ll do what to me?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis says, exasperated. “Please, just tell me?”

“We’re here, anyway,” Harry tells him, smirking, as turns into the carpark of a small, Italian, hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

Louis turns to look out of the window. “Oh,” is all he says in a quiet voice, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as he peers through the glass, regarding the restaurant.

Harry turns to look at him, crestfallen at Louis’ expression. “It’s – um – it’s one of my favourite places,” he tells Louis, hesitantly. “I thought you’d like it, but we can go somewhere else if you liked? There’s a nice Thai place, like ten minutes from here, and –“

“No,” Louis interrupts, quietly and firmly. “It’s lovely.” He turns to Harry with a small grin, although his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “Cheers, Haz.”

Harry looks at him dubiously. “No worries.”

“Let’s get inside, shall we?” Louis says, cheerily, although the waver in his voice dictates otherwise. Harry doesn’t comment, but he nods, stepping out the car as Louis does the same.

The bitter winter wind whips against the pair of them, nipping at their noses and cheeks. Harry can see Louis’ fists clenched by his sides and his tightened jaw as he looks towards the restaurant as they approach. Harry frowns.

“Y’alright, Lou? You look as if you’re gonna pop someone in the jaw,” Harry jokes, but it falls flat when Louis jaw tightens further.

“Nah,” Louis denies breezily. “It’s cold, that’s all.”

“Right,” Harry drawls, before walking forward to hold the door open for Louis.

“Thanks,” Louis mutters as he steps inside, looking increasingly uncomfortable and pained. Harry opens his mouth to ask Louis what’s troubling him, but he’s interrupted by a waitress with dark brown loose curls and a wide grin.

“Welcome!” she says. “Do you have a reserve- oh,” she stops as her eyes fall upon Louis. “Hello, again.”

Louis gives her a tight lipped smile. “Hi,” he says hastily, “and I don’t think we have a reservation, so. No.”

“Okay,” she says, slowly, dragging her eyes away from Louis and then to Harry. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Harry smiles at her, but the girl lingers, looking between the pair of them curiously. She opens her mouth to say something, but decides against it, muttering, “excuse me,” before she strides into the restaurant.

Harry frowns, looking after her. “Bit weird,” he regards.

“Hm,” Louis hums, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his fists still curled into tight balls by his sides.

Harry senses a fog of discomfort lingering in the air above their heads, but he doesn’t comment on it. Seemingly, Louis seems to sense it to, going by the way he doesn’t make eye contact with Harry and the way he seems to have become completely mute.

“Louis,” Harry begins, cautiously, “are you sure you like it here? We could always go somewhere else.”

“It’s fine,” Louis bites out. “No need to stress yourself.”

Harry’s not convinced. “You don’t – you don’t really seem to like it here.”

“Sorry,” Louis apologises, exhaling sharply. “It’s – sorry. I dunno. It’s weird, like – I’ve not done anything nice like this for ages.”

“Ah,” Harry breathes. “Okay, well. I’m sorry if this is weird, then –“

“It’s not weird, Harry,” Louis says quietly, smiling at him – more genuine, this time. “It’s nice. It’ll just take some…getting used to.”

Harry smiles back, the corner of his lips twitching up. “Cool.”

Louis grins. “Brill.”

“Fantastic.”

“Fab.”

“Excuse me,” the waitress interrupts. “We’ve got a table spare, so, if you’d like to follow me?”

Harry smiles at her, and follows her through the restaurant with Louis in tow. They weave amongst the tables and diners before they approach a small, round table at the far corner of the restaurant, draped in a clean, white table cloth with a jar of red and white roses and candles sit comfortably on top of.

Louis and Harry take their seats as the waitress lays their menus out before them. “Drinks?”

“I’ll have a water, please,” Harry says, smiling up at her.

“Same,” Louis adds, eyes glued at the menu.

The waitress nods, but hesitates before she leaves, her eyes fixed on Louis. She opens her mouth again, as if she’s about to say something, but she decides against and walks away, shaking her head and glancing at Louis over her shoulder. Harry looks after her, frowning.

“Do you know her, Lou?” Harry asks, fiddling with his fingers under the table.

Louis looks up sharply. “No,” he says quickly.

Harry raises an eyebrows, sceptically, but Louis gives him a pleading look. He drops it. “Alright,” he shrugs. “But she seems to know you.”

Louis’ eyes narrow, almost accusingly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she keeps looking at you as if she wants to say something, but then doesn’t,” Harry says, his eyebrows pinching together. “I was just wondering.”

Louis’ closes his eyes and brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “No,” he breathes, “she might just recognise me. I – I don’t meant to be…short, with you.”

Harry just smiles and reaches over the table to pat Louis’ hand gently, comfortingly. “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

Louis seems to be calmed, and his shoulders seem to droop with the tension drained from them as he smiles tiredly back at Harry. “Alright,” he says quietly, looking up at Harry through the sweep of his eyelashes.

The waitress arrives shortly with drinks, setting them down in front of them, before she pulls her notebook from the back of her trousers, holding a pen with the other. “Are you ready to order?”

“Um, whatever’s good, I suppose,” Harry grins, before closing the menu and placing it on the table.

“I’ll have, um…chicken caesar salad, please,” he says, before shutting the menu. Dani looks at him dubiously.

“Those are really small,” she tells him. “Not very filling. Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“I’m sure,” Louis clips. “Thank you.”

Dani just nods dumbly, before scribbling down their orders, taking their menus and walking toward the kitchen. Harry’s eyes, curious, follow her across and out of the room.

“Weird,” Harry remarks, dragging his eyes slowly from her disappearing figure.

Louis looks at him. “What is?”

Harry raises and drops his shoulders. “I dunno…you seem a bit.” Pause. “Well. Miffed.”

Louis bites his lip, fiddling with the tablecloth. “Am I? Sorry, I don’t mean to be.”

Harry’s brows furrow. “Is it – is the restaurant? Did you not wanna come to this place, because we could always go to a kebab shop or something if you prefer.”

Louis seems to hesitate, before shaking his head vehemently. “No, no, don’t be daft, you went out of your way to do this, and it’s very nice, and –“

“Louis.” Harry speaks firmly, but in a gentle tone, and Louis promptly stops rambling and looks up at Harry. “If you don’t like this place, we can always go somewhere that you’d like more, yeah?”

Louis still looks hesitant, his top row of teeth running nervously over his bottom lip. “You’re sure?”

Harry smiles at him, gently, squeezing his hand around Louis’. “Of course I’m sure, yeah? It’s about you tonight, not me, okay?”

The corner of Louis’ lips quirk upward. “Okay.”

Harry smiles at him once more, before he raises his hand and hails over a waiter. “Could you make sure to tell our waitress – Dani – to cancel our order? Thank you.”

The waiter nods, before scuttling away as Harry stands up and Louis does so, too. Harry pulls on his coat before he links his pinky finger with Louis’, and they stride out of the restaurant. In his peripheral, Harry can see Louis’ eyes are fixed on the ground and his bottom lip is sucked in between his teeth. He frowns, gently nudging his side.

“Hey,” Harry says, as they get into the car, “you okay?”

Louis nods, although he keeps his eyes down. “I – it’s just –“ he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I know that you wanted to treat me, but I’ve just gone and fucked up the entire evening.”

“Louis,” Harry says again, putting the key in the ignition with one hand before hesitantly reaching over and capturing Louis’ smaller hand in his own. “It’s fine,” he whispers, stroking his thumb over Louis’ knuckles. “I said before; it’s your night. I’m just trying to cheer you up, yeah? And there’s no point in eating a restaurant that you don’t wanna eat at.”

Louis smiles softly, his eyes shifting to where their hands are clasped, his eyes lingering there. “I suppose,” he admits.

“Exactly,” Harry winks. “Now, then – I know this proper nice kebab shop, like five minutes from here. Interested?”

Louis nods, pulling his eyes away from their hands to meet Harry’s eyes and smiling, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in that adorable way that Harry both loves and hates simultaneously. “Definitely.”

*

The kebab shop is small and quiet at this time of night. Harry parks outside, before unbuckling his seatbelt and tuning to look at Louis, a small smile stretched across his lips. “Shall we, then?”

Louis grins. “We shall.”

The pair of them saunter inside, hands clasped between them as they walk up to the counter. “Two donner kebabs, please,” Harry asks with a smile.

The teenager behind the counter looks at them with a tired expression. “Chips?”

Harry shrugs, smiling at Louis. “Might as well.”

“Drinks?” he asks, tapping in the prices to a calculator.

“Two Fantas,” Harry says, before digging out his wallet and handing over a tenner. “Keep the change, yeah?”

The kid goes to prepare their meals whilst Louis and Harry make themselves comfortable in the table in the corner, pressed up right to a foggy window. Harry tangles their feet together under the table, prodding Louis’ gently with his knee.

“Is this better?” he asks with a smile.

Louis grins in response, nudging him back. “Yeah,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

Harry winks at him, enjoying the way Louis coyly averts his eyes. “Anytime, Lou.”

“Your kebabs!” the kid calls at them from the counter, and Harry hops up, thanks the boy and grabs the two, orange Styrofoam trays and their cans, before walking back over to Louis and presenting him with dinner.

Louis smiles, picking up a chip and putting it in his mouth. “Thank you for a wonderful meal, Haz.”

Harry grins, wrapping his hand around his can and raising it in the air. “A toast then: to kebab shops and their superiority to snotty Italian restaurants with suspicious waitresses. Cheers.”

Louis does the same, picking up his can and pressing it to Harry, before whispering, “Cheers.”

Chapter Text

_

eighteen

H

They giggle as they ascend the stairs to the flat, Louis stumbling all over the place with laughter and the cheap shitty lager they picked up from a Costcutter on their way over. Harry smiles, watching as Louis burps and then dissolves into a fit of giggles, his tiny hand covering his mouth and the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably.

In his chest, his heart stutters like moth’s wings.

They eventually find themselves standing outsisde the closed door of the flat, and Harry turns to face Louis, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans as silence settles between them, and, for a moment, the only thing that can be heard is someone’s tv in the flat opposite and the wind blowing through the leaveless trees in the street below.

“Well,” Louis grins, rocking up onto the balls of his feet, “I had a miraculous time.”

Harry smiles, raising his brows. “Yeah?”

“Definitely,” Louis beams. “Had the best kebabs of my life.”

Harry grins, wrinkling his nose. “Well. They were sub-par, at best.”

