Chapter Text
The car was speeding down the highway with high beams on, as fast as it could go. Rain was hammering the windshield, and the sound of wheezing echoed inside the car—it was the sound of someone struggling to breathe.
The boy shouted in frustration, “Drive faster! Can’t you see how hard she’s breathing? Please!”
The man frowned and glanced at the back seat through the rearview mirror. The boy's long hair had fallen over his face, and he was holding the girl in his arms, gently stroking her hair.
Sniffling, the boy leaned down and pressed his dry lips to the girl’s forehead.
“Breathe, baby. Just breathe with me…”
He spoke softly, guiding her through deep inhales and slow exhales, syncing her shattered breaths with his own.
Holding her tight against his chest, his hand still on her head, he snapped at the man again, “Please, Louis, go faster!”
For what felt like the thousandth time, Louis looked at them in the mirror, jaw clenched tight. He gripped the wheel harder and slammed his foot on the gas.
The girl let out a soft whimper that filled both men’s ears. “Please, Daddy, it hurts…”
Her voice was cut off by Louis slamming his fist against the steering wheel, yelling, “This fucking car can’t go any faster! Stop yelling at me!”
Harry gathered every ounce of courage in his voice and screamed, “You don’t get to yell at me and my kid—not after what you did to us!”
“If you keep yelling at me,” Louis growled, “I swear to God I’ll turn this car around right now. You can try saving your daughter on your own.”
“She’s our kid, Louis. Nisha is your daughter too—just like her brother!”
“Shut up, Harry. Just shut the hell up. I’m not in the mood for your whining—and I never bought it in the first place!”
The glass bubble of emotion pressing against Harry’s throat finally burst. Tears spilling down his face, he whispered, “Okay... okay... please just stop yelling at us…”
He pushed his long hair out of his face and wiped his tears with the sleeve of his knit sweater. His daughter trembled in his arms from the shouting, and once again, he reminded her she had to keep breathing.
“Hey, hey, Ni… breathe with me, baby. I get it—I’m scared too.”
He took a deep breath, and the girl followed, slowly inhaling and exhaling with him.
But just moments later, her green eyes fluttered shut, and Harry screamed in panic, “Hey—Nisha! Breathe with me! What’s happening, baby?! What’s going on? When the hell are we getting to that damn place?!”
That last part he shouted at Louis. The blue-eyed man snapped, yelling, “How can you expect so damn much from me?!”
“I’m just trying to save my kid’s life—and you’re yelling at us? Making her cry? You know how your behavior affects her, and you still act like this. Don’t act like you’re so free of responsibility. After everything you’ve taken from her, this doesn’t seem like too much to ask!”
– Flashback: 20 years earlier
Louis leaned back slightly in his chair, drying his lips with the napkin draped over his lap, then looked over at his sister.
“Thanks, Lottie. Dinner was amazing. It’s been ages since I had a proper meal like this.”
Lottie chuckled softly as she brought a spoonful of soup to her son’s mouth.
“That’s ‘cause you never come over. We invite you for dinner all the time, Louis, and you never show up. Honestly, I’m surprised you came tonight.”
“I’m sure you had a divine revelation I was making your favorite,” she teased.
She reached for the bottle and poured him a bit more into his glass.
“The pasta you make always tastes just like Mom’s used to…”
“Ice?”
Louis held out his glass with a small nod.
“Yeah, please.”
As he focused on the clinking ice in his drink, he turned to Phoebe.
“So, when are you heading back?”
Phoebe looked up from her plate, where she’d been absentmindedly poking at her salad.
“Tomorrow. I’m taking the bus in the morning. The weekend’s almost over and I haven’t reviewed anything for my exams. I already skipped three days of classes just to be here.”
Lottie shook her head.
“It’s just high school, Phoebs. You act like you’re studying for the bar exam.”
Louis opened his mouth to say something, but just then, Daisy scraped her chair back loudly, catching everyone’s attention. He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Where are you going, Daisy? You haven’t finished your dinner.”
Daisy’s hands rested on the edge of the table, and as she leaned forward to stand up, she looked straight at Louis.
“I’m full. It was delicious, though. Thanks, Lottie.”
“Dinner’s not even over yet and you’re already leaving? That’s disrespectful to the table.”
Daisy huffed.
“Sorry, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late to the party.”
Louis snapped,
“What party are you talking about when everyone’s here? Sit down, you don’t need to go.”
Daisy frowned and turned to Lottie.
“Lottie, say something. You said I could go.”
Louis, Lottie's husband, who had stayed silent till now, finally spoke.
“Please, Daisy…”
Daisy grumbled under her breath.
“No, I’m going. I’m already late—sorry.”
Louis slammed his palm down on the table, clearly fed up.
“Sit down, Daisy. We’re all here together—you don’t get to just leave and ruin the weekend for everyone.”
Daisy shouted back,
“Lottie gave me permission! You’re not my dad—you don’t get to tell me what to do!”
Lottie spoke gently,“Please sit down, Daisy. Louis is just looking out for you, sweetheart.”
Then she turned to Louis.“Are you staying the night, Lou?”
Louis took a sip of his drink.
“Yeah, I’ll stay. I’ll take them back in the morning.”
Lottie nodded, and Daisy got up and started walking toward the stairs.
“I’m going to bed,” she muttered.
A few seconds later, her bedroom door slammed shut. Lottie buried her face in her hands.
“This was supposed to be a nice dinner… just us, enjoying the evening.”
Louis ran a hand through his hair.
“I’ll make it up to her later.”
Lottie nodded, stood up, and lifted little Lucky out of his high chair, setting him gently on the floor. The little boy ran off toward the toys scattered across the carpet in the middle of the living room while Lottie started clearing the table.
Meanwhile, Daisy was leaned over her mirror upstairs, carefully lining her eyelids with a quick swipe of eyeliner. She smirked to herself, thinking about Louis.
Like hell I was gonna miss a party with the school crew. No way.
After finishing her makeup, she pulled a black outfit out of her closet and slipped it on quickly. She threw on a pair of low-cut socks, grabbed her black Vans, tied the white laces together, and slung them around her neck. Then she tied the sleeves of her hoodie around her waist.
She walked over to her bedroom window, slid it up, and carefully looked around before stepping onto the windowsill. Taking a deep breath, she placed her right foot on a tree branch just outside the window. With one hand gripping the branch, she brought her left leg forward, knee first, then climbed down slowly and clumsily until she finally dropped onto the grass. She put on her Vans and ran toward the sidewalk.
Fifteen minutes later, she was standing in front of Stiles’ boyfriend’s house, where the music was loud enough to hear from several blocks away.
She took a deep breath, walked up, and stepped through the doorway—which had literally been ripped off its hinges. First thing, she grabbed one of the big red paper cups from the table, took a sip, winced at the taste, coughed a little, and set the cup down. Then she started looking for her friends, squeezing through bodies grinding and dancing against each other.
Eventually, she spotted the boys sitting in a circle in the second living room, spinning a bottle on the floor between them.
“Heyyy, what’s up, guysss?”
That got their attention. Zayn smacked Niall hard on the back of the head and laughed.
“There, your girlfriend's here. You can shut up about ‘Daisy, Daisy’ now.”
Niall scowled, rubbing the back of his head as he got up and walked over to her. He wrapped her in a hug.
“You’re late, Daisy.”
Daisy wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Louis came over for dinner. He wouldn’t let me leave.”
Before she could say more, the boys all let out loud whoops and spread out the circle to make room for both of them.
Niall ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and called out,
“Spin the bottle, Li!”
Liam nodded, and just before spinning the bottle, he called out to the guy curled up with his knees to his chest.
“Hey, Harry! Get over here and play. Even Daisy showed up, and you’re still hiding.”
Harry pressed his lips together, changed the song playing in his ears, and rested his head on his knees—completely ignoring him.
It was like he’d forgotten he was the one who threw the party in the first place. Jeff, his boyfriend, had been genuinely happy when Harry finally agreed to hang out with the guys who had always struggled to get him to join in.
Even the boys were surprised when, in the cafeteria, Harry had casually mentioned the weekend party. Zayn had shoved the food on the table aside, climbed on top of it, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted:
“Party at Harry’s this weekend!”
That was when everyone turned their attention toward their table—and Harry had instantly regretted it, feeling more awkward than ever.
Now Zayn walked over to him, gently shook his shoulder, and said:
“Harry, you good? Come on, man, everyone’s waiting. It’s literally your party.”
Harry took out one of his earbuds.
“Please shut it down. Go tell them the party’s over. I’m not in the mood.”
Zayn raised an eyebrow. “You serious? The night just started!”
“I don’t know. I’m just not feeling it. The noise is too much.”
Zayn messed up Harry’s hair with a small smile.
“Then crash, man. We’ll clean up in a bit.”
Harry shrugged him off, stood up, and walked off toward the room he shared with Jeff.
Zayn checked his watch, then headed back to the group.
Liam looked up. “What happened, Z?”
Zayn dropped down next to him.
“He’s not feeling it. Same old story.”
Daisy straightened up in her seat.
“I don’t have Jeff’s number—one of you should call him. He knows how to calm Harry down.”
ᨒ
Louis, smoking his cigarette, followed Lottie up the stairs toward Daisy’s room. He raised his hand and knocked gently on the door.
“Hey, D... Can you open up?”
When there was no response, he added:
“I just wanna talk to you.”
Still no answer.
Louis frowned and turned to Lottie.
“Can you get me the spare key to her room?”
“Louis, come on… You can’t just break her trust like that—”
He cut her off.
“Please, Lottie. Just get the key.”
Lottie sighed, then nodded and disappeared for a moment before coming back with the spare key and handing it to him.
Louis slid it into the lock, and the door clicked open.
It felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head—the room was empty, the window wide open, and cold wind was rushing in, making the curtains twist and dance in the air.
Check out the fiction post on Tumblr and reblog it.👌🏼✨
Chapter Text
Louis stepped into the room, stood in the middle with his hands on his hips, and scanned the space—completely empty, no sign of the girl.
“This is getting out of hand. I don’t get it—her sister was never this defiant.”
Lottie leaned against the doorframe.
“Louis, they’re teenagers. You can’t control them or boss them around like that.”
“I was their age once. So were you. Neither of us ever pulled stunts like this.”
Lottie walked up and placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Come on, Louis, let it go. She’ll come back on her own. It’s not like she ran away or something.”
Louis frowned and followed Lottie out.
“Her sneaking out is worse than running away, Charlotte.”
“It’s okay, Louis. One day this’ll just be a funny memory for her. Let’s go watch something.”
They started down the stairs together, and midway Louis spoke his thoughts out loud.
“Where did she even go? Do you have the address?”
Lottie brushed her blonde hair out of her face.
“Yeah, I have it. But just let it go, come sit down. Let’s watch a movie or something. I just got Lucky to sleep—took forever.”
“No.”
“By the time it’s over, she’ll probably be back, and you’ll have calmed down too.”
Louis turned around, climbed the stairs again, walked into Lottie and her husband’s bedroom, grabbed his jacket from the hook, threw it on, and slammed the door behind him. He stormed down the stairs two at a time and came to a stop in front of Lottie and Louis, who were sitting on the couch.
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and said“Give me the address. I’m going to get Daisy and bring her home.”
Lottie stayed seated and said,
"No, Louis, just sit down—she’ll come back on her own."
Louis glanced at his wristwatch.
"It’s almost 2 a.m.—when exactly is she supposed to come back?"
"She will come back."
"Lottie, give me the address or I swear I’ll start knocking on every door in town until I find her."
Lottie raised her eyebrows.
"She’s at Stiles’ boyfriend’s house. It’s seven blocks over, block seventeen. They’re throwing a party with their friends."
Louis gave a small nod and started heading for the door when Lottie’s voice made him stop.
"Wait—Louis is going with you. Please don’t say anything to Daisy, they’re really close."
Louis nodded again."I know. I’ll be careful."
A little while later, they stood in front of a house that had gone quiet. Only a faint light shone from the living room window, and the curtains were drawn.
Louis— Lottie's husband,looked the place over and said,
"You sure this is the right house? Doesn’t exactly scream ‘party just happened.’"
Louis exhaled smoke and kept his eyes on the front door."This is the address Lottie gave me."
ᨒ
Out back, the yard was silent. Zayn was lying on the freshly cut grass, staring up at the dark sky where only a few stars were visible. His head rested on Liam’s lap as Liam sat over him, quietly smoking a cigarette.
Niall came out of the house with his guitar in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other. He swung one leg over Zayn’s body and stepped right across his stomach, grabbing Daisy’s attention.
She stopped picking at her chipped nail polish and looked up at him, brushing her hair back.
Niall sat down beside her, set the guitar down on the grass, and unfolded the piece of paper.
Daisy stood up, straightened her hoodie, then straddled Niall’s crossed legs and sat down gently on his lap, adjusting her skirt. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and Niall wrapped his arms around her waist.
Jeff, who had been quiet till then, lifted his head from Harry’s shoulder and said,
"Damn, y’all need to get a room or something."
Harry lifted his head from Jeff’s chest and said softly, voice hoarse,
"Don’t tease them, Jeff."
Niall raised an eyebrow and looked up at Daisy.
"I wrote a song."
A smile spread across Daisy’s lips as Niall added,
"Wrote it for you."
Zayn looked away from the couple and nudged Liam with his right hand.
"How come you never write me songs?"
Liam stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
"I don’t know how to play guitar, Z. Besides, I don’t need songs to tell you I love you, babe."
Niall kissed Daisy’s cheek.
"Sorry if it’s a little rough—I kinda wrote it on the spot."
Daisy nodded, unwrapped her arms from around his neck, and leaned back until she was lying on the cool grass, her legs still on either side of him. She folded her hands behind her head.
"You ready?"
Daisy looked up at him."Mhm."
Niall picked up his guitar and started singing.
"I'm having revelations
You dance across the floor
Beyond infatuation
How I obsessively adore you
That's what I do
I believe, I believe
I could die in your kiss
No, it doesn't get, doesn't get
Better than this!
God only knows .."
The moment was cut short by the creak of the wooden fence gate swinging open. Daisy opened her eyes and said."Hey, what happened to the rest?"
A new voice filled her ears"Maybe ‘cause he forgot?"
Daisy quickly sat up, smoothing down her skirt as Louis stepped forward. She and the rest of the boys got to their feet, and she instinctively moved closer to Niall, hoping his own startled stance would somehow make her feel safer.
"What are you doing here, Louis?" she asked.
His eyebrows shot up, nearly meeting his hairline, and a smirk twisted onto his face.
"Me? Nah, the real question is: what are you doing here, Daisy?"
"I—I..."
Louis cut her off"You what? You ran away from home!"
He looked around the quiet yard and scoffed"So? Where’s this wild party you snuck out for? The music? The booze?"
Jeff pulled Harry tighter into his arms and gently ran his fingers through his hair, straightening up as he spoke"Party’s over, Mr. Tomlinson. You’re late."
Louis took a deep breath, sizing Jeff up.
"And who exactly are you supposed to be?"
Harry clutched at Jeff’s shirt and lifted his head, brushing his nose softly against Jeff’s neck.
"Let it go, Jeff," he whispered.
Jeff’s hand slid protectively over Harry’s waist.
"I’m Jeff Hardy. Boyfriend of the guy who hosted this party tonight."
Louis raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
"Right. So where’s the party?"
Harry stepped out of Jeff’s arms and pushed his hair out of his face."I didn’t think it’d get that crowded… so I ended it early."
Louis nodded once."Okay. Daisy, let’s go. You’re coming home."
Daisy stood behind Niall and peeked over his shoulder"I’ll come home on my own. You can go."
Louis pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and said"I brought the car. Let’s go."
Daisy shook her head from side to side."Even Mark—my actual dad—doesn’t treat me like this, Louis!"
Louis, Lottie’s husband, who’d been quiet up to that point, ran a hand through his hair and then opened his arms in a soft gesture."Come on, Daisy. It’s okay."
Daisy’s eyes darted over her friends, who all looked ready to throw hands at the first wrong move from Louis. Then she slowly stepped out from behind Niall and walked over to Louis, into his open arms.
Louis gave a proud little smirk."Pleasure, gentlemen. Good night, Mr. Hardy!"
And finally, shot a dirty look straight at Niall.
The three of them walked out of the quiet yard, Louis gently closed the gate behind them, and they headed to the car.
The ride home was silent.
The second Daisy stepped inside the house, she spun around to face Louis and shouted,
"I hate you, Louis! I hate you for embarrassing me in front of my friends!"
Louis pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch."It’s past your bedtime. You’ve got school tomorrow. I just wish you were a little more like Phoebe."
Daisy shook her head in disbelief, backing toward the stairs. Then she stormed up them two at a time, slammed her bedroom door shut, and the sound of her crying echoed down the hall.
Louis lit a cigarette and followed her upstairs. He opened her door and walked in, leaving it slightly ajar. Then he sat down in the armchair in her room, quietly smoking and watching her until she cried herself to sleep—just to make sure she didn’t try anything stupid.
ᨒ
Harry, holding a red hot water bottle against his stomach, was brushing his teeth on the way from the bathroom to the kitchen. He finally spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth, and slumped into the chair at the table where Jeff had left him breakfast before heading to work. He lazily made four small bites, ate them with zero appetite, then got up, tossed the warm bottle onto the counter beside the sink, and headed to their bedroom.
He swapped out his comfy pajama pants for a pair of jeans, grabbed his bag from the floor, unplugged his phone from the charger, and walked out to the backyard to get his bike. Then he set off.
Meanwhile, Daisy—eyes red and puffy—looked at Louis through the rearview mirror. She reached for the car door and opened it.
“I hope next time you see me, you’ll try being a little nicer.”
Louis pressed his lips into a tight line.
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
Without answering, Daisy slammed the door shut and walked over to her friends, who were standing in the nearly empty parking lot.
Niall pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. Then the four of them headed inside the school together.
Harry locked his bike in the rack, glanced at his watch—exactly 8:00—and despite the pain that had been bothering him for two days, took off running toward the building.
The hallways were quiet. The muffled sounds of teachers and students floated out from behind closed classroom doors. The only sound echoing through the corridor was Harry’s footsteps.
He strolled past the office as cool as a cucumber, even though stress was eating him alive inside. He let out a big breath.
He hadn’t gotten far when the sound of women’s heels clicking behind him brought the stress right back.
The woman cleared her throat. “Legally, students aren’t allowed to enter the school after 7:45.”
Harry spun around to face her. She checked her watch and went on, “And it’s exactly 8:05 now. Twenty minutes late, and this is becoming a daily thing, Styles!”
Harry rolled his eyes and licked his pink lips. “Uh, well, I… I-I…”
A third voice cut in, making Harry drop his excuses and turn to look. “Styles has psychology with me first period, Mrs. Martinez!”
The woman, panting a bit, spoke as she walked toward Harry. His eyes bounced between the principal and his pregnant teacher, waiting for any hint from Mrs. Martinez that’d send him bolting back home.
Martinez said, “That’s right, Ms. Clare. Go on in!”
A bit later, they walked into the classroom, and Harry’s usual spot in the farthest right corner by the window was empty.
He plopped down in his seat as Daisy turned back. “Hey, Harry, how you doing?”
Harry, pulling his book out of his bag, shot her a half-glance and said, “Tired, but you look worse than me.”
Daisy: “Nah, I’m good, just stayed up late after I left your place.”
Harry snorted, shoved his earbuds in, tossed his book on the desk, and rested both forearms on it. He plopped his head on his arms, closed his eyes, and mumbled, “Zayn, wake me up when class is over.”
Zayn chucked his phone into his open backpack. “Sure thing, mate,” he said, sliding his right hand across Harry’s lower back.
ᨒ
The man walked his patient to the door of his office and held it open for her. “Book an appointment for two weeks from now, Mrs. Bloom!”
The woman nodded, thanked him, and headed toward the receptionist.
The second the door clicked shut, Louis ripped off his fake smile, letting his usual expression take over. He walked to his desk, yanked open a drawer, and pressed the zero button on the phone.
“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. “Catalina, call the next client and tell ‘em to come an hour later.”
“Right away, Mr. Tomlinson.”
“Oh, and grab me a coffee.”
“Of course, Mr. Tomlinson!”
He stepped away from the desk, pulled the dark curtains across the floor-to-ceiling window, and walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner. With the cigarette still between his right index and middle fingers, he undid the top two buttons of his shirt. As he tugged the shirt out of his trousers with his left hand, he muttered, “Yeah, ‘Doctor, my husband comes home late every night, we’re always fighting.’”
He took another drag. “You’re all a bunch of idiots who can’t get along with each other. Every single one of you!”
Notes:
P.S.: I know Louis is a bit weird, but I’ve got reasons for his actions. Give my story a chance, ‘cause it’s all just setting the stage for what’s coming next.
P.S. 2: Be nice to Jeff, I’m obsessed with this guy! :)
P.S. 3: School classes in Korea/Japan/China and *Iran* start at 8 a.m., with the latest entry time being 7:45 a.m., and I wrote it based on that ‘cause it was easier for me.
P.S. 4: Oh, by the way, let me know what time zone you’re in so I can sync up my timing... It’s 4:45 p.m. here right now
Chapter Text
The murmur of the other students woke Harry up. He lifted his sore neck off his numb arms and glanced to his left—Zayn was standing at his desk, nervously chewing on his index fingernail.
Harry sat up, ran a hand over his face, and blinked a few times until his vision cleared enough to make sense of what was going on.
Ms. Clare was slumped behind her desk, breathing deeply, while one of the students fanned her with a black hand fan.
“Hey, Daisy, what happened?”
Daisy looked back over her shoulder.
“Nothing—Ms. Clare felt sick while she was teaching.”
Harry reached up and brushed the hair out of her face.
“Is she okay now?”
Daisy nodded, but her hair fell right back into her face. Harry leaned back in his chair and looked at Zayn, who had finally sat down.
“How much longer ‘til class ends?”
Zayn checked his watch.
“Like fifteen minutes.”
The room suddenly fell silent as the sharp clap of Ms. Clare’s hands rang out. Everyone scrambled to sit back down.
She took a sip of water, stood up slowly, and placed one hand on her lower back.
“Alright, students.”
Harry, staring at her belly, raised his hand.
“Yes, Styles?”
Harry lowered his hand and casually pointed at her stomach.“Is the baby a boy?”
As soon as Harry finished his sentence, the whole class burst into laughter and teasing “oooh” sounds. Embarrassed, Harry pushed his hair out of his face.
Ms. Clare smiled, placed her hand on her belly, and said,“No, Harry—it’s a girl.”
She glanced around the room, took another sip from her glass, and continued.“Actually, I was going to talk to you about that. My baby girl is due in a month, and I’ve taken the next month off from school. Honestly, I probably should’ve left earlier, but I wanted to come in today to say goodbye and see how things are before she arrives.”
One student raised their hand.
“So, when are you coming back, Ms. Clare?”
Leaning against her desk, she sighed.
“To be honest with you, kids—I’m not sure.”
Another voice cut in from the back.
“Who's gonna teach us while you’re gone?”
She shrugged.“I don’t know. I told the school two weeks ago to find someone to cover psych for me, but they haven’t done anything yet.”
A girl with bright orange hair raised her hand. After Ms. Clare nodded, she asked,
“Ms. Clare, what does it feel like to be a mom?”
The class erupted again—some boys whistled and laughed, Which made the girl turn around and give them her middle finger, away from the teacher's eyes.
“Uhh... being a mommmm...”
She dragged the word out, clearly trying to stall and come up with an answer. But another student jumped in to change the topic.
“Aww, just don’t hold her too much when she’s born, and don’t kiss her all the time—she’ll end up spoiled, like...”
The teacher quickly cut the boy off before he could name anyone and start drama, chuckling at the childish logic behind his comment.
Daisy quickly raised her hand, and Ms. Clare nodded for her to speak. As Daisy stood up, a lock of her light hair slipped from between Harry’s fingers.
“My brother said technically, babies don’t have the capacity to be spoiled—it’s not even possible. They just feel really safe with their parents. That’s why they want to stay close to their mom and dad until they’re like two or three years old.”
As she sat back down, Liam leaned over and nudged Zayn with his elbow.
Liam“Is that the same brother who came storming in last night to take her home, giving us a psychology lecture now?”
A weird silence fell over the class. Ms. Clare raised an eyebrow and said“Thank you, Daisy. That was really interesting—thanks for sharing.”
Daisy’s face lit up like she’d just won an Olympic gold medal. She gave the teacher a little nod, absolutely glowing from the praise.
Ms. Clare glanced at the clock, then turned to Daisy again.
“Is your brother a doctor, Daisy?”
Daisy stood up a bit awkwardly, twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands.
“Yes, Ms. Clare. My brother’s a doctor.”
All the students suddenly locked their eyes on Daisy, making her visibly nervous. Niall noticed and gently rubbed her back with his right hand to calm her down.
“What’s his specialty?”
“He’s a psychologist.”
Ms. Clare raised an eyebrow.“And?”
“And he’s one of the most well-known psychologists in town—Louis Tomlinson.”
She said it proudly, like the same man hadn’t just treated her like crap the night before.
The teacher gestured for Daisy to sit down and stared off into space.
Niall leaned his arm on the back of his chair, turned around, and said to Liam“Damn, guess he really is a psychologist.”
The bell rang before Ms. Clare could start her next sentence. She picked up her bag from the desk, turned to the class, and said“Hope I get to see you all again later this year.”
She waved goodbye to the class and walked out.
At the Lunchtime; The cafeteria was packed. Kids were lined up with trays, waiting to get their food.
Zayn grabbed a tray at the entrance, tossed a fork and spoon into his pocket, and headed toward his group of friends—basically infamous at school for being close with Harry, the quietest and most withdrawn student around.
He slid into the line next to them, tucking the tray under his arm, then ran up to Liam, who had his back to him and Harry resting his forehead on his shoulder. Zayn placed both hands on Liam’s shoulders and jumped, making Liam jolt forward a couple steps.
“Heeey, what’s up? Still not your turn yet?”
Niall rubbed a hand down his face.“Nope. Look at this damn line.”
Zayn laughed, grabbed Harry’s hand, and said“You’ve got Harry with you and you’re still waiting in line?”
Zayn tugged Harry along with him, but Liam quickly caught up and grabbed Harry’s hand.“Yeah, everyone knows Harry, but that doesn’t mean we can just skip the line like that.”
Zayn, still dragging his feet, turned back toward them with a sulky face.“Come on, I’m starving! Why do I even have to stand in line? That teacher went on for like two hours about how freakin’ Christopher Columbus ‘discovered’ America and how we should all be grateful. Like—what if he’d just overslept and missed that damn trip?”
Harry brushed his hair out of his face.“I’m just glad I didn’t take history this year.”
Niall wiped at his eyes dramatically like he was crying.“Don’t cry, Zayn… I took that class last year. You’re the one who left it for senior year.”
Daisy laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair.“Hey Niall, we all hate history.”
Niall nodding solemnly“Absolutely, Miss Tomlinson.”
Suddenly the screech of a mic silenced the cafeteria. Then the principal’s voice boomed through the speakers.
Principal (over PA):“Daisy Tomlinson, please come to the principal’s office… Daisy Tomlinson…”
Harry glanced at her.“Did you do something and forget about it?”
Daisy shook her head and handed Harry her empty tray.“Hey, we’ve got geology next and we’re in the same class, right? Can you grab my sandwich for me? I’ll get it from you later. I better go see what the principal wants.”
“Yeah, sure.”He took the tray from her.
Niall gave Daisy a kiss on the cheek.“Make us proud, Miss Tomlinson!”
When the girl got to the principal’s office, she fixed her clothes, pushed her hair back, and took two deep breaths. Then Mrs. Martinez’s voice rang out: “Come in, Tomlinson.”
Daisy took two more deep breaths, reached for the doorknob, and opened the door. She saw Ms. Clare sitting on a chair, hand on her belly, and the principal behind her desk, twirling a pen.
Daisy stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and stood there, clasping her hands in front of her stomach. “You wanted to see me, Mrs. Martinez?”
Mrs. Martinez flashed Daisy a fake smile. “Come closer, Daisy.”
Daisy walked forward and stood straight.
Ms. Clare, seeing Daisy’s nerves, tried to calm her down. “Hey, Daisy, we had class together this morning, and we had some cool chats. You mentioned your brother’s a psychologist, right?”
Daisy glanced at her psychology teacher. “Yes, Ms. Clare, my brother’s a psychologist.”
Mrs. Martinez nodded. “Can you answer some questions for us?”
Daisy turned to the principal. “I’ll answer what I know, ma’am.”
The principal spun her pen in her hand. “Can you tell us your brother’s name and age, Daisy?”
Daisy bit her lip. “Can I ask why you wanna know?”
Ms. Clare answered instead of the principal. “Well, you know I won’t be coming to school anymore since I’m taking maternity leave, and the school doesn’t have a psychology teacher. This morning, you said your brother’s a psychologist.”
Daisy: “Yes, Ms. Clare.”
Ms. Clare: “And now we’re hoping, if possible, your brother could help us out.”
Daisy glanced at the principal again and said, “His name’s Louis Tomlinson. He’s a psychologist with his own practice, makes good money from it, and I’d guess he’s pretty decent at it ‘cause I heard it’s tough to get an appointment with him. He’s 32.”
The principal jotted down Daisy’s words in her planner and asked, “Do you know where his office is?”
Daisy: “It’s in the city, not super close. You’d need to switch a couple of buses to get there.”
Mrs. Martinez: “Has your brother ever done any teaching?”
Daisy shrugged. “Not really. Never heard him talk about teaching, to be honest.”
Ms. Clare, fidgeting with her nail polish, chimed in, “When I was in uni, Mr. Tomlinson came to our class a few times. He was a friend of my professor. Never would’ve guessed he’d be my student’s brother.”
The principal scribbled something else in her planner and said, “Can you write down your brother’s number for me, Daisy?”
Daisy nodded. “Sure thing, ma’am.”
She stepped forward to write Louis’s number in the principal’s planner.
The principal glanced at the number and said, “You can go now, Daisy.”
ᨒ
The man shifted in his leather chair and glanced at the big wall clock across from him, hoping this was his last client of the day.
He fixed his eyes on the girl sitting in front of him, who was nervously rubbing her palms against her charcoal jeans.
“Alright, Jessica, I’m really glad to see you. You can call me Louis. Samantha’s been telling me about you for a while, but to be honest, I didn’t think we’d actually meet face-to-face.”
The girl, who’d been looking down and anxiously fidgeting with her fingers, snapped her head up when she heard her sister’s name. With nervous eyes, she said, “Yeah, yeah, Samantha. She’s outside. Can she come in too?”
Louis, with a soft expression and a calm tone, asked, “Why do you want her here with you?”
Jessica rubbed her shaky, sweaty hands on her jeans and stammered, “’Cause… ’cause she’s way better at answering than me. I’m an idiot and always mess this stuff up.”
Louis didn’t let her keep going and said with total confidence, “Don’t even think like that. I’m really enjoying talking to you, little angel, and I’d love for us to keep going if you’d do me the honor.”
To drive it home, he flashed a warm, dazzling smile.
Jessica, calming down a bit from his words, nodded her head quickly and repeated “sure” a bunch of times in a row.
With the vibe a bit more relaxed, the man stood up, stepped out from behind his desk, and sat on the couch closer to Jessica. As he did, he asked, “Something wrong with your leg? You were limping when you came in, and it looks like your back’s hurting too.”
In response, he got a stretched-out smile that seemed like it was trying to be a real one. “Nah, it’s no big deal. Just my boyfriend wasn’t paying attention, pushed me, and I fell down some stairs. That’s all.”
Louis furrowed his brows in concern and said, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Jessica. That must hurt a lot.”
Then, with a chuckle, he added, “A few years back when I was a student, I slipped on the university stairs one day and ate it so hard the sound of my head hitting the ground practically shook the walls. Still feel that pain sometimes.”
Jessica, now feeling a friendly vibe from her psychologist and able to talk more easily, smiled and said, “It’s not *that* bad. I’m kinda used to it.”
Louis, who’d been waiting for exactly that, jumped in quick. “Does your boyfriend do this a lot?”
The second she heard that, Jessica got all flustered again and stammered, “No, no, it’s not… it’s not like that at all. He only does it when he’s distracted, but otherwise he takes such good care of me. I couldn’t even live without him.”
Louis voiced the question on his mind: “What does he do that makes your life depend on him?”
Jessica, trying her hardest to sound convincing, said, “Well, he pretty much takes care of all my responsibilities. He takes me wherever I need to go, helps me pick out my clothes, even chooses my movies and books for me. Otherwise, I’d just screw everything up.”
Louis nodded for emphasis and asked, “You said he takes you everywhere. Does he even drive you to see your family?”
Jessica, with guilt written all over her face, admitted, “Honestly, my boyfriend doesn’t like me staying in touch with my family at all, and I listen to him ‘cause he knows better than me. But sometimes I sneakily see Samantha ‘cause she’s super wise too, and I couldn’t live without her either.”
Louis nodded like he got it, then glanced at the clock. “Sweetheart, our session’s done for today, but we’ll definitely see each other again in a few days, okay? I’m really glad you’re here. You feel the same, right? ‘Cause, let’s be real, you can only drag someone to therapy for the first session.”
Jessica, who hadn’t gotten the usual reaction after spilling about her boyfriend, paused to think. When she said those things, the guy didn’t mock her like others or even act weird. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk again. So she turned to her psychologist and said, “Yeah, yeah, okay. We’ll see each other again.”
Louis broke into a big smile at that and stood up with her. “That’s awesome! My receptionist will sort out the next session with you.”
After saying goodbye, the girl walked out, and the door closed behind her.
The second the sound of the door echoed in the room, Louis slipped back into his cold, detached self. He rolled his eyes, bored, and mumbled something under his breath as he headed to his desk to pack up his stuff and get the hell out of that suffocating place. “Stupid, brainless girl! When they say someone can’t even pull up their own pants alone, this is what they mean.”
He smirked and went on, “But that asshole boyfriend of hers? Damn, what luck. He controls her, smacks her around whenever he feels like it, and still comes off as her knight in shining armor! Maybe for a change, you should get someone like that in your life. Could be fun.”
He laughed at his own words.
His work was done, so he threw on his coat, grabbed his bag, and headed to the door to do one last boring task for the day—check tomorrow’s schedule with Catalina.