Louis snorts, poking Harry in the stomach playfully. “Shut up,” he smiles. “It was the best kebabs, because I had them with you.”

Harry feels a familiar heat rise to his cheeks. “Is that so?”

Louis shuffles closer, so there’s not much distance between them. “Mhm,” Louis hums with an alcohol lubricated grin spreading across his lips. “Very much so. Very, very much so.”

Harry bites his lip to stop him from laughing. “You’re pissed.”

Louis pouts. “Am not. I only had, like, a pint. And a half. I think.”

“And then you had my can, because you’re greedy and I like you too much to say no.”

Louis giggles again, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “I’m not greedy,” he slurs. “You’re just a pushover.”

“I think,” Harry smiles, “that you need to go to bed.”

Louis smiles, and the stumbles a bit, leaning into Harry before he presses his face into Harry’s chest. Louis’ hands come to rest on Harry’s back, and he hums contentedly, pushing his face further into Harry’s chest. Harry tries to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

“You’re so warm,” Louis breathes. “Has anyone ever told you?”

Harry rolls his eyes but laughs, his own arms coming to wrap around Louis’ shoulder, pulling him in, and Louis hums again, tightening his hold around Harry’s waist. “And you, my dear friend,” Harry begins, “are a lightweight. Anyone ever told you that?”

Louis giggles again. “Am not.” A pause, and then a yawn. “Mm. I’m tired. Wanna sleep, but I also wanna cuddle you. You’re warm.”

“Alright, dear,” Harry huffs out a laugh. “Let’s get inside, yeah?”

Louis hums, nodding tiredly. He digs his key out of his back pocket, fumbling to get it in the lock, and Harry turns to doorknob with Louis still plastered against chest, before he pushes the door open and stumbles inside.

It’s dark, and Harry goes to turn on the light, and –

“Well, hello kids,” says a voice from the sofa. Harry turns to see Zayn (and Liam, although, Liam’s fast asleep with his head on Zayn’s shoulder, mouth wide open and drooling) sitting on the couch, watching the two of them with a morbidly curious expression.

Harry doesn’t know why he feels as if he’s been caught, but he does nevertheless. He smiles back awkwardly. “Um. Hey.”

“How was your night?” Zayn’s voice sounds nonchalant, but judging by the way he’s smiling at the pair of them, Harry perceives it to be anything but.

“It was amazing,” Louis giggles from Harry’s chest. “Well. Not the first part.”

“Oh?” Zayn raises his eyebrows, and looks at Harry. “And why’s that?”

“I – um,” Harry begins, not entirely sure why he’s stuttering, “well –“

“Basically,” Louis begins, stumbling slightly, “me and Haz went to the best kebab place and we shared chips and everything, and it was great.”

Zayn tips his head to the side, still looking at Harry curiously. “You took him for kebabs and chips?”

Harry blushes. “I –“

“No, actually,” Louis interrupts, putting all his weight on Harry, “we went to that Italian restaurant – you know, the one which Matt took me to, and you and Li were there – but I didn’t like it ‘cause it reminded me of him.”

Harry turns to Louis, frowning. “I didn’t know,” he says, sadly. “If you’d told me that Matt took you there, I wouldn’t have taken you.”

Louis shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “I dunno, you seemed happy, so.” He shrugs again, looking down at his toes. “I ‘unno.”

Harry tuts, hugging Louis tighter. “N’aw, Lou,” he whispers. “I’d never wanna take you anywhere that’d make you feel bad.”

Louis giggles. “I know that, Hazzy, you’re way to nice for that.”

Harry smiles. “Is that so?”

“Mm,” Louis affirms. “It’s true. You’re nice, and warm and cuddly and you always smell good. Zayn sometimes smells good, but he smells like Liam and spice and sometimes weed, and I don’t like that.” He pauses. “Oh! And sometimes, come.”

Harry laughs. “I think you need to get to bed.”

Louis whines, shaking his head. “Nooo,” he drawls. “I’m not tired,” he insists, followed by a yawn.

“You are,” Harry insists. “Come on, then. Off to bed.”

Louis yawns, and then a tired smile stretches across his lips. “Carry me.”

From the couch, Zayn sighs. “And what’s wrong with your feet, dear?”

Louis turns to shush him, before looking back at Harry with such an endearing smile, that Harry just melts. He curses the day Louis Tomlinson ever had any effect on him.

(Although, he doesn’t really.)

“Pleaaaaase?” Louis asks, fluttering his eyelashes. “Pretty pretty please with a dildo on top.”

A smile tugs at Harry’s lips. “I’m not sure that’s how it goes.”

“Please?”

Harry rolls his eyes before sweeping Louis up into his arms, holding him bridal style. Louis squeals in delight, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and pressing his face into Harry’s cheek. “Wee!” Louis giggles.

“You’re such a noob,” Harry smiles, carrying Louis towards his room.

“I’m your favourite noob though,” Louis smiles. “Your favourite drunk noob.”

“Aye, you are,” Harry indulges him, kicking the door to Louis’ room open before closing it by pressing his back against it, and he walks over to the bed and drops Louis’ down gently. Louis stretches, squeezing his eyes tightly together, before he snuggles into the sheets. Harry smiles down at him. “Comfy now?”

Louis peeks open an eyelid. “I’d be more comfy if I had you beside me. You’re like an electric blanket.”

Harry’s cheeks heat up, and he laughs awkwardly, running his fingers through his long curls. “Um, I think I’ll just take the couch tonight, babes.”

Louis frowns, and whines. “No,” he says finally, grabbing Harry’s arm and tugging him down onto the bed, “you’re sleeping here with me. I need you to keep me warm, Haz.”

Harry laughs, rolling over so he’s on the other side of the bed, but turns to he can face Louis. “But we’ve not even changed or brushed our teeth.”

Louis’ eyes flutter closed. He yawns. “Pointless detail,” he waves, dismissively. “We’ll regret it in the morning.” He burrows under the covers and Harry follows suit, and Louis reaches his arms out to Harry, making grabby hands. “Now. Cuddle with me.”

Harry huffs out a silent laugh, but obliges, pulling Louis into his arms and close into his chest. Louis preens, curling into Harry’s warmth and burrowing further into his chest. Harry presses a soft kiss to the crown of Louis’ head. “Night, Lou.”

Louis yawns, before whispering, “Sweet dreams, Haz,” and then he’s out like a light, and Harry follows soon after, their chests rising and falling in tandem.

*

Harry is the first to wake of the pair tomorrow morning, blinking into consciousness as the sun streams through the blinds in Louis’ bedroom. His mouth feels stale with the cheap lager of last night and sour with morning breath, and his limbs feel heavy, but there’s a warmth when he feels Louis curl against his side, Louis legs tangled with his own underneath the rumbled bedsheets.

He pokes Louis’ shoulder gently. “Wakey wakey,” he whispers.

Louis grumbles and stirs, but stubbornly keeps his eyes shut. “What,” he drawls with a yawn. “M’tired, let me sleep please.”

Harry supresses a laugh, pressing his tongue behind his teeth. “Can’t, love,” he tells Louis, voice gentle. “It’s –“ his eyes flick at the clock on Louis’ bedside, “half one. In the afternoon.”

Louis groans again. “It’s early. Go back to bed.”

“Louis. It’s half one in the afternoon.”

“Fuck off,” Louis yawns again, and tries to nuzzle back into Harry’s side, but Harry moves so that his back is rested again the headboard of Louis’ bed, and Louis grumbles again. “Ugh, come back.”

“Nope,” Harry smiles. “You need to get up.”

“Can’t,” Louis whines. “My head hurts. I’m hungover, so I’m allowed to be grouchy and uncooperative.”

Harry snorts. “You had, like, two beers.”

“I’m a lightweight,” Louis dismisses. “Let me sleep.”

“Alright dear,” Harry obliges, and slips out of bed once Louis’ settles. He tiptoes out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb Louis and then pads down the hall to fetch a paracetemol and a glass of water for Louis. His bare feet slap against the wooded floors as he walks back to Louis’ room, and he raps his knuckles on the wood of Louis’ door gently. “Lou?”

A muffled groan comes from the other side of the door, so Harry takes that as an affirmative for him to enter, so he pushes the door open and places the glass and the tablet on the bedside table, before he crawls back into bed with Louis. Louis immediately latches onto Harry, trying to curl back into the warmth, and Harry laughs.

“You’re so fucking clingy,” Harry teases, shuffling so he’s comfortable.

“I’m hungover,” Louis says again. “I need comfort and warmth, and those are two things that you are currently providing.” He yawns, and then frowns. “I’m never drinking again. Beer is gross, anyway, it tastes like grass.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulder to pull him upright, and Louis leans his head against Harry’s shoulder. “I brought you a tablet and some water,” Harry tells him, bringing his hand up to scratch Louis’ scalp with his short nails. He swears he almost hears Louis purr. “Thought it could help with your pathetic hangover.”

Louis hums. “You’re a godsend, I swear.” He cracks open an eye, and reaches over to the table to grab the glass and tablet, popping the pill in his mouth and chugging the glass of water. Placing the empty glass back on the bedside table, he burps loudly and then sighs happily before coming to lean on Harry’s shoulder again. “You’re literally an angel, Harry Styles.”

Harry laughs. “You’re welcome, Louis Tomlinson.”

Silence settles between them once more, Harry’s fingernails still scratching gently at Louis’ scalp and Louis’ breathing gets deeper and heavier when Harry remembers something suddenly.

“Lou?” Harry begins tentatively.

Louis hums in acknowledgeent.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Just did,” Louis smiles, and Harry rolls his eyes and flicks his head.

“Idiot,” he smiles. “No, but seriously. I have a question. About…about last night.”

Louis hums. “Shoot.”

“Right,” Harry says, nibbling on his bottom lip. His mind ponders ways to phrase the question – he’s never really been too great at words; he’s shit at telling stories and he’s always been a little slow at speaking, and though he likes to think himself tactful when asking hard questions, he’s at a bit of a loss. “Um, about last night –“

“What about last night?” Louis’ voice is low, but there’s an edge to it, one that Harry can’t fully decipher.

Harry picks at a loose seam on the bedsheets. “Um, it’s just – you know the first restaurant that we went to? The little Italian joint?” Louis nods, wordlessly, and Harry swallows. “Like – last night, you said you were uncomfortable about me taking you there.”

Harry feels Louis tense. “Don’t remember saying that,” Louis cuts out, sitting a little straighter.

“You were a bit drunk. You’re kind of a lightweight,” Harry teases, attempting comedy but Louis says nothing. “But anyway. You – you said you were uncomfortable because –“ He pauses, trying to formulate the right words to say. “-‘cause Matt took you there before? And I’m guessing it – it wasn’t that…pleasant.”

Louis sighs heavily and he seems to deflate, his body coming to rest against Harry’s again. “Unpleasant is another way to put it,” Louis says quietly. His voice is brittle, how Harry remembers it sounding when Louis was talking to Matt and something uncomfortable tugs at Harry’s stomach.

“Do –“ Harry swallows. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Louis silent for a short while, fiddling with his fingers. “I would,” Louis begins eventually, quietly. “But it’s just a bit raw. Still.” Louis laughs self-deprecatingly. “It was months ago, and it still feels so fucking raw. It’s a bit pathetic, innit?”

“No,” Harry denies, quietly, but fiercely. “Not pathetic. Never pathetic.” He sighs, putting his arm around Louis’ shoulder again and tugging him gently into his chest again, and Louis goes easily, immediately leaning into Harry’s warmth. “I just want you to be able to tell me these things. I care about you,” he admits. “A lot. And I want you to trust me with these things.”

Louis hesitates before he says anything. “I care about you a lot, too,” Louis says in an almost whisper. “And I do trust you. A great deal.”

Harry presses a gentle kiss to the crown of Louis’ head, rubbing his arm up and down Louis’ arm in a soothing manner.

“Last time I was at that restaurant before yesterday,” Louis finally begins, playing with a loose thread on Harry’s shirt, “Matt took me there for a dinner. I dunno why, I think he was treating me or whatever.” He pauses, taking a breath to steady himself. “He didn’t do anything as bad as he’s done before, but he was gripping my hand really tightly under the table. It left bruises.

And, we saw Zayn and Liam that night, and we talked briefly, and then Matt, like, changed abruptly, and he took me home and he accused me of flirting with Zayn, and I told him I wasn’t and he didn’t believe me, and –“ He stops, and then takes another breath. “He hit me a lot, that night. I remember bleeding on the floor next to the car, and that there was blood on my Vans.”

Louis sounds so broken, so forlorn, and Harry thinks his heart breaks.

“Oh, darling,” Harry breathes, holding Louis tighter, so much so that Louis is practically on his lap. “I didn’t know, and if I’d known, I’d never have taken you there. I’m so, so sorry that happened to you.”

Louis lets out a long, tired breath, sniffs and then shrugs. “It happened. It’s in the past, and you can’t change the past.”

Harry frowns. “But –“

Louis shushes him. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It won’t happen again, and I know that for sure. Because I have you,” he adds quietly, and Harry’s near broken heart surges with such affection, it takes almost all of his will to not kiss Louis square on the mouth.

“You’ve got me,” Harry confirms, continuing his gentle ministrations. “You’ve got me. Promise.”

*

Chapter Text

nineteen

The days bleed into each other and Louis blinks and a fortnight has passed in a blur, consisting mostly of late night pizza, being suffocated by cuddles by Niall or Liam, binge watching Game of Thrones with Zayn and texting Harry. When Harry’s not at work – all the while sending Louis updates about how he can’t find certain things for elderly shoppers and sending them on a wild goose chase for a very specific brand of nut, or selfies with unusually shaped fruit – he’s at the flat with Louis, curled up on the sofa watching Jeremy Kyle, or playing shitty board games.

It’s comfortable, Louis thinks. It’s normal, and nice and regular, and his life, lately, seems without strife or angst or drama. He likes it. It’s really nice.

(Louis’ never really been allowed small pleasures like this; enjoying the company of his friends or just lazing about, not doing anything and just feeling completely content. He’s never really allowed himself to be happy, because in his previous experiences, they’ve always been ripped from his grip; like, being with Harry, or going to Zayn, Liam and Niall’s flat. He’s always been interrupted by real life, because the cocoon of happiness never lasted. But now –

It feels like it’s there. For good, this time, and Louis revels in the feeling.)

*

They’re all sat in front of the telly, one evening, curled up in blankets with bowls of popcorn situated in the valleys between each other’s thighs. It’s a bank holiday and none of them had work or lectures, so Harry turned up at the flat in PJ’s with every single Marvel DVD he owned. Liam and Zayn hog the sofa, Niall’s curled up in a ball on the seat, a bowl of Malteasers balanced on his leaving Harry and Louis sprawled on the floor, buried in cushions and pillows.

Louis can feel Harry’s warmth radiating through the blankets, and he cuddles up to him, nudging his head at Harry’s shoulder. When Harry throws him a curious look, Louis grins, a slow, soft smile, like dripping molasses, and says, “Warm.”

Harry snorts and turns his gaze back to the telly, just in time to see the Hulk punch the nose of a bilgesnipe. “You’re a literal cat.”

Louis grins and snuggles further into him. “Shut up and cuddle me.”

“So demanding,” Harry chastises teasingly, but he throws his arms over Louis’ shoulder and pulls him into his chest.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Louis asks, revelling in Harry’s warmth.

“Nah,” Harry grins, squeezing him a bit tighter, and a calming warmth blooms in Louis’ chest.

From the seat, Niall gags theatrically. “You lot are fucking gross.”

“Stop complaining and get a bird, then. Or a bloke,” Harry adds as an afterthought.

“A bird, definitely. Don’t really fancy things going into my bum, truth be told,” Niall tells him with a grin, and he shovels a handful of Malteasers into his mouth. “No offence, you lot.”

“None taken,” Liam and Zayn say in unison.

“Much taken, actually,” Louis counters. “I feel sorry for straight blokes. You never get to experience the wonders of your prostate.”

Niall scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Nah, no thanks, I’m good.”

Louis grins, lewdly and wiggles his eyebrows. “If you want, I’ll be happy to show you –“

Zayn throws a pillow at Louis’ head. “Children, please.”

Louis turns to look at Zayn over his shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows lewdly. “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry coughs violently and falls back on the floor. Once he’s gained his breath back, red in the face and eyes wide, he stutters out an, “Um.”

“Oi,” Liam smiles, teasingly, “only I can call Zayn that.”

“Think it’s the other way round, Daddy,” Zayn whispers back, and Niall groans into a pillow.

“I really do not need to hear this,” he moans as if he’s pained. “All of you are awful friends and I hate the lot of you.”

“That’s great, mate, it really is,” Zayn says, “but I’m actually trying to hear this film? Like, I’ve not heard the past five minutes and I have no idea what’s going on, so I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up? Thank you.”

Niall rolls his eyes good naturedly and murmurs something under his breath but he obliges, bringing his knees up to his chest and turning to watch the film.

Louis snuggles into Harry’s side again, pressing his face against Harry’s neck. “Hello, again.”

Harry smiles. “Less PDA, remember? Niall hates it.”

“Niall can suck a dick, for all I care,” Louis shrugs unapologetically and ignores Niall’s sounds of tired and weary protest in the background.

And so, they settle into a comfortable silence again. Louis snuggles up to Harry and nudges him slightly with his shoulder. Harry glances at him through the corner of his eye, one corner of his mouth curving upward in amusement, but he says nothing, his eyes still fixed on the telly. Louis pouts and nudges him again, and Harry only responds when Louis buts his forehead on Harry’s shoulder.

“Can I help you?” Harry drawls, amused, in a low, baritone grumble.

“Stop ignoring me, you twat,” Louis huffs and tries to shuffle closer. “I wanna ask you something.”

Harry hums. “Shoot.”

Louis nibbles at his bottom lip before sitting up and tucking his legs under his bum. “Um,” he begins, but then stops because he doesn’t know quite how to phrase his question. “I need you to – do you think – can you help me find a job, please?”

Harry turns to look at him, as if he’s trying to decipher something, but he nods nevertheless. “Yeah, of course. Like, a part time job, or what?”

Louis shrugs. “Dunno. Whatever keeps me busy. Don’t really feel like sitting around all day and being a burden.”

“Stop that, you’re not a burden,” Zayn says from the couch where he was apparently listening in, poking Louis with a socked foot. “You know we like having you here, yeah?”

Louis raises and drops his shoudlder again. “I know, but –“ he wrinkles his nose. “I just wanna feel…I’unno. Independent. Instead of mooching off everybody here.”

“Listen mate,” Liam starts, “if we didn’t want any moochers, we’d have cut Niall off a long time ago.”

“I’m literally sitting right here,” Niall says, but Harry shushes him, patronisingly, and Niall murmurs curses under his breath.

“Look, if you wanna find a job, we’ll help you,” Harry says, smiling. “Just need to look at your CV, go to a couple of places…it’ll be fine.”

Louis nibbles at his bottom lip again. “Don’t really…have a CV,” he admits. “Never got a job, to be honest. All I ever did was, like, babysit when I was younger and look after my neighbour’s dog.”

Harry frowns. “What about…” he trails off. The when you were with Matt goes unsaid.

“He, um,” Louis coughs. “He wanted to be the main breadwinner. I just.” He shrugs. “Stayed home and cooked. Cleaned. Like Cinderella,” he smiles, trying comedy, but nobody laughs or cracks a smile. They all frown, and look at Louis sadly. Louis ducks his chin.

“Well, I can put in a good word for you at work,” Harry smiles. “There’s an opening in the café. My boss is really nice, I’m pretty sure he’ll let you in with minimal questions asked. We could go tomorrow, if you wanted?”

Louis smiles at him. “Yeah, thanks. I’d…appreciate it, Haz. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Harry grins, throwing an arm over Louis’ shoulder and pulling him closer. “And you’re very welcome.”

“Right!” Niall chirps from the seat. “Now that’s sorted, do you all mind shutting up?”

Four pillows hit Niall at the same time, and Louis giggles when Malteasers go everywhere.

*

Harry leaves a couple of hours later when it’s fast approaching half one in the morning. Louis hugs him goodbye, nuzzling into Harry’s warmth and breathing in deeply – he always smells divine; apple shampoo and chocolate, warm and comforting and home – and he blushes when Harry ducks down and presses a chaste kiss on Louis’ cheek before closing the door behind him.

Louis stands there for a second too long, trying not to think too hard about the softness of Harry’s lips against his cheek or how his face is still hot, and he starts when he hears Zayn’s pointed cough behind him.