When he shut the office door behind him, he walked over to Catalina, who was typing something on her phone at her desk.
“Hey, Cata, can you pull up tomorrow’s appointment list for me to check?”
Catalina, a bit startled, put her phone aside and opened the big ledger where all the info was logged. Louis set his bag on the desk, propped his hands on it, and leaned over to look at the open page.
Catalina pointed to a name, resting her index finger on it. “Your first appointment tomorrow is at 11 a.m., Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis pursed his lips, nodded, and said, “Louis. Outside work hours, it’s Louis, Cata!”
The girl looked up at Louis’s face, just a short distance away, and asked, “How was your day, Louis?”
Louis stepped back as she closed the ledger, pushed her chair back a bit, and showed off her bare feet with a small smile. A faint frown creased Louis’s brows as he said, “Shitty. Everything’s been as shitty as it gets for two days straight.”
“What’s up?”
“The last client was a total moron. The girl’s about my sister’s age, but her boyfriend has to handle everything for her. She’s so damn dependent on him, I bet the day after tomorrow he’ll have to take her to the bathroom too. And the guy’s living the dream—controls her so much she listens to his every word. He’s got her whole life on a leash!”
He paused, ran a hand over his face, and went on, “No need to tidy up the ledger yet. Sign off on today’s stuff, and let’s get outta here.”
Catalina’s eyebrows shot up. “Go where?”
Louis licked his lips. “I’m hitting up the usual spot. You’re coming too, right, Cata?”
The girl, mid-signing the day’s paperwork, paused and looked up at Louis, who had his right hand stuffed in his trouser pocket. “Should I come?”
Louis took a deep breath. “Yeah, Cata, it’s not like it’s your first time tagging along with me!”
She set the pen down, slid the ledger into the drawer, and stood up. She grabbed her long coat from the back of her chair, bent down to pick up her bag from the floor, and said, “Alright, I’m coming with you, Lou!”
Chapter Text
He knocked back the last gulp of his shot and wrapped his hands around the girl’s waist like a shield. The girl, now dancing in his arms, was grinding her hips against the front of his trousers, her hands looped around his neck.
She leaned her head against his chest, pressed her hot lips to his jaw, and kissed it wetly, repeating the move two or three times. Louis’s arms tightened around her, pulling her close.
Catalina spun in his grip, slid her fingers into the hair at the back of Louis’s head, and tugged at it. She kissed his jaw again and again. Louis shoved his free hand into her hair, yanking her head back by it.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, Kata, no hickeys. I’m not sitting in front of my patients tomorrow with a bruised neck.”
He let go of her hair, ran his hand soothingly down her back, and took her hand. They weaved through the crowd of drunk bodies rubbing against each other and made their way to the bar.
The girl plopped onto one of the round barstools, and Louis stood beside her, hand on his hip, raising his other hand to flag down the bartender.
“How many shots you had, Cata?”
Catalina, tracing her index finger along the fabric of Louis’s trousers, said, “Two, I think.”
Louis pressed his lips together. “Good.”
He turned to the bartender: “One mint cocktail and a glass of water, please.”
As the guy walked off, Louis’s attention shifted to Catalina, who was messing with his belt, trying to undo it.
He pushed the girl’s hand away, grabbed her chin, and tilted her face up, squeezing both sides of her cheeks with his thumb and index finger, making her lips pucker.
“We don’t do that.”
Catalina pulled her face out of Louis’s grip and said, “Yeah, I know, Lou, but I can prove how much you want it back at your place.”
A third voice made them both turn to the bartender: “Here you go, sir.”
Louis nodded, picked up the glass of water, and handed it to Catalina.
“Drink it, Cata.”
She shook her head side to side. “I’m not thirsty, Lou.”
“Yeah, I know, now drink.”
He said it with authority, pressing the glass to Catalina’s lips and forcing her to take a sip.
The bartender asked, “Anything else, sir?”
Louis shot him a look. “Yeah, I need one of the keys to the rooms here.”
The guy nodded, and Louis grabbed his shot glass from the bar, downed the golden liquid in one go, and slammed the glass back down. He turned to Catalina, who’d calmed down a bit.
Catalina: “Let’s go to your place, Lou!”
Louis shook his head. “I never take anyone home. That’s a rule, and I don’t break my rules.”
“for you, sir.”
Louis glanced back at the guy, who slid a card across the counter toward him.
Louis grabbed the card off the counter and muttered a quick thanks.
Catalina piped up, “Hey, hey, Lou, I’m not going to one of these rooms! Who knows who’s been in there before us!”
Louis let out a single laugh. “Don’t be stupid, Cata. A fancy place like this isn’t gonna ruin its rep with bad hygiene. Get up!”
The girl leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and shook her head. “Nope, I’m not going. Not your place, fine, but my place is an option!”
Louis stuffed the card in his pocket, grabbed her hand, and pulled her off the barstool.
“Come on, Cata, don’t argue with me. You know I’ll just ditch you and go home, and you’ll be stuck here ‘til some rando screws you over.”
“Don’t pull my hand, Lou!”
Louis let go of her hand and stood still, waiting. “Get in front, Cata.”
A bit later, they were in a room lit with red neon strip lights. Catalina was kissing Louis’s face and neck, but Louis, barely paying attention to her kisses, slid the card into its slot to mark the room as occupied.
He wrapped his arms tightly around Catalina’s waist, pulling her close. Her right leg came up, signaling she wanted him to lift her. Louis’s hand settled on her thigh, and he hoisted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Kiss me, Lou!”
Louis turned his face away from the girl in his arms, whose head was chasing a kiss from his lips, and as he headed toward the bed in the middle of the room, he said, “No kisses!”
Catalina pulled her face back, her lips drooping into a pout, mimicking Louis: “Yeah, ‘I don’t waste my kisses on a one-night stand.’”
Louis set the girl down in the middle of the bed, knelt on it with both knees, and as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt, said, “Makes perfect sense!”
Catalina scooted back on the bed, slowly lying down with the help of her elbows propping her up, and said, “It’s not sensible when we know every inch of each other’s bodies!”
Louis unbuckled his belt, pulled it out of his trousers, and while fashioning it into a loop for the girl’s hands, shook his head in denial.
“Outside this place, we’re nothing more than me being your boss and you being my receptionist. Your hands!”
“Lou!”
Louis repeated, “Put your hands up, Catalina.”
The girl raised her hands, and both wrists were bound with Louis’s belt. The excess was locked to the headboard, tight enough to make her gasp.
“Lou, please!”
“Keep it down, Cata!”
Louis said this while rummaging through the room’s drawers. He found a gold-colored condom packet, shut the drawer with his knee, and climbed back onto the bed.
He ran his hands over the girl’s bare legs and smacked her thigh with his right hand. “Spread your legs, Cata!”
From between her tied-up hands above her head, Catalina watched Louis as she slowly spread her legs for him. Louis positioned himself between her thighs, running his hand along her thighs up to her waist. He tugged the hem of her dress up a bit, and his index and middle fingers settled between her legs.
Catalina trembled under Louis’s touch, but then clamped her thighs shut, trapping his hand. Louis, out of frustration, grabbed her knee and forced her legs apart. This time, he yanked her underwear off and tossed it to the floor. He brought the same fingers that had been between her legs to her mouth.
“Get ‘em wet, Cata!”
Catalina hesitantly opened her mouth and took Louis’s fingers in. With his free hand, Louis undid his trousers and tugged them down a bit.
He placed her legs on either side of his waist. “That’s enough, Cata!”
He pulled his fingers from her mouth and slid them back between her throbbing legs, rubbing her and making her moan. “Louis, please!”
Louis brought the gold condom packet to his mouth, held it with his teeth, and tore it open, pulling out the condom. He wiped his hand on the bedsheet to clean it, then rolled the condom onto himself. Grabbing Catalina’s hips, he lifted her to align with him, teasingly dragging himself between her legs, listening to the moans of the girl beneath him. In one swift move, he pushed inside her, and her head pressed back into the pillow.
He moved fast inside the girl, not even sure how many times she’d been under him like this. Leaning forward, he pressed his body against Catalina’s, his face hovering right next to hers, just behind her bound hands. She bent her elbows, pulling her tied wrists apart, and lifted her face, chasing a kiss. Her lips landed on Louis’s parted ones, breaking his rule.
Louis snapped his eyes open and glared at Catalina with fury. He pulled himself off her and barked, “You broke my most important rule, Catalina Gates!”
He slid back, and the girl whimpered, “Lou…”
He pulled out of her, yanked off the condom, and tossed it on the floor.
“I told you a hundred times, Catalina, when I say something, you listen and stop being so damn defiant!”
He fixed his clothes and headed for the door.
“Lou, where are you going? Don’t leave me here, I’m begging you! Come untie my hands!”
Louis glanced at the girl on the bed, hands still bound. “Eventually, you’ll scream loud enough, and someone’ll come help you.”
He opened the door and walked out, hearing Catalina shrieking, cursing him, and calling for help.
He went down the stairs to the bar, where he’d left his coat on the counter. He grabbed it and called the bartender, who turned to him. “Yes, sir?”
“There’s a girl in one of the rooms with her hands tied…”
He didn’t finish, threw on his coat, and bolted out of there. He headed to his car parked on the street, hit the remote to unlock it, and slid behind the wheel. From the passenger seat, he picked up his phone, which had been left next to the girl’s forgotten bag.
He had three missed calls from an unknown number and a message from the same number, sent at 8 p.m.
“Good evening, Mr. Tomlinson,
This is Martinez, Daisy’s school principal. I tried calling you three times, but you didn’t answer! Please come to your sister’s school first thing tomorrow morning for a discussion.
Thank you!”
Louis’s eyebrows shot up. As he started the car, he opened WhatsApp and typed one-handed to Daisy: “What the hell did you do at school now that your principal wants to see me?”
He sent the message, tossed his phone onto the seat beside him, and drove off toward home.
ᨒ
He walked down the sparkling clean hallways, listening to the sounds of chatter and teachers lecturing that spilled out from the classrooms until he reached a door labeled “Principal’s Office.”
He knocked lightly, brushed a hand over his coat, stood up straight, and shifted his briefcase in his grip.
A woman’s voice answered, “Come in!”
He grabbed the doorknob and stepped into the principal’s office.
Mrs. Martinez turned toward the newcomer, her eyes widening when she saw Louis.
“Oh, hello, Mr…?”
Louis cleared his throat. “Tomlinson.”
She gestured to a chair. “Hello, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis studied her face and said, “I’m not here to sit. I’ve got stuff to do and need to go. Just came to find out what was up with you wanting to see me last night.”
The woman smiled. “Well, first off, I’m really sorry for taking up your time.”
Louis nodded, moving his hands behind his back.
“So, I’m guessing Daisy explained to you that—”
Louis cut her off. “Nope, Daisy didn’t explain anything. Didn’t even reply to my text from yesterday.”
The woman swallowed hard.
“Okay, let me put it this way. Yesterday, through some conversations, we found out you’re a psychologist.”
“Correct.”
“And, well, our psychology teacher is pregnant and on maternity leave for her final month. We don’t have a teacher, and the school board can’t find a new one mid-year. Yesterday in class, it came up, and Daisy told Ms. Clare, her teacher, that you’re a psychologist and could help us out.”
Louis glanced at the principal’s hands, nervously rubbing together, then locked eyes with her again.
“You’re saying you want me to fill in for their teacher? I don’t teach, like, at all.”
Mrs. Martinez nodded. “I know, Mr. Tomlinson. We just need someone for a few months to teach the kids something so they can pass the class.”
“The school textbooks are garbage. No way I’d teach from those.”
“You’re right about that, sir. Just come sit in their class and teach them what you know. But please, come.”
Louis ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips. “Two weeks!”
Martinez stared at him, eyes wide.
Louis went on, “I need two weeks to sort out my schedule so I can come to the school and work for you.”
“You’re doing us a huge favor, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis forced a smile, then, as if remembering something, added, “Just one thing—what days do the kids have this class?”
The principal pushed her planner aside, placed her finger on the glass desk, and looked at the schedule tucked underneath. “The literature students have class on Mondays, first period.”
Louis nodded twice, signaling he got it. “Alright, ma’am, I’ll do my best to make it to the kids’ classes. But if there’s nothing else, I gotta go. My first patient’s coming in half an hour, and I need to be there.”
Mrs. Martinez stood up, walked toward Louis, and cheerfully guided him to the door. “Of course, Mr. Tomlinson, you’ve already been so kind just by coming.”
Louis opened the door. “You’re welcome!”
ᨒ
Harry was leaning against the cold classroom wall next to his chair, watching his group of friends sitting on the floor, painting with watercolors.
He wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them.
“Daisy?”
Daisy stopped dragging her brush across her small canvas and looked at Harry, raising her eyebrows like, *what’s up?*
“What did Mrs. Martinez want with you in the office yesterday?”
Harry’s question caught the attention of the other guys.
Daisy shrugged. “Nothing, just some questions about Louis and his job. She took his phone number in the end.”
“Did you ask her what they wanted with him?”
Daisy: “Nah, Harry, I blocked Louis after that party when he dragged me out. His messages don’t even get through! None of this matters. Why’re you acting like this?”
Harry’s eyes went wide. “Acting like what?!”
Daisy started explaining with her hands. “Look, you’re all, like, I dunno, just…”
Niall jumped in, finishing her sentence. “She means why’re you so off? Isn’t Jeff at home?”
Harry ran a hand over his face, smoothing his eyebrows with his thumb and index finger. “Nah, Jeff comes home late. He’s got this new project he’s working on. I don’t eat dinner, just crash. He leaves super early in the morning, and I eat lunch here.”
Zayn, scrolling through his phone looking for something, said, “Wanna come to my place tonight?”
“Nah, I’ll wait for Jeff. He left a note on the fridge saying he’ll be home early tonight and we’ll have dinner together.”
Zayn shrugged. “Whatever, if Jeff doesn’t show, come to mine or text me, and I’ll come to you.”
“Thanks, Z!”
ᨒ
Harry was sprawled out on his side on a small rug in the living room, under the glow of a 100-watt lamp. He was picking beans one by one from a little bowl in front of him—where the beans were few enough to count on his fingers—and tossing them, based on luck, into a wide-brimmed hat that held five red gummy candies.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway sparked hope in the hungry boy lying on the floor.
Moments later, the sound of the door opening and the tired footsteps of someone else broke the silence of the house.
“Harryyyyyy?”
The man dragged out the “y” and ran his hand along the wall to flip on the lights.
“Harry, darling, you home?”
He switched on the lights, making Harry squint from the sudden brightness and clutch his stomach.
The man stepped into the living room, saw Harry lying on the floor, and dropped his shopping bags. He rushed over.
“Hey, hey, Harry, you okay? Why’re you lying here, love?”
Harry looked up at Jeff with hopeful eyes.
“You’re finally here!”
Jeff brushed a hand over Harry’s face and helped him sit up.
“‘Course, love, I promised I’d come. You haven’t eaten anything, have you?”
Harry nestled deeper into Jeff’s arms, pulling himself up in his embrace.
“Nah, I didn’t eat. I was playing and waiting for you to get home.”
Jeff leaned down, planted a quick kiss on Harry’s lips, then did it twice more, savoring his red lips before saying, “I’m gonna go wash my hands, then we’ll eat. Got you a cheeseburger.”
Harry leaned his head against Jeff’s chest. “No, don’t go, J!”
“I gotta wash my hands—”
Harry cut him off. “No, you don’t. Stay, please.”
Jeff nodded, leaned back, and pulled the McDonald’s bags from behind him. He lifted one and set it on Harry’s outstretched legs, opened it, and pulled out a box, handing it to Harry. “This one’s for my darling Harry.”
Harry flashed Jeff a tired, dimpled smile. “Thanks for coming home.”
Without a word, Jeff kissed Harry’s curly hair twice, then opened a can of Pepsi for him and set it beside him.
He pointed at the wide-brimmed hat on the coffee table. “What’s your hat doing there?”
Harry, whose gaze had been lost somewhere, shifted to his hat. “I told you, I was playing.”
Jeff took a bite of his burger. “Playing?”
Harry sipped his soda, shifted in Jeff’s lap, and said, “Yeah, playing. Bean game! Me and Gemma used to play it when we were kids and super hungry with no food. We’d put a few snacks in the hat, then we had to toss beans into it. The hat had to be far away, or the beans would miss, but if you got them in, you won and got the snacks. It took so long we’d forget we were hungry!”
Jeff let out a single laugh, took a swig of his soda, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh, by the way, your friend Daisy—the one whose brother showed up at the party and dragged her out—what’s up with her?”
Harry, absentmindedly tracing random shapes on Jeff’s thigh with his left index finger, thought for a second and said, “Hmm, Daisy’s good…”
He slid out of Jeff’s lap and sat facing him.
Jeff nodded. “Glad she’s okay. After what went down that night, I was really worried about her!”
Harry finished his soda, crumpled the burger wrapper, and tossed it aside. He crawled on all fours toward Jeff, brought his face close, and kissed Jeff’s lips.
“Don’t come home late at night. Save the rest of your work for tomorrow. I’m alone, I love you, and I miss you!”
Notes:
I’d stuff Harry in my pocket and take him with me, he’s so soft, my sweet boy!
Chapter Text
He’d lost count of how many times he’d tossed and turned in bed.
The thought of the impulsive decision he’d made wouldn’t leave him alone, not even for a second.
He’d gone over it a million times in his head—why’d he agree so fast? Sure, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with his life right now, but he didn’t expect *this* kind of move from himself either.
Doubt was eating him up. Should he call and say he couldn’t sort out his schedule, or stick to his word and walk into a classroom full of high school kids waiting for him in two weeks?
Fed up, he got out of bed, flipped on the room’s light, and sat at his desk.
He needed to write it out to figure himself out. He grabbed the notebook he kept just for this and started jotting down the pros and cons of both options.
He began with sticking to his old life—a chill, hassle-free routine that, honestly, bored him to death. It didn’t cause him any real trouble, but lately, he’d been feeling like his life was just *dull*. He’d been trying every quick fix he could think of to spice it up, but nothing stuck.
Then came the other choice: becoming a psychology teacher at the school. He’d never even considered teaching. Teenagers, with their unpredictable minds, always drove him nuts, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle dealing with them or not.
The idea was as unfamiliar as it was thrilling—it was a challenge, and right now, what could get him more pumped than that?
Louis, frustrated, ran a hand through his hair and said out loud to himself, “Come on! Move it! Is it really that hard? Just say it—do you want your same old shitty life, or are you gonna turn it into a new kind of shit?!”
He closed his eyes, frowning hard from focusing so much, staring into the black curtain behind his lids. After a few minutes, he finally opened his eyes. He’d made his final decision!
Teaching wouldn’t cost him anything major, and even if it sucked, he wouldn’t have to stick it out for long. It was worth a shot.
With his mind finally at ease, he grabbed his phone and texted his receptionist.
“First patient’s around noon, I’ll be there then. But you get to the office early and cram my patients’ appointments so they’re all done in two weeks max. Don’t book any new ones for now. I’ll explain the rest at the office.”
With the message sent, his mind had the calm he’d been craving. He turned off the light, went back to bed, and crashed for the few hours left until morning.
ᨒ
Harry was strolling through the aisles packed with snacks and junk food with the guys when Jeff stopped them.
“Hey, I’m gonna grab some sandwiches from that stall.”
Harry, picking at the skin on his lips, nodded at Jeff. The older guy took two steps forward, placed his palm on the back of Harry’s head, pulled him in, and kissed his hair. Zayn and Liam immediately started making exaggerated gagging noises.
Zayn: “Go on, go, Jeff. We’ll make sure he doesn’t get lost.”
Jeff laughed, nodded at them, and headed toward the store’s automatic sliding doors.
Harry shoved his phone in his pocket, bent forward a bit, raised both hands, and ran them through his hair, messing it up again. Then he pressed both palms to his forehead, where his hairline started, and pushed his curls back.
Liam: “Ugh, don’t! You’ll rub off the kiss, and then Jeff’ll have to plant a few more—eww, you guys are so mushy and gross.”
Harry let out a single laugh. “I’ve told him a hundred times not to do that stuff in public. People give us weird, creepy looks, but he’s like, ‘People don’t matter, just us!’”
Zayn nodded. “Jeff’s got a point.”
Harry shrugged, took a deep breath, and started walking toward the big fridges stuffed with all kinds of drinks. Niall and Daisy were slouched against the cold, grimy market floor by the fridges, leaning on a metal door, clutching plastic bottles of juice.
Harry went over to Niall, stood between his sprawled-out legs, and opened the fridge door, letting a blast of cool air rush out.
“Don’t go getting drunk vibes with orange juice.”
Niall: “Hahaha, real funny, Harry.”
Niall said it, then slung the arm holding his juice bottle around Daisy’s shoulder, pulling her close and kissing the side of her head. “Fuck off, Styles, stay away from me and my girlfriend.”
Harry took a deep breath, grabbed a honey milk from the fridge, and shook the carton to mix it as he closed the door. He nudged Niall’s shin with the tip of his shoe.
“Come on, get up and let’s go.”
Daisy took a deep breath to calm herself, leaned back against Niall’s shoulder, and set her plastic juice bottle down beside her. With her index finger, she brushed aside the thin bangs falling into her face and looked at Harry.
“Don’t be a buzzkill, Harry. Now that you’re in a good mood, don’t ruin it.”
Harry held the straw’s wrapper between his lips, peeled it off, and tossed the plastic aside. He pulled the straw from his mouth, blew off the rest of the wrapper, and stuck the straw into his drink.
“I’m not doing anything. Just saying, don’t act like you’ve never seen each other before.”
Harry said it and made his way to Zayn by the cake shelves. He turned his head and saw Niall get up, brush off the back of his pants, and stand in front of Daisy, between her bare thighs barely covered by a short skirt. Niall reached out, grabbed Daisy’s hand, pulled her up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her cheek.
Harry found it weird how girls could wear stuff like that in the fall and not be freezing, while he was still cold despite wearing a jacket and scarf.
He turned away from the two of them, glanced at the shelf, and grabbed a cake. As he tore open the clear wrapper, he looked at Niall, who was now standing beside him. Niall raised his hand, made a fist, and flipped his middle finger right up against the bridge of Harry’s nose.
Niall: “We’re not acting like that. You know we barely get time to hang out together.”
Harry frowned, his eyes squinting from Niall’s middle finger in his face.
With the hand holding the cake, he pushed Niall’s hand away. “I don’t care. Jeff’s coming back soon. He said he’s grabbing sandwiches for us to eat during the game.”
Zayn, still wide-eyed, stared at Niall and the move that was so unlike him.
Harry: “What’s up with him?”
He leaned close to Harry’s ear and added, “Every time Daisy’s on her period, her boyfriend gets a brain period.”
Harry struggled to swallow the bite in his mouth, pulled his head back, and stared at Zayn. “What the fuck, Zayn?”
Harry said it, and Zayn burst out laughing.
Daisy walked past Zayn, knowing he hated people touching his hair, and deliberately ruffled his hair, messing it up. “Shame on you, Zayn. We’re heading to the checkout. Come pay.”
The second part was aimed at Harry. She grabbed Niall’s arm and walked off.
Zayn, along with Harry, started walking in the same direction. Halfway there, he stopped, glanced around, and casually reached out, snagging a medium-sized caramel chocolate bar and slipping it into his pocket.
Harry’s eyes went wide as he grabbed Zayn’s arm while he started walking. “What the fuck, Zayn? What are you doing? That’s straight-up stealing.”
Zayn let out a single laugh. “It’s not stealing, Harry. It’s the law of nature! You don’t take it, someone else will. Plus, as long as Liam loves caramel, I’ve got every right to do this.”
“Take it out of your pocket. I’ll pay for it myself, Zayn.”
Zayn shrugged and headed toward the checkout. “Oh, by the way, did I tell you we’re setting up a market in front of our place this weekend to sell new stuff?”
Harry shot Zayn a look, then glanced guiltily at the price tag on the shelf. He quickened his pace to the checkout, stood next to Zayn, and plopped the clear cake wrapper and his half-empty honey milk carton on the counter. Right after, Niall and Daisy set their plastic juice bottles down.
“Nah, you didn’t tell me, Zayn.”
Harry said it, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his folded leather wallet. He opened it, slapped three ten-pound notes on the counter, and didn’t wait for change. He grabbed his receipt from the female cashier and headed for the automatic sliding doors.
Zayn: “Yeah, Trisha’s got her OCD kicking in again. Wants to sell stuff she bought less than six months ago, and Yaser just goes along with it.”
Zayn caught up to Jeff and Liam, who were standing together outside the market. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the caramel chocolate bar, and held it out to Liam.
Liam shifted the bag full of sodas for the group in his hand and took the chocolate from Zayn. “Thanks, Zaynie.”
Zayn flashed a big smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Anything for you.”
Niall raised the hand holding his half-empty honey milk carton and pointed it at Harry, gesturing for him to drink it.
“Nah, Niall, chuck it. Honey milk’s making me feel sick. No clue why I even grabbed it.”
Jeff ended his phone call and slipped it into his pocket. “The game starts in forty minutes, and we’re still not in our seats. Move it, guys.”
As the others walked ahead, Jeff caught up to Harry, who was strolling slowly, and kissed the side of his head. “Got you a ham sandwich, Haz.”
Harry glanced at Jeff from the corner of his eye and smiled. “Thanks, Jeff.”
Jeff planted another kiss on Harry’s head. “You’re welcome, darling.”
It was the second half of the game.
The red team from Bishon Stadium had already scored two goals against the white team from Megan Stadium, and now it was a chaotic mess near Bishon’s goal. In the frenzy, there was a perfect chance to score, but player number 22, stressed out, blasted the ball so hard and high that it sailed over the goal and headed straight for the stands.
Jeff, who was standing in his spot, seized the moment as the ball came their way. He caught it mid-air and, grinning, turned to Harry, whose eyes were sparkling from the move.
Jeff: “There you go, Harry! After all this time chasing football, we finally got the ball!”
Harry tossed his empty soda bottle into the bag, stood up, planted a big kiss on Jeff’s face, grabbed the ball, and hugged it as he sat back down.
“Thanks, Jeff. We taking this home now? They won’t care, right?”
Jeff sat next to Harry. “Nah, it’s the law of nature! You don’t take it, someone else will.”
That was the second time Harry had heard that line today!
Niall, shouting with excitement, turned to Harry, slapped his leg, and said, “No way, Harry! You’ve got a real football they were playing with in your hands, and you’re not hyped, man?!”
Harry leaned down, set the ball between his legs on the ground, and said, “I’m happy, Niall, but I can’t show it off to everyone. I…”
His words were cut off and ignored as Liam, bursting with joy, grabbed Zayn’s shoulders and screamed in his face.
Liam: “Yesss! That’s it! Penalty! They finally got a penalty, yesss!”
An hour and change later, after dropping off Harry’s friends at their places, Jeff and Harry were standing in the entryway of their place. Jeff was hanging his coat on the rack above the shoe stand, while Harry slipped off his Converse, tucked them into the shoe rack, and placed his hands on his knees to push himself up.
He raised his arms, looped them around Jeff’s neck as he stood sideways, and pulled Jeff’s body closer. Standing slightly on his tiptoes, Harry kissed the spot on Jeff’s cheek near his ear and rested his forehead against Jeff’s head.
“Stay tomorrow. Don’t go, stay with me.”
Harry whispered softly, and Jeff’s right hand settled on his waist. A second later, Harry nestled himself into Jeff’s arms, pressing his face against Jeff’s.
“I’ve got a job that pays for both of us.”
Harry planted a kiss on Jeff’s face, tightening his arms around Jeff’s neck and pressing his body against him. He lifted his right leg. “I know, I’m just saying, stay with me a bit longer.”
Jeff slid one hand under Harry’s leg and the other around his waist, lifting him up. Harry locked his legs around Jeff’s waist, his face now above Jeff’s, forcing the man to tilt his head back to look at him.
Jeff kissed Harry’s chin and said, “They gave me a new project. If I can finish it, they’ll pay me good money in a few weeks, and then I can spend more time with you, darling.”
Harry held himself up in Jeff’s arms with one hand and used the other to pull the rubber-framed glasses off Jeff’s face. Holding the glasses by the arm, he slid his hand behind Jeff’s head, grabbed it, and pressed his lips to Jeff’s left eye, kissing it.
“I love you.”
Harry murmured between kisses, moving from Jeff’s left eye to his right. Jeff returned the kisses, starting at his jaw and working up near his lips, whispering, “I love you too, darling.”
Harry planted a kiss on Jeff’s lips and mumbled incoherently, “Me too.”
As Jeff walked from the hallway toward the bedroom, he leaned toward the wall and flicked on the yellow hallway light with his elbow. He answered Harry’s quick kiss with three in a row on his soft lips. “You good, hmm? Right, Harry?”
Harry gripped Jeff’s hair, leaning further into the small space between them, swallowing Jeff’s breaths as he nodded slowly. “I’m good with you, Jeff.”
Jeff squeezed Harry’s hips in his hands and stepped into the dark bedroom, hitting the bedside lamp switch with Harry’s back. “Hmm?”
A jolt shot through Harry’s spine. He pressed his forehead against Jeff’s, his short, shaggy hair casting shadows on Jeff’s face. His thumb caressed Jeff’s jaw, tracing random lines. “Don’t… tease me!”
ᨒ
The classroom was a total circus—it was the second week without a psychology teacher, and the kids were either studying for the next period’s lesson, messing around with games, or bugging the other classes.
Zayn had pushed two single chairs together, the ones without armrests, and sat Liam on one. He had his head on Liam’s lap, playing with Harry’s curly hair as Harry sat on the floor in front of him, leaning against the chair. Every now and then, Harry popped a chip into Zayn’s mouth.
Niall and Daisy were slouched against the radiator under the window’s ledge. Daisy was scrolling through TikTok, while Niall traced random lines on her leg with his index finger.
Niall shoved the last vinegar chip into his mouth, pulled himself off the radiator, crumpled the empty chip bag, and said, “Oh, by the way, what happened to that football from yesterday?”
Harry licked his lips. “Dunno, it’s still in Jeff’s car. Haven’t brought it inside.”
Liam: “Man, after all this time, that game really hit the spot. If Jeff’s around, he should take us out again.”
Niall pressed his lips together, handed the crumpled chip bag to Harry, and said, “Go toss this and come back, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes went wide as he stared at Niall. “Why me?”
Niall put on a fake innocent face. “Pleeease, Harry!”
Harry brushed his hair out of his face with his left hand, got up, and headed to the front of the class toward the trash can by the wall.
Niall raised an eyebrow at Harry, who was limping slightly, and said, “See, I told you he’s fine, but you guys don’t listen.”
Liam glanced at Harry, who was walking back, then chucked his hygiene textbook—the next period’s lesson—into Niall’s lap. “Harry and Jeff’s bedroom business ain’t our business, Niall.”
Niall opened his mouth to say something, but the classroom door, which always stuck, creaked open loudly. The whole class went dead silent, and every head turned toward the door. Even Daisy propped herself up on her knees to see who was coming in.
A man, medium-tall, walked in wearing a sky-blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki pants, and holding a rolled-up book. He left the door half-open, headed to the desk, and set his book down. He brushed his messy, straight hair off his forehead, slipped his left hand into his pocket, and turned to face the kids. With a practiced smile, he cleared his throat and said, “Hey, kids, I’m your new psychology teacher. You can call me Mr. Tomlinson!”
The man, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, locked onto the corner of the room where a girl was kneeling and added, “Even you, Daisy!”
Chapter Text
It was weird—class was dead quiet, everyone just staring at their new teacher. Daisy was trying to chill herself out with deep breaths.
Louis leaned against his desk, arms crossed, and gave the room a quick scan.
“Sit down, kids.”
Daisy, kinda reluctantly, turned back and plopped into her seat, sitting up straight. She started chewing her nails and nervously bouncing her leg.
Niall put a comforting hand on Daisy’s thigh, trying to keep her leg still, and whispered, “Easy, just breathe.”
Daisy, still gnawing her nails through gritted teeth, growled, “I can’t believe this…”
Liam’s hand landed on Daisy’s shoulder from the seat behind, giving it a squeeze and whispering, “What’s he doing here?”
Daisy shook her head side to side, not turning around, like she was saying *no clue*. Liam, pissed, bit his lower lip and leaned back.
Harry was now in his seat, clutching his bag—lighter today than yesterday—against his chest. His elbow rested on the four books stacked on his chair’s armrest, but his attention was glued to a crow’s nest in a tree outside.
A cough snapped him back, and his eyes landed on the man who was now their teacher.
“Be nice if you paid attention to class, Mr…?” Louis asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry sat up straight, swallowing hard. “Styles… Harry Styles.”
Daisy, now with her elbow on her desk and her head in her hands, was listening to Harry and her brother talk. By calling out Louis like that, she knew he was setting boundaries right off the bat, and she was sure Louis heard her.
Louis turned his gaze to her. “Got a question, Daisy, Darling?”
Daisy snapped her head up and stared at him. “No, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis, pleased with himself, nodded and shifted his attention to a girl in the front row, who was propping her chin on her hand, watching him.
He flashed a fake smile and reached out toward her. “Can I borrow your book?”
The girl’s eyes went wide, like she couldn’t believe Louis was asking her. She stood up, brushed her hair out of her face, grabbed her book, and took five quick steps to Louis’ desk. She placed the book on it with both hands, trying to hide the tremble in her fingers.
Louis thanked her with a smile and opened the book. The girl put her hand on the worn pages and started flipping through, saying, “The last teacher got us up to here.”
Louis glanced at the book, slipped his finger between the pages, and closed it, reading the girl’s name off the cover. “Thanks, Tanya.”
Tanya shot him a shy smile. “You’re welcome, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis had heard Daisy muttering under her breath, and that meant he was on the right track to get under his sister’s skin.
He shifted his gaze to Harry, who wasn’t in his seat but sitting on the floor, only his head poking up between the chairs.
“Harry Styles?”
Harry’s head whipped around, his friends glancing at him, and then he stood up. “Yes, sir?”
Louis leaned back in his chair, opened the book on his desk, and said, “Go to the vice principal’s office and grab a class list. Now.”
Harry checked the wall clock, nodded, and weaved through the chairs toward the door. He grabbed the faulty doorknob, gave it a shove, and slipped out of the classroom.