He spins and finds Zayn standing there, arms folded across his chest, glasses falling down the slope of his nose and his eyebrows raised, questioningly. Louis feels like a kid who has just been caught doing something they shouldn’t, and he ducks his head.

“Louis,” Zayn begins in very controlled, fatherly voice. “You’re blushing.”

A hand comes up and presses against his face, the same spot where Harry’s lips were just a moment before. “I am? Oh.”

“Oh,” Zayn parrots. He saunters across the floor before he stands in front of Louis, eyebrows pulled together. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Louis asks, trying innocence. Zayn raises his eyebrows and scoffs, not buying it for even half a second.

“You and Harry? Hugging? And then him kissing you?” He tips his head to the side and smiles. Louis rolls his eyes and pushes past him before flinging himself down onto the sofa. “What was that all about?”

“It’s nothing, Zayn,” Louis denies, easily. “It’s just…how we are.” He shrugs. “It’s whatever.”

Zayn exhales heavily before he comes to sit down next to Louis on the sofa looking at him intently. “Answer me truthfully.” Louis nods. “Do you have feelings for Harry.” It’s not a question – it’s a statement, and Louis refuses to blush.

“No! No, of course not,” Louis says. “We’re just mates.”

Zayn raises his eyebrow, lips pursed together.

“What?” Louis asks. Zayn says nothing. “What? He’s just a friend!”

Zayn looks at him up and down. “Mhm.”

Louis sighs. “Yeah, Harry’s…good looking. I’m not blind,” Louis shrugs. “He’s kind. Sweet. But!” he says, when Zayn sighs heavily. “He’s just a friend. Nothing more.”

Zayn looks at him for a few more seconds, before nodding and standing up. He stops before he gets to the doorway. “Lou.” He sighs, looking at Louis sadly. “It’s just – please, don’t try…and get into a rebound relationship. It’s not healthy, especially since you and Matt have only just split, and –“

“What?” Louis squawks. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Zayn says, gently. Placating. “I’m just saying...tread carefully. Alright?”

Louis’ eyebrows are furrowed, but he nods. “Alright.”

Zayn smiles at him. “Sleep well, babes,” he says, quietly, before padding out of the living room and slipping into his and Liam’s bedroom.

Louis sits there, rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists as he wills himself to think of Harry in any other way than romantic.

Chapter Text

_

_

twenty

The next morning, Zayn, Liam, Niall and Louis are sat in front of telly, all half asleep with hooded eyes, lazily eating bowls of sugary, artery blocking cereal, when there are three firm knocks on the front door.

All they eyes in the room look at the door, and none of them make a move to get up. There’s at least two minutes of silence, when another rapping of knuckles against the door sounds, and Louis groans.

“Who the fuck is knocking at your door at this demonic hour?”

“It’s ten past eleven,” Liam says, but Liam shushes him petulantly.

“Um,” comes Harry’s unmistakable voice from the other side of the door. “Louis? Are you home?”

Niall turns to Louis, cereal spoon still in his mouth and eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “It’s your boyfriend,” he coos.

“Fuck off. What is this, Year Seven?” Louis can’t help the heat that rises to his face at the thought.

“Answer it,” Zayn says, spooning Weetabix into his mouth.

Louis squawks, affronted. “Um? Why?”

“He’s here for you,” Liam contributes, and Louis glares at him. Prick. Always siding with Zayn.

Louis narrows his eyes at Liam. “Says who?”

“Uh,” Harry starts again, the baritone of his voice rumbling through the wood of the door, “like, I was thinking maybe we could go job hunting? I know it’s a bit unconventional, doing it in person instead of online, but I thought we could make a day of it, y’know?” He’s silent for half a beat, and then curses silently. “Oh, you’re probably still asleep, right? And I’m talking to no one. The neighbours probably think I’m mad.” He chuckles. “Um…”

“Go and stop his bumbling, please,” Liam says, shoving Louis off the couch, and Louis flips him off over his shoulder before dragging himself towards the door. Harry jumps as the door swings open, but a smile stretches across his face when he sees Louis.

“Hi! He chirps, cheerful as ever. Louis finds himself smiling back, stupidly. “Shit, did I wake you up?”

“Kinda,” Louis lies, shrugging a shoulder, because he doesn’t want to admit that he couldn’t be arsed to open the front door.

Harry grins, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking forwards onto his toes, and then back down onto his heels again. “So! You ready to go?”

Louis raises a teasing eyebrow. “I’m still in my pj’s babe.”

“Oh! Yes, right. Well.” Harry smiles. “Probably should get changed, then.”

Louis smirks. “Yeah, probably.” He steps aside so that Harry can step in, before closing the door behind the taller boy and walking towards the kitchen. “D’you want a cuppa?”

“Nah, m’fine, thanks.” He flashes Louis a quick, dimpled smile, before turning and seeing the others gathered in the living room with tired eyes, bed mussed hair and half eaten bowls of cereal. “Oh! You’re all up too.”

“Hiya, H,” Niall says around a mouthful of cocoa pops. Zayn, being the sunshine beam he is in the morning, grunts in lieu of a ‘hello’, and Liam, being the actual sunshine beam he is in the morning, grins at Harry, and waves.

“Morning,” Harry greets back. “If I’d known you were all up, I’d have stopped by to Costa or something, to get you all coffee, or –“

“Nah, Harry it’s totally fine,” Liam placates. “Sure you don’t want something to drink, or –“

Harry wrinkles his nose, and shakes his head, before squishing onto the sofa next to a ball of blankets that conceals Zayn. Louis comes back into living room, mug of tea between his hands, and he perches himself on the arm of the sofa next to Harry.

“So, big man,” he says, taking a sip. “What’s the plan for today, then?”

“Well,” Harry drawls. “I was thinking that since you’re on a job hunt, we could, like, go out today and…I’dunno.” He shrugs, grinning. “Make a day out of it.”

“Oooh,” Niall grins, leaning forwards in his chair. “Getting lunch, dinner?”

Harry’s brow furrows, but he smiles, biting his bottom lip. “I dunno, if it takes us that long, then yeah, why not.”

“Uh-huh,” Niall grins, shooting Louis a mischievous grin and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Niall,” Louis says without heat, and Niall blinks owlishly in faux innocence. Louis rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his tea. “The thing is, though,” he says to Harry, “I’ve not updated my CV in quite a while. And I’ve never had, like,  a proper job.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harry smiles. “We can do that today, send a couple out. I’m sure you’ll get a call from somewhere.” He places his hand, large and warm and comforting on Louis’ forearm. “It’ll be fine, yeah?”

“And even if you don’t,” Liam chimes in, “we’ll all still help you out. Right?”

“Right,” Harry agrees.

“Right!” Niall chimes.

“Meh,” Zayn contributes, teasingly, but Liam chides him with a flick on the forehead.

Louis grins, ducks his head into his chest. “All of you are angels.”

“I’m aware,” Zayn pipes up from under his blanket.”

Ignoring the comment, Louis drains the rest of his tea, burps loudly before putting his empty mug down on the coffee table and standing up. “Right. I’ll just go change and we can set out, yeah?”

Harry grins up at him. “Okey doke.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Louis so wants to bend down and peck Harry on the lips, but resisting the urge, he flashes a smile, and traipses back to his bedroom.

*

Louis showers, moisturises himself with Zayn’s most luxurious, lavish smelling creams, styles his hair with Niall’s VO5 wax – making sure that the end of his quiff-thing-whatever-it-is is just right – and getting dressed in his most comfy jeans and softest jumper that swallows him whole. He looks at himself in the mirror, and nods, spritzing a tiny bit of aftershave on, before leaving the bedroom.

Harry is sprawled on single seat lying on Niall, and Niall doesn’t seem to mind, absently running his fingers through Harry’s lengthy curls. Louis raises and eyebrow and smirks, leaning on the doorframe and coughing pointedly.

Harry sits up and grins. “You’re done!” He takes in Louis’ appearance in a very obvious once over, and says, in full, honest, sincerity, “You look very lovely.”

Louis blushes, and averts his gaze. “Um. Thank you. Something I just threw together, y’know.”

“Clearly,” Zayn grins, “because your hair just naturally looks perfectly coiffed.”

“Shut up,” Louis hisses. “It is like this.”

“That’s a lie,” Liam sing songs, and Louis glares lasers at his stupid, smug face. Idiot.

“Besides, if anyone’s hair is perfect in this place, it’s mine,” Zayn says haughtily, and Louis can’t find it within himself to disagree.

Harry wrinkles his nose at Zayn. “I happen to think Louis looks nice, so there,” he finishes petulantly, standing up and looping his arm through Louis’. Louis takes it, giggling, and leans into Harry.

(Is he smitten? He’s not. He can’t be; Harry is just a nice bloke, with gorgeous eyes and has the most generous, loving personality ever. And he is Louis’ friend and nothing more.

He ignores the incredulous and disbelieving laugh that comes from the most realistic corner of his brain which snorts, yeah, mate, pull the bloody other one. He steadfastly ignores it.)

“C’mon, babe, let’s blow his Popsicle stand,” Harry says, adopting the worst Disney Channel high school hunky jock voice, making Louis snort into his hand. Harry flips his hair obnoxiously and theatrically, striding towards the door, Louis in tow, and before the door closes behind them, Louis hears Zayn say incredulously, “Popsicle stand?”

*

Louis slides into the passenger seat of Harry’s car, buckles his seatbelt and slaps his hands atop his thighs. “Where to, champ?”

Harry grins, putting the key into the ignition and pulling away from the car parking space. “Well,” he begins, “first, we can update your CV – I’ve got my laptop in the back, so we could do it online, maybe in a café or something, because I really, really want a pastry – and then we can send it out to a few places, and then traipse around to see where they’re hiring…” he shrugs. “I dunno. I just thought it’d be fun. Or something.”

Louis grins. “Aw. Aren’t you a sweetheart, tryna make job hunting fun and memorable.”

“That’s me,” Harry says, “always comin’ up with a new twist.” He flashes another smile at Louis. “Music?”

“Sure,” Louis agrees. “The best part of getting to know someone is judging them based on the musical preferences.”

Harry sighs, good-naturedly. “Twat.” He plugs his phone into the AUX chord one handed before selecting a playlist, and Alt-J floats gently though the speakers. Something Good.