With Harry gone, Louis turned his attention to the book, flipping through it for a bit before closing it and setting it aside.
“These books are useless for you guys. Let me give you a few pointers instead…”
Harry was striding down the hallway, and when he reached the vice principal’s office, he squared his shoulders, tidied his hair a bit, knowing full well Mr. Brown was a stickler for details.
He knocked, then pushed the half-open door and stepped inside, standing at the threshold. “I need a list for Literature 3, Class A, Mr. Brown.”
The man ran a hand over his bald head, opened a drawer, and said, “Getting along with your new teacher?”
Harry rolled his eyes so Brown wouldn’t notice and said, “Of course, sir.”
Brown: “Good.”
He held a paper up toward Harry. “What’re you standing there for? Come grab it, my arm’s getting tired.”
Harry hurried forward, took the paper, and glanced at the list with GPA scores next to each name.
Seeing his own name and the shitty GPA he’d earned last term from slacking off, he took a deep breath. When he was sure Brown was distracted, picking up scattered papers off the floor, Harry swiped a pen from the desk and slipped it into his pocket.
“Thanks, Mr. Brown.”
Brown: “You’re welcome, Harry.”
The second he stepped out of the office, Harry pressed the paper against the wall, yanked out the pen, and scribbled over his GPA. He tucked the pen back in his pocket.
He hadn’t even gone to pick up his report card himself to see the results of all the time he’d spent messing around with Jeff. No way was he letting this guy, who he was already pissed at, see it.
When he got back to class, he grabbed the doorknob and yanked the sticky door open.
Louis was standing in the middle of the room, looking at the door. Harry walked up, handed him the list, and without waiting, headed to his seat in the corner.
Zayn stared at Harry as he sat down next to him, then held out a pack of honey biscuits. Harry grabbed a piece, popped it in the side of his cheek, and started chewing.
Louis handed the list to the same girl who’d lent him her book. “Read out the names of everyone who’s here and check them off, Tanya.”
Tanya took the list from Louis. “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis raised his hand, ruffled the girl’s straight hair, messing it up, and the sound of laughter from the back of the class didn’t miss his ears.
Liam nudged Zayn’s side, grinning. “Looks like the animal’s found a trained pet.”
Zayn, shoving a biscuit in his mouth with a laugh, leaned forward so his head was between Daisy and Niall. “Tanya’s Louis’ little lapdog.”
Daisy turned her head, trying to stifle a laugh, and looked at Zayn, whose face was way too close. “Suits her.”
Louis’ voice cut through, calling out the group of five. “Oh, come on, say it loud so we can all have a laugh.”
Daisy frowned, pulled back, and stared at the clock, which was just about to hit break time.
Niall leaned forward a bit. “Keep going, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis muttered a “right” under his breath and nodded at Tanya to keep reading the names. Right before she got to Harry’s name, the break bell rang.
Louis grabbed the list from Tanya, picked up his stuff from the desk, headed for the door, threw out a loud “bye,” and left the classroom.
The second Louis was out, Daisy let out a huge breath, eyes wide, and blurted, “Fuck.”
Zayn, like Daisy had just nailed it, pointed at her. “Yeah, exactly.”
Daisy shot up from her seat, weaved through the kids, and said as she headed for the door, “I’ll be right back.”
She sprinted down the hallway, dodging students until she reached Louis, grabbed his shoulder, and stopped him in his tracks.
Daisy: “Care to explain what the hell you’re doing here?”
Panting, she said it, and Louis brushed her hand off his shoulder. “Teaching!”
Daisy: “I can see that.”
Louis nodded. “Good, you’ve got eyes.”
Daisy scowled. “I just wish Mom was here, Louis, to see you acting like this. I just wish she was!”
“Well, she’s been gone a long time, so you’d better mind your own business.”
Daisy: “I am minding my own business. You’re the one who showed up out of nowhere.”
Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “Out of nowhere? You’re the one who said your brother’s a psychologist.”
Daisy: “Wish I’d choked on my words that day.”
“Well, I’m here now, and you’re gonna have to see me every week.”
Daisy: “Yeah, we’ve gotta put up with you for four months, and you’re gonna treat the five of us like we’re the ones who killed Mom.”
“Shut up, Daisy. I’m not in the mood. I’ve gotta get to the office.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, not in the mood? Fine, just don’t take your bad mood out on Harry.”
“Give me one good reason to listen to you and not deal with a student who’s not paying attention in class.”
“Because Harry barely comes to school. He told us once we’re the only reason he still shows up, and he doesn’t even want to study or anything—”
Daisy slapped a hand over her mouth, clearly realizing she’d said too much. She backed away down the now-empty hallway, shot Louis one last look, then spun around and bolted back toward the classroom.
Louis muttered “idiot” under his breath at Daisy, pulled out the student list, and scanned for Harry’s name. When he saw the scratched-out GPA, he let out a single laugh and headed toward the principal’s office.
At the principal’s door, he paused, straightened his shirt, shifted the stuff in his hands, knocked, and waited for Ms. Martinez’s response.
The woman called out from inside, giving him permission to enter. Louis grabbed the handle, pulled, and opened the door.
Ms. Martinez: “Oh, Mr. Tomlinson, it’s you!”
Louis flashed a smile. “Yes, Ms. Martinez.”
He said it, stepped into the office, and left the door half-open.
Martinez: “How was your first day wrangling the kids?”
Louis set the list on her desk. “We’re getting along fine. So far, so good. Oh, by the way…”
He tapped his index finger on Harry’s name. “Why’s this student’s GPA scribbled out?”
Ms. Martinez leaned over the desk, glanced at the list, and said, “That’s his doing. The lists are given to teachers without any scribbles.”
“And why would a student scribble out their GPA?”
Martinez scratched her forehead, where age lines showed, with her long nails. “His GPA’s low. Last year, he barely showed up to school, and I don’t know how he managed to pass his classes. Now it’s his final year. Mind you, last term—the one this GPA’s from—he wasn’t around much either.”
Louis listened quietly, hunting for a weak spot in the kid to latch onto.
Martinez: “His GPA last term was 12.4, if that’s what’s bugging you, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis nodded thoughtfully. “And what made this kid change and start coming to school?”
Martinez paused, then her face lit up like she’d just remembered something. “His friends. His friends are why Harry Styles comes to school and studies.”
“Good to know, thanks, ma’am.”
Louis said it and stepped back. Ms. Martinez went on, “You’ve got to help him. Not just Styles—help all our seniors.”
“Help them with what?”
Martinez: “You’re a psychologist. You can get to know the students, so you can help them with their studies, help them understand themselves better, and make sure they don’t screw up their futures.”
“Ms. Martinez, with all due respect, I can’t agree to that. For God’s sake, I’m not a guidance counselor. I’m just a psychologist with a ton of people waiting at my practice.”
The woman was dead set, no way she’d let Louis, who was basically working for free, slip away that easily.
Martinez: “I know, but you can still help us out.”
She said it, swiveled in her chair, and headed to the bookshelf in her office. She pulled out a thick red folder and said, “This is the academic record for the literature students.”
Louis stepped forward and took the heavy-looking folder from the woman’s hands.
Ms. Martinez: “You help us and the kids now, and we’ll help you later, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis flipped open the folder, skimmed the writing inside, and said, “I’ll take a look, but that doesn’t mean I’m committing to helping you or the school with this.”
Ms. Martinez smiled. “Just look it over. We’ll figure it out together. You and this school have a lot to do with each other, Mr. Tomlinson.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Ms. Martinez sat back in her chair, leaned down, and opened another drawer. “Much appreciated, Mr. Tomlinson… Have a good one.”
“Can I go do my job now? ‘Cause according to the schedule you gave me, I’ve got another class today!”
Ms. Martinez: “No, your next class starts in ten minutes.”
She placed a key on the desk and said, “Come on, put your stuff in the locker, then we’ll introduce you to the other teachers.”
Louis stepped up, grabbed the key, and Martinez got up, leading him toward the lockers. She pointed out his.
Louis jammed the key in, opened it, and dumped everything he was holding inside.
Martinez pointed at the book she’d given him earlier. “Don’t forget the book.”
Louis shut the locker, locking it. “The book’s useless. The stuff they teach in those books is crap. I don’t even need my own textbook when the kids’ books are right there.”
She nodded and gestured to a wooden door at the end of the hallway. “That’s the teachers’ lounge. This way, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis followed her, and Martinez opened the door. Louis fought the urge to roll his eyes.
They stepped into a room lined with chairs, each with a small desk in front of it.
The second they walked in, Martinez announced loudly, “Folks, I’d like you to meet Mr. Tomlinson, the guy who saved us from the psychology teacher crisis when the education board wouldn’t send us anyone.”
After her little speech, she introduced each teacher who stood up out of respect for the new guy. Louis, barely listening, just nodded and flashed a smile at whoever was being introduced.
Who cares, really? What difference did it make who was who or what crap they were teaching?
After the quick intros, Louis headed to the coffee maker in the corner of the lounge, grabbed a cup, and filled it with coffee. Right then, the bell rang, and he had to go deal with a new batch of kids.
Meanwhile, Daisy, after her short argument with Louis, spent the entire fifteen-minute break listening to music to keep her brain from exploding with the rage boiling inside her.
Her anger hit its peak when she overheard classmates whispering about Louis and dodging crumpled paper balls thrown her way, stuffed with their phone numbers for her to pass to him.
Daisy was the one yelling at everyone, picking fights, while Niall tried to calm her down. Right when the next period’s teacher walked in, their group of five ducked their heads, ignored the teacher, and slipped out of the classroom to cool Daisy off.
In the hallway heading to the school courtyard, Daisy tried to blink back her tears to keep them from spilling. When they sat in a circle in the middle of the courtyard, she curled up in Niall’s arms.
Niall ran his fingers through her hair, rocking her gently to hush her.
Daisy: “I shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth.”
Daisy said it between her sobs, and Zayn tried to comfort her. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t your fault…”
Liam finished Zayn’s thought. “You just said Louis’ a psychologist. You didn’t say, ‘Yeah, bring him in to be our shitty teacher.’ That Martinez, the old hag, just wanted someone she could get to work for free.”
Harry, who’d been quiet till now, grabbed Daisy’s hand and squeezed it. “Martinez sleeps with her money. That’s why she brought Louis in.”
Daisy laughed through her sobs at Harry’s comment, and Niall, thrilled, said, “Finally, she’s laughing! No more crying, it’s done!”
Daisy was giggling, her face wet with tears and all red. Harry pulled out an embroidered cloth handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her face, making Daisy let out a loud “Eww!”
Harry: “What’s wrong?”
Daisy pointed at the handkerchief. “Was this thing clean?”
Harry nodded quick. “Of course, of course. I wash it every day.”
Zayn laughed. “Yeah, probably with plain water.”
Harry shoved the handkerchief under Zayn’s nose. “Smell it. If it smells like anything but detergent, I’ll change my name.”
Liam checked his watch. “They probably won’t let us back in class, so we’re stuck here till the bell rings.”
Harry glanced at the purple chairs in the courtyard. “At least let’s go sit in the shade. I don’t wanna bake my brain.”
They sat in the courtyard for about forty-five minutes, chatting about anything that popped into their heads and cracking up together, until their attention got snagged by someone coming out of the hall with their hands full.
Niall squinted and pointed at the guy. “Isn’t that blue shirt Louis?!”
A silence fell over the five of them. Daisy looked at the person Niall pointed out and said, “Yeah, that’s him.”
Niall: “For real? Well, hope he’s having a crap day.”
Zayn: “Hope he crashes.”
He muttered it, and the laughter of all five echoed through the empty courtyard.
Louis opened the passenger door, tossed his stuff onto the seat, and went around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and slid behind the wheel.
He brushed back the hair that had fallen over his eyes from walking so fast, bit his lip, and leaned his head against the headrest.
He replayed the whole class in his mind, and if he was being honest, he was pretty satisfied with his decision.
No more patients whining about problems stupider than the last, forcing Louis to fake a smile and offer solutions while a voice in his head screamed to just punch them in the face. That alone was enough to make him damn happy with his choice.
Still leaning back with his eyes closed, he rubbed his sore throat and muttered a curse at those bratty kids.
His whole life, he’d dealt with clueless people, but he’d never had to handle this many idiots at once. Now his head was spinning from the chaos he’d been in since morning.
ᨒ
For the tenth time, Harry placed the soccer ball—still warm from landing in his arms during last night’s match—on the penalty spot, right in the circle marked on the field.
Jeff spread his arms like he was ready to pounce, legs shoulder-width apart, back slightly hunched, striking a goalkeeper’s stance.
Harry let out a hot breath that turned to steam in the air. Late autumn nights were getting chilly, the cold seeping into your bones.
He adjusted the beanie on his head and pushed back a rogue curly strand that had fallen over his eyes.
Jeff, bored out of his mind, yelled, “Come on, Harry, it’s just a shot, not a whole ceremony, baby!”
Harry burst out laughing, took a few steps back, circled around, let out another breath, jogged in place, then sprinted toward the ball and kicked it.
This time, instead of landing in Jeff’s hands, the ball sailed into the net. Jeff, who’d dove for it, was sprawled on the ground.
Harry’s eyes went wide as he stared at the goal he’d finally cracked, actually scoring on Jeff.
Overcome with joy, he let out the loudest victory scream he could muster and ran toward Jeff, who was now sitting up. In a classic post-goal celebration, Harry dropped to his knees, sliding across the grass like he had skates strapped to them, stopping right in front of Jeff.
He grabbed Jeff’s shoulders and shouted, “Did you see that? I scored on you! You saw it, you saw it! You couldn’t stop it! Did you seeeee?”
Harry was yelling in his face with pure glee, and Jeff just laughed at his antics, stretching out his legs and grabbing Harry’s waist to pull him closer.
Harry, still buzzing, got up off Jeff’s legs, brushed off the grass stuck to him, and straddled Jeff, planting his knees on the grass on either side of him before sitting on Jeff’s lap.
He kissed the tip of Jeff’s nose, red from the cold, and said, “I’m looking down at you, Mr. Hardy.”
Harry pressed his fingertips together, showing Jeff a tiny space between them, squinting as he went on, “Waaaay down, hahaha!”
Jeff roared with laughter right in Harry’s face, and when he calmed down a bit, said, “That one slipped through, but I wouldn’t have let it happen like the nine before.”
Harry leaned back. “You should get my autograph.”
Jeff grinned, turning his left cheek toward Harry. “Don’t need an autograph. Kiss me.”
Harry licked his lips, cupped Jeff’s face in his hands, and instead of the cheek Jeff offered, he turned the man’s face and planted a kiss on his lips, then pulled back and locked eyes with him.
“Did I tell you about Daisy’s brother?”
Jeff raised an eyebrow. “You mean that thing with Daisy from the other day?”
Harry quickly shook his head, shutting it down. “No, no, that’s done.”
Jeff: “Then what?”
“Did I tell you we didn’t have a psych teacher ‘cause she went on maternity leave?”
Jeff: “Yeah, and?”
“They brought in Daisy’s brother, Louis, to replace her. You know, the guy you saw that day.”
Jeff’s eyes went wide as he stared at Harry. “No way, you’re kidding! I can’t believe it. How the hell… How’s he gonna teach with that attitude of his?”
Harry shrugged. “Dunno, but he’s a jerk.”
Jeff: “Of course he is, dude’s got a stick up his ass. Don’t get too close to him, I don’t want him messing with you.”
Harry nodded, planted another kiss on Jeff’s lips, and got up from his lap. He held out a hand. “Come on, your turn for ten shots.”
Jeff grabbed Harry’s hand, pulled himself up, and headed to the marked spot. Harry stood in the goal, picked up the ball, and kicked it to Jeff.
Of course, Harry was never gonna tell Jeff, who already couldn’t stand Louis, about the way Louis had acted toward him in front of everyone.
Notes:
Yup, finally updated.
Ugh, my uni exams have kicked off, *and* I reinstalled The Sims, so I’m totally sucked in and completely checked out from real life 🤣.P.S. Don’t be a silent reader—leave a kouds or comment so I know whether to keep going with the story or not!
Chapter Text
The classroom, unlike the past six weeks, was quiet. All the students were in their seats, books or notes open in front of them, skimming through the material like their lives depended on it.
Harry, eyes glued to his book, slyly swiped Zayn’s pen right out of his hand.
Zayn let out a dramatic “Ugh!” but Harry, cool as a cucumber, ignored him and started scribbling on the armrest of his chair.
Daisy, still in her seat, twisted around and chucked her book at Liam, snapping, “Shut up, Liam, you’re reading too loud!”
Liam, squinting, grabbed Daisy’s book from his lap and tossed it back at her just as hard, saying, “What’s your deal, savage?”
Daisy clutched her chest where the book had smacked her and shot back, “When you read that loud, it just goes to your short-term memory. You won’t remember squat.”
Liam shrugged, bent back over his book, and with his voice muffled from being so close to the pages, muttered, “Right now, I just care about acing this test.”
Zayn nudged Liam and said, “Keep reading, Li.”
Daisy rolled her eyes, let out a huff, and turned back to her book. Her gaze landed on Harry, who was sitting on the floor under the windowsill, leaning against the radiator.
Daisy: “You’re down there again? Harry, the floor’s freezing, you’ll catch a cold.”
Harry looked up, resting his head against the radiator, and said, “Can’t study up there. I’m too in everyone’s face, and Liam’s voice makes it impossible to focus.”
Daisy nodded thoughtfully, lifted her chair’s armrest, and slid her book into Harry’s lap before joining him against the radiator, pulling her knees to her chest. Harry handed her book back.
Daisy flashed him a grin, thanked him, and went back to scanning her notes with her eyes.
Niall leaned over from Daisy’s chair, holding his book up to her face, and asked, “This chapter’s on the test too, right?”
Daisy glanced at Niall’s book and said, “Only the first half. He hasn’t taught the rest yet.”
Harry, aimlessly flipping through his book, glanced at his watch and said, “Why hasn’t your brother shown up yet?”
Daisy shrugged and said, “Dunno. The later he is, the more time we get to review.”
“Yeah, but then you run out of time,” Harry replied, leaning down to grab his bag. He pulled out a pack of fish-shaped biscuits and was about to open it when the stuck door latch and the never-oiled hinges let out a loud “creak” as the door swung open.
Louis strolled in, wearing a gray shirt, exam papers in hand, sunglasses perched on his hair. Unlike his usual days, he had on dress pants. He headed straight for his desk.
Daisy, startled, shot up from her spot and smacked her head hard on the underside of the windowsill, the loud “thunk” echoing through the classroom.
Louis glanced at her and said, “Watch it, Daisy!”
Niall hurried over, grabbed her hand, and helped her back into her seat, placing his ice-cold water bottle on her throbbing head.
Harry, now back in his chair, eyed the frozen bottle and said to Niall, “Who drinks iced water in winter?”
Niall muttered, “Got basketball today.”
“You’ll catch a cold, idiot,” Harry shot back.
Louis clapped his hands, grabbing everyone’s attention and shutting down the whispers.
Niall ignored Harry and focused on Louis.
Louis: “As Steve takes attendance, pull your chairs forward for the test and space ‘em out so we can walk through.”
Zayn got up, stood in front of Liam, and said, “Come sit in my spot.”
Liam, who was putting distance between his chair and Zayn’s, asked, “Why?”
Zayn grabbed Liam’s book, plopped it on his own chair, and said, “’Cause you studied more than us. Sit there and help out.”
Liam, hesitant, got up and plopped into Zayn’s seat, muttering, “No way we can cheat in this class.”
Zayn nodded, slid into Liam’s spot, and said, “This guy’s too dumb for that.”
Liam let out a quick chuckle and glanced at Harry, who had his legs braced on either side of Daisy’s chair, shoving it forward. Liam copied him, pushing Niall’s chair up too.
Steve: “Harry Styles?”
Harry, closing his book, raised his hand and said, “Here.”
Then he lifted his butt off the chair, slid his book underneath, and sat on it. Liam’s eyes went wide as he hissed, “What the hell, Harry?!”
“Hiding my book,” Harry said, leaning down to slide a bigger hygiene textbook under his arm to cover the notes scribbled on his desk, keeping them out of Louis’s view.
After roll call, Louis grabbed the stack of copied exam papers from his desk and placed the first one on Tanya’s desk.
Louis: “Sorry for the delay. They printed 20 copies instead of 29, so it took me a bit to get here. We’re cutting it close to the end now.”
Some kid from the other side of the class threw out a quip: “Could’ve come even later, no problem!”
Louis shot him a look, pointed to an empty chair, and said, “Come sit here, Sam.”
Sam: “But, sir—”
Louis glanced at his watch and cut him off: “Come on, Sam, we’re out of time.”
The kid grabbed his stuff and dragged himself to the front of the class, a few students’ snickers echoing in the background.
Louis: “Alright, the test’s got 12 questions, and you’ve got 25 minutes.”
As he passed out the papers, the kids grumbled about the short time, but Louis just said, “Start.”
With no time to waste arguing, they dove into answering.
Zayn had knocked out at least six questions when he finally mustered the nerve to sneak a glance at Liam’s paper, who was scribbling answers like a machine.
Liam, catching Zayn’s move, casually lowered his left hand and tugged Zayn’s chair closer so he could peek at his paper more easily.
Harry, who’d given two-word answers to nearly every question, was now laser-focused on making sure Louis didn’t catch him copying from the notes on his chair’s armrest.
"One way to reduce mental stress is by developing proper problem-solving skills, and people who are constantly under stress often don’t know effective problem-solving methods."
He lifted his head and, seeing Louis walking toward him, quickly slid his paper over the notes scribbled on the desk and pretended like nothing was going on.
When Louis reached the back of the class and stopped next to Harry, he glanced down at Harry’s paper—barely anything written, and what was there was mostly wrong. He scanned the room and said, “Make sure you’re double-checking your answers, guys.”
After twenty-five minutes, Louis clapped his hands together and called out, “Alright, time’s up! Hold your papers up… quickly.”
The class groaned in protest but still raised their papers. Except for Harry—he was still writing.
Louis: “Styles, collect the papers.”
Harry, hearing his name, quickly shoved his book into his bag on the floor and started gathering everyone’s tests.
Once he was done, he walked over and handed the stack to Louis, who slid them into a familiar blue folder he always carried for class. Just then, the bell rang for break.
Louis packed up his things, said a quick goodbye to the class, and left the room.
The halls hadn’t filled up yet, but Louis was already speed-walking toward his office.
Sure, taking on the school counseling role had made things busier, but at least the counseling office was his own now—no need to share the staff room with the other teachers.
On his way, he nodded at a few students who greeted him with a “Hi, Mr. Tomlinson,” and returned the hellos as he went.
Once at the door, he slipped in quickly before any other teacher could catch him for a chat, shutting the door behind him.
The quiet hit instantly, a welcome contrast to the classroom buzz. He let out a relieved breath and muttered a low “finally” under his breath.
He tossed the book and folder onto the chair and headed over to the window, cracking it open to let in some fresh air.
He took a deep breath, eyes scanning the street outside with a worried look, hoping not to see a certain someone.
Not spotting anything, he smiled faintly—relieved—until he suddenly turned his head and caught a glimpse of the woman behind the trees across from the school.
His smile froze instantly as she disappeared from sight.
He left the window open, picked up the folder, and collapsed into the soft chair.
He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t leave him alone—he’d told her clearly, more than once, that he didn’t want to see her again, that she needed to stop.
Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind—way back—at least while he was working. It didn’t matter if it was here or in his private practice, he wasn’t about to risk his job over something like that.
He distracted himself by grading a few tests, and when the break ended, he pushed the stack aside and picked up the list on his desk, eyes scanning the names already checked off until he reached a new one.
When he saw the girl's name, he didn’t waste any time. He got up, went to the door, cracked it open, leaned out, and called over the first student he saw.
Boy: “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis smiled and said, “Could I ask you to go to the office and have Veronica Miller sent to the counseling room?”
The curly-haired boy grinned, showing off his braces, and with a cheerful, repeated “Sure, of course!” took off toward the vice principal’s office.
Louis stepped back inside and headed to the coffee machine, hoping to get something in before the session.
He plugged it in, but no matter how many times he tried, the machine wouldn’t turn on. This was the first time he was using it since moving it from his clinic to the school, and he had no clue what was wrong.
He gave it a couple of good whacks, hoping maybe a few smacks would get it working.
God knows what Catalina had done to it while he was away—it was acting up ever since.
She’d been a bit off ever since that club incident, and Louis never mentioned how he’d shown up at the clinic early the next morning, way earlier than usual.
When the machine still refused to cooperate, he gave up on his morning coffee and sank into his chair.
At least he’d tried his best with the stupid thing.
When there was a knock at the door, Louis straightened up a bit and called out for the person to come in.
A tall, big-boned girl walked in and greeted him, standing just inside the doorway.
Louis put on his friendly counselor face, returned the greeting, and motioned for her to sit down.
Louis: “Alright, Veronica, you probably know why I asked you to come in. I’ve been talking to most of the seniors lately, and now it’s your turn. We need to talk about your academic performance.”
Veronica shifted in her seat: “Yeah, Mr. Tomlinson, I figured.”
Louis continued: “I’ve looked over your grades, and I’m surprised—why the sudden drop? Is something going on? You know you can be honest with me.”
Veronica grabbed the end of one of her long braids and played with it. After a short pause, she said quietly, “Well, I just got a new baby brother recently, and it’s kinda thrown everything off. I’ve been taking care of him most of the time, and I barely get time to study.”
A big smile crept onto Louis’ face at the mention of a baby—completely unintentional. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and said, “Congratulations, Veronica! That’s amazing—and really responsible of you. But you know that can’t get in the way of school, especially since it’s your senior year. This stuff really matters right now.”
She nodded: “I know, you’re totally right. So what do you suggest? I mean, what should I do?”
That question reassured Louis—she wanted to improve. So he grabbed a notepad off his desk and started writing as he said, “Okay, you need a study plan. Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that here.”
“Why not?”
Louis: “Because even sitting here with you right now technically isn’t part of my job. I wrote down the names and numbers of a few certified academic counselors. Get in touch with one of them and follow their study plan—and if you need any help along the way, don’t hesitate to come find me.”
Louis held the note out to her. Veronica took it, thanked him, and headed for the door, but before she could leave, Louis suddenly remembered something.
Louis: “Oh—I'll be in your class in about fifteen minutes, so be ready for your test.”
Veronica: “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis: “And one more thing... head to Lit class 3A and tell Harry Styles to come see me.”
She nodded and stepped out, and Louis went back to grading papers.
Harry, still sitting in his seat, had his legs pulled up into his chest. He raised one hand and kept fiddling with his fidget spinner, a little more focused now.
Zayn leaned over, held out a pretzel stick, and popped it into Harry’s mouth before checking his phone. Harry didn’t react, just kept staring at the girl standing by the door who was scanning the noisy classroom.
Malcolm, standing near the trash can, walked over to her, then turned and called out loud: “Styles! Mr. Tomlinson wants to see you in the counseling room.”
Harry, startled, quickly tried to sit up properly but failed miserably, landing hard on his butt. Still, he raised both hands and said, “Phone’s fine though!”
Daisy handed him his phone, and as Harry dusted himself off, he asked, “Wait—do you think he found out I cheated?!”
Niall took a bite of his sandwich and said, “Maybe?”
Harry grabbed the phone from Daisy, tossed it into his bag, and said, “Nah, I’m sure I pulled it off flawlessly.”
Zayn smacked him on the butt and said, “Go. If you make it out alive, I swear I’ll buy you a shake.”
Harry burst out laughing and slipped between the desks, smoothing down his shirt as he left the classroom.
All the way to the counseling room, he nervously picked at the corner of his thumbnail. Once he got there, he knocked softly and waited for Louis’s permission.
Louis cleared his throat: “Come in.”
Harry took four deep breaths in a row, then opened the door and stepped inside.
Louis swiveled his chair around, stubbed out the cigarette he was holding on the windowsill, and left it there. He started gathering the corrected tests as he said, “Have a seat, Harry.”
Harry hesitated, then walked over and sat down in the chair across from Louis, resting his hands between his knees.
Louis held the stack of papers out to him. “Take this.”
Harry reached out, took the stack, and glanced up at Louis.
Louis: “Find your test in there, please.”
Harry nodded and flipped through the pages carefully. After a second look, he pulled his test out and handed it to Louis, placing the rest back on the desk.
Louis took Harry’s paper, set it in front of him, turned it so Harry could see, and said, “The test was out of twelve. You got four.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “But I answered all the questions.”
Louis let out a quick laugh. “Yeah.”
He started pointing to Harry’s answers one by one: “Yeah, you answered every question with either two random words or sentences that don’t make any sense. The only two that were actually correct… who knows where you copied those from.”
Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out—like they’d just vanished.
Louis: “Harry, this is your future we’re talking about. I saved mine by focusing on school. Now it's your turn to get it together.”
Harry: “I know what I’m doing.”
Louis picked up the paper in his hand, tore it in half, and said:
Louis: “No, it’s obvious you don’t. None of your grades are acceptable—not now that I’m here, and not before either.”
Harry shrugged.
Harry: “Passing grades are enough to keep the school happy. No one’s ever really pushed me on this.”
Louis ran a hand over his eyes, frustrated.
Louis: “Harry, you need to get more than just passing grades if you want to build a real future.”
Harry leaned back in his chair.
Harry: “This is just a regular public school, I don’t get why everyone’s so uptight about it. We don’t need all this, and now they’ve even shoved a counselor in here.”
Louis slammed his hand on the desk.
Louis: “Watch your tone, Harry. As long as I’m behind this desk, you show me some respect.”
Harry nodded slightly.
Harry: “Respect goes both ways.”
Louis pressed his lips together, trying to keep calm.
Louis: “I reviewed your records, Harry. You’re two years older than your classmates, but you’ve never repeated a year. Want to tell me why there’s a gap in your schooling?”
Harry’s eyes widened. That hit hard—like Louis had just fired his last bullet. He looked stunned, like smoke might come out of his ears.
He swallowed hard and growled:
Harry: “The people in this damn school were the only ones not prying into my personal life… until now.”
Louis: “It’s not prying, Harry. We’re trying to help—trying to give kids the tools to build a future they can actually smile about.”
Harry suddenly stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Harry: “Don’t you guys just want a f*ckin’ passing grade from me? Fine, I’ll give it to you. So stop getting on my case. And don’t think sitting there all calm and collected, behind someone else’s desk, smiling like you give a damn, makes me forget who you are—or what you’ve done.”
Louis stood too, trying to hold his ground.
Louis: “Whatever happened outside of this school—”
But Harry didn’t let him finish. He stormed out of the office, his steps quick and heavy as he made his way back to class.
Louis ran a hand through his hair and started gathering the papers on his desk, trying to calm himself with deep breaths.
Louis (muttering): “Stupid kid thinks he can fix his life by just dodging everything…”
Harry kicked the classroom door open—it was weird that the teacher still hadn’t shown up—and made a beeline for his seat.
Zayn immediately ruffled his hair.
Zayn: “What happened, Harry?!”
Daisy, sitting backward on her chair with her legs sticking through the gap in the back, reached out and touched Harry’s knee.
Daisy: “Did you get in a fight with Louis?”
Harry lifted his head from his hands and rested his chin on them instead.
Harry: “No fight. Just the same old crap about my grades.”
Daisy: “Hey, hey—it’s not a big deal. Senior year’s hard. Even we’re not getting great grades, Harry.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair and said:
Harry: “I don’t know… this fuckin’ school even sticks its nose in your personal life now. I just don’t get what they gain from it.”
Liam, sitting on the floor, yanked his bag out from under his chair, pulled out his water bottle, opened it, and held it out to Harry. “Here, have some water, Harry. Chill, it’s no big deal. We can study together and help each other out.”
Harry took a sip, handed the bottle back to Liam, and said, “Where’s Niall at?”
Daisy: “Niall’s got basketball this period. He’s in that class.”
Harry propped his head on his hands and muttered, “This teacher’s never gonna show. I’m gonna nap. Hope this year’s over soon.”
Zayn gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze and said, “It’ll be over, mate. Hang in there.”
After Harry left Louis’s office, the man lit a new cigarette, still wrestling with the questions swirling in his head.
Louis gathered his stuff, picked up Harry’s torn paper, glanced at his name, and smirked. “Your walls can’t keep me out. I’m taller than all of ‘em. Just need some time.”
He left his office and headed straight for the vice principal’s office, where the principal was also on his way. This way, he could grab the printed exam papers and report to the principal at the same time.
He pushed the half-open door and saw Mr. Brown standing by the copier, just starting to print the test papers.
Louis played it cool and said, “Mr. Brown, you got my exam papers copied yet?”
The bald guy rubbed his head and said, “Nah, sorry, the machine jammed, and it’s only now getting back online.”
Ms. Martinez appeared in the doorway of the vice principal’s office and said, “Oh, Mr. Tomlinson, so glad you’re here.”
Louis flashed a smile and said, “Likewise, Ms. Martinez. Was just coming to see you.”
She stepped forward and said, “At your service, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis took a small step back to keep things professional and said, “I’ve been talking to the students who need extra help these past six weeks, like you asked. Harry Styles needs a bit more support, and one session won’t cut it.”
Martinez: “How so?”
Louis scratched his nose and said, “Harry’s super reserved, doesn’t talk much. We gotta take it slow with him, ease him into the sessions.”
Martinez: “That’s great. I hope the kids make the most of your ideas.”
Louis gave her a smile and said, “They will. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to swing by Literature 3A to make an announcement. I’ll be back to grab my papers.”
Without waiting for a reply, Louis spun around and hurried to the classroom.
He knocked, then opened the door. The teacher, a woman standing in the middle of the class, paused to let Louis speak.
Louis stood in the doorway and said, “Sorry for interrupting your class, Ms. Adams. Kids, I’ve got a practical assignment for you. I gave it to the other class too. I want you to do a comparison: write two scenes—one about a family where someone’s dealing with a mental illness, and another about a healthy, happy family. Show the behavioral differences based on what you’ve learned in psychology. It’s not mandatory, but it’ll boost your final grade big time.”
A girl from the back stood up and asked, “When’s it due, sir?”
Louis thought for a sec and said, “By tomorrow morning when I’m at school. You can hand it to me then.”
He took a step back and said to Ms. Adams, “Sorry for eating into your class time.”
ᨒ
Jeff turned the key in the lock and stepped into the house, greeted, as usual, by the dark, unlit rooms.