Louis taps his hands on his thighs to the beat of the drums, and Harry starts softly singing the lyrics under this breath. He’s doing it absently, Louis can tell; Harry’s checking his mirrors, signalling, but even when he’s not paying attention, his voice is so rich; so colourful, and enchanting. The song finishes, and Louis lets out a low, impressed whistle.

“Harold. I didn’t know you were good at singing.”

“Hm?” Harry asks, turning the car around a bend.

“You. Good at singing. I was unaware.”

“Oh,” Harry says, blushing. He shrugs. “I dunno. I’m decent.”

“And modest,” Louis teases. “Jesus. Your voice is like sex.”

Harry coughs, cheeks reddening futher. His blush is so beautiful. “I. Um. I’unno what to say to that.”

Louis reaches over and pats him gently on the thigh. “Take the compliment, H.”

Harry glances at him through the corner of his eye before flicking his gaze back to the road. “Thank you, Louis.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, before punching Harry in the dick and giggling fiendishly over Harry’s pained squeal.

*

They find a small, quiet coffee shop, a twenty minute drive away. Harry parks in a cobbled alley alongside it, and Louis grabs his laptop and the charger from the backseat before they shuffle in from the cold, into the warm, cosy smell of the shop. The burrow themselves in a little booth along the far wall.

“So!” Harry says from opposite Louis, looking at him from over the top of his laptop screen. “What job are you looking for?”

Louis shrugs, and reclines in his seat. “Um…something easy. Nothing with…too many people. Like retail.” He makes a face. “I don’t think I’d be able to deal with snotty, uppity customers. I’d get sacked within a week.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Lou,” Harry says gently, nudging him under the table with his booted foot. Louis smiles softly and nudges him back. “Something easy,” Harry says contemplatively. “Hm. Maybe something in a library?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, I suppose. It’s quiet.” He shrugs again, playing with a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper. “I know fuck all about books, and I can’t organise shit if you paid me.” Something tugs in his stomach when he remembers that Matt would clap him around the ears when Louis wouldn’t put his books back in a specific order, or not file his things in his office away neat enough. He ducks his head into his chest and frowns. That part of his life is over now.

(The realistic/cynical part of his brain snorts at him again.)

“Hm…” Harry hums, typing something. “What about something with kids?”

“Kids?” Harry nods, and Louis considers. “I would. It’s just…last time I looked after kids was ages ago.” His sisters, whom he has not been in contact with for some time. Too much time.

“Siblings?” Harry guesses with a smile.

“Yeah.” Louis’ voice is quiet, croaky, and he balls his hands into fists. “My sisters.”

Harry smile drops off his face and he leans forward, taking Louis’ hand in his, rubbing a thumb over Louis’ knuckles. “Hey,” he soothes, quietly. “You alright?”

Louis swallows, takes a breath, before nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “I’m just shit at this though. That’s why Matt worked and I didn’t.”

“No,” Harry says. “No. It was because he was abusive and controlling, and it was not your fault.” He sighs, and squeezes Louis’ hand. “It wasn’t your fault. Okay?”

Louis looks at him, and his heart swells at the sincerity, the unadulterated pure honesty in Harry’s eyes. “Okay.”

Harry grins, slow like molasses. “Look at us, speaking like that John Green book.”

“God, let’s not,” Louis laughs, and scrubs a hand over his face. He breathes deeply before leaning forward onto his elbows. “Right. What’s next?”

They stay there for another forty five minutes, tweaking Louis’ CV and applying for jobs online; easy, gentle things with decent pay and good hours. They’re about to continue, when Louis stomach rumbles loudly.

Harry raises a brow. “Hungry?”

“Nah,” Louis breathes, “I just have a chorus of elephants wailing from within me.”

Harry giggles, bless him, and closes the laptop, unplugging it from the wall. “Want lunch? It’s on me.”

“Good, ‘cause I wasn’t about to pay anyway,” Louis teases, before sliding out of the booth.

*

They find a small, hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurant which is packed, but the food is cheap and it smells so fucking good that Louis’ mouth salivates from across the road. Louis orders something with noodles and shrimp and Harry gets rice with something spicy, and they sip on their fruity, superfluous drinks while they wait. Louis sticks the chopsticks up his nose, and Harry snaps a picture, before chiding Louis, saying it’s disrespectful and unsanitary. Louis apologises, and then kicks Harry under the table for good measure.

Their food arrives in big, steaming bowls. They thank the waitress before tucking in, both moaning incredibly loudly while they slurp their noodles, gaining some disgusted and annoyed looks from other patrons, but Louis’ is far too content to care.

Chapter Text

xi.

Harry finishes loudly slurping on his pho and Louis giggles, sipping his coke, before Harry leans back and places his hands on his stomach. Louis grins, raising an eyebrow.

“Satisfied?”

“Very,” Harry nods. “My god, how come I’ve never been here before? Why have I never experienced the wonders of Vietnamese food?”

Louis nods, putting down his drink and leaning back in his chair, sliding forward in his chair so that his and Harry’s ankles knock together under the table. “Literally, everything pales in comparison. Right?”

“Right,” Harry agrees, before he pounds his fist against his chest and lets out a burp. A couple of other patrons turn around and glare at Harry, who blushes and mutters apologies. “I think we should settle the bill and skedaddle. People are glaring at me.”

Louis grins. “Skedaddle?”

Harry nods, fishing in his bag for his wallet. “Yeah, let’s go. We can probably apply to more places before the sun goes down.”

“Nah,” Louis laughs, “it’s not that, it’s just – skedaddle? Nobody says that anymore!”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, they do.”

“They literally don’t,” Louis snorts. “My grandad used to say it, until he decided that it was too stupid to say.”

“You’re stupid to say.”

“That makes zero amount of sense.”

“You make zero amount of sense,” Harry says nonsensically, sticking his tongue out.

Louis raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re a child.”

Harry shrugs. “C’est la vie, Louis dearest,” he says, signalling over a waitress. “Let’s pay, alright?”

“And skedaddle,” Louis teases, smiling, reaching for his coat.

Harry grins, rolling his eyes. “Fuck off.”

*

They traipse around, up and down the high street, popping into random charity shops and small cafés, leaving Louis’ CV around with managers who promise to call him if something comes up. The sky dims and the streetlamps flicker on as they walk into a small, quiet café with soft lighting.

“God, I’m freezing,” Louis mutters as he steps into the warmth, shuffling around and rubbing his hands together. “Do you mind terribly if this can be the last stop?”

“Not in the least,” Harry says, unwrapping his scarf.  “Was gonna suggest the same thing.”

“Fab,” Louis says, trying to seek warmth by leaning on a radiator, and sighs contentedly. “Ah, warm buns.”

“You’re grim,” Harry smiles, fishing a copy of Louis’ CV out of his bag. “D’you wanna get something small to eat before going home?”

Louis sits on his hands and shrugs, considering. “Yeah, why not. Who could say no to a cheeky muffin?”

“Never call a muffin ‘cheeky’, you knob,” Harry grins, walking over to the counter. “Grab us a seat, yeah? Somewhere near a radiator.”

Louis shuffles to a table in the corner of the café, right next to a radiator. He sits, tucking his feet under the chair and shoving his frozen hands under his armpits, leaning against the warmth of the radiator. He watches as Harry gives an easy smile to the girl with bright eyes behind the counter and he feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s been a nice day, considering. They’ve done what they needed to do, got a meal. It was relaxing and chill, and Harry’s easy presence made it even more so; Louis’ not sure how the day would’ve gone otherwise if he wasn’t with someone, let alone Harry.

Something squeezes in his chest as he watches Harry’s dimples come out as he tells a joke that falls a bit flat, going by the expression of the girl behind the counter. Idiot, he thinks fondly.

And then, something tugs in his stomach. Not guilt, perhaps but something similar – it gives him the same sinking feeling he felt months ago, when –

He closes his eyes and exhales. He’s not with Matt anymore. He’s allowed to appreciate the beauty of others. They’re not together. It’s fine. It’s over. It’s okay, for fuck’s sake. He’s okay.

(Then how come it sounds as if you’re trying to rationalise something wrong in your head, then? one of the less helpful parts of his subconscious whispers to him. He ignores it, again. It’s never done him much good to listen to that part of his head, anyway.)

He’s brought out of his thoughts when Harry settles down in front of him, pushing a chocolate muffin and a mug – or bowl, really – of hot chocolate in front of him. Harry beams at him, looks at the food, and then back at Louis. “Well?”

Louis balks at the food and then back at Harry. “This is a massive mug.”

“Just like you!” Harry smiles. Louis kicks his foot under the table. “You’re welcome. Now eat up, if you wanna get big and strong like me.”

Louis smiles, wrapping his hands around the mug and bringing it to his lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“Aw, babes,” Harry teases, voice deadpan, pinching a bite of Louis’ muffin. “You’re so kind to me, darling.”

 Louis takes a sip, before placing down the mug and slapping Harry’s hand away. “Oi, if you wanted a muffin, then get your own.”

Harry snorts, taking another pinch. “Are you mad? They charged me five quid for that, so we’re bloody sharing.”

“Five quid?!” Louis whispers. “Fuckin’ hell. You elect Cameron, and this is the shit that happens.”

“Mm,” Harry smiles. “No funding for the NHS and insanely high muffin prices.”

Louis picks his drink again and smiles at Harry from behind the rim. “Whatever is this country coming to, Harold.”

“Indeed,” Harry obliges, grinning. “Now hurry up, my feet are sore from following you around all day.”

Louis rolls his eyes and pretends not to blush when Harry snags another bite of the muffin and winks at him.

*

They loiter for a bit in the café before the cashier tells them pointedly, but politely, to leave because it’s closing hours. They leave the warmth and back into the bitter cold, hands in pockets and bellies comfortably full before trudging back to Harry’s car.

“After you,” Harry smiles, opening the passenger door for Louis to slide into.

“You’re a shit,” Louis smiles back, patting Harry’s cheek as he slides into the car. Harry laughs, closing the door before walking around, settling into his seat and jamming the key into the ignition.

“Today’s been nice, yeah?”

Louis smiles softly at him, reclining in his seat. “Yeah. It’s been decent.”

Harry looks at him and smiles. Louis ignores the heat that pools in his stomach. “Knob.” He pulls away from the curb, onto the main road, and the begin their journey home.

*

The ride home is largely uneventful, but pleasant. Music plays softly over the speakers, and Harry taps his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the words. Louis closes his eyes, and reclines further in his seat, allowing himself to relax, let the tension drain from his shoulders as he tumbles into a half conscious slumber.