He kicked off his shoes, slipped them into the shoe rack, and slid into his comfy slippers before flipping the switch to turn on the house’s white lights.
He headed to the kitchen, dumped his grocery bags on the counter, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and took a sip. He dried his wet lips with the towel by the sink.
Turning around, he spotted the kettle on the stove and an empty bag next to it, raised an eyebrow, and backtracked out of the kitchen. He made his way to the three steps leading to the hallway with the bedrooms.
He climbed the steps, stood in the hallway, and flicked on the dim yellow light. Pushing open the half-ajar door to their room, he stood in the doorway.
Harry was curled up under the blanket like a fetus, sleeping under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. His phone was plugged into the charger, and his books and bag were scattered on the floor by the bed.
Jeff, with a mix of worry and warmth, stepped forward, slipped off his slippers, and climbed onto the bed. He scooted closer to Harry and softly called, “Harry, love, you okay?”
When Harry didn’t respond, Jeff lifted the blanket covering Harry’s face, kissed his warm cheek, and asked again, “You good, Harry?”
Harry turned his head slightly toward Jeff, cracked open his left eye, and let out a quiet “Mmm” in response.
Jeff, with the same hand that pulled back the blanket, gently brushed his index and middle fingers along Harry’s cheek. “Tell me about your day.”
Harry closed his eyes. “Nothing happened. Quiet and chill.”
Jeff slid his arm around Harry’s waist, pulled him into a hug, and buried his face in the hair at the back of Harry’s neck. “I saw the hot water bottle bag by the kettle. Something up, love?”
Harry hugged the hot water bottle tighter to his chest. “Nothing. A ball hit me in the stomach this morning, so I used it to ease the pain.”
Jeff: “Good you’re feeling better now. So, what’d you guys do today?”
Harry, like he was putting up a wall, threw off the blanket and turned toward Jeff, his tone shifting as he snapped, “Stop grilling me! Quit trying to know every second of my life, and for God’s sake, why can’t you respect my privacy?”
Jeff’s eyes widened as he stared at Harry. His arm loosened around Harry’s waist, and he sat up on the bed, his voice heavy with defeat. “You’re right, Harry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
Harry immediately sat up and moved toward Jeff, who was now on the edge of the bed, slipping his slippers back on.
He wrapped his arms around Jeff’s waist, pressed his chest against Jeff’s back, and planted a few apologetic kisses on the back of Jeff’s head. “No, don’t be upset, okay?”
He kissed Jeff’s temple and went on, “I’m just a bit on edge today, alright? I’m kinda overwhelmed, just waiting for everything to be over.”
Jeff ran his hand over his knee and said, “No, I get it. I just don’t want you stewing over stuff alone or dealing with things by yourself.”
Harry took a deep breath and said,
"Are we good now?"
Jeff chuckled.
"We’re not kids, baby—we don’t do grudges. I’m gonna go get dinner started."
Harry glanced at the glowing wall clock.
"It’s only seven."
Jeff let go of Harry’s hands and replied,
"The stuff’s frozen. Gotta defrost it first."
Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, resting his hands on his thighs.
"Alright then... just turn the light on before you go."
Jeff nodded, flipped the switch, and left the room.
Harry shifted in bed, leaned down, and grabbed his notebook and a pen from under the bed.
“Harry Edward Styles”
“Compare a happy family and a family that takes care of someone with mental illness.”
He paused for a moment, trying to write something short but complete. He let his mind wander.
Writing about a messed-up family, one that barely holds itself together, wasn’t hard. But a happy family?
He had never really seen one up close—not a truly happy one. And if he had, they sure weren’t happy for long.
He was gonna have to use his imagination, but reality had been bitter for so long that the sweetness of daydreaming had completely faded. He couldn’t even remember how to use that thing called a “mind’s eye.”
So instead, he just tried to piece together everything thirteen-year-old Harry had ever wanted—and wrote that down.
And if something in those scrambled sentences managed to warm a cold corner of his heart, no one else ever had to know.
ᨒ
The next morning, all the students' assignments were stacked on Louis' desk in the counseling office. Eagerly, he started flipping through them, searching for Harry’s name.
When he found it, he pulled the paper out and began reading.
Harry’s writing barely filled a page, but it revealed a lot—enough to pique Louis’ curiosity not just as a teacher, but as a psychologist.
The repeated use of the words “freedom and separation” stood out—everything in the text somehow circled back to them.
A conversation outside in the hallway pulled Louis out of his thoughts.
He placed the paper down and opened the door, only to see Harry mid-argument with Mr. Brown.
Louis: “Styles, good timing. Come here for a sec.”
Harry broke eye contact with Mr. Brown and turned to Louis, dropping his arms to his sides and dragging his feet lazily as he approached.
Harry: “Yeah?”
Louis stepped aside from the door.
“Come in.”
Harry: “Sure,”
He entered the office, and Louis stood facing him.
Louis: “So your paper’s right there on my desk—and you still showed up at school today?”
Harry: “I gave it to Zayn last night since I knew I’d be late… anyway.”
Louis: “Look, Harry, I read your paper, and compared to the others, you wrote very little—which caught my attention. And based on what you wrote, I picked up on some stuff. Like conflict in your family… divorce… separation… and more.”
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and he stared hard at Louis, his voice sharp and accusing:
“You used me for some bullshit comparison project, and I swear to God, I’ll tell everyone what kind of messed up person you really are.”
Louis, staying calm, took a step closer and said“Look, it’s true we didn’t exactly start off great, and you can think whatever you want about me outside of school. But in these past six weeks, I’ve tried to show that my personal life has nothing to do with my job here. I’m just a teacher and counselor trying to help you get your grades up. And if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”
Harry took a step back.“I don’t need your fucking help.”
Louis: “I’m only trying to help you finish high school with a decent grade, Harry. And to be able to study, you need to clear your head first. It's obvious you haven’t been able to focus. Whatever you say in here stays in here—it won’t leave this room, and I won’t ever throw it back in your face as your teacher. Right now, I’m just a psychologist doing my job.”
He took Harry’s silence as a sign to go on.
Louis: “Put aside whatever memories you’ve got of me and just see me as Louis Tomlinson—one of the top psychologists in this city. Not your friend’s brother. Not your strict psych teacher. And if you’re unsure, you’re free to go talk to someone else, but I can promise you this: you won’t find anyone better than me around here. If you don’t believe it, just Google my name.”
Harry moved toward the door and grabbed the handle.
Louis: “Go think about it. Figure out what you wanna do. But I’m telling you now—you can’t go on without a psychologist. And if you do decide to see someone else, fine. Just know that next time I call you into this office, I’ll be expecting higher grades. No excuses.”
Harry opened the door and said,“Nice pitch, Dr. Tomlinson. And thanks for completely ruining my day. I’d rather head home and enjoy being in my bed. Have a nice day.”
Reblog fics post in Tumblr 🎐.
Chapter Text
When Harry walked out of Louis’ office, he retraced his steps down the hallway without really thinking. This time, luck seemed to be on his side—Mr. Brown didn’t stop him and was too busy in his own office.
He stepped out into the school yard, now totally empty of students, and took a deep breath of the cool morning air, trying to calm his nerves.
School had always been a place full of stress and anxiety for Harry—and now it had started prying into his personal life too, digging into his family and emotions. And now it was on him to take the lead and protect himself, even if it meant walking away from all this.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his gray hoodie, and walked toward the school gate. But just as he got there, a voice made him stop in his tracks. Turning his head, he saw Mr. Brown.
"Where do you think you’re going, Styles?"
Harry licked his lips, clenched his fists in his hoodie pockets, and said,
"Something’s come up. I need to head home."
"If what’s 'come up' is Mr. Tomlinson, like I’ve heard, then you’re not allowed to leave school grounds."
Harry pulled one hand out of his pocket, scratched his forehead, and grabbed his phone from his jeans. Turning it on, he walked toward Mr. Brown while opening the calendar app.
Once he reached him, he held the phone up to his face and said"See? Right here—I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for today. They called me and said if I don’t show up, I’ll lose the spot I waited forever to get. It’s got nothing to do with Mr. Tomlinson."
Mr. Brown: "Leaving school before the final bell counts as skipping. I’m marking this as an unexcused absence, and it’s gonna affect your conduct score."
Harry shrugged, turned off his phone, and said,
"That’s fine, Mr. Brown. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna be late for my appointment."
Mr. Brown sighed, shook his head in disapproval, and motioned with his hand for Harry to go. Harry didn’t hesitate—he turned around, walked away from the vice principal, and left through the school gate.
When he reached the sidewalk, he glanced back at the tall school building behind him, then kept walking toward the bus stop.
Once he sat down at the stop, he placed his backpack on his lap and started digging through it for his bus pass.
He turned the whole bag inside out until he finally found his wallet—with his bus card and a bit of spare change inside.
About twenty minutes later, the bus finally pulled up. Harry got on, tapped his card on the reader—and was immediately met with a loud beep and the words “Insufficient Balance” flashing on the little screen.
The boy let out a sigh and handed the loose change he'd pulled from his wallet to the driver. Then he made his way to an empty seat, sat down, held his bag close to his chest, popped in his earphones, and hit play on his music. While the song played, he sent Jeff a quick message wishing him good luck at work.
After switching buses a couple more times, he finally arrived at the hospital—where his doctor only showed up on Tuesdays.
The waiting room was quiet, with only one person ahead of him—a woman who, based on Harry’s guess, had to be at least six months along. She waddled over, sat next to him, and gently rested her hand on her belly.
Harry turned off his phone and glanced at her, noticing the way she was eyeing him. He raised an eyebrow like “what?”
Woman: "You here alone? Was the person who went in before you with you?"
Harry looked toward the wooden door of the doctor’s office and replied,
"Nah... no, I’m not with anyone. Uh, I just brought my girlfriend’s test results for the doctor."
The woman smiled.
"Oh! So you’re gonna be a dad? That’s sweet—congrats."
Harry forced a small smile.
"If there’s no mistake this time... yeah, I guess so."
As she kept breathing heavily, she held out her appointment slip to Harry.
"Here—take my turn. I’m waiting for my husband to get here before I go in. You can go ahead so you don’t waste your time waiting on me."
Harry hesitated, but then swapped tickets with her and quietly mumbled a thanks.
The ping of a message snapped him out of his thoughts—Jeff had finally replied.
"Thanks, baby. I’ll be home for lunch, sweetie. See you soon, take care. "
Harry glanced down at his watch.
It had taken him an hour just to get there. He’d probably be at the hospital for at least another hour. If he hung around the city a bit before heading back—and the ride back would be another hour—he’d probably make it home around noon. After Jeff.
He typed back:
"You too, babe."
Just then, the girl who’d been in with the doctor walked out. The woman sitting next to Harry looked at him and said,
"Go on, it’s your turn now."
Harry glanced at the appointment slip in his hand, stood up, thanked the woman again—twice—and made his way to the wooden door.
He took three deep breaths, raised his right hand, and knocked twice.
The doctor gave him permission to come in.
He held his bag close to his chest, opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind him. His anxious eyes met his doctor’s—an older woman in her fifties.
Her warm gaze landed on him as she stepped away from the sink, drying her wet hands with an orange towel.
Dr. Green: “Oh, Harry! My beautiful boy, you’re here again.”
Harry gave her a shy smile and clutched his bag tighter to his chest.
“Hi, Mrs. Green.”
She took her seat behind the desk, pulled her rolling chair in closer, and gestured to the seat in front of her.
“Come sit here, Harry.”
He quickly nodded and sat down across from her.
She shifted in her seat to get more comfortable, smiled gently, and asked,
“We just saw each other recently, didn’t we? What brings you in today?”
Harry hugged his bag tighter, ignoring the dull pain in his chest, and looked at her.
“The day before yesterday... I saw blood in the water again while I was showering. I realized the bleeding was back, and it’s weird because it usually only happens every two months, at most. I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”
Dr. Green blinked at him kindly, trying to ease the tension in his nervous expression.
“Harry, sweetheart, how many times have we had this conversation now?”
She gave a light chuckle and added,
“Don’t bother trying to count. I’ll say it again—you don’t need to worry. Based on your latest tests, you’re perfectly healthy.”
Harry: “Then why is it... happening again?”
Dr. Green: “Sweetheart, you’re a boy, remember?”
Harry nodded quickly.
She continued,
“Because you’re a boy, and your reproductive system isn’t complete, your bleeding might only happen two or three times a year—or like now, it might happen again shortly after the last time. That’s totally normal. It doesn’t mean something’s wrong. Even girls who are new to their periods experience irregular cycles at first.”
She tucked a lock of short blond hair behind her ear and went on,
“It could be caused by diet changes, stress, strong emotions, side effects from meds... lots of things. So don’t stress yourself out so much, young man. You’re completely fine, sweetheart.”
Her words came to an end, but the anxiety and dread didn’t seem ready to leave Harry just yet.
And this was Mrs. Green—someone who had gotten to know Harry’s personality well over the years. She rolled her chair a little closer to him, gently placed a hand on his shoulder, and said warmly,
“I’m not telling you all this without a solid foundation or just from treating only you, Harry. Since the day you first walked into my office, I’ve tried to dig into every bit of information I could find in the medical world about cases like yours. And while they’re rare, they’re not unheard of. I know exactly what I’m talking about—so you can relax, alright?”
When she noticed that Harry was no longer clutching his bag like it was the last thing he had in the world and had finally settled back into his seat, she gave a relieved smile and removed her hand from his shoulder.
Harry (hesitantly): “Um… my meds ran out. Could you write me another prescription?”
Mrs. Green nodded and reached out her hand.
“Did you bring your insurance card or anything?”
Harry straightened up in his seat.
“No… see, using it would notify my boyfriend. He gets a message when I use the insurance and… I don’t want him finding out.”
Mrs. Green: “So how do you get your meds or supplies then?”
Harry: “I order them online, or I just buy them out of pocket.”
She pulled her hand back and grabbed a sheet of paper, starting to write on it as she asked,
“So your boyfriend doesn’t know about your situation yet. That being said, are you two being safe when it comes to intimacy?”
Harry slouched in the chair, visibly uncomfortable talking about his sex life.
“Um… yeah. We use condoms.”
Mrs. Green: “Good. That’s great—keep it up. Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
Harry paused to think, then spoke shyly,
“My chest’s been hurting a little?”
She picked up the stamp and pressed it onto the prescription she’d just written.
“That’s from the hormone fluctuations. It’s totally normal for your chest to feel sore, and sometimes you might even have discharge. Just make sure you take your meds on time—don’t delay them.”
They both stood up at the same time, and the woman handed Harry the paper.
Now that the strange, anxious feeling bubbling inside him had finally faded, he looked at her with sincere eyes, trying to pour all his gratitude into his tone.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Green.”
He started walking toward the door, and like always, the woman called out her signature line behind him:
“Everything for my beautiful boy!”
When he stepped out of the doctor’s office, the woman who had given up her spot for him was now sitting beside her husband, eating a pastry. She smiled at him kindly, and he nodded back with a soft smile before quickly leaving the place that felt too suffocating to breathe in.
He wandered around the city for about an hour, picked up a few things for Thursday, and showed up near the school around 1 PM. He grabbed his bike from the parking lot, hooked the shopping bags to the handlebars, and headed home.
Once he got there, he dropped the groceries on the counter, tossed his bag onto the round stool under it, pulled out his phone, and texted Jeff:
“When are you getting home?”
He put the phone down, walked over to the cabinet near the stove, pulled out the soy sauce, and poured some into a small bowl he’d grabbed from the drying rack to let it soak.
Then he put a small pot on the stove, added a bit of oil, and started chopping onions—just when he heard the “ding” of a new message.
With wet hands, he made his way back to the counter, tapped the screen, and read Jeff’s reply:
“I’ll be home around 2:30. In a meeting right now, baby.”
He spent the next twenty minutes prepping the ingredients for pasta. Then he finally tossed the clothes he was still wearing into the laundry basket by the washer and headed straight to the shower to cool off and calm his nerves.
He usually didn’t mind doing stuff around the house—just not when he was on edge, or on his period, or a messy mix of both… or if he’d argued with someone he hated at school that morning.
During lunch, he and Jeff didn’t exchange a single word. And while loading the dishes into the dishwasher, Harry couldn’t stop replaying that morning’s argument with Louis in his head. The urge to google the guy’s name was gnawing at him.
Jeff: “Harry? Everything okay?”
Jeff’s voice broke through his thoughts and made him jump, accidentally dropping the plate into the dishwasher.
Jeff: “You alright, Harry?”
Harry: “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking.”
Jeff stepped a little closer, but Harry changed direction and walked over to the cabinet, picked up his phone, and turned it on.
Jeff followed, curious, trying to figure out what had Harry so distracted.
Jeff: “What’s on your mind?”
Harry: “I had a fight with Louis this morning.”
Jeff: “Did he cause any trouble?”
Harry shook his head while typing Louis’ name into Google.“Not yet. But the way he meddles, he could.”
Jeff peeked over his shoulder.
“What are you looking for?”
Harry scratched under his nose with his finger.
“Just googling his name. He acted like his family name meant something huge, like I was supposed to be impressed.”
Jeff: “And?”
Harry: “I just wanna see who the hell he thinks he is, acting like he’s all that.”
Jeff let out a soft chuckle, leaned over and kissed Harry’s temple, then walked over to the basket tucked between the fridge and the washing machine. He pulled it out, got down on his knees, and started separating the darks and lights.
Harry (still scrolling): “His clinic’s downtown, and apparently his schedule’s fully booked through the end of the month.”
Jeff raised an eyebrow and looked over at his boyfriend.
Harry: “And all the reviews are just people singing his praises like idiots.”
Jeff: “And… you think that’s a bad thing?”
Harry: “Hell yeah. No one’s seen the real him. They don’t know who Louis really is.”
Jeff picked up the black jeans Harry had worn that day, stuck his hand in the side pocket to check if anything was inside.
Jeff: “So… what is he like, according to you?”
Harry shrugged.
“Not what everyone thinks. I don’t get a good vibe from him. And now he’s telling me to come to his clinic so we can ‘talk’.”
Jeff pulled his hand out of the pocket and placed a few tissues he found on the counter.
Jeff: “And are you actually thinking of going?”
Harry: “Absolutely not. I’d rather die than go spill my guts to him.”
Jeff: “Maybe he’s not as bad as you think, Harry. The way you described him, I thought he was gonna turn out to be some sketchy fake doctor… but he actually seems legit.”
Harry: “Jeff…”
Jeff: “I’m just saying, now that he’s offering to help you—maybe—”
Jeff stopped mid-sentence as he reached into the back pocket of Harry’s jeans and pulled something out—holding up a tampon between his fingers by the string.
Jeff (confused): “Harry?”
Harry looked up at Jeff, and the second he saw the tampon, it was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on him.
Jeff: “What is this, Harry?”
Harry (panicked): “I… I can explain.”
His voice trembled, panic flashing across his face. He was seconds away from crying, and dangerously close to spilling everything.
Jeff: “Are you cheating on me? Are you seeing some girl behind my back?”
Harry’s eyes went wide. He took a few deep breaths, then shook his head quickly.
Harry: “No, no! God, no. It’s for Daisy. She’s about to start her period, and like, we all keep one of those in our pockets for her just in case.”
Jeff stared at him, clearly suspicious. He crushed the tampon in his fist.
Jeff: “You sure about that?”
Harry (nervously smiling): “Of course, babe. I’d never throw away three years with you for some random girl.”
It didn’t really seem like Jeff bought it, even though Harry thought he’d nailed the lie. Maybe he was good at hiding things—but lying? Not so much. Still, for now… he’d managed to dodge a bullet.
ᨒ
Louis dropped his tired body onto the couch, letting his head fall back against the cushion. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
He’d gone straight from school to his clinic, talked to a bunch of strange clients for hours, and now it was night.
When he finally cracked his eyes open, there she was—standing above him in a cotton dress covered in flamingos, wearing loose pajama pants underneath.
The same woman who had been trailing him like a shadow for what felt like forever.
Startled, he sat up straight, clutching his chest before standing up abruptly from the couch.
Louis: “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone, Mom?”
Joanna didn’t answer. She just took a step closer.
Louis yanked off his jacket, wincing from the ache in his body, and tossed it carelessly onto the couch.
Joanna came closer and sat down, crossing her legs and resting her palms under her thighs, just watching her son.
Louis grabbed at his tie, pulling it loose with frustration, and stared at her.
Louis: “Stop following me. You’re making it worse.”
Joanna finally spoke, her voice soft and warm.
Joanna: “I miss you, Louis.”
Louis let out a bitter scoff, dropped the tie on the floor, and walked toward his room.
Louis: “Well, I don’t miss you.”
Joanna followed him.
Joanna: “I can see how you really feel, Louis.”
Louis stopped in the hallway, turned around, and yanked his shirt out from his pants, yelling“No, you can’t see anything!”
Joanna looked stunned.
Joanna: “I’m your mother, Louis.”
He pulled his shirt over his head and walked into his room, flicking the light on.
Louis: “Were. You were my mom!”
Joanna sat on the edge of his bed, reached out to switch on the bedside lamp, and looked at him in the warm yellow glow.
Joanna: “You’re still my stubborn little boy.”
The yellow light made her pale, tired face look even softer. Louis hesitated, staring at her.
Louis: “Didn’t I tell you not to leave the house? What if someone sees you with me?”
Joanna ran a hand through her long hair, letting a few strands caught in her fingers fall to the floor.
Joanna: “You don’t like people seeing you with your mother, huh? I’ve gotten really ugly, haven’t I?”
Louis unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and started pulling them down.
Louis: “You embarrass me.”
Joanna didn’t say anything back, just watched him as he walked into the bathroom. A few seconds later, the sound of running water filled the room.
She took a deep breath.
Joanna: “I didn’t spend over Thirty years raising you just for you to talk to me like that.”
Louis (from the bathroom, echoing): “Thanks for that, but right now you’re the only one hurting me, Mom.”
Joanna rubbed her face and lay down on the bed. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Louis stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist. Joanna quickly looked away, rolling to the other side of the bed, which caught Louis’s attention.
Louis: “Go wait outside, Mom. I’ll get dressed and make us some sandwiches.”
Joanna glanced at him briefly, then got up from the bed and walked out, leaving the door halfway open.
Louis quickly got dressed and walked into the kitchen. He found Joanna already sitting at the small dining table, waiting.
Joanna: “I couldn’t find the side plates or the toast.”
Louis nodded, opened the fridge, and pulled out some cold cuts, lettuce, and pre-washed tomatoes. He placed them on the table, then quickly turned back to the fridge just as it was swinging shut and grabbed the mayo, setting it down too. He took the toast out of the bread box and set two plates on the table.
He grabbed a spoon, scooped some mayo, and spread it onto the bread. Then he layered on the cold cuts, lettuce, tomato, and topped it with another slice of toast. He slid the sandwich in front of his mom, then made one for himself.
After finishing his sandwich, he looked over at Joanna—and saw she hadn’t touched hers.
Louis: “Why aren’t you eating?”
Joanna didn’t say anything. She quietly pushed her chair back, walked into the hallway, and then he heard the bedroom door close.
Without clearing the table, Louis got up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, and walked back toward the bedroom.
He slowly pushed the door open and saw his mother curled up under the blanket.
Louis: “Mom?”
Joanna turned her head and looked at her son.
Louis: “Can I come lie with you?”
Joanna nodded softly, pulled the blanket aside, and sat up, motioning for him to come closer.
Louis: “Please don’t be mad at me. Please don’t stay upset.”
He said as he walked toward the bed and gently rested his head on her lap.
Joanna still didn’t say anything—she just ran her fingers through his hair, and Louis let out a quiet sigh at the touch of her fingertips on his scalp.
Louis: “Are you mad at me?”
He asked, pressing his head closer to her hand, wanting more of her touch.
Joanna slowly traced her fingers along his cheek with the backs of her index and middle finger.
Joanna: “No... but do I upset you?”
Louis immediately took her hand in his and held it, stroking it softly.
Louis: “No. You don’t.”
Joanna gently pulled her hand back, brushed the strands of hair off his forehead, and said:
Joanna: “Do you want me to leave?”
Louis closed his eyes under her touch.
Louis: “No... don’t ever leave me.”
He hadn’t meant to, but the feelings he had for Joanna were deeper than they should’ve been. She wasn’t just a mother to him—she was something more—and somewhere in the middle of her gentle touch, he realized he was crying.
Joanna wiped her son’s tears with tender care and ran her fingers along the sides of his head. As she played with his hair, she noticed a few silvery strands and paused.
Joanna: “My sweet boy… why is your hair turning white already? Didn’t you promise me you’d take care of yourself now that I can’t always be around to look after you?”
Louis pressed his face against her stomach and wrapped his arms around her waist tightly. Joanna could feel his tears soaking into her skin.
Louis: “No one takes care of me like you do, Mom. Lately, I’ve felt so alone—so, so alone. And the girls… they’re just making it worse. Every one of them is cruel in her own way. Please… say something to them, Mom.”
Joanna pulled Louis closer, cradling his head against her, gently combing her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him.
And Louis didn’t even realize when he fell asleep in his mother’s arms.
Notes:
Just wanted to clarify Harry’s situation a bit — I was just trying to make the whole idea of mpreg in fics feel a little more believable. I mean, there are hormonal changes and all, and the baby doesn’t just appear out of thin air, you know? :)
Thanks for reading.
– Yasmin🩷
Chapter Text
Harry felt a warm, gentle hand stroking his face and slowly cracked his eyelids open, pushing the blanket off his face. He locked eyes with the man hovering over him.
Jeff: “Not going to class today? Though, even if you wanted to, it’s kinda late.”
Harry swallowed, his voice thick with morning grogginess. “Nah, not feeling it. Got nothing special going on today.”
Jeff leaned down, planting a soft kiss on Harry’s cheek, then two more for good measure. He rubbed his cheek against Harry’s, the scratch of his stubble making Harry giggle and curl up from the ticklish sensation.
“Hey!” Harry laughed, calling out Jeff’s name. He slid his hands out from under the blanket, wrapped them around Jeff’s neck, and pulled him into a hug, burying his face in Jeff’s neck. He took a deep breath and whispered, “I love you.”
As Jeff pulled back, Harry’s arms loosened and dropped.
Jeff: “Breakfast’s on the table. Eat it, please, don’t starve yourself. I won’t be back for lunch—gotta work on a project.”
Harry rolled over in bed, staring up at Jeff. “Alright, take care.”
Jeff nodded, heading for the door. He accidentally kicked a shirt on the floor, sending it flying to the corner of the room. “Pull the curtains shut.”
Harry glanced at Jeff as he left the room and said, “Happy birthday, love.”
Jeff paused in the doorway, hand on the frame, turning back with a smile. “Thanks.”
Harry grinned back, then rolled over to Jeff’s side of the bed, pressing his face into the pillow that smelled like him, his ears perked for the sounds around him.
He heard Jeff grab his shoes from the rack, dropping them onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud. A moment later, the front door’s lock clicked open.
As soon as he heard the car pulling out of the garage and driving away, Harry threw off the blanket, sat up on the edge of the bed, and yawned while stretching his body.
He got up and walked to the sliding glass doors that opened to the backyard, pulling back the heavy, dark curtains. He cracked the door open, turned, and yanked his phone from the charger on the nightstand.
Using the hair tie always around his wrist, he pulled back the curls falling into his face and tied them up. He darted out of the room and headed to the kitchen.
He dialed Daisy’s number, put it on speaker, and set the phone on the counter before heading to the sink to splash water on his face.
After a few rings, Daisy finally picked up. “Yeah?”
Harry tossed the red towel he’d used to dry his face onto the counter and took long strides toward his phone.
“Hey, morning! Where you at?”
The sound of the boys in the background drowned out Daisy’s voice, and Harry could hear her put the phone down to start bickering with them.
Laughing loudly at his friends’ antics, Harry wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, turned to the round table in the middle of the kitchen, and started gathering the breakfast Jeff had set out.
Daisy: “Hello, Harry? You still there?”
Harry grabbed the glass of milk on the table, took a sip, and said, “Yeah, I’m still here. Where you guys at?”
He heard Daisy ask the others where they were, then she answered, “We’re at Elm Park, chilling on the playground stuff.”
“Alright, stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
Harry chugged the rest of the milk, tossed the glass in the sink, and put the breakfast stuff back in the fridge.
Daisy: “Harry?”
“Hmm?”
Daisy: “You better not back out on your promise.”
Harry cracked up, walking into their room. “Alright, I’ll do it. But seriously, it’s easy—how’s your sister not know how?”
Daisy: “No clue. Just come get us. Wait, how’re you even coming? Doesn’t Jeff take the car?”
Harry, pulling on a long-sleeve shirt, said, “He didn’t take it yesterday, came back with the company car, and took that one today.”
Daisy coughed and said, “Okay, we’re waiting. Bye.”
Harry let out a “Hmm,” tossed his phone on the bed, grabbed his pants from the hanger, swapped them with his comfy sweats, and threw on his black-and-cream striped jacket.
A bit later, Jeff’s old Chevy was packed with Harry’s friends, crammed in tight, the three in the back whining every other second.
Niall yanked his hand out from behind Zayn and said, “Why don’t you guys upgrade this car?”
Harry shot Niall a glance in the rearview mirror. “This one’s fine. Plus, I love it.”
Liam pulled his backpack up from the car floor, plopping it on his lap. “Yeah, but what if you guys have kids someday? Still think it’s fine?”
“What?” Harry said.
Liam: “I’m saying, what if you and Jeff adopt a kid someday? You’re acting like you’re the one giving birth.”
Harry let out a nervous chuckle. “Me and Jeff’s situation isn’t clear enough to even think about kids. I’m scared he’ll ditch me one day. Plus, kids are such a hassle.”
Zayn turned off his phone, leaned forward in his seat, and said, “But from now on, let’s skip more classes. Swear it’s way more fun.”
Daisy: “No, we’re not skipping Thursdays. I’ve got French, and I already missed it today because of Harry.”
She tied her hair up as she spoke, then leaned back in her seat.
Harry parked the car in the Tesco lot, opened his door, and got out. He opened the back door for the guys and looked at Daisy, who was already out. “In return, I’m braiding your hair.”
Daisy nodded quickly, leaned into the car to grab her bag, and slammed the door shut.
As they walked into the store, Niall took a deep breath. “Man, I love that store smell.”
Harry caught up to Niall and the others, handed out small red baskets two by two, and said, “Alright, let’s split up the tasks.”
Pointing at Zayn, he said, “You go grab some snacks. Not too much, we don’t need a ton. Get something for yourselves if you want.”
Zayn slapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Come on, Liam, let’s make Harry regret this.”
Harry laughed. “Please, go easy. I seriously don’t know what to do with too much stuff.”
Liam nodded, grabbed Zayn’s hand, and dragged him off.
Harry: “You two, go get stuff for pizza.”
Daisy scratched her forehead and said, “I don’t really know what you need for pizza.”
Harry pointed at Niall. “That’s why you’re going with Niall.”
Niall straightened up proudly and said, “You forgot your Irish boyfriend, Ms. Tomlinson.”
Harry laughed. “Yeah, the way this guy’s a pizza expert, I thought he was Italian the first time.”
Niall grabbed the basket from Daisy. “Come on, I’ll make you a pizza that’ll blow your mind.”
Harry put his hands on his hips. “I’m not letting you guys eat that pizza. Don’t even think about it.”
Daisy: “Lunch, Harry, lunch!”
Harry shook his head at his friends, exasperated, and tightened his grip on the red basket’s handle before heading toward the baking aisle.
He grabbed a box of brownie mix from the top shelf, scanning the ingredients as he walked to where the flour was stacked and picked up a small bag of pastry flour.
A notification ping on his phone made him absentmindedly toss the flour into his basket and pull his phone out of his pocket.
Daisy: “Come meet us.”
Harry pushed his hair back, wishing for the third time in a few minutes that he’d brought the hair tie he usually used to keep his curls out of his face.
When he reached Daisy and Niall, both were standing straight, holding stuff they’d grabbed from the horizontal fridges.
Niall furrowed his brows. “Look, I don’t know which pre-made dough you want.”
Daisy bent down, pulling two packages—big and small—from the fridge. “See, this one says mini pizza, this one’s regular. Which one do we get?”
Harry pointed at the mini pizza dough. “That one. It’s small, and if we need more, we’ll make it and eat it tomorrow during break. Won’t go to waste.”
Daisy: “You should’ve been a mom instead of a guy—or a husband. You even nag and pinch pennies like one.”
She said it while tossing the dough into the basket, brushing her bangs out of her face.
Harry circled the fridge, bent down, eyed the butter, grabbed a big block, and tossed it into his basket. Looking up at Daisy, he said, “Go find some cream—baking cream, not breakfast stuff.”
Daisy: “Come with me, I don’t know how much you need.”
Harry nodded and followed her to the baking section and the fridges with drinks.
Daisy bent down, grabbed a medium-sized tub of cream, and after Harry’s nod of approval, dropped it into his basket.
A third voice grabbed their attention. “Harry, you eat chips too?”
Harry turned to see Zayn holding out a bag of salted chips toward him.
“Nah, I don’t like that flavor. Grab two ketchup ones—Jeff likes those.”
He glanced at the basket in Liam’s hand. “What else did you guys get?”
Liam gave his basket a quick look. “Some snacks, soda, those colorful sprinkle things, and a party hat.”
Harry nodded. “Alright, let’s hit the checkout.”
He glanced at his watch and added, “Half the day’s already gone.”
Daisy followed him. “We’ve been out since 9:30, and you didn’t even call us till, like, ten-something.”
“I know, but I had to wait for Jeff to leave the house.”
Liam nudged Zayn and said, “When we’re grown and living together, be one of those cool boyfriends, not the lame ones.”
It was almost noon when they finally got to the house, dumping the groceries on the kitchen table and starting to put them away one by one.
Liam dragged the round stool out from under the counter, pulled it to the middle of the kitchen, and plopped down. “So, what’s for lunch?”
Niall, sprawled in the living room flipping through TV channels, shouted, “Yeah, you worked us this hard and you’re not feeding us?”
“Lunch is last week’s leftovers. No time to cook,” Harry said, washing his hands and flicking the water on Daisy’s face.
Daisy squealed, grabbed Harry’s red towel from the cabinet handle, and dried her face. “We’re gonna run out of time again. After lunch, we need to start the cake right away and get dinner going by evening.”