He wakes when Harry touches his knee gently. “Lou,” he says, the baritone of his voice low, “c’mon, we’re here.”

Louis blinks awake, pushing himself up in the seat. “Fuck. Did I fall asleep?”

“Uh huh,” Harry responds, keeping his voice low. “Yeah, you’re pretty knackered, huh.”

“Didn’t think I would be, honestly,” he says, sleepily clambering his way out of the car. He stretches, rolling his shoulder to work out the kinks of sitting in an awkward position. He yawns. “God, I’m tired.”

Harry smiles at him over the roof of the car. “Let’s go inside then. I stopped at Pizza Hut whilst you were conked out, I hope the others don’t mind.”

Louis walks alongside Harry towards the building, so close that Louis can feel the heat radiating off of him. “Are you mad? Niall will probably marry you for this.”

Harry smiles, holding the door open for Louis. “Good, then.”

“Good?” Louis smiles. “Should I be jealous?”

Harry snorts. “Of?”

“Yours and Niall’s torrid, secret love affair,” Louis jokes. “You gonna make an honest man out of my Niall, son?”

Harry laughs. “If I were to make an honest man out of anyone, it wouldn’t be Niall.” He hums, contemplatively. “For some reason, I think that he’d be the type to accidentally drop a baby.”

“Is that so? Then who would you make an honest man out of?”

Harry flashes a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Well,” Louis grins, “inquiring minds want to know.”

Harry taps his chin as they continue to climb the stairs. “Well, honestly, Liam’s pretty fit.”

Louis barks out a laugh. “Zayn would fight you if he heard you say that.”

“Nah,” Harry says as they get onto their floor and stand toe to toe outside of the door of the flat. “I’m sure I could take him.”

“You got nice biceps, sure,” Louis obliges, “But –“

Harry raises and eyebrow and grins wide. “Nice biceps?”

“But,” Louis continues, refusing to take the bait. He blushes anyway. Like an idiot. “But Zayn has really sharp fucking elbows. Trust me, one of them in your back and it’s game over.”

“Well,” Harry says, smiling down at Louis, “It’s a good thing I’m not marrying Liam, then.”

“Indeed,” Louis says. Harry’s grin widens, and Louis takes a deep breath. “H?”

“Yeah, Lou?”

“Thank you for today,” Louis says quietly. “It was nice to, like…take my mind off of things. And this shit situation.”

Harry’s brows furrow. “Of course, sweetheart,” he says, softly, bringing his hand up rub his hand up and down Louis’ arm. “Anytime you’re feeling under the weather or down, about whatever, give me a shout.”

Louis nods, biting his lip before he suddenly throws his arms around Harry. Harry stumbles a bit, trying to balance the pizza in one hand, but the steadies himself, and wraps the other arm around Louis waist pulling him closer. They stand like that for a while, and Louis lets his eyes close as they tighten around Harry’s neck, breathing in his scent of muffins and pine aftershave and cucumber shampoo.

“Well,” a voice says, from in front of them. They startle and pull apart, and Zayn is standing at the door, arms folded over his chest, looking at the pair of them. “This is cozy, isn’t it, Lou?”

Louis huffs. “Don’t be an arse, Zayn.”

“I’m not, I’m just remarking at the pair of you. Cute.” He raises an eyebrow at Harry, who looks sheepish and diverts his eyes.

“Lou!” Liam says, appearing behind Zayn, wrapping his arms around his boyfriends’ waist. “And Harry, how are you mate?”

“Good, ta,” he says, looking directly at Liam, and avoiding Zayn’s eyes. Louis glares at Zayn, who simply shrugs his shoulder and gives him The Look, which means this is not over and we’re gonna talk about this later.

Shite. Oh well.

“I have pizza,” Harry offers, holding it up. “And wings and garlic bread.”

“Ah, cheers,” Liam beams. “Come in, then,” he says, pulling Zayn out of the way so Louis and Harry can shuffle into the flat. “C’mon, let’s get this into the kitchen, then.”

Harry smiles, toeing off his boots before following Liam into the kitchen. Louis takes off his coat and his shoes, leaves them by the front door and ignores Zayn’s eyes on the back of his neck.

“Y’know, I can feel you staring,” Louis breathes, hanging up his scarf.

“That was a nice hug,” Zayn remarks, ignoring Louis’. “You looked comfortable.”

“I was,” Louis says, “until you came out and acted like my dad.”

“His arm was really tight around you.”

Louis raises and drops a shoulder uncaringly, before flopping down on the sofa and picking up the remote, flicking mindlessly through the channels. Zayn stands, arms still folded over his chest.

“You told me that you didn’t like him.”

Louis looks up at him sharply. “I don’t.”

“His hand was practically on your fucking arse, Louis,” Zayn hisses, sitting down next to him, taking the remote out of his hands. “Louis.”

“Zayn.”

Zayn sighs. “Look at me.” Louis obliges with a sigh, turning to face him.

“What, Zayn.”

Zayn blinks. “Do you like Harry.”

Louis leans forward, eyes narrowing. “No. He and I are just fucking friends, alright? Fucking leave it alone.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow, his gaze flicking back and forth between Louis’ before he sighs and leans back in the seat, handing the remote back to Louis. “Alright,” he says, keeping his voice low as Liam and Harry come back into the living room with plates and cups, “but we’re not done talking about this.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but ignores Zayn when Harry places a plate in his hands.

“For you,” he says with a wink. Louis grins.

“So thoughtful,” he smiles, holding his plate out for chicken wings and pizza.

“Niall!” Liam calls, handing Zayn his plate, “Harry’s here, and he brought pizza and chicken wings!”

Seconds later, Niall materialises in the room, shirt askew and hair mussed. He’s panting slightly. “Pizza?”

“And wings,” Harry smiles. “Hello, Niall.”

“Harry,” Niall breathes, grinning, throwing himself at Harry in more of a tackle than a hug, “my beautiful, beautiful boy.”

“I literally didn’t even hear you running down the hall,” Zayn remarks, mouth half full of chicken.

“Zayn, speak of free food, and I will appear,” Niall says, wiggling his eyebrows and plopping himself down on the floor next to Harry. He rubs his hands together. “Right! Pass me a plate, Haz.”

They all settle into their respective positions around the telly; Niall on his ‘single and alone’ sofa, as he calls it, Liam settled on the floor between Zayn’s open legs, Zayn on the sofa – one hand lazily running through Liam’s hair, the other holding a chicken wing – and Louis and Harry settled comfortably next to each other on the sofa. Louis is warm and comfortable, and once more, he feels content.

*

Two boxes of pizza and twenty chicken wings later, each of them are in a food coma, draped across various furniture. Liam and Zayn have claimed the couch, cuddling and snoozing against each other, resulting in Louis being sat on the floor next to Harry, and Niall sat in the corner with a content grin across his face, one hand rubbing the slight pouch of his belly, and the he unleashes a comically loud burp.

“Oh, my god, Niall,” Zayn says tiredly, eyes shut. “That’s grim.”

“I’m a happy fed man, stop silencing my happiness,” Niall shrugs, before switching the channel to Pointless. “Ah, quality telly.”

Louis snuggles closer to Harry, who carefully throws an arm around his shoulder. “You alright there, Lou?”

“Mm,” Louis yawns. “Just a bit tired.” He lazily scratches his belly. “What time is it?”

“Just gone quarter past ten,” Liam replies, albiet a bit muffled from where his face is buried in Zayn’s shirt.

“I’m knackered, so I think it’s off to bed with me,” Louis says, standing up.

“Hang on, who’s doing dishes then?” Zayn says, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Not it!” Louis calls in unison with both Liam and Zayn. Niall hadn’t even managed to open his mouth yet, and he narrows his eyes at all of them.

“Traitorous bastards,” he curses, before removing himself from his comfortable positon and getting up, gathering the plates and taking them to the kitchen.

“I suppose this is my cue to leave,” Harry starts, standing up, dusting the pizza crumbs off his thighs, and something tugs in Louis’ chest.

“No, don’t,” he starts, grabbing onto Harry’s arm, before he realises what he’s doing and lets go. “You’ve had three Carling’s, and it would be irresponsible for you to drive. Stay over.”

Zayn sits up a bit. “Hang on, Lou –“

“No, Zayn,” Liam interrupts lazily, waking up a bit now he’s been dislodged from his position, “let him sleep over. We’re not gonna let him drive, not now that he’s tired and especially since he’s been drinking.”

Zayn worries at his lip, before he sighs, giving in. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I can sleep on the sofa?” Harry offers, playing with a loose threat on his top. “Don’t wanna impose or anything.”

“No, it’s okay, you can stay with me,” Louis offers. The room is silent, and nobody moves for a moment.

“I…don’t think that’s the best idea,” Harry says eventually, sensing something’s a bit off. “I mean, like –“

“Don’t be daft,” Louis interrupts with a dismissive wave, “you’ve shared my bed before. What’s the difference?”

Zayn throws Louis a pointed look which says you bloody well know what the difference is. Louis ignores it, and presses forward.

“Come on. We can even sleep top to toe if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Harry hesitates. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” Louis smiles, and begins to drag Harry towards his bedroom.

“Night!” Harry calls over his shoulder before he’s pulled of sight of the others.

Once they’re both in the bedroom, Harry closes the door and stands awkwardly, rocking backwards and forwards on his feet. “So.”

Louis smirks. “So?”

“Are you gonna change, or…”

“Of course, numpty, I’m not sleeping in these skinny jeans,” Louis says, rooting around in his drawers for his pyjama bottoms. “Aha!” he says, holding them up, before he looks at Harry. A blush spreads over his cheeks. “Do you mind…?”

“Oh! Right,” Harry smiles and turns around. “Just say when.”

Louis struggles out of his jeans, wiggling out of them before slipping on the oversized trousers he wears to bed. “All done, you can turn around.”

Harry turns and smiles. “Those are massive on you,” he says, nodding at how the hem of the trousers pool around his ankles.

Louis looks down at his feet and blushes at how his toes poke out from the hem. He wiggles them. “Shut up,” he sighs and throws himself onto the bed. “You can get some PJ’s from in there,” Louis says, pointing vaguely at the wardrobe.

“Cheers,” Harry grins, dimples displayed, before he roots around in the wardrobe. He pulls out a pair of jogging bottoms and a t shirt, and Louis determinately averts his eyes. He can’t be having those thoughts in his head. Not when he’s with –

He’s not with Matt anymore. He’s allowed to notice other people. But he’s not going to, because Harry is a friend and that would be a Wrong Thing To Do.