Harry opened the fridge, pulled out the pot from yesterday’s lunch and a bag of rice, and headed to the stove. “We gotta split up the tasks.”
Zayn: “You’ve worked me so hard today, I’ve lost, like, two kilos. If Trisha finds out her son’s doing all this work here when he doesn’t lift a finger at home, she won’t let me sleep for a second.”
Zayn set his water glass in the sink and headed toward the living room’s sliding glass doors that looked out to the backyard. He grabbed the edge of the light, sheer curtain, pulled it open, and flooded the room with light.
After lunch, Daisy clapped her hands in the silence as the boys cleared the table. “Alright, Harry and I’ll make the cake. You guys tidy up the house.”
Harry, loading plates into the dishwasher, nodded. “Grab a big bowl from the cabinet under the sink, then pour the cake mix in.”
Daisy opened the cabinet, dug through the stacked dishes, and pulled out an orange bowl, holding it up. “Harry, this one?”
Harry glanced over. “Yeah, that’s it. The cake mix box is on top of the fridge.”
He shut the dishwasher, opened the drawer by the stove, grabbed a cloth, then opened the cabinet by the washing machine, pulling out some glass cleaner. He turned to Niall. “Here, take these and do some dusting.”
Niall rolled his eyes, grabbed the cloth and cleaner from Harry, and headed to the living room.
Daisy: “Didn’t you say you were gonna make the cake yourself?”
Harry went to the fridge and opened it. “How many eggs does the box say?”
Daisy picked up the box and read the back. “Says three eggs, some oil or butter, and milk.”
Harry tucked the milk bottle under his arm, grabbed three eggs in one hand, shut the fridge with his back, and set everything on the counter next to the bowl in Daisy’s hands.
Daisy: “Harry?”
“Hmm?”
Daisy: “Why aren’t you making the cake yourself?”
Harry cracked an egg into the bowl over the cake mix. “Scared it won’t turn out good.”
Daisy nodded and started rummaging through the cabinets for a whisk.
Daisy: “Where’s the whisk?”
Harry rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “In that upper cabinet, the one by the dish rack.”
When the cake batter was ready, they poured it into a rectangular pan.
Liam: “Let’s make the cake square. We’ll eat half after it’s baked, and you two can have the rest.”
Liam said it while washing his hands, giving Harry a pitiful look.
Harry reluctantly nodded, threw his hands up, and shooed everyone out of the kitchen.
Daisy untied her hair tie and said, “Come on, Harry, keep your promise.”
Harry glanced at the wall clock showing 3:40 and said, “Alright, it won’t take *that* long, but don’t forget to turn off the oven on time, or the cake’s gonna burn.”
Zayn, sprawled on the living room floor with his legs propped up on the couch, looked up at Harry sitting on the same couch, muttered a quiet “Mmm,” and buried his face back in his phone.
Daisy plopped down on the floor in front of Harry, facing away from him, and asked, “What’d you get Jeff for his birthday?”
Harry leaned Daisy’s head against his legs, pulled three thin strands of hair from her parted bangs, and said, “My mom used to get my dad a fountain pen every birthday. So, I got Jeff one too.”
By the time he finished braiding Daisy’s hair, about an hour had passed, and the smell of something burning wafted from the kitchen, reminding him the oven was still on.
“The cake! It’s burned!”
Harry tossed the TV remote aside and bolted to the kitchen. He yanked on the oven mitts by the stove, turned off the oven, opened the door, and pulled out the hot tray, the smell of burnt chocolate filling the air.
He grabbed the cake pan, set it on the tray by the sink, and ripped off the mitts in frustration, chucking them onto the floor.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and a lump clawed at his throat.
Niall rushed into the kitchen, finding Harry slumped on the floor, curled into himself.
Niall: “Daisyyyy!”
He knelt beside Harry. “What happened, Harry?”
“Go away, Niall.”
Daisy reached the kitchen, saw the cake pan by the sink, gasped, and grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer.
Daisy: “What’re you gonna do now?”
Harry sniffled, lifted his head from his hands, wiped his face with his palms, and looked at Daisy. Seeing the fork in her hand, he jumped up and snatched it from her.
“No, no, don’t touch it. Get out of my kitchen.”
Liam leaned on the counter, elbows propped up. “We helped you this much, Harry, and now you’re kicking us out?”
Harry nodded frantically. “Yeah, go. Just go.”
Zayn’s voice came from the living room. “Harry, what do you mean, ‘go’?”
Harry tugged at his hair. “Go home. Thanks for the help, but the cake burned because I was distracted by you guys.”
Daisy: “We can fix this, I swear, Harry, don’t be so upset.”
Harry bent down, grabbed the mitts from the floor, put them on, and picked up the pan. “It’s almost five, and all I’ve got is a burnt cake for the birthday.”
Niall: “We’ll help you.”
“No, thanks, I’ll fix it myself.”
He carried the cake pan to the living room, leaned against the sliding door, opened it, and set the pan outside to cool, sitting down next to it.
When the burnt cake had cooled, he brought it back inside, and silence had replaced his friends’ voices.
He knew he was right, but he’d been too harsh.
He set the cooled cake pan on the counter, grabbed a cloth, wiped down the cabinet, and flipped the pan over.
The bottom was completely burnt. So, he grabbed a round bowl, placed it on the cake, and cut around it with a knife, repeating the process on the extra piece, slicing off the burnt parts.
He remembered the last time he’d made a cake alone—it was for Desmond’s birthday. Des had been so thrilled with his son’s effort that he cried tears of joy.
While whipping the cream, Harry thought about the day he’d told Jeff about his situation, imagining a future where their own kids would make messes like this. Their older kid would grumble at the younger one for screwing up, and Harry, laughing, would help them fix it to celebrate Jeff’s birthday.
Even though his life with Jeff wasn’t exactly stable yet, Harry loved thinking about their future together—it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling.
By six o’clock, after an hour of messing with the cake, he’d managed to salvage something that didn’t taste burnt, slathered it with frosting, and was now busy prepping pizza ingredients.
As daylight faded into the darkness of night, Jeff finally got home. Hearing the key turn in the lock, Harry grabbed the cake, lit with twenty-seven white candles, and headed to the entryway with two red balloons in hand.
He took a deep breath, and as the door opened, he flashed a big grin and shouted, “Happy birthday!”
Jeff, stunned, stared at Harry and the cake, dropped his bag on the floor, and took the cake from him. He kissed Harry’s cheek, but Harry wrapped his arms around Jeff’s neck, planting a kiss on his lips, then another, and another, saying “Happy birthday” between each one.
Jeff set the cake on the shoe rack, grabbed Harry’s waist, and stood up straight, lifting Harry just enough that only the tips of his toes grazed the hardwood floor.
Burying his face in Harry’s hair, Jeff said, “Thank you, Harry.”
He took a deep breath in Harry’s curls and added, “You’ve got me at a loss for words, baby.”
“I love you.”
Jeff let go of Harry’s waist, stepped back, and picked up the cake. “I love you too. Come on, let’s eat this cake.”
Without letting Jeff change out of his work clothes, Harry sat him down at the table, plopped cross-legged on the other side, and started recording a video on his phone.
“Make a wish and blow out the candles.”
Jeff closed his eyes, then cracked his right eye open, giving Harry a mischievous glance. “Just one wish?”
Harry laughed loudly and pointed at the candles. “Just one, ‘cause they’re melting.”
Jeff closed his eyes again. “Alright, since it’s you, I’ll do it.”
“Jeff, the candles are melting.”
Jeff clasped his hands together, took a deep breath, and said, “I wish for the day you’ll take my last name, Harry.”
He blew out the candles quickly, and Harry felt his chest tighten, blood rushing to his head from the rush of emotions, unsure of what to say.
He set his phone down, grabbed the matchbox, pulled out a match, and lit it. “You’re not supposed to say your wish out loud. The universe gets mad and won’t make it happen. No, make a wish for yourself, Jeff.”
Jeff blew out the match, gently lowered Harry’s hand, and said softly, “Don’t say that. I’m gonna keep saying it till it happens. Harry, you’re my whole wish—every bit of it.”
Harry’s heart was pounding like a sparrow’s, a chill running down his spine, making him sit up straight. “For love, a whisper’s enough. It doesn’t always need to be shouted.”
He handed Jeff the knife. “Come on, cut the cake. We’ve still got dinner to eat.”
Jeff took the knife, looked at Harry, and said, “You okay, Harry?”
Harry nodded quickly, grabbed his phone, and started recording again. “Of course I’m okay!”
ᨒ
The boy rolled over in bed, lying on his side. He stared at the table—and the ice they'd used during sex that had now melted, leaving only a small puddle behind—and said quietly,
"I'm scared of the future, Jeff."
Jeff shifted in bed, rolled toward Harry, and pressed his bare body against his. He locked his legs between Harry’s and slid his left hand into his hair, kissing the back of his head."Harry… you're the future I was always scared of. The one I used to imagine and get terrified I’d never have. The one where the boy I liked would never want me back."
Harry moved his head to rest on Jeff’s arm, staring at his fingertips before intertwining their fingers.
Jeff continued"You probably won’t believe me, but the night I kissed you, I tried to stay away after. I really thought I could just forget about you, erase you from my life. But one day I woke up and realized… my whole life was you.
The food you like, the clothes that look good on you, the movies you’d watch, the books you'd read—One day I just realized, I can't live without you."
He lifted their joined hands and gently pulled Harry closer, resting it on the boy’s chest. He took a deep breath."That’s when I lost it and came to ask you to be with me. I’m scared of being without you, Harry. I love this life with you."
Harry turned his head, resting his cheek against Jeff’s nose and whispered"I love being with you too. I really mean that—from the deepest part of me.But when someone asks me about us, I swear I wanna slam their head into a wall."
Jeff lifted his head a bit, looking down at Harry’s face lit by the dim bedside lamp."What are they even asking about us?"
Then, like something just clicked in his mind, Jeff’s face changed—surprised, disappointed.
"Wait… are you ashamed of being with me? Is it the age difference?"
Harry, completely thrown off by the reaction, suddenly tried to sit up, only to bump heads with Jeff. Both of them let out a loud "ow."
Harry winced and, rubbing his head with one hand, quickly used the other to cup the back of Jeff’s head, pulling him in and planting two quick kisses on his forehead."Of course not, you idiot! What kind of question is that?" he said, flustered."There’s literally no one in this city who could ever be better for me than you.Age doesn’t mean anything when I fell in love with your soul."
He smirked a bit and added playfully,
"Besides, have you forgotten how I lose all control around older men? I swear I’ve told you that like a hundred times.And it’s not even like you’re that much older. Honestly, older guys are usually more successful, and that’s kind of the whole point I was trying to make."
Jeff, who had been listening intently the whole time, gave him a small smile. He slid his hand around Harry’s waist, gently pulling him back toward the pillow to lie down again."Then what’s the problem? Why does it piss you off when people ask about us?"
Harry pulled away slightly, lying on his back and curling his legs a bit as he stared at the ceiling.
He spoke quietly"To strangers looking in from the outside, we’re weird. Just some high school kid who's older than his classmates but still can’t manage to pass a few classes.
He’s still stuck in school instead of out working or doing something useful.And then there’s you—a grown man, with a good job, a house, a car, everything.
Even the way we act—you stand out in the best way, but I… I don’t."
He paused for a bit, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
Then, with a small shake of his head, he added,
"Basically… to everyone else, we’re not equals."
Jeff moved closer again, trying to soften his voice despite the slight frown forming between his brows.
"Harry… you know better than anyone that people talk a lot, but most of what they say is garbage.And since when have you cared what they think?"
He kept gently brushing his fingers over Harry’s face as he spoke, not stopping for a second.
"Harry, I get that you want more out of life—you wanna grow, and that’s a good thing.
But you need to know that, for me, you’re already enough.Whatever you choose to do from here on out, those steps are for you, not to prove anything to anyone.And no matter what you do, I’ll still love you. Every damn day."
Harry, completely moved, buried his face in Jeff’s neck and took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly a few tears managed to slip free."I honestly don’t think I could ever be more grateful for anyone else existing in my life."
The boy spoke, then pressed a soft kiss to Jeff’s neck.
Jeff gently pulled Harry’s head back just enough to wipe the tears from his cheeks, smiling as he did. They exchanged a look—a quiet smile that held a thousand unspoken words—and without saying anything else, they tried to fall asleep in each other's arms.
A few minutes passed before Jeff broke the silence.
“Harry, you awake?”
Harry shifted a little and mumbled a drawn-out “Mmm” under his breath.
Jeff hesitated, unsure whether to bring it up, but after a brief pause, he made up his mind.
“Since you kinda brought it up yourself earlier, I wanted to talk to you about something. Just… promise you’ll listen all the way through before saying anything, okay?”
Harry nodded against his chest, murmuring a soft “Okay.”
“So look… it’s pretty clear that you’re sick of high school. You’re ready to move on, to start a new chapter in your life. But…”
He paused, the doubt creeping in again—then shifted his approach.
“There’s no strangers here, so I’ll be real with you. Your grades haven’t exactly been great lately.And your school counselor’s actually right—you do need someone qualified to help guide you.I know you're not comfortable with Tomlinson, but I went ahead and found a list of the best therapists in the city. You can meet them and stick with whoever you feel safe with.I’m not trying to pressure you, but we need to face this together and work through it.So… what do you think? You’ll give it a shot and talk to someone, right?”
In the dim light, Jeff kept his eyes on the shadowy figure in front of him—Harry, barely lit by the soft glow coming from behind—and waited for a response with quiet hope in his smile.
But no answer came.
The longer he waited, the more that smile started to fade. He called Harry’s name a couple more times, softer each time, until he realized…
Harry had fallen asleep in his arms while he was talking.
Jeff let out a quiet sigh, rolled his eyes with a tired smirk, and muttered under his breath,
“What a damn life.”
He eventually drifted off to sleep himself—never knowing that Harry, who had only pretended to be asleep to avoid answering, lay wide awake the whole night, thinking about every word Jeff had said.
I’m honestly not good at uploading pictures on the site, so if you’re curious about what my characters look like, you can check out my story on Wattpad! Just look for the chapter called 'كي به كيه'.
Here’s also my Telegram channel—you can watch to the edit videos and listen songs for each part there with this hashtag ( #basement )
Thanks so much for reading!
– Yasmin🩷
Chapter Text
Morning came, and when Harry opened his eyes, he groggily reached over to Jeff’s side of the bed, now cold for hours. Feeling no trace of the man, he let out a huff, pushed the blanket off with his right hand, sat up, and stared blankly at Jeff’s empty spot.
For nearly a week, he’d been waking up like this. Jeff wasn’t pulling the curtains in the bedroom or living room, wasn’t turning off the bedside lamp, wasn’t even unplugging Harry’s phone from the charger. Instead, he’d turn off the alarm, making Harry oversleep and miss class.
Since Jeff’s birthday, everything had gone weirdly haywire. Jeff would head out early for his project, leave breakfast on the table, and come home late, skipping dinner and crashing in bed—or showing up so late that Harry had dozed off waiting for him on the single armchair.
Harry blamed himself for it all. Maybe if he’d listened to Jeff that night instead of pretending to be asleep, if he’d agreed to see a therapist like Jeff wanted, things wouldn’t be like this. Maybe if he hadn’t been so selfish, seeing everything from his own perspective like a kid, he wouldn’t have hurt Jeff this much.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, turned it on, and saw a flood of messages from Liam stacked on the screen. Stuff like, “Late again, Harry,” “Where you at, Harry?” “You’re gonna get expelled,” “Get uppppp!”
He lifted his head from the phone and glanced at the big analog wall clock across from their bed. It was only 8:30—he still had time.
Rubbing his right eye, he got out of bed, opened his phone, tapped Liam’s chat, and typed, “Probably there by 10.” He sent it and left the room.
He made a beeline for the bathroom, taking care of business quickly.
Fifteen minutes later, he was standing by the dining table, forcing down a few bites of breakfast just so he wouldn’t pass out from low blood pressure on the way.
Staring at his phone, he shoved a bite in his mouth and replied to Jeff’s text with his left hand: “This is the third day I’ve overslept.”
Jeff replied instantly: “I turn off your alarm so you can sleep more. You’re not doing great.” Harry let out an annoyed huff, started clearing the table, tapped the voice message option, and recorded.
“I’m fine. Stop acting like something’s wrong with me. If I’m being a jerk or whatever, it’s not about sleep. I’m this close to getting kicked out. I don’t wanna stall in my last year.”
He put the jam bowl in the fridge, shut the door with his back, and read Jeff’s reply to his voice message: “That’s not what I mean, Harry. Don’t be dumb and listen to me. I’m sure it’ll work out.”
“No.”
He set his phone on the counter, swapped his sweatpants for jeans he’d left there with a dark hoodie, pulled the hoodie on, ran a hand through his damp curls, and shook his head side to side to let them fall into their natural frizz.
Scratching under his nose with two fingers, he stuffed his phone in his pocket, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed to the front door. He slipped on his shoes and grabbed the car keys.
He circled the house to the garage, unlocked the shutter, pulled it up, and grinned at the black Chevy staring back at him.
He loved that car so much that every time Jeff talked about replacing it, Harry begged him to keep it, insisting it was perfect.
On his way to the pharmacy, his phone started ringing with the contact name “Sweet Winter.”
It’d been ages since that contact name had popped up on his phone, so it caught him off guard. Keeping his eyes on the road, Harry answered the call vibrating on his lap and put it on speaker.
“Styles speaking.”
A girl’s anxious voice came through. “Hi, Mr. Styles. Good morning.”
Harry spotted an empty parking spot that seemed made for him and said, “Hang on a sec, Liza.”
She cleared her throat. “Sure.”
Harry set the phone on the passenger seat and maneuvered the car into the spot.
Once the car was parked, he grabbed the phone, took it off speaker, and held it to his ear. “I’m listening, Liza. What’s up?”
Liza: “Well, we’ve got a problem here.”
Harry took a deep breath, scratching his forehead with his left hand. “What kind of problem? I paid all the bills just last week.”
Liza: “No, no. Can you come down here?”
Harry glanced at the digital clock above the stereo. “Alright, I’ll try to make it. If I can’t, handle it yourself, Liza.”
Liza: “See you then, Mr. Styles.”
Harry grabbed the door handle, swung it open, and stepped out. He leaned in, grabbed his wallet from the dashboard, slammed the door, and said, “Hope so, Liza. Bye.”
He stuffed his phone in his pocket and headed to the pharmacy.
When he pushed the door open, a cool breeze hit his face. Walking to the counter, he pulled out his wallet and placed the prescription Mrs. Green had written last week on the stone counter.
“Need these meds for my wife.”
The man behind the counter picked up the paper, scanned it, then looked at Harry. “Without insurance, it’s gonna cost a lot.”
Harry leaned over the small cutout in the counter. “No insurance. That’s fine.”
The man nodded and handed the prescription to a woman browsing the shelves.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry walked out with a bag of meds, headed to his car, and tossed the bag onto the passenger seat.
He brushed the hair falling into his eyes aside, started the car, and drove toward his next stop.
The closer he got to the city center, the louder the noise grew, and Harry scanned his surroundings with extra caution. It’d been a while since he’d come to this part of town alone.
When he reached the square, a florist’s sign brought an unstoppable smile to his lips. He parked the car on the side, locked it, and headed toward the shop.
Pushing open the glass door, he breathed in the cool air mixed with the scent of flowers and stepped inside.
A smile settled on his face as he made his way to the counter where Liza usually was, but this time, no smile greeted him on her face.
Sensing something off, Harry twirled the car keys on his finger and approached the counter.
“With all this stress, you better have a damn good reason, Liza. How can anyone work in a place like this and be in a bad mood?”
Liza rushed toward Harry, her hands flailing as she spoke. “Mr. Styles! Thanks for getting here quick. We’ve got an angry customer who says their order got messed up. They’re super pissed and only want to talk to the owner. I told them you’ve left most of the work to me, but they wouldn’t budge.”
Harry, a faint frown forming between his brows, nodded. “This kinda thing doesn’t usually happen. Who took the order? Where’s this customer you’re talking about?”
Liza, keeping an eye on the shop’s entrance, tried to spill as much info as possible in the shortest time. “It was this new guy we hired—well, not really hired, just on trial for a few days to see how he’d do. After screwing up this bad, I let him go. The customer got a call and stepped outside to answer, but she’s coming back now. Look, there she is.”
Right then, the bell above the door jingled, and a woman stormed in, muttering under her breath. She snapped at Liza, “So, has your boss finally shown up or what?”
Liza, barely holding back an eye roll, said, “Yes, ma’am, this is Mr. Styles.”
The woman, clearly not expecting someone so young, gawked at Harry with surprise before blurting out, “I was ready for anything but the boss being younger than his teenage cashier!”
Harry, brushing off her comment, stepped closer and got to the point. “Well, the world’s full of surprises!”
After a brief pause, he continued, “When I got the call, I rushed over. What happened?”
The woman, her anger flaring up again, launched into her complaint. “I ordered a big bouquet of roses from your cashier, and that idiot boy gave me tulips instead, completely ruining my plans.”
In that moment, Harry wanted to yell, *Who the hell mixes up those flowers?* But he kept his cool and tried to calm her down. “That guy made a stupid mistake, and he’s paid for it by not working here anymore. I get that this messed up your time and plans. We’ll put together your bouquet as fast as possible and make it our top priority.”
The woman, still fuming, shot back, “Prioritizing me now doesn’t help when the moment’s already gone.”
Harry, picking up on what she was really after, didn’t waste time. “You’re absolutely right, ma’am. I know this mistake cost you, so let us refund the full price of the bouquet.”
He turned to Liza. “Please get the lady’s payment back.”
Facing the customer again, he added, “We do our best to make sure our customers are happy with our work, and I hope we’ve earned your satisfaction.”
The woman broke into a big smile, clearly pleased. “Of course, you’re right. Mistakes happen, and every problem has at least one solution.”
She had to say that—the order’s price was no joke. Harry, thinking about it, mirrored her smile. “I’m glad we found that solution. I’ll leave the rest to Liza, and rest assured, everything will go exactly how you want.”
He gave Liza a quick nod as a goodbye, stopping himself from waving like he usually would. No way was he risking looking childish in front of that judgmental customer.
As he walked down the sidewalk, he raised his left hand, glanced at his watch, and realized he’d been away from home for an hour—away from that heavy vibe that’d been dragging him down lately.
Forty minutes later, he was in the school parking lot, his fists clenched tight around the steering wheel, staring at the school’s entrance.
Just seeing the school pissed him off. To calm himself, he took deep breaths, gripping the wheel even harder.
He tore his gaze from the entrance, hunched forward, and when his head was close to the steering wheel, he started banging his forehead against it, muttering through gritted teeth, “I’m so done with this place.”
He took a breath and went on, “Please… just… let it… be… over!”
Harry leaned back, grabbed the bag of meds he’d bought, and tilted to the side to open the dashboard, stuffing the bag among the clutter before slamming it shut. He snatched his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, opened the car door, got out, hit the remote lock, and walked away from the car.
For the umpteenth time, he glanced at his watch, relieved to arrive during break time when he wouldn’t stick out too much or get chewed out for being late.
He held the strap of his bag with his left hand, shoved his right hand into his hoodie pocket, and stepped into the bustling courtyard, keeping his head down to slip along the wall toward the hall without drawing attention. Then a hand landed on his shoulder, and Harry froze, eyes wide.
“Where you been, Harry?!”
Hearing the voice that stopped him, he spun around. “Liam! You scared the crap outta me.”
Liam quickly pulled his hand off Harry’s shoulder and grabbed the bag strap. “Sorry, mate.”
Harry glanced behind Liam, where their friends were approaching, and Daisy came sprinting toward them.
Daisy reached Harry, threw her hands on his shoulders, and jumped, making him lurch forward in surprise.
Daisy: “Where were you?”
Harry swiped a hand across his forehead, grabbed Daisy’s wrist, and pulled her forward. “Don’t do that again, or next time we’re both hitting the ground.”
Zayn glanced at Daisy and Harry, then grabbed Harry’s wrist and tugged him along. “Oh, come on, let’s go chill in one of the classrooms.”
Daisy followed, catching up to the two boys and snapping, “Next period, Harry and I have volleyball together.”
Zayn let go of Harry’s wrist, threw his hands up in surrender, and said, “Chill, Daisy. What’s with you today? You even got into it with Mr. Brown.”
Harry took his bag from Liam, stared at Daisy, and said, “Something up, Daisy?”
Daisy put her hands on her hips, avoiding eye contact with her friends, and muttered, “Last night, Louis came over to the house acting all tough.”
As the bell rang to end break, she quickly turned and walked off.
Harry looked at Liam and Zayn. “Where’s Niall?”
Liam shrugged. “Dunno why he didn’t show today.”
Zayn chimed in, “Whatever it is, it’s all Louis’s fault. Every time Louis sees his sister, they end up fighting.”
Harry nodded, slung his bag over his shoulder, and said, “I’m heading to the gym. Daisy’s there—I’ll talk to her. You guys go on.”
Zayn gave Harry a playful punch on the shoulder. “All my hopes are on you, Styles. Catch you next period! Let’s go, Liam.”
As they split up in the main hall, Harry hurried to the gym and headed for the boys’ locker room.
Minutes later, everyone was lined up in the gym, but instead of standing next to Harry during warm-ups, Daisy was clear across the room.
Harry, trying to stay low-key, weaved through the students and squeezed in next to the girl beside Daisy—a girl who clearly had a thing for him, whispering to her friend the moment he stood there, oblivious that she didn’t stand a chance.
Harry took a deep breath, eyes fixed on their coach demonstrating a new stretch, and copied it as the kids spread out to make room for the movement.
He spread his legs shoulder-width apart, reached behind his thighs, and slowly lowered his hands until he felt the stretch, bending forward.
“Daisy?”
With her head down, Daisy let out a muffled “Mmm,” her voice lost among the other kids loudly counting.
“You okay?”
After counting to twenty, Harry stood upright and started jogging in place to ease the ache behind his knees.
Daisy tightened her ponytail, raised her arms, clasped her hands together, stood straight with her feet together, and slowly bent down, trying to touch the floor with her palms as the coach had instructed.
Daisy: “Yeah, I’m fine. Where were you? Why’d you show up so late?”
“Jeff keeps turning off my alarm. Dunno why he’s doing it. Says more sleep’ll make me feel better.”
Harry said, staring at the orange floor, then glancing at Daisy, who had her head down.
She turned and locked eyes with him, pursing her lips before saying, “Last night, Louis came home acting all tough.”
“And?”
After twenty seconds, they stood up again and mimicked the next move: legs shoulder-width apart, hands on hips, twisting to the right.
Daisy: “I dunno what was up with him, but he was pissed when he got home. And guess where he was before that? He went to Niall’s place and got in his face, telling him to back off from me.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up, and he said loudly, “He’s got a problem with Niall?”
His voice made the whole gym go quiet, and the coach turned toward them. “Something wrong, Styles?”
Harry quickly dropped the stretch and shook his head frantically. “No, no, sorry, sir.”
The coach nodded, showed the next move, and started counting down twenty seconds.
Daisy: “Two days ago, he was fine with Niall. Then, out of nowhere, he shows up saying I need to cut him off.”
“Is he stupid? Niall’s a good guy!”
Daisy gave Harry a sad smile. “Of course Niall’s a good guy, but Louis needs to take his issues out on someone. None of us can handle him except Mom.”
Harry, piecing things together like a detective, said, “So that’s why Niall didn’t show up today. He’s probably embarrassed, maybe upset with you, or trying not to upset you.”
Daisy nodded quickly. “Probably.”
The coach blew his whistle, giving the students a water break, and Daisy dropped her stretch, staring at Harry.
Harry turned to her, saw her sad face, and opened his arms, pulling her into a hug. Her fists bunched up his T-shirt, and her muffled sobs were smothered against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her, swaying gently like he was rocking a cradle, hoping to ease her pain.
Daisy: “I really… really want Louis to fix this crap behavior.”
Her voice came out muffled against Harry’s chest. He ran his hand down her spine, and they pulled apart. “Come on, let’s grab some water, Daisy. It’ll calm you down.”
She mumbled an “Okay” and followed him, picking up a water bottle from the bleachers. She took a sip and looked at Harry, who was tying back the curls that always fell in his face with a black hair tie.
“Ready to go?”
Daisy gave a thumbs-up, set her bottle back on the bleachers, and joined Harry.
“So, what’re you gonna do with this mess?”
Daisy stood next to Harry on the white boundary line, arms crossed over her chest. “Niall and I are planning to leave this town after graduation. Move to a bigger city, closer to the capital. Not stay in this tiny place where every time I step outside, some old lady, old man, kid, or whoever recognizes me.”
“You’re seriously for leaving this town?”
Daisy: “Yeah, we’re going. We’ve saved up money, even talked to Niall’s family. They found us a place, and Lottie and her husband said they’d help if we need cash.”
Harry let out a short laugh. “You’re telling me this way late.”
They were so caught up in each other that they didn’t notice when the coach taught the next move and told them to practice.
“Catch it, Styles!”
A volleyball slammed into Harry’s chest, and he clutched his aching chest, bending over with his left hand on his knee, taking a deep breath. He glared at the guy who’d thrown it.
“What’s your problem, jerk?”
“Just passing you the ball, Bro!”
The guy pushed his straight hair out of his face, raised his hands in mock surrender, and backed away with a smirk, heading toward his friends.
Daisy grabbed the ball from the ground, tucked it under her arm, and flipped the guy off. “Fuck you, Josh.”
The coach’s whistle made her turn toward him. “Watch your words, Tomlinson. Mind what you say in my class.”
Daisy: “But you saw what Josh did to Harry!”
The coach looked at Harry. “Styles can handle himself, Daisy.”
Daisy nodded. “Yes, sorry, sir.”
“Let’s go, Daisy. I’m fine,” Harry said.
Daisy turned to Harry, stepped forward, and stood beside him at the service line.
“I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”
Daisy: “I know, but I had to say something. It’s not Josh’s first time pulling crap like this. I’ve seen what he does in other classes we have together.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said, stepping back a few paces and mimicking the move everyone else was practicing: first step with the left foot, next with the right, then a leverage step with the left. He tossed the ball up with his right hand, hit it with his left, and sent it over the net—but it went out of bounds from the speed.
Daisy grabbed the ball coming her way, copied Harry’s move, and hit it.
Daisy shouted, “Oh, Harry, by the way.”
“Hmm?”
Daisy moved forward to catch a ball coming from the other side of the net, standing next to Harry. “The night after tomorrow, Lottie’s having a small party at her place. The guys are coming too.”
Harry jumped, catching a ball flying through the air. “Is Niall gonna be there?”
Daisy took the ball from Harry, headed to the service line, stopped a rolling ball with her foot, and passed it to Harry. “Yeah, Niall’s coming. Gotta be there—party’s no fun without him.”
Harry held the ball, picking at the leather that was peeling and frayed from all the hits.
“Louis coming too?”
Daisy shook her head. “Nope! It’s my party, and I didn’t tell Louis we’re having dinner with friends. What, is he a kid who needs to crash his sister’s hangout?”
ᨒ
The doctor’s office, contrary to the man’s expectations, wasn’t busy.
The woman at the reception desk, supposedly the secretary, was too distracted by her phone to care about the handful of patients waiting.
The comfy chairs in the waiting room clashed with the walls, covered in coffee-colored wallpaper in mismatched shades—swamp green, deep blue, bruised orange. The tables, unlike the chairs, were cream-colored, their bases visibly grimy and dusty.
The man stared at the wall in front of him, bare of wallpaper, lined with small and large flowerpots at the base. His eyes fixed on the writing scrawled on it—a phrase that, to him, seemed utterly meaningless.
"I really love reading books, but it takes up so much time because I have to count the lines in every paragraph first.
He’s always flicking the lights on and off, opening and closing the door, counting, “Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.”
In the end, I told him if he kept opening and closing the door, the neighbors would be pissed off by the end of the night. He tried to brush me off with a kiss, but then he kissed me twenty-three times, and added one more to make it twenty-four.
But that wasn’t enough, because he gave me two more kisses and said, “Because our lips didn’t line up perfectly.”
Some nights, when the moonlight spilled over our bedsheets, I’d wake up and hear him repeating the word “fuck” over and over because his toe got stuck in the bathroom door, and he couldn’t stop cursing.
Two days later, they took him to the hospital because he’d suddenly cut one of his wrists with a thin knife while chopping carrots. But it wasn’t just one hand—he cut the other one too, because he couldn’t just have one wrist cut; both had to match."
The rest of the text had slipped between the green flowerpots, leaving the story unfinished, and it left the man curious to know what happened next.
The sound of a door opening snapped him out of it, and he saw a girl who’d walked into the room an hour ago with a grim face now leaving with a bright one, the doctor trailing behind her.
The man stood in the doorway of his office, hands in the pockets of his black fabric pants, staring at the receptionist who’d stood up out of respect for the doctor.
“Catalina, please book an appointment for the lady in three weeks if there’s an open slot.”
Catalina nodded and said, “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson!”
Louis flashed a fake smile at Catalina, pulled his hands out of his pockets, loosened the knot of the dark tie around his neck, and turned to face a familiar man sitting among his clients.
His hands froze mid-air, but he quickly pulled himself together, stuffed them back in his pockets, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Oh, Mr…?”
The man stood up, pushed the rubber-framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and said, “Jeff. Jeff Hardy.”
Jeff rounded the desk and stepped forward. Louis, still in the doorway, moved aside to let him into the office and called out to Catalina, “We’ll be done soon, please tell them to wait a bit.”
Louis closed the door and guided Jeff, who was standing in the middle of the room, toward the comfy leather sofa in front of his desk. Jeff thanked him with a smile and sat down.
Louis took a deep breath, his footsteps muffled by the Persian rug over the parquet floor, walked around the leather sofa where Jeff sat, and settled into the spacious chair behind his desk. He crossed his legs, leaned back, and said, “So, what brings you here, Mr. Hardy?”
Jeff, oblivious to Louis, was distracted by the soothing setup of the room, which was nothing like the waiting area.
The room was decked out in warm colors, and though there weren’t many plants, the drawn curtains revealing a view of tons of trees made the space super inviting.