He’s shaken out of this thoughts when Harry settles down in bed next to him, his hair splaying out on the pillow. He smiles softly up at Louis.

“Ready for bed?”

Louis smiles, shifting so that he’s facing Harry, duvet pulled up to his chin. “Uh-huh.”

“D’you want a bedtime story?”

Louis rolls his eyes and kicks Harry under the covers. “Goodnight, dumb arse.”

Harry grins, and shuffles closer, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheekbone. “Night, Lou.”

Louis turns away from Harry, thankful that the darkness hides his blush.

Chapter Text

xii.

Louis blinks awake the following morning, sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains. He pushes himself up on his elbow and reaches blindly towards the bedtime table for his glasses, before he puts them on and the room comes into focus.

Harry’s still sound asleep next to him, mouth open and curled up, his hair mussed from tossing and turning all night. Louis feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he slips out of bed, reaches for his phone and puts it in his pocket, and leaves the room silently.

He shuffles wordlessly into the living room and settles onto the sofa, tucking his feet beneath his arse and pulls out his phone. He’s got a notification in his emails, so he opens it.

               New Email!

               Subject: Job application in Sugar and Spice

“Ah, shit,” Louis curses to himself, his stomach sinking in an all too familiar way. He hated applying for jobs when he was in school, and he hates it now; the same feeling of anticipation mixed with apprehension that sinks to the bottom of his gut. “Please don’t be a decline, please don’t be a decline,” he mutters in a mantra as he opens the email. He wants to work there; it’s a nice, cosy, family owned business that’s doing well but doesn’t have an overwhelming amount of customers, which is comforting to Loui.

 And it’s right across the street from Harry’s work.

But that’s irrelevant. (Mostly.)

               Mr Tomlinson,

               Pleased to inform you that you’re now an employee at Sugar and Spice! Very glad to have      you working with us! It would be great if you could come in at your earliest convenience so                you could have your training. Below my number is attached – feel free to call or text me if         you have any queries. Besides, it’s really only me and my mum working, and another girl,           Rana, so it’s not super formal. Actually, if you’re free today, come and pop by any time! I’ll in all day, so come in whenever.

               Looking forward to seeing you soon!

               Anahit x

Louis grins at his phone, before looking around him, checking that nobody will see his embarrassing silent fist pump. He leans back in the sofa, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s been years – God, years – since he’s had a job. Matt never let him, telling him that it was his job to mind the home and keep it tidy  (the thought and the memory of his voice saying those words makes Louis feel ill), but now he’ll be able to earn money and help out around the flat.

His own actual money. That he’ll earn.

If a tear forms in the duct, nobody’ll be the wiser.

He’s about to get off the sofa and go and boil the kettle, maybe even begin breakfast, when his phone buzzes.

               Incoming call from WITHHELD NUMBER

Louis’ heart stops.

It’s Matt – it has to be. He’s got a new phone or number, or else Louis’ phone would’ve recognised the number. He’s still trying to get in contact with Louis, even after all this time, and he’s gone to lengths like changing his bloody number or phone to do so.

Maybe it means that he cares. Or that he’s lost it.

Louis doesn’t know what he’s more afraid of.

He stares at his phone until it stops buzzing, but then continues to sit there; his muscles are paralyses and his eyes still locked on his phone. It pings once, and the text notification pops up.

               Hey, baby x

Louis stares at it. His read receipts are on, so when Matt sees that he’s read it, he follows it up with,

               How are you doing, sweetheart?

               It’s been a long time, baby. I miss you.

With shaking fingers, Louis texts back.

               Hi.

Matt’s reply is instantaneous.

Hi, sweetheart, how are you?

I’m fine.

He hesitates, before typing again.

Stop trying to contact me. I don’t want to talk to you.

He adds an ‘x’, then removes it. He owes Matt nothing. He doesn’t even need to text back.

(He hates that he does anyway.)

Come on, babe.

Don’t be like that.

You know I still love you, Boo.

I always have. I always will

Matt. Please. I’m in a better place. I don’t -

I shouldn’t even be talking to you.

I’m gonna call you again, sweets. Please pick up. Please xxxx

And, true to his word, Matt calls.

Louis watches it ring for a couple of seconds. He takes a steadying breath, and then slides to answer.

“Matt?” Louis begins, tentatively, hushed.

“Louis,” Matt sighs. His voice is thick and heavy, wobbling slightly as if he’s holding back tears. What’s left of Louis’ resolve shatters almost completely. “Babe. Baby. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

God, Louis’ heart breaks. He hates himself for feeling like this, especially after everything. You can’t help what you feel, the less helpful part of his head reminds him, and he internally ignores it.

“Matt,” Louis whispers, his eyes falling closed. His throat tightens and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.

“Louis, come home,” Matt breathes over a choked sob. “Please, Louis. I love you. I miss you.”

Louis nibbles at his lip and fiddles with the seam on the sofa cushion. “Matt, I…” He trails off and sighs. “You know why I can’t. Why I won’t.”

“I know,” Matt stammers, “I-I know, but I’ve changed now. I have, I have a therapist and a counsellors, psychiatrists and psychologists who I talk to now – mostly about you – and it’s working. I don’t – I’m better. I am, I know I am –“

Louis bites his lip. “Matt-“

“-and I’ve stopped drinking,” he continues, “completely. There’s not drink in the house, whatsoever. I just – I want you to feel safe with me, how it was before.” He sobs, and Louis’ heart clenches.

“I didn’t ever feel safe,” Louis admits in a small voice after a brief pause

Matt makes a heartbroken sound from the back of his throat. “Never? Not even at the beginning?”

Louis sighs. “Well, yeah, then,” Louis concedes, “but after – there wasn’t any moment when I didn’t feel that you’d change your mood suddenly, and begin to –“

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Matt repeats. He’s crying now, and God help him, Louis wants to cry with him and hug him and tell him that it’s alright, it’s okay, he’s forgiven, but it’s not okay, it was never okay –

“Matt,” Louis cuts him off gently. “I’ve heard what you’ve had to say, and-”

“And?” Matt sniffs.

“I…” Love you? Forgive you? “…still care about you.” That much is true, at least. He does, despite himself, and he hates it. “And I don’t like you feeling like this. Just…give me time.”

“Oh, babe -“

“No promises,” Louis says, in what he thinks is a firm voice. “Just – give me time.”

“Alright, okay, sure,” Matt rushes, and then releases a heavy sigh. “Okay. I love you.”

“Bye.”

Louis hangs up the phone, places it on the coffee table, before putting his head in his hands and sighs.

Louis doesn’t know how long he sits there for, but he’s nudged out of his thoughts by Zayn, who’s standing above him with a concerned expression. Louis looks up at him and attempts to school his expression into something resembling neutrality.

“Morning,” Louis says, adopting what he hopes a relaxed tone of voice that doesn’t scream I’m-contemplating-all-of-my-life-choices.

“You good, Lou?” Zayn says, sitting down next to him and hands Louis a cuppa he’d not previously noticed.

“Cheers,” Louis says, taking a sip, “and of course I’m fine. I’m me, aren’t I?” Too forced, he’s gonna notice something’s up –

“Mm,” Zayn hums noncommittally. His eyes search Louis’ face as if he’s looking for the faintest hint in the façade. He leans back into the sofa and roots around between the couch cushions for the telly remote, before flicking it on. Louis tries not to visibly deflate with relief.

They sit in silence as they absentmindedly watch Saturday Kitchen. Louis sips his tea and occasionally flicks his gaze towards Zayn, trying to gauge if he’s noticed Louis’ not-so-normal behaviour. After Louis drains his tea, and places his empty mug on the table, and relaxing where his sits, trying to be nonchalant.

“So,” he begins.

Zayn glances at him, and turns down the volume, and turns to face him. “So…?”

A sudden wave of nerves wash over Louis, and he averts his gaze. “So. I got a job.”

Louis meets Zayn’s gaze after Zayn mutes the telly. Zayn’s grinning at him, wide and unabashed. “Yeah?”

Louis smiles. “Yup – just a little coffee shop. With, like, tea cakes and shit.”

Zayn smirks. “Sounds right up your alley.”

Louis knocks Zayn with his socked foot, and Zayn flips him off in turn. “But, yeah…it’s close to wear Harry works, so,” Louis says, fiddling with the seam on the sofa cushion. “Yeah. I’m excited.”

Zayn wiggles his eyebrows lecherously. “Ooh, near where Harry works, is it?”

“What’s near where Harry works?” Niall asks as he walks round the corner, hair sticking up all over the place and one hand down his boxers.

“Ugh, Niall, wash your hands, you mong,” Louis’ says, wrinkling his nose. Niall grins and waves his fingers at Louis’ face, prompting him to let out a very high pitched squeal (which, by looking at the expression of pure glee on Zayn’s face, he’ll never live down.).

Niall grins at them and walks into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “What’s near where Harry works, then?”

“Lou’s new job!” Zayn calls back, settling down into his seat and wiggling his eyebrows at Louis. “Can’t imagine why that’d be.”

“Oh, sod off, arseface,” Louis curses. He refuses to blush. He refuses. “It’s just easier if he picks me up in the morning, if we meet for lunch and then go home together, innit,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance, when in fact, the idea excites him terribly. “Makes me not have to be a bus pleb.”

“Hm,” Zayn hums, grinning like the little shit he pretends not to be. Louis knows, though. He’s sees through his bullshit.

“Also,” Louis continues, “it’s safer. Like, if I’m with someone.”

Zayn’s grin slides off his face at that, and he looks at Louis with more intent now.

Shit.

“Why? What do you mean? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, trying to be dismissive. He averts Zayn’s gaze.

“No,” Zayn insists, nudging Louis to get his attention. He holds Louis’ gaze. “Tell me. What’s happened?”

Louis sighs, nibbling his lip. He doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, but Zayn’s gaze is unrelenting. He sighs heavily. “It’s just – Matt tried to –“

“Matt?” Zayn spits. “What the fuck does he want?”

“He just wanted to hear from me, and know I’m alright. But,” Louis hastily continues after Zayn opens his mouth and the crease between his brows deepen, “I told him I didn’t wanna talk to him again, and he respected my wishes.”