Jeff mentally praised the smart lighting—not too bright to make you feel uneasy, not too dim to feel gloomy. It was just right, and the combo of everything made the place feel safe and cozy.
When Jeff snapped back to reality and noticed Louis’s expectant look, he explained, “I totally wasn’t expecting a room like this. I mean, compared to the waiting area.”
Louis chuckled and nodded. “A lot of people think the same—that the two should match. But that’s wrong. They serve different purposes. The waiting area’s supposed to distract you so time passes unnoticed, but we don’t expect that from a therapy room. It’s gotta make the people in it feel calm.”
Jeff seemed impressed and nodded in agreement, searching for the right words to kick off the real talk. Lucky for him, Louis pressed again, “You didn’t say, Mr. Hardy—what’s got us meeting here today?”
Jeff sat up a bit straighter, hands clasped on his knees, and said, “Honestly, I don’t know where to start. It’s about my boyfriend.”
Louis, now curious, gave him a look that said he was all ears, so Jeff went on. “Like you probably know, he’s not doing great with his studies, and it all comes back to his mental state. He can’t get through this period without a therapist’s help.”
Jeff was about to keep talking when Louis cut him off, not letting him continue. “I totally get it, Mr. Hardy, and I understand why you’re here, but I’ve gotta say, I can’t take this on. Harry’s got a serious grudge against me. You’d be better off talking to another therapist.”
Jeff’s eyes still sparkled with hope, clearly wanting Louis to take on Harry’s treatment. “I know all about that, but you’ve gotta understand—his hatred for you is like a pebble compared to the mountain of hate he’s got for any therapist. He despises anyone or anything labeled ‘psychologist.’ Nobody knows why, and no matter how much I’ve pushed, he won’t tell me. That’s why I’m here. I’m hoping you could help him outside the office setting. You guys run into each other at school all the time, and that’s a great chance to slowly get closer to him.”
Seeing that Louis was listening closely, Jeff pressed on with even more hope. “I get that Harry might be a tough case, but he really needs your help. He’s struggling hard to fit in at school. I don’t want him to waste another year stuck in place because he’s not paying attention. I want his world to change sooner rather than later, to leave behind a place that doesn’t suit him anymore. Harry shouldn’t even be in an environment like that—it’s way past time for a change.”
Louis, deep in thought, was weighing the situation. He leaned forward in his chair, pulled the corded phone on his desk closer, and said to Jeff, “Tea or coffee?”
Jeff, who’d been watching Louis closely, replied, “Neither, thanks.”
Louis put the phone back down, swiveled in his chair to face Jeff, and said, “Your idea makes sense, and it’s worth a shot, but I can’t make any promises.”
At that, a huge grin spread across Jeff’s face, and he thanked Louis enthusiastically.
Louis returned a small smile and brought up another point. “There’s one thing, though—the matter of payment. Sure, we’re not in the office, but I’d still be treating Harry.”
Jeff nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Mr. Tomlinson. I was gonna bring that up myself. I get that this is your job, and you wanna do it right. Just name your fee, and I’ll take care of it—weekly, monthly, whatever works.”
Louis, mentally crunching numbers but coming up blank, said, “This is new territory for me, Mr. Hardy, so I don’t know exactly what fee to set. Leave me your number, and I’ll let you know once I figure it out. Plus, that way we can stay in touch.”
He slid a piece of paper and a pen across the desk toward Jeff.
Jeff stood up, scribbling his number on the paper while thanking Louis again. “Guess I’m done here, then. Better head out so the others don’t have to wait too long.”
He shook Louis’s hand and left the room.
Louis leaned forward on the sofa, opened a slim drawer just big enough for a laptop, pulled it out, and set it on the desk.
If he was going to go along with Jeff’s request, he’d first need to rebuild the bridge he’d burned.
In Google’s search bar, he typed “urgent sale” and clicked the first site that popped up, searching for what he had in mind.
A large bouquet of white tulips caught his eye right away. It hadn’t been listed for long, and the price was way lower than its value, considering the size of the bouquet.
He reached for the phone, slid it across the polished desk toward himself, and propped it between his ear and shoulder. He pressed the “1” key, and Catalina picked up on the other end.
Catalina: “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis leaned to the side, opened his desk drawer, pulled out his phone, and said, “Right now, search ‘urgent sale.’ Click the first result. I found a florist who’s selling a canceled order. Ask for the bouquet and tell them to write ‘I’m sorry, Louis Tomlinson’ on the card. If possible, have them split one bouquet into two.”
Catalina: “Yes, sir. Where should I tell them to send it?”
Louis, typing something on his phone, continued, “I’m texting you the address now. Send in the next client.”
Without waiting for her reply, he hung up.
ᨒ
Harry, pulling his sweatshirt over the red-and-black flannel he was wearing, walked toward Jeff, who was lounging on the comfy sofa in front of the TV.
He leaned over the back of the sofa, framed Jeff’s face—still glued to the screen—with his hands, and planted a kiss on his upper lip. Pulling back slightly, he stayed at that upside-down angle, staring at Jeff while dragging his index and middle fingers under the man’s ears.
It was weird that Jeff was home tonight, and Harry felt bad about leaving him alone.
“I’m heading to Daisy’s now. Sorry I’m not having dinner with you tonight.”
Jeff reached up, sliding his hands into the hair at the front of Harry’s head, massaging his scalp with skilled, gentle fingers.
Jeff: “I know, babe. Be careful.”
Harry gave Jeff another kiss on the lips, pulled back, brushed the hair out of his face, and headed to the counter. He grabbed the red vase sitting on it, tucking the car keys into his fist alongside it.
He glanced at Jeff one more time, shaking his head to convince himself that Jeff would be fine for a few hours, that he could handle dinner alone, and that going to the party wouldn’t be a big deal. With that, he made his way to the front door and slipped on his black velvet boots, an inseparable part of his look.
He took a deep breath and called out, “Alright, I’m off, my dear Joseph!”
“Take care, my dear Harold!”
Jeff’s voice was the last thing he heard before closing the door.
Half an hour later, with a light drizzle falling and the winter chill creeping in, he stood in front of Daisy’s sister’s house, staring at the lit windows with drawn curtains, where shadows occasionally passed by.
He could turn around right now, before giving in and ringing the doorbell, head back home, eat dinner with Jeff, and not leave him alone. But for the umpteenth time, he scolded himself—almost a week of either skipping dinner or eating alone without Jeff meant he could get a little payback by hanging out with his boyfriend tonight.
Lost in thought, a voice snapped him back to reality: “Harry! What’re you doing standing at the door? Come inside, you’ll catch a cold.”
Harry swallowed hard, turned his head, glanced at his car, and said, “Coming, just zoned out for a sec.”
He quickly took long strides to the two steps leading up to the porch, stood under the awning, wiped his boots on the doormat, and shook hands with Liam, who was standing at the door. Daisy reached out from behind Liam’s frame, grabbed the vase from Harry’s hand, and said, “Hurry up, get in here.”
Harry licked his lips, nodded, and Liam stepped aside from the doorway to let him in.
Harry bent down slightly, lifted his right foot, unzipped his ankle boot, and set both boots neatly against the wall. He slipped on the indoor slippers Daisy had brought for him.
Daisy grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him down the hallway leading to the main living room, saying, “If you’d come in with those muddy shoes, Lottie would’ve murdered me, guaranteed.”
Harry let out a single laugh and asked, “The others here yet?”
When they reached the end of the hallway, Daisy stopped and announced loudly, “Ta-daaa, here’s Harry! Come on, let’s finally eat.”
Harry cast a quick, awkward glance over the group, trying to take in everyone in a split second—from Niall, curled up on the corner of the couch with his knees tucked in, scrolling on his phone, to the little boy sitting on the rug playing, to the woman busy in the kitchen.
Niall set his phone aside, stood up, and said, “You finally showed up. You’ve got a phone, you know—you’re supposed to answer it, not keep it as a decoration, you idiot.”
Harry immediately pulled his phone from his pocket, turned it on, and saw missed calls from Niall and even Zayn. “I’m really sorry, my ringer was off.”
Louis, Lottie’s husband, who was setting the table, paused and walked over to Harry, standing behind him. “Welcome, Harry.”
Then he reached up, grabbed the shoulder of Harry’s sweatshirt, and said to Daisy, “You’re not even paying attention to your guests, Daisy. You’re a terrible host.”
With that, Louis took Harry’s sweatshirt and headed to the coat rack.
Harry flashed a grateful smile and made his way to the kitchen, heading straight for the sink to wash his hands. As Lottie pulled a chicken out of the oven, he greeted her.
Lottie, setting the baking tray on the stove, glanced at Harry and said, “Welcome, Harry.”
Harry tore off a paper towel from the roll, dried his hands, and walked over to Lottie as she took off her oven mitts. He kissed her cheek and said, “Thanks for having me.”
Lottie smiled and said, “The party’s for Daisy—you should thank her. My husband and I just helped out. Go sit at the table, Harry, we’re about to start.”
When dessert was being served, the doorbell rang, grabbing everyone’s attention. Zayn shot Daisy a questioning look and said, “Was someone else supposed to show up for dinner, Daisy?”
Daisy chugged her glass of water and said, “No, no, I didn’t invite anyone else.”
Lottie pushed her chair back, fixed the strap of her dress that had slipped off her shoulder, and first lifted Lucky off his highchair. “Clear the table, I’ll go see who it is.”
As she left, everyone quickly got up, pitching in to tidy the table as fast as possible. Meanwhile, Lucky stood next to Harry, his head barely peeking over the table, and let out a squeal when he spotted the red jelly. He reached up, snatched a piece from Harry’s plate, and ran off toward the hallway, giggling with childish glee.
A few minutes later, everyone’s eyes widened as they exchanged glances, seeing Louis trailing behind Lottie, holding Lucky in his arms.
Niall, still sore about Louis, busied himself with his phone again, trying to stay out of Louis’s line of sight. But Louis’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it. “Oh, come on, Niall, I sent flowers for you and Daisy.”
Harry’s gaze scanned the table, landing on the bouquet sitting in water. He gave a crooked smile, then turned to Daisy. “By the way, did you like the vase I brought?”
Daisy nodded. “Of course, Harry, thanks.”
Harry walked over to the table where the vase and bouquet were placed, read the card attached to the flowers, and, recognizing the familiar handwriting, swallowed hard. Mustering all his courage, he said, “Didn’t think those white tulips would sell so fast.”
This time, Louis’s attention snapped to Harry. “Sorry?”
Harry stepped away from the table, sitting down next to Zayn and Liam. “The other day, we had an issue at the flower shop, and those tulips were the result. Didn’t think they’d have any takers and sell so quick.”
Louis nodded, glancing at Lucky in his arms. The boy raised his sticky hands, trying to smack Louis’s face, but Louis caught his hand mid-air. Lucky whined, “Lulu.”
Louis kissed Lucky’s cheek and followed the path Lottie had taken earlier. “Come on, let’s wash your hands first, Lucky.”
Liam shifted in his seat, turning to Daisy, who was sitting on the single armchair next to him. “Weren’t you guys fighting?”
Niall turned off his phone, resting his palm on its warm, dark screen. “Yeah, but he thinks sending flowers to me and Daisy fixes everything.”
Zayn leaned his head back on the couch, his voice strained from the stretch in his neck. “What even happened? Daisy, it’s like pulling teeth to get you to talk.”
Daisy ran a hand over her face. “It was nothing, just Louis being a bit drunk and starting an argument.”
Niall’s eyes widened as he stared at Daisy. “You can’t call that shouting match an ‘argument.’”
Daisy: “Niall, Louis sent flowers to apologize.”
Niall: “A bouquet doesn’t erase the hurt you caused. It’s like breaking someone and thinking ‘sorry’ will glue the pieces back together.”
Daisy: “Please, Niall, I don’t want to rehash it.”
Daisy’s warning didn’t stop Harry from picking up where Niall left off. “Niall’s not wrong, though.”
Daisy propped her elbows on her knees, leaning forward but keeping her head up. “Louis isn’t the bad guy you all make him out to be.”
Zayn: “Our eyes can’t unsee what they saw that day.”
Daisy: “You’re judging Louis based on one bad memory.”
Zayn: “Bad memory? I’m not even talking about Harry’s party. Your brother’s fight with Niall was just three days ago, Daisy.”
Daisy: “Louis isn’t always in a good place, and you guys just had the bad luck of seeing his other side.”
Harry leaned back in his seat, throwing in a sarcastic, “Unfortunately!”
Daisy: “Louis is a great brother. He’s super supportive. Sure, he loses it sometimes, but he’s not a bad person—I’d swear on it. And every time you’ve seen him, it’s been some big fight between us, but come on, that’s just normal sibling stuff.”
Niall growled, “You sound just like Louis.”
Daisy shot Niall a sharp look. “What?”
Niall raised his hands. “I’m on your side, girl, I didn’t mean anything bad.”
Harry’s attention was on his friends, but his eyes were tracking Louis, his brain processing Daisy’s words.
He saw Louis come out of the kitchen, biting into an apple and leaning against the counter. “Daisy, Darling, can you come here for a sec?”
Daisy tore her gaze away from her friends, stood up, and said one last time, “I’m serious, he’s a good guy.”
She hurried off to join her brother, who grabbed her hand and led her down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
Louis set his half-eaten apple on a table in the hallway, next to a ceramic statue, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Daisy crossed her arms, staring at Louis’s face, half-hidden in the dim light. “Darling?”
Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re my Darling, Daisy.”
Daisy fought hard not to mimic her brother’s tone. “Alright, fine. Tell me, what does my Darling want from me?”
“First, tell me—are you gonna help me out?”
Daisy: “Depends on what it is.”
“Nope, that’s not how this works. There’s no ‘no’ option here. You have to help me.”
Daisy let out a huff. “Fine, fine, you win. I’ll help you. Now spill—what’s going on?”
Louis licked his lips. “So… two days ago, I saw Harry’s boyfriend in my office.”
Daisy’s eyes widened, and she blurted out loudly, “What?!”
Her friends’ voices echoed from the living room: “Daisy, you okay?”
Daisy lowered her voice and called back, “Yeah, I’m fine, just got a bit shocked.”
“Anyway…”
Daisy: “Alright, alright, tell me what he said that’s got you needing my help.”
“It’s about Harry. We need to help him… I mean, all of us, together.”
Daisy, either from excitement or stress, started gesturing wildly with her hands. “Harry’s fine, just drop it, Louis. He’s perfect the way he is—smarter than all of us combined.”
Louis grabbed Daisy’s wrists. “No, that’s not the point. His boyfriend says we just need to help him get through this rough patch, this cyclical life he’s stuck in, and that’s it.”
Daisy shook her head in denial, stepped away from Louis, and peeked around the wall into the living room.
Lucky was sitting on the rug at Harry’s feet, scribbling on a piece of paper with the wax crayons Lottie had just given him, calling it “drawing.” And there was Harry, watching the kid with such enthusiasm, like Lucky was Van Gogh painting Starry Night right in front of him.
Louis grabbed Daisy’s arm and pulled her back. “Don’t be so obvious, Daisy.”
Daisy snapped back to their conversation. “Harry’s perfect on his own, and nothing’s wrong with him.”
Louis, brushing Daisy’s hair out of her face and caressing her cheek, said, “You, who see Harry for maybe eight hours at school, can’t make that call.”
Daisy: “Then neither can you, since you only deal with him for an hour in class.”
“Don’t be dumb, Daisy. I’ve studied this stuff, and I can figure out what’s going on with him. His boyfriend, who lives with him, says Harry’s got voids in his life that need fixing, and he needs therapy to fill them. The guy asked me directly to help Harry get through it.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “And?”
Louis continued, “We just want to help Harry finish high school, get his head straight, and manage his life better. Most importantly, he needs to build even a tiny bit of trust in me first.”
Daisy: “Sounds reasonable.”
Louis’s face lit up after his long speech and his sister’s approval. He gave a thumbs-up. “Of course it’s reasonable.”
Daisy: “So, how can I help?”
“All you and your friends need to do is lower Harry’s guard so he’ll at least let me talk to him once.”
Louis scratched his forehead and added, “By the way, I overheard you guys in the kitchen—y’all are doing great.”
Daisy shook her head, exasperated. “Alright, can I go now?”
Louis raised his right hand, waiting for her to high-five him. When she did, he grabbed her hand. “Yeah, you can go…”
He paused, leaving Daisy hanging for what felt like forever, then added, “And thanks.”
Daisy pulled her hand back, muttered “Okay,” and started walking away. Louis followed, and for the sake of appearances in front of her friends, threw an arm around her shoulders and kissed her head. “Good luck, little mouse.”
Daisy shoved him off with her elbow and hissed, “Go away!”
This time, Daisy squeezed herself onto the three-seater couch between Zayn and Liam, spreading her arms across the backrest. She looked at Harry, who was drawing with Lucky, and said, “What’d I miss?”
Niall shrugged, pulling out a chocolate bar Lucky had given him earlier and unwrapping it. “Nothing special.”
Zayn: “School, midterm exams starting next week, you two’s drama, and, uh…”
Liam picked up where Zayn left off: “And your perfect brother.”
Daisy, with her arm still slung over the back of the couch, swatted Liam’s head. “He can hear you.”
Zayn: “Let him hear. I’m not saying anything bad.”
Daisy: “I swear, you haven’t even talked to him once outside his office!”
Zayn nodded. “Probably?”
Daisy: “Exactly my point! Louis has two totally different sides. You haven’t seen how he is at home with family. Sure, he’s not a bad guy at his office either, but that doesn’t mean you should just hate on him for no reason.”
Harry, who’d been listening closely to the conversation, chimed in, “I don’t get good vibes from him. It comes and goes, but it’s there.”
Daisy stared at the ceiling and muttered, “Oh, God, give me some serious patience.”
Then she locked eyes with Harry, gesturing with her hands. “Think about it, Harry! His professional side is one thing, and his family side is another. They’re completely different.”
Harry, picking at the peeling skin around his thumb with his index finger, said, “Either way, Louis carries the ‘therapist’ label, so it’s natural I’d dislike him.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “He’s a human before he’s a therapist, so see him for the person he is.”
Niall, caught off guard by Daisy’s sudden defense, said, “Whoa, why are you suddenly Louis’s biggest cheerleader against us?”
Daisy, fuming but trying to keep her voice low, snapped at Niall, “Because the Louis you’re talking about is my brother. No matter how much we fight, he’s still dear to me! It bugs me that my friends have this attitude toward my family. And you, Niall, need to stop dragging this out. Louis made a mistake, sure, but he had his reasons, and he apologized. You’re just blowing it out of proportion.”
Niall, now visibly pissed, raised his voice slightly. “A bouquet doesn’t count as an apology. And can I at least know what those ‘reasons’ were?”
Daisy, exasperated, pushed her hair behind her ear and leaned forward. “So he yelled at you a bit—did he beat you up or something to make you act like this? And no, you can’t know. It’s family stuff.”
Niall’s face turned red, his loud breathing audible. “Fine, then I’m out so I won’t be in the way of your family drama.”
He shot up and stormed out of the house. Louis, who’d been watching from a distance the whole time, saw Liam start to get up to follow Niall. He motioned for Liam to sit back down and went after the angry boy himself.
Seeing Niall speed-walking away from the house, Louis pulled his keys from his pocket, got in his car, and drove toward him. When he caught up, he slowed down and honked. Niall, expecting Daisy or at least one of his friends, couldn’t have been more shocked to see his girlfriend’s brother.
Louis rolled down the window. “Get in, it’s about to pour.”
He rolled the window back up, giving Niall no chance to argue. Hesitantly, Niall walked to the car, slowly opened the door, and got in.
Louis glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, noticing Niall’s awkward posture, unsure of what to do or say. Louis preferred to stay quiet for now, and they both sat in silence until they reached their destination.
When the car stopped, Niall quickly thanked him and reached for the door, but Louis stopped him. “I didn’t just drive you here to drop you off. I wanted to talk. Can you stay?”
Niall pulled his hand off the handle and turned toward Louis, who continued, “Look, I get that you’re upset about how I acted, and you’re expecting an apology. I tried to apologize in my own way, but it seems what works for my family doesn’t cut it for you. And if you want my opinion, you’ve got every right to feel that way.”
Niall, completely unprepared for this, just stared at him.
“Daisy knows why I acted like that, and that’s why she gets me. There’s a lot behind what you saw that day—stuff that hit me and my family hard, mistakes and moments we don’t even want to think about. So yeah, sometimes I lose control. Still, I’m sorry for how I acted. But I’m not telling you this to make excuses—I’m saying it so you’ll understand. I don’t want Daisy stuck choosing between her brother and her boyfriend. That girl means the world to me, and I don’t want her worrying about this. I hope you’re not mad at me anymore.”
Niall, overwhelmed by Louis’s words, couldn’t string together the jumbled thoughts in his head, so he just said, “I get it. I understand.”
Louis grinned and extended his hand. “So, no hard feelings, Mr. Horan?”
Niall laughed and shook Louis’s hand. “You could say that, Mr. Tomlinson!”
After saying goodbye, Niall got out of the car and headed toward his house. Once Niall disappeared behind the door, Louis rolled his eyes, started the car, and began grumbling, “Grown-ass man, acting so precious. Probably wants me to bow down and beg for forgiveness. I’ve never had to explain myself this much, not even to my mom.”
Remembering why he was doing this—because of Harry—he smirked and glanced out the window at the moon, its usual glow dimmed by clouds. “Look at the things you’re making me do.”
Check out the fiction post on Tumblr and reblog it.
Notes:
If you still here it's mean you like my book so I'd love to hear your thoughts, so don’t be shy ; drop a comment and let me know what you think!
Thanks for reading;
- Yasmin🩷
Chapter 11
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Mrs. Martinez cast a sympathetic but stern look at the students sitting in the bleachers of the gym, lifted her hands from the table she was standing behind, and said, “Alright, you can go.”
In an instant, the silence that had settled over the gym broke with the kids’ murmurs. The woman straightened her coat, stepped down from the platform, and slipped out through the back of the gym.
Among the students, a boy bumped into Niall, causing his backpack to slip off his shoulder and making him stumble. Harry quickly grabbed Niall’s arm, bent down, and picked up the bag from the floor.
Niall took the backpack from Harry, brushing it off as he muttered, “That idiot’s blind. How’s he got so much energy first thing in the morning?”
Liam slung an arm around Niall’s shoulders. “Chill, Niall, it was just an accident.”
Harry rubbed his eye. “You still haven’t made up with Daisy?”
Niall shrugged. “Nah, not yet. She didn’t show up to school yesterday, and no sign of her today either, so making up’s off the table. Guess it’s pushed to Monday.”
Zayn: “I seriously don’t get how we’re already at midterms. I haven’t understood a single thing from class.”
Niall: “’Cause you were asleep the whole time?”
Zayn laughed. “Asleep? Nah, I wasn’t asleep. Harry was.”
Harry, picking at the corner of his thumbnail, said, “No comment. Uh, first period was literature, right?”
Liam: “Yeah, she said she’s gonna quiz us, though I didn’t study.”
Zayn, as if a lightbulb went off above his head, said, “Use the ‘I didn’t answer during the review’ excuse.”
Liam: “Good idea, but I already used it.”
When they got to the classroom, they filed in one by one. As always, the five seats reserved for their group were empty, like that section was registered in their names alone.
Once the boys settled into their spots, Niall stood up, giving Zayn a pleading look. “Can we switch seats today?”
Zayn glanced at Harry, then at Liam, grabbed his bag from the floor, lifted the chair’s armrest, stood up, and nodded. “Alright, take it.”
During tests or quizzes, the classroom was dead quiet—you could practically hear the students’ thoughts. But that group of five didn’t care about anything; their conversations were more important than the lesson.
When the classroom door opened, Zayn, who was sitting backward with his legs stretched out through the chair’s gap, quickly pulled back. But when he saw a girl with light hair, he relaxed a bit. Niall, though, was the one who took the hit.
Niall: “Monday’s plans are canceled.”
Harry immediately turned to his right. “What plans?”
Niall, still tracking the girl, said, “Making up and groveling so Daisy’ll be cool with me… Oh God, she’s coming closer. Dumbledore, help me.”
“Dumbledore?”
Niall: “Yeah, from *Harry Potter*. Know your place—I’ve still got tons of spells memorized!”
Daisy stopped by Zayn’s chair. “Why are you here?”
Zayn shot her a sideways glance. “Just felt like it. I told Niall we should switch seats today. He was all alone, you know, since you weren’t here yesterday, and today you…”
Daisy rolled her eyes, cutting Zayn off. “Today I was late, and Louis drove me.”
Daisy said, plopping down next to Zayn, pulling out her book and burying herself in its pages, though she barely understood a word.
Liam nudged Niall and whispered, “Come on, Ni, do it.”
Niall cleared his throat, sat up straight, took a deep breath, and was about to speak when Daisy, pretending to be engrossed in her book, ran a hand through her hair, completely throwing off Niall’s confidence.
He slouched back in his seat, looking glumly at the girl in front of him. “I can’t.”
Liam frowned, gave Niall a light smack on the back of his head, and said, “You’re hopeless.”
Then he turned to Daisy. “Uh, Miss Tomlinson?”
Daisy jumped in her seat, turning her head. “Yeah, Liam?”
Liam: “Well, Niall’s got something to say.”
Niall’s wide eyes darted between Daisy and Liam. “What? No… I mean, yeah, okay!”
Daisy: “Well?”
Niall: “Alright, let’s rebuild those broken bridges between us. Look, I mean… you know? I messed up about Louis. He’s actually a good guy! I talked to him the night before last, and you won’t believe what happened!”
Zayn raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”
Niall started recounting with excitement, “So, I stormed out of his sister’s house, all pissed off, right? Then suddenly Louis shows up, follows me, drives me home, and when I was about to get out, he grabs my hand. And dude, guess what?”
Harry, exasperated, cut in, “Stop dragging it out, Niall, just tell us the rest.”
Niall slouched again. “Fine, fine. So, he grabbed my hand, talked to me, apologized, said he gets why Daisy’s on his side. And from what he said, I could tell he’s kinda on my side too. Haha, he’s off the hook in my book! I apologized too, said I get Daisy’s point.”
Liam, thrilled more than anyone, started clapping and waving his hands in victory, pulling Niall up from his seat. “Go give her a kiss and sit back down.”
Niall: “Dude, Daisy hasn’t even forgiven me yet.”
Harry: “Didn’t you see her smile? Man, why’re you being so dramatic?”
Niall leaned over Daisy, pressed his lips to her cheek, and kissed her in a way that got so much attention, even the other kids in the class started cheering for them.
Right in the middle of this, the classroom door swung open, and instead of the literature teacher, Louis walked in. In an instant, the entire class fell into a forced silence.
Louis stood in the middle of the room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his tailored pants, pressing his lips together and nodding. “Bet you’re all surprised to see me on a Friday instead of a Monday!”
A boy sitting on the left side of the front row leaned into his bag and muttered, “Surprise test vibes.”
Louis let out a single laugh. “I get it, it’s super sudden. Mrs. Martinez asked me to cover for your literature teacher since she couldn’t make it.”
Tanya crossed her legs and said, “So, what do we do now, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis walked to the teacher’s desk, taking off his long coat. “Nothing, since it’s not my usual teaching day. We can have a free discussion, or I could tell you about one of my cases, or we could talk about mental health issues.”
The class stared at Louis in silence.
Louis frowned, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, come on, let’s talk.”
A girl with red hair raised her hand, and Louis raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead, Abby.”
The girl, as was her habit, started tapping her fingers on her desk. “You look tired, Mr. Tomlinson.”
A few others nodded in agreement, and Louis let out a huff. “Yeah, I’ve been house-hunting for a few days now.”
Louis’s classes were the only times the girls participated more, and one of them asked, “Like what?”
Louis: “I dunno. Maybe something bigger, closer to my office and the capital?”
He scanned the class, clasped his hands together, rested his elbows on the desk, and propped his chin on his fists. “Alright, next question?”
When no one spoke up, Louis continued, “You guys are way too quiet—it’s depressing to be around you. Oh, speaking of depression! I should give you all a test, especially the girls in the class.”
Louis said this, staring directly at Daisy, who dropped her head and muttered a “shut up” under her breath at her brother.
Louis: “Did you know a woman’s or a girl’s mental and emotional state affects everyone around them? Especially their family and even the kids they raise—whether inside or outside their womb—it has a huge impact! One of the key factors in a child’s health is the mother’s mental health. A mother needs to be healthy to bring a healthy child into the world and contribute to society.”
He stood up, walked to the board, pulled the whiteboard down to reveal the chalkboard, and turned to the class. “Someone hand me a marker.”
“Mr. Tomlinson!”
Louis walked over to the boy holding up a black marker, took it, and flashed a smile. “Thanks, young man.”
He turned back to the board, uncapped the marker, tucked the cap behind it, and wrote the number 30 on both sides.
“We took 30 handpicked pregnant women from Bristol and put them in an experimental group, and another 30 in a control group. After some sessions with the experimental group’s mothers and analyzing their physical data, we found that teaching sleep skills to pregnant women in the experimental group helped with their outcomes.”
He finished talking and glanced at the students, who clearly hadn’t grasped a word of it.
“He’s explaining this like it’s the coolest thing ever,” “What does this even have to do with me?” “Did you get any of that?”
The students’ whispers didn’t escape his ears.
He let out a huff. “Alright, let me put it this way: imagine you used to do your daily stuff, have weekly hobbies, or even make time for yourself, but now you feel like you’re running low on energy for it. You get discouraged, don’t wanna do it anymore—that’s depression.”
He capped the marker, set it on the desk, leaned against it, and continued, “Depression comes in different forms, and it’s common in both men and women, though women deal with it more. Everyone can get better with proper treatment under a good doctor, as long as the patient cooperates.”
He stepped away from the desk, walked to a boy sitting in the front row, placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked at the class. “For example, let’s say Charlie’s got depression. It comes with symptoms like losing interest in things he used to enjoy.”
One of the girls raised her hand, and Louis nodded at her. She cleared her throat and said, “Like, he feels he’s got no energy, always tired, or thinks he’s worthless, feels guilty all the time, and thinks everything’s his fault.”
“Exactly, well done, Kacey!” Louis said. “Or maybe he can’t focus or make decisions. That’s not always just depression—it could be his mind’s too cluttered to do his work properly. He might sleep too little or too much, or lose or gain his appetite, both of which can hurt him. Or maybe he sleeps eleven hours a night.”
He let out a single laugh. “Sleep changes can have other causes, not just depression. Take Daisy, for example—she sleeps till noon every summer and stays up all night.”
He locked eyes with Harry, who was slouched in the corner of the class, his hand propping up his head, leaning against the windowsill, staring back at Louis. “Harry? Can you tell us the most important symptom?”
Harry raised an eyebrow, sat up straight, and said, “I think you’ve covered all the symptoms, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis nodded. “Yeah, I got most of them, but there’s one thing a depressed person thinks about a lot.”
Harry pressed his lips together, glanced around the class as if expecting the walls to answer for him, then looked at Louis. “Dangerous decisions? Like, wanting to die and constantly thinking about suicide?”
Louis pointed at Harry, signaling he was right. “Exactly. Though, to be fair, that word’s become a casual thing for teens to throw around these days.”
He walked back to the board, grabbed the marker from the desk, uncapped it, and wrote “unipolar” before turning to the class.
“Depression has lots of forms. This one I wrote—unipolar depression—it’s when someone loses interest in daily activities, and it really messes with their personal and work relationships.”
He wrote a few more words on the board. “‘Psychosis’ can happen in people with depression, where they lose touch with reality, hearing or seeing things that aren’t real. Or take ‘melancholia,’ a term for depression where even the person’s physical movements slow down, they find no joy in life, and they’re at serious risk and need help.”
He continued, “Men get depression too, but since most guys hide their feelings, it’s harder to spot. They might show it through physical pain, anger, aggression, or risky behavior. We also have seasonal depression and depression in the elderly, which I’ll explain later.”
He turned back to the board, circled the word “women,” and said, “All this explanation to get to this point! Women experience depression more, due to factors like hormones, biology, gender roles, and more.”
He added, “During pregnancy, women can face depression because of hormonal imbalances. It shows up as low activity, loss of appetite, sadness, feelings of worthlessness, guilt, or trouble sleeping.”
“My mom had depression when she was pregnant with me, and now I’m the depressed one she gave to the world.”
Louis paused and looked at Julia. “Please repeat that, Julia.”
Julia pushed her hair back and said, “My mom was depressed when she was pregnant with me, and she passed it on to me.”
Louis gave a single laugh. “Mental health during pregnancy is crucial, but I can’t say for sure that a mother’s depression directly passes to her child. Still, you’re absolutely right. A mother needs to take care of herself not just during pregnancy but also during the eighteen months of breastfeeding, as it has a direct impact.”
One of the boys put a hand on his stomach and whispered something to the kid next to him, thinking it was quiet, but Louis overheard. “I’ve got midterm depression, and I’m pregnant with it.”
The class burst into laughter, and Louis rolled his eyes, looking at the dark-skinned Iraqi boy. “Oh, come on, Saeed! Don’t mess up the class’s focus when they’re actually learning something.”
The boy nodded. “Sorry, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis sat back behind the desk. “This condition is way worse in special cases, like young girls, older women, or even men. They’ve gotta be extra careful.”
Hearing something unexpected in Louis’s words, the kids burst into laughter for the second time that period, getting on Louis’s nerves.
“Come on, Mr. Tomlinson, a man’s anatomy is totally different from a woman’s. How’s a guy supposed to get pregnant?”
Louis clapped his hands to quiet the class, then shot a pointed look at the boy who’d spoken. “You all have access to the internet. Why don’t you ever look up something scientific instead of chasing entertainment online? Ever heard of surgery?”
Harry, who’d been distracted by random thoughts the whole time, perked up at Louis’s words. His eyes narrowed, and he stared at Louis.
Zayn cracked open a peanut shell, letting the crumbled pieces fall to the floor, and held the nut out to Harry. “Eat this, get some brain power. Exams start next week.”
Harry glanced at Zayn’s hand, saw the peanut, and swatted it away. “No way, I’m allergic. I’ll break out in hives.”
Zayn tossed the peanut into his own mouth. “Sucks for you, missing out on this heavenly treat.”
He handed a few uncracked peanuts to Niall, who’d leaned back.
“That guy who gets pregnant? He’s just a dude with a beard who probably gets periods too!”
Louis frowned, glaring at the boy. “Get up, James, and get out of my class. Now!”
James: “Mr. Tomlinson…”
Louis: “No use arguing. Should’ve watched your mouth. Out! Right now.”
The boy stood, weaved through the desks to the door, grabbed the handle, opened it, and left the classroom.
Louis, still frowning, stared at the class. “If you think this discussion’s a joke and you’re still too immature to respect people’s nature, you don’t belong in my class. Get up and get out, or I’ll kick you out like James.”
After Louis’s words, a few kids—including Harry’s friends, but not Harry himself—left the classroom.
Liam reached out to Harry. “Come on, Harry, let’s go.”
Harry shook his head. “Nah, I’m staying. This discussion’s kinda interesting.”
Liam shrugged. “Your call, alright.”
Once Liam was gone, Louis leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and said, “Shall I continue?”
“Keep going, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis licked his lips. “What I’m sharing is just medical info I’m passing on to you. I don’t have exact stats, but a tiny percentage of people—including men—have this condition. Their bodies know it, medical systems track it, and some of them know it too. They’re dealing with a medical issue, and it’s our job to accept them in society.”
“Why don’t they just come out and say it?”
Louis: “It’s natural they wouldn’t. They’re monitored, tested, and registered. Some don’t want anyone to know, and outing them could cause harm. It might sound wild to you—it was to me too until I saw it firsthand. One guy didn’t even know about his condition until he was assaulted and disowned by his family.”
Louis glanced at his wristwatch, pushed his chair back, and stood. “I gotta go. I need to be at my office in an hour, and I’m already behind on everything…”
Harry cut him off. “What about that medical case you were talking about?”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Interesting discussion, huh, Harry? I’d love to tell you more, but I’m out of time. If you want, I can satisfy your curiosity when you come see me.”
Harry bit his lip. “No, thanks. This discussion’s already been weird enough for me.”
Louis nodded, said goodbye to the remaining students, and left the classroom. The second Louis was gone, Harry dropped his head onto his desk.
Respecting weird people?
Check!
Grade received: 15 out of 20!
Harry took a deep breath, stood up, and headed for the door, leaving the classroom. In the hallway, he spotted his friends coming toward the class and stopped in his tracks when he reached them.
Niall grabbed Harry’s wrist. “Where you off to?”
Harry pulled his hand back. “Just gonna get some air.”
Zayn looked at Harry with concern, framing his face with both hands and checking him over. “Did he say something to you in class?”
Harry brushed Zayn’s hands off his face. “Nah, man, he didn’t say anything. It was just a dumb discussion.”
Liam: “Told you to come sit outside with us.”
Harry sidestepped his friends, walking away as he said, “I’m gonna splash some water on my face. I’ll be back, and we’ll study for the next period.”
He left the hallway, jogged down six steps, and rushed to the water fountain. He turned on the cold tap, cupped his hands under the stream, and, ignoring the hair falling into his face, held his breath and splashed water on his face.
He repeated it several times until he was out of breath, his jacket sleeves soaked. He pulled his head back, started taking deep breaths, and exhaled through his mouth, trying to calm his brain, which felt tight from lack of air.
He turned off the tap, stepped away from the tank, hopped down two steps from the platform without a second thought, and, while drying his face with his sleeve, headed to a bench bathed in a bit of sunlight. He sat down, spread his arms across the backrest, and leaned his head against the wall behind him.
He stared at the sky, dotted with a few scattered clouds, trying to let the calm blue always brought him sort out the mess of thoughts jumbled from class.
Louis was a weird guy. One day, he acted like he could barely tolerate his family; the next, he’d do anything for them, calling them “love.” One day, he pushed his sister’s boyfriend away; the next, he won Niall over with flowers.
One day, he treated Harry like he didn’t even exist in class; the next, he engaged with him, asking for his opinion.
Unlike some people who judged rainbow or “peculiar” folks, Louis defended them with such understanding that it made Harry feel safe.
A safety that even made him judge himself less for his differences, despite all the things he could be criticized for.
Now, the dumbest thoughts were creeping into his head—like maybe Louis’s office and therapy room could change how he reacted to things.
A cough from someone nearby snapped him out of it. He quickly folded his arms across his chest and glanced at a girl he didn’t recognize. He scooted over to make room for her to sit.
The girl sat next to Harry, turned her body toward him, propped her right leg on the bench, and rested her right arm on the backrest. “Haven’t seen you around here. You new? Did you transfer because of your dad or something?”
She said it all in one breath, and Harry stared at her with wide eyes. “No, I’m not new. I’m in twelfth grade. And another big no to your question.”
Girl: “Then why does it feel like the first time I’m seeing you?”
Harry: “Maybe ‘cause I don’t hang out in the courtyard much. Or because I barely show up to school?”
She extended her hand for a handshake. “I’m Sophie, tenth grade, and that’s about it.”
When Harry didn’t shake her hand, Sophie pulled it back, forcing a smile. “I was watching you from a distance, and you were deep in thought. Don’t overthink it—either it’ll come to you, or you’ll hear about it. What were you thinking about, anyway?”
Harry, bewildered by this talkative girl he’d known for barely five minutes, shook his head and mumbled under his breath, “Whether to go to therapy or not.”
Sophie: “What?”
Harry swallowed hard and repeated, “I said, whether to go to therapy or not.”
Sophie placed her hand on Harry’s leg, but when she saw he wasn’t paying attention, she pulled it back and said, “I’ve been to places like that so much, I know the deal. I’m a kid of divorce, living with my mom. After their split, I got really messed up and hurt. Thanks to therapy and my doctor, I’m here now, studying. Otherwise, I’d have tried to off myself a thousand times a day to escape this life.”
“Idiot.”
Harry muttered again, and Sophie ignored it, continuing, “That’s why, with therapy and the ‘playtime prescription’ my doctor gave me, I traveled a ton and had fun to shake off that leech-like feeling stuck to me. But it didn’t work—it’s still with me. I’ve just been trying to live with it.”
“If it didn’t help, why’d you go?”
Sophie: “Because I went for my mom’s sake, at least… Don’t tell anyone, but I had a crush on my therapist. My friends said I was trying to fill the void left by my dad, but it wasn’t like that.”
Harry nodded, lifted his right leg onto the bench, and started fiddling with his shoelace. “Go on, I don’t want you getting in trouble with the disciplinary office because of me.”
Sophie said “Okay” and walked away. Once Harry was sure she was gone, he lowered his right leg, stretched out his left, and pulled his phone from his pocket. He turned it on and tapped on Louis’s name, which had recently been popping up in his frequent searches.
When Louis’s name popped up, Harry found the number for his office, copied it, and, before he could second-guess his decision, dialed it.
After a few rings, a soft voice filled Harry’s ear—a voice that, without a doubt, belonged to the office receptionist. It always puzzled Harry why there were never any male receptionists.
Receptionist: “Hello! You’ve reached Dr. Tomlinson’s office. How can I help you?”
Harry cleared his throat. “Uhmm…”
He paused, hesitantly glancing around, coughed again, and said, “I’d like to book an appointment.”
Receptionist: “We’ve got a cancellation today if you can come in.”
Harry: “Today? No… no! I’m busy. Can you check what days have openings? Like, maybe Monday?”
The sound of pages flipping in a notebook came through the line, and then the woman responded, “Mondays are packed for the doctor, no openings. But we’ve got Tuesday at 8 p.m. or Thursday at 10 a.m. free.”
Harry: “Please reserve Thursday at 10 a.m. for me.”
Receptionist: “Under what name?”
Harry stopped picking at the corner of his thumbnail. “Harry Styles.”
Receptionist: “Alright, I’ve got you down for 10 a.m. Thursday. If you need to cancel, please let us know the day before, as the doctor’s schedule is tight.”
Harry: “Okay, thanks, ma’am. Goodbye.”
He hung up, immediately pressing his hand to his chest, where his heart was now pounding against his ribcage. He took deep breaths, trying to calm it down.
ᨒ
It’d been about fifteen minutes since he’d been standing in front of the four-story building, each floor housing a different specialist, picking at the skin on his lip.
Staring at his phone screen, he’d regretted his impulsive decision a thousand times on the way from home to here. Since booking the appointment, he’d wanted to call and cancel several times. He’d been so preoccupied with it that he was sure he’d bombed yesterday’s exam—though, in his mind, he would’ve flunked it even if he hadn’t been thinking about this.
He shoved his phone into his pocket, crossed the street, and glanced one more time at the sign hanging on the wall. He entered the building, stepped onto the first stair, and, for the first time, decided to take a chance.
When he reached the second floor, he stopped in front of the security door, let out an anxious, terrified breath, and muttered, “Whatever happens, happens!”
Notes:
Thanks for reading.
- Yasmin 🩷.
Chapter 12
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry slowly opened the door and stepped into the cool air of the office, taking deep breaths with every step to ease the stress gripping him.
He avoided looking at the patients in the waiting room and headed straight for the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind it sat up straight. Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, “Hi.”
Catalina nodded at him, prompting him to continue. “I… I have an appointment for ten.”
She flipped through the planner in front of her. “Name?”
Harry: “Harry Styles. I called a few days ago.”
Catalina: “Right.”
Harry, hands still in his pockets, shifted his weight from side to side, glancing around the waiting area. “So…?”
Catalina: “You’ll need to wait. I’ll call you when it’s your turn, sir.”
Harry muttered a thanks, turned, and headed to an empty blue couch. He sat down, pressing his knees together so they touched.
He turned on his phone, which was in his hand, and saw a message from Jeff on the screen.
“You up? Breakfast’s on the table.”
Harry licked his lips, hesitantly typing a reply.
“Morning, yeah, I’m up. Thanks for breakfast, as always.”
He stared at their chat, a habit they both had—neither left the chat until the other replied. A few minutes later, Jeff responded.
“Good luck with your review, Mr. Styles.”
A faint smile tugged at Harry’s lips, and his fingers immediately started typing.
“Good luck with your new project, Mr. Hardy. xx”
He pressed the side button to turn off his phone and stared at the wall across from him, where potted plants sat at its base. Unlike Jeff, who’d come to Louis’s office that day, Harry didn’t pay any attention to the story written on the wall and instead fixated on the plants below.
The green pots brought a sense of freshness and life to the waiting patients.
With nothing else to do, he picked at his nails until they bled and chatted with the “Four Plus One” group, who, like him, were slacking off and waiting for a “round” hour to start studying. He played a few levels of Plants vs. Zombies, a game he never got tired of no matter how much he played.
Finally, after the patient two spots ahead of Harry left, Louis stepped out of his office, stretched his back, loosened the knot of the dark tie around his neck, and glanced at Catalina, who was now standing behind her desk.
Louis: “Make sure to coordinate the next appointment with the lady, and grab me a glass of cold water.”
Catalina: “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson, right away. Oh, should I send in your next patient?”
Louis: “After this one, push the rest to after one o’clock. Check them in until five, then I’m out.”
She nodded, and Louis visibly flinched when he spotted Harry among the other two patients. He turned back to Catalina.
Louis: “When’s Mr. Styles’ appointment?”
Catalina licked her lips. “Right after the patient going into your office now.”
Louis rubbed his chin and said, “Switch their order. Send Mr. Styles in now.”
He turned to Harry. “Come on in, Mr. Styles.”
Harry, eyebrows raised, stared at Louis. “What about the person before me?”
Louis stood in the doorway. “Follow me. The next person can wait a bit. You and I don’t have much to talk about.”
Harry took a deep breath, stood up, and put his phone on Do Not Disturb so his friends’ messages wouldn’t distract him for at least a few minutes. He followed Louis.
Louis ushered Harry inside first and, before closing the door, said to Catalina, “Don’t forget that glass of ice water.”
He shut the door tight, walked to the window, grabbed the curtains, and pulled them aside. The view outside instantly caught Harry’s attention, captivating him.
The scene beyond the window was something that drew in every patient on their first visit. Pulling back the curtains was one of Louis’s tricks for new patients who were so stressed they could barely breathe.
Louis turned to Harry, who quickly looked away and turned on his phone, opening his chat with Jeff to reply to a new message.
“I’ll be home for lunch.”
“Get your own food then, I don’t have time to cook. Got studying to do.”
Louis stepped forward, placed his hand over Harry’s phone screen, gently took it from him, and, still smiling, glanced at the open chat before setting it on his desk.
Louis: “No phones in the room—that’s my number one rule.”
He pressed the side button to turn it off, mentally noting the lie Harry had told his boyfriend.
Leaning against the desk, he propped his hands behind him and said, “Well, I’m honored and surprised to see you here, Harry!”
Harry, head down, mumbled, “I don’t know how this even…”
Louis cut him off. “When you’re talking, please look at me.”
He glanced at Harry’s fingers and added, “And stop picking at your nails.”
Harry clenched his fists, lifted his head, and looked at Louis, taking in his posture.
"Well?”
“Well… I don’t even know how this happened.”
“Either way, I’m glad to see you here.”
He nodded, walked around his desk, bent down, opened the second drawer, and pulled out a box. He closed the drawer with his knee and headed to the navy-blue two-seater couch against the wall, where framed pictures were hung.
He opened the wooden box, took out a chessboard, unfolded it from its hinged middle, and placed it on the table. Standing up straight, he said, “Come over here, Harry.”
He gestured to the couch next to him, stepped away, picked up a single chair, and placed it across from the table. Harry hesitated, then stood, walked to the couch, and stopped in front of it.
“Sit down, Harry.”
Harry pulled his lip from between his teeth, nodded quickly, and sat down on the couch. Louis sat across from him, pulling the chess pieces out of the wooden box.
Louis: “You’re anxious, and stress isn’t good—it messes with your focus. Take a few deep breaths.”
Harry was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even register Louis’s words, forcing Louis to call out again, “Harry?”
The boy jumped in his seat, snapping back to reality, and looked at Louis. “Were you saying something?”
Louis shook his head. “Take some deep breaths for me, Harry.”
When he saw Harry still wasn’t responding, he added, “Breathe with me.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Let’s take a breath now.”
They slowly filled their lungs with air, and Louis raised his hand, counting to twenty seconds while unfolding his fingers one by one.
“Now let it out slowly with me.”
As Harry started to exhale gently, Louis gave him a thumbs-up with a smile. “We’ll do it two more times.”
Harry nodded, began inhaling again, and Louis joined him. They repeated the process once more, and now Harry felt the tension in his body easing. Louis could see Harry’s eyes weren’t darting around as much anymore, actually meeting his gaze.
“Feeling better now!”
Harry looked at the chessboard and nodded. Louis pointed to the separated white and black pieces. “White or black?”
“I don’t know how to play chess.”
Louis pushed the white pieces toward Harry. “Nobody’s born a player. People come into this world to learn, just like everyone else, including you.”
Harry picked up the first white piece he touched, holding it between his fingers and examining it. “Okay, so what do I do now?”
Louis reached over, took the piece from Harry’s hand, and said, “I’ll teach you. It’s simple.”
“Alright.”
Harry glanced around the room and at the doctor, then pointed to the first framed picture nailed to the wall. “What’s that painting mean?”
Louis, who’d been watching Harry’s every move, turned to look at the painting—a chaotic, unappealing mix of faces. “This one?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“It’s the kind of thing people with paranoia tend to draw. It shows suspicion, distrust, someone who doesn’t treat people or their surroundings well, or even lacks confidence.”
Harry stared at the trees outside the window. “Weird.”
Louis nodded at Harry, who wasn’t paying him any attention, and started setting up the chess pieces. “Yeah, it’s weird, but it’s also thought-provoking… Alright!”
“Well?”
“What made you come see me?”
Harry looked at Louis, clasped his hands between his legs, and said, “The trees out there are old and beautiful. I just want to take a closer look at them, maybe from…”
“Harry!”
Louis cut Harry off mid-sentence, and Harry licked his lips. “Uh… well… I talked to someone.”
Louis’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave Harry a questioning look. “You talked?”
“Yeah, I talked.”
“Who was it? Where do they stand with you? Close or distant?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know them. Just some random person I talked to at school.”
“Good move, Harry. I’ve set up the pieces. Play a game with me—it’ll make you feel better.”
“I don’t know how to play chess.”
Louis gave Harry’s simple response a smile. “You’ll learn. I’ll tell you everything you need to know, and if you don’t get something, just ask.”
“Got it.”
Louis pointed to a piece in the corner that looked like a castle. “This is your rook. It moves like a plus sign across the board.”
Harry pointed to a piece with a pointed top. “What does this one do?”
Louis gestured to the horse-shaped piece. “After the rook, we place the knight, which moves in a circular pattern and jumps. Then the bishop—the one you pointed to—moves diagonally like an X. From your left, you place the queen, then the king.”
“Okay?”
“The queen moves like a star, with access to the whole board. The king moves two steps forward and can only take one step in any direction.”
“Is it hard?”
“With practice, we take it from hard to easy to pro-level.”
Harry pointed to the pawn pieces. “What do these do?”
Louis let out a single laugh. “Those are pawns. Their name says it all—they’re meant to sacrifice for the higher ranks and move two or three steps forward.”
“Cool!”
“Ready to start?”
Harry nodded, and Louis said, “You go first.”
Harry reached out, picked up the pawn directly in front of him from his right side, and moved it forward one step in the simplest way possible, making the corner of Louis’s mouth twitch upward.
“How’s school going for you?”
“Not great.”
“How so?”
Harry clearly dodged Louis’s question. “Why aren’t you moving your piece?”
Louis reached out, took a pawn from his right side, and moved it two steps forward.
“There ya go!”
Harry, who’d been hunched over the board, lifted his head, looked at Louis, and raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead.
“Well, it’s just not great, okay? I mean, I can’t focus on reading all that crap in the books.”
Louis had expected anything but Harry’s response.
“Why can’t you focus on reading?”
“‘Cause it’s useless to me. None of it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t even have to read this shits.”
Harry answered helplessly and moved the pawn next to the one he’d already shifted one step forward.
“Having trouble with your boyfriend?”
Harry let out an exasperated breath. “No…”
“Then what?”
The boy held his breath for a second, rolled his eyes, and said, “Well… yeah. For a few days, it felt like he was pissed at me, and…”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Louis raised his hand, stopping Harry mid-sentence. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Catalina, Louis’s untimely receptionist, stepped inside. “I brought your water.”
Louis closed his eyes. “You know I hate delays and putting things off, Cata…”
He glanced at his watch and continued, “You’re fifteen minutes late.”
Catalina: “I’m sorry, Mr. Tomlinson. I had to shuffle some appointments.”
Louis pointed to his desk. “Put it there.”
She nodded, stepped across the parquet floor, her heels clacking until they were muffled by the rug spread across the room. She placed the glass and its coaster on the desk next to the chessboard.
The water, so cold it had mixed with the room’s normal temperature, caused the glass to fog up.
Catalina stepped back, clasped her hands under her stomach, and said, “Anything else, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis shook his head. “Close the door behind you, and next time, don’t keep me waiting so long.”
Once the third person left, Louis turned back to Harry. “Go on, Harry.”
“I forgot what I was saying.”
“You said your boyfriend seemed pissed at you.”
“Oh, right. I don’t know what was up, but after a few days, he was cool with me again. But Jeff needs to chill with his overreactions—it’d be better for both of us.”
Louis glanced at the chessboard. “He’s worried about you, and he’s got a right to be, no?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yeah, he is.”
Harry eyed the glass of water, and Louis noticed right away. “It’s for you. I don’t eat or drink during sessions—it messes with my focus.”
Harry’s gaze flickered between Louis and the glass, uncertain. Louis reached out, picked up the glass, and held it out to him. “Don’t second-guess everything you do.”
Harry raised his left hand, took the glass from Louis, and brought it to his lips. Louis watched, fixated on Harry’s well-shaped, colorful lips.
Even the way Harry drank water was fascinating to Louis, though the boy was just trying to wet his throat, and Louis’s staring was making him uneasy.
He took a sip of the icy water, his brows knitting together as he set the glass back on the table. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “My brain and teeth are freezing.”
Louis laughed. “You gotta wait for it to balance out with the room’s temperature.”
“I know!”
It was the first time Louis actually liked his patient’s defiance. Harry himself was surprised by his own behavior, the way he was answering Louis, regretting each response but unable to take his words back.
Louis reached out to move a piece but hesitated, pulling his hand back. “When you can’t study, what do you think about?”
“What?”
Harry asked, startled, and Louis repeated, “Have you ever thought about mind-wandering? You’re dealing with it.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“Everything has a fix. Just talk about your thoughts to someone, write them down, take deep breaths, or focus on the present. You’ll see your situation improve, and at least for that hour, you’ll be able to study or get some work done.”
Harry looked at Louis, confused, and Louis felt compelled to explain further.
“When you’re doing something that needs focus, ever notice how a bunch of new thoughts crash in? Like memories or events that make you lose track of time? That’s mind-wandering. It makes you fall behind on your tasks. Like, you’re studying, and suddenly you’re thinking about something else for ages.
For example, while you’re studying, you start thinking about next week’s soccer game. Then you remember it’s your last year, and your final exams are a big deal, super important for your future. Then your sister pops into your head, how hard she pushed herself during her exams, and you saw it firsthand!
All these are worries hitting you at once, pulling you away from reality. I recommend writing down your thoughts, even if they’re not distracting you right then. It’ll make you feel better about yourself.”
“I get it. That makes sense.”
“Alright, so tell me—what do you think about?”
Harry glanced at the chessboard and said, “Move your piece first. I’ve been waiting forever for your next turn.”
Louis reached out, picked up his queen, and moved it four spaces diagonally to the left.
“There you go.”
Harry nodded. “I think about a lot of stuff—past, present, future, everything.”
Louis, like a detective in an interrogation room, asked Harry question after question, and a flood of answers poured out of Harry.
Harry picked up the glass of water, now adjusted to room temperature, and took a sip. This time, it didn’t bother him as much.
“Like, what would’ve happened if my mom hadn’t died, or if my dad hadn’t had a stroke from his company going bankrupt. Where would we be now? Or if there weren’t secrets between me and Jeff… You know? I even think about my future with Jeff, even though our lives are still up in the air, and after four years, we’re not tied to anything!”
Louis’s face turned somber as he looked at Harry. “I’m really sorry about losing your family, and I’m glad you found Jeff. Can you give me a glimpse into your childhood?”
“Like what?”
“Like your favorite color, food, or even animal.”
“I didn’t have siblings, never did, always been on my own. I mean, I have cousins, but we never bother with each other, so I say I don’t. I was born early because my mom was going through chemo, and her body was too weak to carry me. I spent two months in an incubator. My mom only lasted two weeks after I was born—she didn’t even get to hold me, just looked at me through the glass.
My dad said when I was born, I was so tiny I fit in the palm of his hand, and two months later, I was the size of his forearm.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be an F-14 fighter pilot, but over time, my interests changed, and I got into the idea of opening a flower shop. As a kid, I was super influenced by my friends and obsessed with the color blue. Now, seeing flowers, I realize I love all colors. I always wanted a dog to sit with me and eat pasta!”
He let out a soft laugh and continued, “I was a weird kid, though I guess I’m a weird adult now too.”
Louis smiled. “It’s endearing.”
Harry reached to move another piece, but Louis pointed with his index finger to an empty square between two of Harry’s pawns that led to his king. “Checkmate.”
Harry stared at Louis, mouth agape. “You’re being tough on me.”
“Not at all. I went the easiest route possible.”
“Fine!”
Louis gathered the pieces, and Harry leaned back against the couch, watching as Louis set up the board again.
“See? One game, and your stress is down, plus you’re answering better.”
“You pull this trick on all your patients?”
“Nope! Every patient has their own way of calming down, and chess worked for you… Wanna play another round?”
“Nah, but it was a cool idea. Now I’m curious—what games do you play with your other patients?”
“You didn’t say—what secrets are there between you and Jeff?”
At that, Harry’s brows furrowed. He sat up straight, abandoning the soft comfort of the couch, raised his right hand—the one with his watch—and glanced at it. “It’s been forty minutes. I gotta go. I’ve got stuff to do at home.”
Before Louis could defend himself, Harry stood and headed for the door. Louis got up behind him and said, “Can I know what you thought of our first session, Harry?”
Harry stopped at the closed door without turning to face Louis. “If I sit here again, you’ll know your answer.”
Without another word, he opened the door and walked out. Louis, eyebrows raised, stared at the door, then went to his desk and noticed Harry’s phone, left behind. He picked it up.
He walked to the table in the middle of the room, grabbed the glass of water he’d offered Harry, and downed it in one gulp. Striding toward the door, he stepped out, placed Harry’s phone on Catalina’s desk, and said, “He’ll realize he forgot his phone in a few minutes and come back up. Give it to him, please. I’m gonna go wash my hands—his phone’s filthy. Wash yours too after you hand it back!”
Catalina gave Louis an “okay” nod, picked up the phone, and after Louis left and Harry returned upstairs, she kept thinking about slipping that latest-model phone into her bag and pretending she didn’t have it.
When she saw Harry again, she stood behind her desk. The frustrated boy, scratching the back of his head, said, “Please book me an appointment for next Wednesday.”
Catalina nodded, jotting it down, and as she saw Harry heading out of the office, she grabbed the phone and followed him. Calling out to stop him in his tracks, she held it out. “Mr. Tomlinson said you left this in his room.”
“Damn it.”
Harry replied without thinking and headed for the stairs.
Stepping out of the building into the fresh air, he felt like he’d escaped a prison, as if Louis had robbed him of three hours of freedom. It was nearly one o’clock, and he had to be home before two so Jeff wouldn’t suspect anything.
Behind the wheel, he gripped the steering wheel tightly, pressed his forehead against it, and started talking to himself out loud: “Louis Tomlinson, the skilled, famous therapist who’s saved tons of people with his gentle touch. But I don’t know if he wants to know everything for my treatment or if it’s just an excuse to snoop into my life. You’re a sly fox, Louis! I still don’t know if I can trust you.”
He took a breath and continued, “You aced all three rounds with me, and now you’ve got fifteen out of twenty points. With the three points I’m giving you now, that’s eighteen. You didn’t get a perfect twenty, so don’t expect too much from me.”
He leaned back, turned the car key, and said, “I’m satisfied with you for now. Just try to earn those last two points.”
ᨒ
Louis downed the last of the whiskey in his scotch glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slammed the glass on the counter, catching the bartender’s attention. “Easy, man.”
Louis craned his neck, glaring at the bartender. “I’ll pay for it.”
The guy behind the counter tossed the towel over his shoulder and turned to Louis. “We don’t need your money here.”
Louis: “I’ve got it, and I’ll pay. Now shut—”
“Shhh, Louis, calm down.”
A woman approaching from the restroom called out to Louis from a distance, trying to quiet him. When she reached him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and gently started massaging them.
Louis pushed her hands off. “The last guy was better than this jerk.”
The woman placed her index finger on her red-lipsticked lips, letting out a “shhh,” and sat on the stool at the counter. “He’s new, Louis, chill. All newbies are sensitive and cautious. You were like that your first year at uni, too—wouldn’t even step out of line in case someone said something.”
Louis: “Yeah, a nerdy idiot.”
“A nerdy idiot, but a genius!”
She raised her hand, catching the bartender’s attention. The guy slung his towel over his forearm, came over, and placed his hands on the counter. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m sorry for my friend’s behavior, and I’d appreciate it if you could bring us a glass of ice water and some dark chocolate whiskey.”
The bartender nodded and stepped back. Louis dragged his hand across his face. “Don’t apologize for my actions, Lana!”
Lana: “Manners demand I apologize for your behavior.”
Louis propped his elbows on the counter, cradling his head, and rested his forehead on his hands, massaging it in circles. “Feels like my first time drinking, and my head’s killing me.”
Lana: “How many have you had?”
Louis shrugged and groaned, “Ugh… I dunno, three? Four?”
Lana’s eyes widened as she stared at him. “I was only in the restroom for a few minutes.”
Louis: “In your few minutes, I needed to think.”
Lana: “So, did you come to any conclusions?”
Louis: “Nah… I’ve been sleeping so little lately and just thinking nonstop that my brain’s useless during the day.”
Lana raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you so caught up, Mr. Doctor?”
Louis clearly dodged the question. “What’s up with you?”
Lana thanked the guy placing their order on the counter with a nod and said, “Nothing much. Broke up with Cameron, and my medical license got revoked.”
Louis immediately lifted his head from his hands and looked at her. “What?”
Lana casually sipped her whiskey. “Last month, it got canceled.”
Louis: “You studied all those years for it to end like this? What’d you do?”
Lana: “There was this old guy with diabetes. Two of his fingers were wounded, bleeding for days, and the infection was spreading. His kids begged him to come to the ER. I was on call that night, messed up because that jerk Cameron dumped me. I wasn’t okay. When I saw him, I used a surgical knife to cut off his two fingers to stop the bleeding and prevent worse infection. But it backfired, everything went against me in court, and they revoked my license because I had no proof to defend myself.”
Louis, wide-eyed and stunned, stared at Lana, reached for the glass of water, took a sip, and said, “You studied my field for two years, then switched like an idiot, and now you’ve gone and lost your license!”
Lana let out a single laugh. “What’s the difference between a crazy psychologist and a crazy ER doctor? If I’d kept going in your field, I’d probably be helping my suicidal patients end it all.”
She scratched her head with the pinky of her right hand and said, “Your turn.”
Louis set the water glass back on the counter. “I’m teaching psychology at a school and running my practice. Right now, I’m looking for a new place closer to my office and the capital.”
Lana: “Nice. At least you’re busier than me, genius. Found anything yet? How’s dealing with the students?”
Louis brushed his hair out of his face. “The students are loud and chaotic. Today, one of them showed up at my office, which was surprising. And no, I haven’t found a good place yet.”
Lana went quiet, mulling something over, then carefully chose her words.
Lana: “I’m short on cash and put the lower unit of my apartment up for sale. Maybe you could…”
Louis cut her off. “Is it big?”
Lana: “Not that big, and it’s old, but it’s close to the capital.”
Louis: “Close to the capital’s a plus, but it’s old, and I don’t want neighbors!”
Lana licked her lips. “The house came from my great-great-great-grandfather’s time, built for World War II. I fixed it up when I was doing okay… You mean you won’t help your best friend?”
Louis rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lana.”
The corner of her mouth curled up. “Even if it’s got a secret basement for hiding from bombs?”
Louis’s eyebrows shot up, and he asked in surprise, “What?”
Lana, with a mischievous grin, raised both hands, flexing her index and middle fingers in air quotes. “A secret shelter to dodge atomic bombs!”
Notes:
*Evil laugh 🙂↔️* Tadaaa, let’s give a big welcome to Lana entering the story! Love her lots ┐( ˘_˘)┌.
Chapter Text
Harry, pulling off his green knit beanie, flipped through his book and said, “I hate geography.”
He tossed the beanie into Daisy’s lap, who was sitting on the cold bench. She narrowed her eyes, threw it onto Harry’s backpack, and snapped, “What, you on your period or something? Why’re you so moody?”
Harry took two deep breaths, grabbed his beanie, unzipped his backpack a bit, stuffed it inside, and zipped it back up. “Nah, I don’t have that feature, but you do, and you’re probably on it right now.”
Daisy shot him a glare. “I hate you.”
Harry flashed a triumphant grin. “Love you too.”
He didn’t even know why he’d been acting like this with his friends lately, pushing away the people who’d been there for him at his lowest.
Zayn leaned forward, stretching over Liam’s sprawled legs, and yanked the book from under Harry’s hands. “If you’re not studying, at least let me read it.”
Harry lifted his hands off the book. Zayn, now in the same position, placed Harry’s book on the asphalt and started flipping through it. He randomly stopped at a page, put his hand on it, and read the first question that caught his eye.
Zayn: “Can one of you define ‘megalopolis’?”
He asked, then, still lying across Liam’s legs, looked up at him. “You know, bear?”
Liam glanced up from the practice questions on his phone. “Don’t distract me, I’m reading this part.”
Zayn narrowed his eyes, turned to Niall, and said, “You know what it is, or should I say it?”
Niall nodded affirmatively, licked his lips, and said, “A megalopolis is a group of big cities really close to each other, sometimes called a supercity. It comes from a Greek word, split into ‘megalo,’ meaning big or massive, and ‘polis,’ meaning city.”
Liam shot Niall a side glance. “Man, I wish your seat was next to mine, but I’m stuck near Harry… Hey, Harry, you read anything?”
Harry looked up from the small piece of paper on his lap, stopped writing, and said, “What?”
Liam repeated, “I said, you read anything for geography?”
Harry: “Yeah, I read.”
He paused, glanced at his cheat sheet, and added, “I read, but I don’t remember what. So I’m writing down as much as I can to at least not bomb my first exam.”
Liam looked at Niall and laughed. “Niall needs to sit with us. He’s swallowed the geography book like a teacher and’ll probably score over 70 percent.”
Niall shrugged. “Since Friday, I’ve been studying at home. Even read a bit for Thursday’s exam.”
Zayn glanced at Harry, who was staring at the sky. “What exam do we have on Thursday?”
Harry pulled his gaze from the sky. “Uh, tomorrow’s Tuesday, we’ve got Design and Technology. Thursday’s that tough one, English Literature.”
He said it and looked back at the sky. This time, Daisy piped up with a question that popped into her head. “What’re you staring at, Harry? Study already. Oh, and what do we need to read for Design and Technology?”
Harry lowered his head, looked at Daisy, and said, “We need to go over those fifty questions they gave us with the answers. It’s a general course, so the school doesn’t care much about it.”
He paused again, then continued, “I’m looking at the clouds. They’re pretty.”
Daisy turned her gaze to Bristol’s ever-cloudy, gray sky. “The sky’s always gloomy, Harry. I’m sick of these stupid clouds that never stop casting a shadow over the city.”
Niall, still sitting on the bench, stretched out his legs. “I checked the weather this morning before coming here. It said it’s gonna snow tonight.”
Daisy nodded and said, “Tomorrow’s Louis’s birthday, and I don’t know what to do for him. Even if we tried to throw him a party, he wouldn’t come home for it. Last year, we went to his place, and he kicked us out because he hates birthdays.”
Liam tossed his book onto the grass behind the bench. “Enough studying, we’re basically professors now.”
He glanced at his watch and added, “Five minutes till the bell. Let’s go in before eight-thirty.”
A few minutes later, the group of five headed to the gym, where the exam was set up with chairs already arranged.