“So fucking what?” Zayn says, standing up. “That just makes him an alright human being! He’s hardly worth shit, Lou.”

“I know,” Louis sighs. “I know.”

Zayn looks at him for a couple of seconds, before sighing. “Sorry, it’s just – he’s the worst, Lou. I just…” He sighs again, raking a hand through his sleep mussed hair. “I just hate him for what he’s done to you. And I won’t forgive him for that. And – you’re like a brother to me. I really care about you and your safety.”

“I know,” Louis says, quietly. In his peripheral, he sees Niall standing awkwardly in the door of the kitchen, watching the exchange wordlessly. “I know.”

Nothing is said for a few minutes. Zayn sits down and sighs, edging closer to Louis and wrapping his arm around Louis’ shoulders, drawing him in. Louis rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder and sighs, snuggling closer. Niall unmutes the telly and watches Jeremy Kyle quietly, eating his bagel and sipping his Tropicana.

Minutes later, Harry emerges, eyes bleary and hair all over the place. He yawns widely and then grins at them. “Morning, all,” he smiles. Zayn shuffles over to make room, and Harry clumsily flops down next to them. “Any news for today, friends? What’s the motive?”

“Oh,” Louis says, perking up a bit, “I got the job at the coffee shop, so. The boss, Anahit, said that I could come in any time today and talk to her about it.”

“Louis!” Harry beams, eyes bright and dimples on full display. “That’s wonderful news!”

Louis flushes and smiles. “Cheers, Haz.”

“What did she say?”

“Oh, um, she said that I could call or text if I had any questions or anything. Actually,” Louis says, remembering suddenly, “she said if I had any free time, I could just pop by today.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Harry says. “I can come with you. If you wanted, that is,” he tacks on with a smile.

Zayn catches Louis’ eye and smiles knowingly. Louis ignores him.

“That sounds ace,” Louis says. “We can go after breakfast, if you wanted? What time is it, anyway?”

“Quarter to twelve,” Liam answers, appearing around the corner. “Good morning, guys.”

“It’s barely morning, babe,” Zayn says, turning to smile at his boyfriend. Liam smiles down at him, before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss on Zayn’s raised cheekbone.

“Shut up,” Liam says simply, before moving around the couch and clambering over Harry so he can plonk himself on Zayn’s lap. The couch creaks ominously.

Niall looks at the four of them on the sofa and grimaces. “Once again, it’s lonely ole me, stuck on the floor.”

“N’aw, Niall,” Harry tuts, “you can come on sit on my lap!” Harry wiggles his eyebrows and pats his knee.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Haz,” Niall says, turning back to the telly, “I’m pretty sure that lap is reserved for Louis.”

“Shove it up your arse, Niall,” Louis says, pointedly avoiding Harry’s smile directed at him.

Niall snorts. “That’s more your area, darling.”

“And for that, dear one, you can make breakfast,” Louis tells him in a very matter-of-fact voice. Niall makes a sound of protest, and Louis smiles. “Omelette would be nice, I think. Lads?”

“Ooh, yes please,” Harry smiles.

Liam makes a happy hum of consent as Zayn’s arms snake around his waist. “Sounds delish.”

Niall looks at them, before sighing and pulling himself to his feet, muttering under his breath about finding somewhere else to live as he goes. Harry grins at Louis from over Zayn’s head, and Louis smiles back, ignoring the warmth in his chest.

+

After Niall begrudgingly makes breakfast, Louis and Harry get dressed, whilst the others are sat on the couch watching a Four In A Bed marathon. They call goodbye as they shuffle out of the flat, getting only a half-hearted response, before they make their way down the stairs and into Harry’s car.

Harry puts his key into the ignition and he’s pulling out of the car park in front of the apartment block when Louis’ phone buzzes in his back pocket again.

His heart sinks in his chest.

Afternoon, sweetheart. Are you doing anything today?

Louis heaves out a heavy sigh, and from the driver’s seat, Harry cuts him a concerned glance.

“Everything alright, Lou?” Harry asks, flicking another glance over.

Ah, shit. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Come up with a convincing lie that doesn’t yield many, or any, questions. “I just, ah. Got a text from EE. They say I’ve used 80% of my data already.”

Harry barks out a laugh. He’s bought it then. Good. “You must have a pretty shit plan, then.”

“Yeah,” Louis forces a laugh, trying to sound relaxed. “Twenty five quid a month for this shitty plan.”

Harry smiles, and turns his attention back to the road and tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the song on the radio. Louis surreptitiously replies to Matt’s text.

On my way to work.

Hi! Louis. Great to hear from you xx

That’s great, babe! I’m really happy for you! xx

What do you do?

I work in a coffee shop.

Lol, that sounds perfect. Nice and easy.

Louis hesitates before replying. What’s he insinuating?

I meant that, in like, your job wasn’t taxing or tiring or whatever. Xx

Oh. OK.

Where is it that you work? Local bespoke place, or starbucks? :P xx

Louis hesitates, his fingers hovering over the screen. Fuck it.

Sugar and Spice. On the High Street.

Sounds lovely. I’ll you get on with your day, then. Love you so much, Lou xx

Louis reads the text several times, and his heart clenches in his chest. He doesn’t want to send that he loves him still; it’s been months, and he doesn’t think he does (does he?) – and he doesn’t wanna give Matt any reason to come and see him, or give him false hope. He bites his lip and stares down at his phone.

Xxx

That’s simple enough, isn’t it? Doesn’t convey anything. Does it? Oh god, he doesn’t know, what is he doing –

“We’re here!” Harry announces, jerking Louis out of his spiralling thoughts. Louis looks up to see Harry turn into the tiny parking spot next to the shop. The engine rumbles and the car grinds to a halt before they climb out of the car.

The shop is fairly empty when they step inside, and there’s just one girl behind the counter. She looks up when the door hits the bell, and she smiles.

“Hi!” She calls, wiping her hands on her apron as she makes her way around the counter to stand in front of Louis and Harry. “I’m Anahit. Nice to meet you! I would shake your hand, but.” She smiles apologetically, wiping her flour covered hands on her apron again.

“Hey,” Louis smiles back, “and no problem.”

“You must be Louis, right?” She smiles at him kindly, and Louis releases the breath he didn’t realise he was holding in.

“That’s me. Oh,” Louis says, in an afterthought, “this is Harry.”

“Hey,” Harry greets, charm in full force. “Don’t mind me, I’m just here to drop him off.”

“No issue!” She smiles back at Harry. “You could have a seat if you wanted whilst I’m showing Louis around, and I could get Rana to get you a cuppa, or something?”

“No, that’s fine, I just have some errands I need to do, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Harry tells her. This is news to Louis, however.

“Errands?” Louis says, turning to him.

“Oh, yeah, I just need to sort out some work stuff, and, like.” He coughs awkwardly. “Make sure my flat is in order.”

Louis ducks his head. Fuck, he’d not even realised. Harry’s not been home for a while. “Ah, shit, yeah.” He raises and drops a shoulder. “Well. I’ll see you in a bit then.”

Harry smiles, ducking down to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “See you in a bit,” he winks before leaving the shop.

Louis turns back to Anahit, who grins at him. “Boyfriend?”

Louis flushes. “No. Just mates.”

Anahit raises her eyebrows, but drops the subject. “Well! Come on, then; let’s show you around.”

+

Anahit shows Louis around the kitchen, how to work the till, shows him the breakroom and the only other employee, Rana. She's just as welcoming as Anahit, Louis thinks, and he knows he'll have a blast working here.

Louis says his goodbyes and waits outside the shop, leans against the wall and pulls out his phone to text Harry.

Hey, haz – I’m all done here – can u pick me up? X

Harry replies almost instantly.

Sure! Just tidied up the flat a bit and got some pastries from another bakery but I’m omw! Xx

Louis sends back a couple of random emojis, before pulling his earphones out his pocket and putting them in his ears. He’s listening to Alt-J and sorting out his Spotify playlist when he feels arms wind around his waist. He grins, pulling his earphones out of his ears and sighs dramatically.

“Harry, you actual weirdo,” he starts, “a simple ‘hello’ would suffice.” He turns, and as he opens his mouth again, the words die in his throat, and his stomach falls to his feet.

He can’t – he -

“Hey, Louis. It’s, uh. Been a while.”

Oh, fuck. Matt.

Chapter Text

Hello friends,

I am very much still writing this - just in the final stretch. Thanks so much for your continued patience with me lmao.

Chapter Text

So it’s legit been 2 years since I’ve posted anything let alone written a chapter. As you can probably tell I’ve largely abandoned this fic as I left the fandom when Zayn left. I’m only posting this bc I got a comment on some of my old stuff and I realised I owed an update to the 0.1% of people who still check for this lmao. 

Soon I’ll post what would’ve been the ending but this is just an update to say I’m sorry, and thanks for reading. 

Best,

TJ x

Chapter Text

So!

Matt was gonna show up at Louis’ workplace and try and get him back using manipulation and physical intimidation. Harry, who was on his way to pick Louis up from work, would’ve seen this interaction and things would’ve inevitably gotten physical. For a while I was toying with the idea of Louis going back to Matt, but it seemed ooc so.

Finally having a witness, the police would’ve got involved and Louis would’ve had the opportunity to press charges. After chapters of debate and internal conflict, Louis finally presses charges and criminal charges are brought against Matt. There might’ve been a trial or something, depending on how much I wanted to milk the hurt/comfort. Meanwhile, Harry and Louis’ relationship is developing throughout and Harry tells Louis he has had feelings for him for a while, but seemed it inappropriate for him to express them considering the situation. They would’ve had a de facto relationship until Matt went to prison and Louis reunites with his family, but it would’ve become Real™️, at the end.

Fin

Edit: there will be no more chapter, no more updates - nothing! This is the end of the line, lads. Please stop asking me to finish it; it is done. Thanks for reading. X

Chapter Text

Evening, 

Over the years, plenty of people have left really lovely comments and I really appreciate those who stuck with this and read until the bitter end.

That said, people have been quite rude to me over the past few days about this fic and honestly I really don’t have to put up with abuse regarding me not continuing the fic, or not liking the ending - which is fair, I understand people would be disappointed considering the circumstances. Also, if you leave rude comments about me and me not continuing this fic: log off lmfao. I actually don’t wanna delete it for sentimental reasons but if you leave shitty comments I will not be polite!

Thanks for the memories (even though they weren’t so great (pls get the reference hehe)) and happy new year.

TJ x