Liam sidled up to Harry, who was tucking his cheat sheet into the small pocket of his jeans. “Your seat’s number 79, just two away from me. I’m 77.”
Harry nodded. “Got it. If I can, I’ll come closer to you, or you move back.”
Liam: “Cool, just hope the proctor doesn’t hover over us.”
He gave Harry’s shoulder a couple of pats. “You go in first.”
Harry took a few deep breaths, clenched his shaking hands into fists, and headed toward the entrance.
After finding his seat, he placed his pen and ID on the chair and walked over to his friends, who were gathered around Liam’s seat. But his attention was on the other twelfth-graders from different tracks.
Spotting Louis’s unmistakable figure and style among the teachers now acting as proctors, Harry’s eyes widened. He ducked down among his friends and said, “Was Mr. Tomlinson supposed to be at school today?”
Daisy immediately straightened up and peered at the teachers standing by their vice-principal, Mr. Brown. “He must not have any patients this hour, otherwise he’d be at his office. He’s not teaching today.”
Harry licked his lips, staring again at Louis, who looked strikingly different at school this time.
His hair was swept back, revealing the forehead usually hidden by his bangs. He’d shaved, showing off the sharp, gleaming lines of his cheekbones. He wore a white shirt paired with black jeans, topped with a black blazer, its sleeves rolled up. Unlike usual, he wasn’t wearing a tie.
The weirdest thing about his look? The black Converse sneakers on his feet.
Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Did he hit his head or something? Why’s he so different today?”
Daisy shrugged. “Dunno, but he’s definitely got everyone’s attention.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, studying Louis more closely. Still staring, he said, “And he’s smiling today. Weird.”
Liam pulled Harry down. “Stop staring so hard, he’ll notice.”
Harry looked at Daisy. “I didn’t know Mr. Tomlinson had tattoos.”
Daisy: “Super normal. He started getting them as soon as he was legally old enough.”
Harry: “How’s he not regret it with all those tattoos? I’ve got one, and I’m already thinking about lasering it off.”
The vice-principal’s voice broke up the group of five, and they quickly scattered to their seats. The proctors for each row started handing out the exam papers. Harry, until Louis reached him, slipped his hand into his small pocket, pulled out his cheat sheet, and tucked it under his thigh before staring straight ahead.
Louis placed two sheets on Harry’s desk and, with a smile, said as he moved to the next student, “Good luck.”
He repeated the same to the next student, convincing Harry that something was definitely up with Mr. Tomlinson.
Half an hour into the exam, Harry finally mustered the courage to pull his cheat sheet from under his thigh. From the key points he’d scribbled, he copied the answers to a few questions onto his exam paper.
He filled the rest of the sheet with one-word answers because everything he’d studied had flown out of his head during the test. But he clearly remembered being on top of the whole book at home, so instead of straining his eyes on the paper, he looked around.
Louis, patrolling the Literature A students’ row, reached Harry, who was distracted by everyone else, and stopped beside him. “Why aren’t you answering?”
Harry, completely caught off guard, didn’t realize the man standing next to him was his psychology teacher, especially since Louis was speaking so softly and deliberately this time.
With raised eyebrows, he looked up at Louis and said, “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis pointed to Harry’s paper with his left hand. “Why aren’t you writing?”
Harry shrugged. “I answered what I knew, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis glanced at the second question, a multiple-choice one with high marks, pursed his lips, and said, “Hold on, I’ll be back.”
Harry watched, surprised, as Louis walked away, passing Niall and his paper at least twice before returning to Harry on his third round.
Louis scanned the room, then fixed his eyes on Harry’s paper, subtly pointing out the correct options with his hand. Harry, thrilled, grabbed his pen and marked the right answers.
Still looking down and chewing his lip, Harry whispered, “Thanks, Mr. Tomlinson!”
Louis walked off without a word, and Harry, satisfied with his mostly filled paper—even if some answers were one-word guesses—stood up, went to the desk where they were collecting exams, dropped off his paper, and left the gym.
Outside, in the fifteen minutes he waited for his friends, he wrestled with his thoughts. After they came out, he waited another half hour until Louis finally emerged from the gym.
Harry ran toward Louis, who was taking long, quick strides, and called out, “Mr. Tomlinson!”
Louis, hearing that familiar voice, smiled, stopped in his tracks, and turned to Harry. “Yes, Harry?”
Hearing his name from Louis’s smiling lips made Harry’s heart skip a beat from a stress he couldn’t quite place.
This man, who barely looked at him, called him by his last name, and ignored him in class, was smiling today—not just at him, but at everyone—acting kind and, shockingly, remembering his name and using it.
Louis: “How was your exam?”
Harry stared at Louis’s shoes. “Dunno. Probably failed. It’s normal.”
Louis: “You seem anxious.”
Harry stopped picking at his nail. “No, no… Actually, if it’s okay, Mr. Tomlinson…”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “What’s okay?”
Harry: “CanIcomebyyourofficebesidesWednesdaythisafternoon?”
He blurted it out in one breath, and Louis took a moment to process the rushed sentence.
He smiled. “Of course you can come. I’m probably free after four. Just show up, and I’ll fit you in between patients.”
Harry: “That’s kind of you, Mr. Tomlinson.”
He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and quickly walked away from Louis.
ᨒ
Harry, doodling meaningless shapes on the asphalt with the tip of his shoe, waited until he heard the car’s horn from the parking lot. He quickly opened the door and slid in next to the driver.
Jeff: “I don’t get it, Harry. Our place is huge—why don’t you tell your friends to come study there for tomorrow’s exam?”
Harry: “It’s not about the size of the house. The guys prefer to take turns meeting at everyone’s place.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, silently apologizing to his boyfriend for the lies he’d been telling lately, hoping Jeff would understand.
Jeff, buying Harry’s lie, nodded and started driving.
Spotting his bus stop, Harry pointed to it. “Right there.”
Jeff, still visibly annoyed, tried one last time. “I could’ve driven you. How far out of the way would it have been?”
But Harry shut him down. “No, you’re already late, and it’s my fault for letting it slip that I was going out. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be stuck waiting on me. Go, you’re super busy.”
As the car stopped by the bus station, Harry leaned toward the driver to apologize again to the man he loved. He held Jeff’s face with his left hand, planted a quick kiss on his lips, and got out.
Jeff rolled down Harry’s window. “Be careful, Harry.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “You too!”
He watched the car pull away, then saw the bus approaching. He shook the coins in his fist to make sure they were there and hopped on.
When he stepped back onto the asphalt, he looked up at the building in front of him. It hadn’t even been a week since his last session, but he couldn’t hold out any longer. The suspicious cells in his mind, always wary of Tomlinson, were starting to quiet down, and they wanted to try trusting him for once.
He entered the building and, seeing the elevator doors closing, sprinted and threw himself inside with force.
An old woman inside stepped aside and nodded kindly. “What’s all this rush for, young man? There’s nothing in this world that can’t wait five minutes for you. One day, you’ll regret not standing in line longer, not making the most of every second of your youth. You’ll wish for a chance to run so hard your legs go numb.”
Harry nodded in agreement, distractedly saying, “You’re right, totally.”
As the elevator stopped and Harry bolted out, the old woman shook her head. “You young folks!”
He gently opened the office’s security door and headed toward the receptionist. Catalina, who seemed busy sorting files, snapped to attention when she saw Harry. “Oh, Mr. Styles, you’re here! You were late, so I thought you weren’t coming. Please go in, the doctor’s been waiting for a while.”
Harry walked to Louis’s office door, knocked, and entered without waiting for a response.
Louis, who looked engrossed in his phone, glanced up and set it aside. “Welcome to my little office, Harry. How’re you feeling after today’s exam?”
Harry’s gaze drifted to the tall trees outside the window. As Louis gestured for him to sit, he moved to the couch, mentally scolding himself for why Louis called this nice, tidy, spacious place “little” and downplayed it.
Harry: “I’d say I’m not doing too bad. My body’s got this new urge for therapy, like it feels this last push to get better might actually work.”
Louis flashed a kind smile and sat on the couch across from Harry. “I’m glad you’re hopeful. Hope makes everything easier. It’s way simpler to wake someone up who wants to get out of bed! Want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”
Harry, still looking everywhere but at Louis, said impatiently, “Nah, I’m good. Can we just get to the point?”
Louis chuckled, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Guess you’re trying to make up for those ten minutes you were late.”
Harry stole a glance at Louis. The man was different from how he’d been at school that morning but still had that same kind vibe. This time, he’d tied his tie, let his bangs fall back over his face, tucked his shirt into his trousers, and was wearing dress pants.
Seeing no move from Harry, Louis continued, “So, what if we talk more about your teenage years?”
He reached for the chessboard already set up on the table, placing it between them.
Louis: “Up for another game? I promise I’ll go easier on you this time.”
Harry, as if waiting for the offer, quickly agreed, turning the board so the white pieces were in front of him. He moved a pawn. “As a teenager, I wasn’t a troublemaker. I kept to myself, didn’t bother anyone. My relationship with my dad was good.”
Louis, who’d moved his piece and was waiting for Harry, nodded toward the board and asked, “What about your sister? You said you had one. How was it with her?”
Harry: “It wasn’t bad, but we clashed sometimes, especially when she missed Mom and took it out on me. She’d say, ‘If it weren’t for you, maybe Mom wouldn’t have gotten so weak and could’ve beaten the cancer.’”
His voice softened. “The thing that’s always stuck in my head is when she said, ‘You sucked the life out of Mom.’”
He continued, “That time really messed me up, hearing that stuff. Now I’ve got this huge guilt weighing on me. Maybe if Mom hadn’t been pregnant with me, she’d still be alive.”
Louis, visibly seeing Harry’s sadness and feeling an odd anger toward Harry’s sister, tried to stay calm and said with empathy, “Those were just things your sister said out of pain and ignorance. Sometimes people hurt so much they drag someone else into their pain to feel better themselves. It’s something a lot of people around us do, no matter their age, but that doesn’t mean we should let it get to us.
Your mom clearly loved you so much that even in that condition, she took care of you to bring you into this world. I can congratulate her for that because she gave birth to the best son possible.”
Harry, who’d been waiting his whole life for someone to validate his existence, heard those words, and without control, his eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t stop a few from falling.
He quickly ducked his head and wiped them away with the sleeve of his olive-green sweatshirt.
Louis picked up the tissue box and held it out to Harry, asking, “What about your dad? Did he ever echo what your sister said?”
Harry shook his head, a smile forming as he thought of his father. “No way. He gave me the most genuine love anyone could give.
He always did his best to make sure I never felt like I was missing anything. Sometimes I’d catch him in private, feeling guilty that he couldn’t fully fill Mom’s absence. Maybe my sister, Gemma, felt that absence, but I never knew what it was like to have a mom, so I didn’t really feel the void.”
Seeing that Louis had been waiting for his next move for a while, Harry absentmindedly moved his knight and sank back into his memories.
Louis didn’t want to pull him out of his thoughts but had to ask questions, so he said softly, “How did you react to what your sister said?”
Harry, as if reaching a bright spot in his life, grinned widely. “Dad always told me not to take her words seriously, that she was just missing Mom when she said those things. He’d say I was the most precious gift sent to us in those circumstances, and he was dead certain that if time went back a thousand times, Mom would choose to bring me into the world every single time.
Dad always called me ‘snowdrop.’ He said some might see it as a symbol of sadness, but he’d tell me, ‘Listen to your old man—snowdrops are nothing but hope.’ Whenever he brought me snowdrops, he’d say, ‘You’re just like this flower. In the coldest, most frozen days of my life, when no one expected anything green, you bloomed!’”
Harry, unable to hold back his tears any longer, stood up abruptly without lifting his head. Rushing toward the door, he said loudly, “Time’s up, Doc! I’ll see you next time, probably that Wednesday your receptionist wrote down.”
Louis, seeing Harry’s flustered state, felt a deep pang of empathy for the first time. He stared at the unfinished chess game, trying to keep himself in check to avoid doing anything irrational.
To distract himself, he reached for his phone to send the message he hadn’t finished when Harry walked in. But then, remembering something, he deleted it and typed, “No, Mr. Hardy, Harry still hasn’t agreed to come see me!”
He read it once and hit send.
Harry, oblivious to the strange looks from people on the bus, let his tears fall. Memories of his dad made them stream down in pairs, and his sweatshirt sleeves weren’t enough to wipe them away.
A little later, calming down, he put in his earbuds. As he rubbed his thumb over the scar under his chin from stitches long ago, he started doing some mental math.
Louis Tomlinson, the skilled, famous therapist who’s saved so many with his gentle touch, treated me differently this time, like he’d figured out how to handle me.
He sniffled and organized his thoughts.
This morning at school, he was kind to me, and his smile drew me in. This afternoon in his office, with his words and the importance he gave me, he soothed a heart that’s carried years of pain and tried to calm me down.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you earned those last two points, Louis. You got a perfect twenty from me because you cared about something no one’s cared about in a long time.
Chapter Text
Harry leaned back against the bench, stretching his arms across the backrest and tilting his head to stare at Bristol’s cloudy, gray sky.
Zayn grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bag, brought it back, and held it in front of Harry’s mouth. Harry opened his mouth, and Zayn dumped the popcorn in, letting out a hum.
Liam dug his hand into the bag, grabbed a handful of popcorn, stuffed it in his mouth, and, while chewing, said, “Why isn’t Daisy here?”
“She’s coming, she’s coming.”
“Coming? Niall’s with her too.”
Zayn let out a single laugh, mouth full. “Niall’s always with that girl!”
“You and Liam are always together too. Even me and Jeff are like that.”
“You and Jeff are different.”
“No, we’re not, but…”
Liam cut Harry off, wagging his finger like he was dictating something. “You live together.”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “Can you guys not drag my life with Jeff into every conversation? We were talking about something else.”
Liam nodded quickly. “Yeah, alright, fine!”
Zayn dumped the last of the popcorn into his mouth, stood up, set the empty bag on the ground, pressed the opening shut with his foot, and stomped hard on the air trapped inside.
The loud pop of the bag bursting caught the attention of the few students in the courtyard.
Zayn covered his face with his hands. “Wasn’t me, it was Harry.”
Harry pulled his numb arms off the backrest, set them on his lap, leaned forward, and, laughing with a voice muffled by his position, said, “At least say something I can actually take the blame for.”
Zayn plopped back down next to Harry and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mommy.”
Harry’s laughter intensified at Zayn’s comment. He turned left, looked at Zayn, placed his hand on his leg, and said, “Good boy!”
“Okay…”
Harry, catching Liam’s tone, quickly changed the subject. “I did well on this exam. I’ll get above 60 percent.”
Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Above 60? You should ace this one—you had all the questions and answers.”
“I really wanna know what they’re doing in that vice-principal’s office.”
Harry whipped his head toward Liam, furrowing his brows and growling, “I wish you’d stop switching topics. I can’t focus on all of them at once.”
Liam burst out laughing, put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and squeezed. “I’ll stuff you in my pocket.”
Harry gave Liam a pleading look. “Please do. The outside world’s exhausting me.”
Zayn glanced at the gym entrance up the stairs and said to Harry, “If you wanted to fit in Liam’s pocket, you’d have to stay in a freezer to shrink down to thumb-size.”
Harry shot Zayn a glare and licked his lips. “If you weren’t my friend, I’d shove my shoe down your throat.”
Liam slid his hand behind Harry, reaching Zayn’s neck, and slipped his fingers into Zayn’s hair from below. Zayn tilted his head back, shrugging his shoulders.
“Alright, alright… Liam, get your hand out, not now, ugh.”
Harry looked at the gym entrance again and spotted Niall and Daisy coming down the stairs. He quickly kicked Liam’s shin. “Look, they’re here! Liam, stop it! Let’s go.”
Liam pulled his hand back, tucked his legs up, and rubbed his shin. “Chill out.”
Harry slung his backpack over his shoulder, grabbed Niall and Daisy’s bags from the ground, and headed toward the laughing pair.
He stared, surprised, at Daisy, who had her arm around Niall’s neck, pointed at her with his index finger, and looked at her questioningly. “It’s so weird you’re not crying. Every girl I’ve seen come out of Mr. Brown’s office is in tears!”
Daisy shrugged and reached out to grab her backpack from Harry’s hand. His attention was caught by her right wrist, where two large gold hoop bracelets jangled.
“Thanks, and sorry for keeping you guys waiting.”
Harry grabbed Daisy’s wrist, staring at the shiny hoops. “What are those?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but Zayn’s loud question as he ran up cut her off. “What happened to your earrings, Daisy?”
Niall pulled Daisy’s hand from Harry’s, lifted it, and pushed back her jacket sleeve. “Here they are—she turned them into bracelets!”
He shook her hand, and the clinking of the two big hoop earrings made the guys laugh.
Liam caught up to his friends, grabbed Daisy’s face, and inspected both sides. “You okay? Didn’t get beat up?”
Daisy laughed, pulled her head back, and brushed her bangs out of her face. “Nah, if they’d done that over some earrings, I’d drag Louis into it.”
“Good enough. Let’s go home, I’m beat.”
“By the way, why’d you guys disappear all of a sudden?”
Liam plopped down, starting to tie the shoelace he’d been messing with since morning. “Next time I say I’m buying Converse, smack me.”
Zayn grabbed Liam’s hand to help him up. “I’ll remember that, sweetheart.”
Liam took Zayn’s hand, stood up, and they caught up to their friends walking ahead.
“We didn’t want to leave, but Harry made such a racket they kicked us out.”
Harry’s eyes widened as he looked at Liam. “Why’s everything my fault today?”
“Dunno?”
Daisy stopped in her tracks, hands on her hips. “Where you guys going?”
Harry turned to her, raising an eyebrow and stating the obvious. “Home?”
“I know, genius… Turn around, I’ve still got stuff to do at school.”
Zayn put his hands on his hips. “What stuff?”
“Just stuff.”
“Alright, we’re not backing off. After you, Miss Tomlinson.”
“I’ve got business in room 412.”
As Daisy started walking, the guys followed, and Harry asked, “What business?”
Daisy stopped mid-staircase, turned to her friends, and lowered her voice. “I want the questions for Thursday’s exam.”
Zayn’s eyes widened as he stared at her. “You’re joking, right? You just got a disciplinary note less than an hour ago.”
Daisy laughed, reached out, and messed up Zayn’s hair, knowing he was touchy about it. “Don’t worry, nothing’s gonna happen. Niall, tell them what Mr. Brown did.”
Niall swallowed his laugh and took a deep breath. “He was so hard on us that Daisy got scared. He made her read the disciplinary rules out loud twice so she’d learn not to break school rules.”
Daisy put her hand on her chest, sighed dramatically, and said, “He punished me harshly, gave me a warning, and really upset me.”
Liam burst out laughing between his chuckles. “That’s it?”
“Swear to God, that’s all. That idiot Google didn’t say how big earrings could be for school, so I wore the new hoops I bought.”
Daisy shrugged and continued, “Hurry up, we don’t have time.”
They entered the hall, headed for the stairs, and climbed four floors to their destination. The whole way, Harry just grumbled.
Harry put his hands on his knees, bent over to catch his breath. “I… really… hate… school.”
Niall placed a hand on Harry’s back, giving it a few gentle pats. “Same here, same here, Harry.”
“Well, at least I’m not alone.”
Daisy, heading toward the janitor, said, “Who actually likes school, Harry?”
She reached the cleaning lady, cleared her throat, and got her attention. “Yes?”
Daisy: “Oh, finally, I’ve been looking for you all over the floors, Mrs. Kline.”
Mrs. Kline straightened up. “What’s wrong?”
Daisy gave her a pitiful look. “I need the key to room 412, Mrs. Kline.”
The woman shook her head. “I can’t do that. I’m not allowed.”
“But I left my book in class, and I don’t have any notes to study for my exam. It’s a really important subject.”
“I can’t do that.”
Daisy took a deep breath. “Mrs. Martinez told me to get the key from you so I could grab my book.”
Liam nearly sprouted horns from shock and opened his mouth to call out Daisy’s lie, but Harry, standing ahead of him, swung his hand back and smacked Liam hard between the legs.
Liam yelped in pain, catching Mrs. Kline’s attention. Daisy, flustered, rushed on, “Oh, and I’ll make sure to mention this to Mr. Tomlinson.”
Mrs. Kline pursed her lips, reached into her back work pocket, and pulled out a key ring. “Return the key quick.”
Daisy snatched it mid-air, flashing a big smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Kline, I’ll bring it right back.”
As she sifted through the keys for the right one, Daisy headed to room 412, the boys trailing behind. Liam caught up, grabbing her to stop her. “If your lie gets busted, we’re all screwed.”
Daisy glanced around, then slid the key she’d picked into the lock. “Nothing’s gonna happen. My plan’s foolproof. Come inside.”
She motioned to Liam. “Keep watch. We’ll be out soon.”
Daisy grabbed Harry’s hand, pulled him in, and raised her free hand. “Gimme your phone.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up as he reached into his pocket. “Why me?”
Daisy dropped to her knees, opened the teacher’s desk cabinet, and pulled out a stapled sheet. “’Cause your phone’s camera is better than all of ours.”
Harry handed her his phone. “Just hurry up.”
Daisy nodded, opened the camera, snapped quick photos of the four pages, and gave the phone back to Harry. She unzipped her bag, pulled out her Thursday exam book, returned the sheet to the cabinet, and stood up. “Let’s go.”
Liam poked his head through the door. “Done? Can we go?”
“Yeah, let’s move. Hurry before that janitor gets suspicious.”
Liam muttered an “okay,” shoved the door open for his friends, and let them through.
Daisy was the last to leave, locking the door. “Let’s go, quick.”
Niall handed Daisy her bag and turned to his friends. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”
“Don’t overthink it, Niall!”
Harry added a smile and a thumbs-up to his words.
On the third-floor landing, Daisy, for show, flipped through her book and approached Mrs. Kline, holding up the key. “Here you go. See, didn’t take long! Just grabbed my book.”
The woman nodded. “Good luck!”
Daisy grinned so wide her eyes turned to slits, then bolted for the stairs, hopping down two at a time. She looked up, lowered her voice, and said, “Come on down.”
A hand shot up over the railing, flashing a thumbs-up, and the sound of the boys’ rapid footsteps echoed as they rushed down.
Once outside the school building, Daisy wiped her sweaty face with her forearm. “I came on my bike. You guys ride too?”
Zayn licked his lips. “Dunno about the others, but I came on my skateboard today. Gotta wait while I put on the shoes.”
Harry reached into his back pocket, pulled out his bike lock key, and let out a single laugh. “We just pulled off a major crime, and now we’re making a getaway, and you wanna stop to put on your skate shoes? No need—we’ll take my bike.”
In the parking lot, only the group’s four bikes were locked together, perfectly in view of the school’s cameras!
Harry wiped under his nose. “Hurry up, let’s go.”
Zayn stopped in his tracks, hands on hips. “So I’m supposed to run after you guys if I’m not putting on my skates?”
Harry grabbed Zayn’s arm, dragging him to his bike while unlocking it, and growled, “You’re coming on my bike. Wait till I get on, then sit in front.”
Zayn rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic puff of air. “So we can both go under a car?”
Harry took Zayn’s backpack, hung it on the handlebars, and said, “Jeff and I have done this tons of times and we’re still alive. Come on, Zayn, stop whining, we don’t have time.”
Niall planted his right foot on the ground, turned back, and looked at Zayn and Harry. “Let’s go! We’re late, we’ll get caught.”
Zayn, exasperated, moved from his spot and awkwardly sat on the bike’s front bar. Harry started pedaling, and Zayn, trying to calm himself with deep breaths, shouted, “Liam, if I die, bury my phone with me or take it from them. The passcode’s the one you know.”
Liam, riding ahead, lifted his right hand off the handlebars, flipped Zayn the middle finger, and yelled, “Shut up, Zayn.”
“Head to your place, Harry?”
Harry glanced at Daisy. “My turn? Alright, let’s go to mine.”
“I didn’t eat breakfast. What’s for lunch? Is your boyfriend joining us, Harry?”
“Nah, Jeff’s not coming for lunch. He’s gotta finish his project before New Year’s.”
Zayn gripped the handlebars tighter. “I’m stoked Thursday’s exam is the last one before New Year’s. Imagine two weeks without looking at these crappy books.”
Harry held the handlebars with one hand and tugged his beanie over his ear with the other. “I hate the cold.”
“How do you stay warm in just a hoodie? I never wear the school uniform, but I put on the jacket today just to stay warm.”
“I’ve got layers under my hoodie to keep warm—a t-shirt, the uniform shirt, a jacket, and the hoodie. It’s like I’m carrying my own personal heater.”
Zayn raised an eyebrow, still staring ahead. “You bundle up like that and then wear skinny jeans? You’re gonna freeze your legs.”
“Skinny jeans are the one thing I can’t give up. Oh, let’s grab something to eat for lunch first.”
Harry wrinkled his nose as he spoke, turning the handlebars to take the roundabout and change direction.
Forty minutes later, as Harry opened the back gate to their yard, Zayn slid off the bike, his legs numb from the ride, and stepped into the yard.
Daisy, walking beside her bike, entered the yard, looking around. “I hate winter and fall so much. All the beauty of the trees is in spring and summer when they’ve got leaves and flowers that give you hope. Winter makes me want to off myself every two minutes.”
Liam tossed his bike onto the short, lifeless grass in the yard, hands on hips. “This might sound dumb, but can we study and eat out here?”
Zayn headed to the sliding glass doors connecting the house to the yard, opening them while grumbling, “Fine, if you wanna stay out here, no problem, but I’m freezing and might burst if I don’t hit the bathroom soon.”
Harry left his bike next to Liam’s on the ground and walked toward Zayn. “Wanna eat lunch inside first, then come out to study?”
“What’s this nonsense? We’ll study in there too.”
Niall closed the backyard gate, and Harry stepped inside, replying to Niall, “I dunno about you guys, but when I’m cold, I’m forced to study and actually get it.”
Two hours later, after over an hour of studying and eating lunch, Harry tossed his pen onto his paper, stood up, and headed to the sturdy tree in the yard. He slipped his feet into the tire swing hanging from it, leaned his forehead against the thick rope tied to the tree and tire, and groaned, “I’m done. I swear my brain’s smoking.”
Liam covered his mouth, staring at Harry with wide, mock-horrified eyes. “Oh no, Harry, you don’t know! Smoke’s coming out of your ears! What’re we gonna tell your boyfriend?”
Harry slipped off his sandal and chucked it at Liam, laughing. “Shut up, I’m serious.”
Daisy looked at Harry, twirling her pen in her hand. “We’ve only found answers for one page, and you’re already tired. My brother’s gonna call soon, and I gotta go home ‘cause we’re throwing a birthday party for Louis.”
She made air quotes with her fingers and rolled her eyes. “A birthday party! The one where, like last year, he’ll probably kick us out of his house.”
Harry lifted his head from the rope, staring at the overcast sky with its dark clouds, and stretched out his hand. “Niall, can you pass my phone for a sec?”
“Why? We’re studying.”
Harry waved his hand, repeating, “Just for a moment. I wanna snap a pic of that cloud—it looks like a whale.”
Niall handed him the phone, and Harry opened the camera, zooming in on the whale-shaped cloud.
Zayn dropped his pencil on the ground, gathered the blanket around him, and said, “They found a body in Guildford.”
“What?”
“I’m saying they found a body—a case the police closed six months ago.”
Harry, phone in hand, turned back to the rug, set his phone down on the photographed questions, and asked, “How’d they find it?”
Zayn shrugged. “Dunno, but Willa said she heard the victim’s house was sold, and a new family bought it. Their daughter was digging under a tree in the yard one day and came across the body.”
“So the police didn’t search the house?”
“Dunno, but it’s creepy as hell to live with a corpse in your yard.”
Zayn glanced at the tree in the middle of the yard, then at Harry. “What if…”
Harry cut him off. “Don’t say dumb stuff. Let’s get back to work.”
Daisy turned off her phone and started packing her things. “Lottie texted, says I need to come home for something.”
Harry shot a glance at the sky, then back to the ground. “If Daisy leaves, you guys won’t study. You’ve only been focused because of her.”
“So?”
“So, I’m saying, you guys wanna head home too? The sky says it’s gonna snow, and I don’t have a car to drive you. Go on, I’ll find the answers to the questions by tonight and send them to the group. Even though I hate Shakespeare and all that crap.”
Liam stood, folding the blanket around him. “You sure?”
Harry nodded hesitantly. “Unfortunately, I’ve got the questions, so I’ve gotta find the answers. So, yeah.”
Daisy headed to her bike. “So, I’m off?”
“Yeah, go. I’ve got this! Oh, and have fun at the birthday.”
Daisy let out a single laugh, opening the backyard gate. “Yeah, if he doesn’t kick us out of his house.”
ᨒ
Louis, packing his books into a box, was humming along under his breath to the song playing on the gramophone when the house suddenly fell silent.
He stopped, put the books back on the shelf, and straightened up.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
Louis looked at the ceiling, let out an exasperated breath, spun around, and headed to the living room.
“Why’d you stop the music?”
The woman smoothed her white shirt with pink flamingos and sat on the single armchair, raising an eyebrow. “’Cause this song’s been playing nonstop since this afternoon, and I’m tired of it.”
Louis nodded, walked to the small table in the corner, and lifted the silent, spinning record off the gramophone, sliding it into its sleeve and placing it among the other records.
As he sifted through the collection, he glanced back. “What should I put on?”
She propped her chin in her hand, pursed her lips, and mentally flipped through her memories of songs.
“The one that goes, ‘All the leaves are brown… the sky is gray… I went for a walk…’”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, squinting her eyes into slits, trying to jog her memory for the song’s name. She distinctly remembered buying that record herself.
Louis paused for a moment, then, as if struck by inspiration, his face lit up with a smile. He started rummaging through the records. “I’ll find it. I brought it here from Lottie’s place a while back.”
After finding the right record, he pulled the black vinyl from its sleeve, placed it on the gramophone, set the needle, and walked to the armchair where his mom sat.
He put his hand on her shoulder, leaned down, kissed her forehead, and headed back to the hallway to finish packing the remaining books into the box.
Joanna’s harmonizing voice filled the house, a house that now felt strangely empty, with most of its belongings packed away.
- Stopped into a church
I passed along the way
Well, I got down on my knees
And I pretend to pray
You know the preacher like the cold
He knows I'm gonna stay.
Louis was so caught up in his work that he didn’t even notice the song had restarted several times. By the last loop, before his mom came looking for him, he was singing along.
This song held Joanna’s strongest and oldest memories—her childhood. Six-year-old Louis, Joanna’s only little friend when she was pregnant, would sit in the living room every Monday afternoon while Mark slept, listening to this song together.
“Louis?”
Louis stopped taping the box, looked up, and met Joanna’s eyes. “Yeah?”
She brushed the stray strands of hair from her face and pointed to the window. “I saw car lights through the glass, parked out front.”
Louis frowned, followed Joanna, and went to the window. He pulled the curtain aside and glanced at the car parked outside, spotting a familiar family getting out.
Flustered, he turned to his mom. “Go to the attic room, okay? Don’t come out, I don’t want them to see you… Please!”
Joanna hesitated, looking around, then stepped forward, raised her hand, and smoothed Louis’s messy hair, brushing dirt off his cheekbone. She nodded. “Alright, just don’t be harsh with them, Louis.”
Louis nodded quickly, grabbed Joanna’s shoulders, turned her around, and guided her forward. “Got it, Mom, I’ll be careful.”
Despite the family’s nonstop doorbell ringing, Louis didn’t open the door until he was sure Joanna was gone.
He took a few deep breaths, adjusted his t-shirt, swept his hair back from where Joanna had pushed it aside, plastered a smile on his face, and opened the door.
As soon as the door swung open, Lucky, in his dad’s arms, didn’t wait a second. He pulled his hand off the doorbell, stretched out his arms, and threw himself into Louis’s embrace, pressing his soft, tiny lips to Louis’s cheek for a wet kiss.
“Don’t, you’ll fall, Lucky… Whoa!”
Louis pushed Lewis’s hands off Lucky’s waist, pulling the boy into his arms. “I’ve got you, buddy.”
Lucky, secure in Louis’s hold, rested his head on the man’s shoulder. “Hi, Lulu!”
In that moment, Louis wanted to rip open his chest and tuck this kid into his heart.
“Ahem… If you’re done, can we come in? My hand’s breaking.”
Louis looked at Daisy, pulled his lips in from embarrassment, and stepped aside. “Sorry, sorry, come in.”
Lottie came closer and kissed Louis’s cheek. “Happy birthday.”
Louis’s lips curved into an involuntary smile as he shifted Lucky in his arms. “Thanks.”
Daisy’s voice rang out from the living room. “Louis?”
He closed the door and followed the sound. “Yeah?”
Daisy set the cake she was holding on the table Lewis had cleared, straightened up, crossed her arms, and said, “Why all these boxes? Why’s the house so warm?”
Louis bent down, set Lucky on the armchair, ruffled the boy’s golden hair, and turned to Daisy. “I’m moving to a new place.”
“Something happen?”
Louis glanced at Lewis, Lottie’s husband. “Nah, nothing happened. I’m just tired and want a place closer to my office and the capital so I don’t have to commute so much.”
“Nice!”
“Where’s Phoebe? Why didn’t you bring her?”
This time, Lottie answered from the kitchen. “She’s got an exam tomorrow, so we couldn’t pick her up from the dorms… Have you eaten dinner?”
Louis flopped onto the couch behind him. “Nah, wasn’t hungry, so I didn’t heat anything up.”
After midnight, when Louis’s surprise guests had left, he tidied the house, finished packing his things, and went to his planner, full of scribbles and notes. He flipped to a new page and started writing.
“Louis!
Tonight, your family showed up and threw you a birthday you’d forgotten about. Happy 33rd, and you were over the moon.
L - 24/12/2024”
Chapter 15
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry capped his pen, stuffed his exam pass into his pocket, grabbed his test paper, and headed toward the proctor standing by Liam.
As he handed over his paper, he flashed a smile. “Wishing you a merry Christmas, sir.”
The man nodded, and Harry glanced at Liam, who was buried in his paper. “I gotta head home early, Liam.”
Liam, pen in hand, gave a thumbs-up with the same hand. Harry nodded and made his way to the gym exit.
During the exam, he’d looked up several times, watching the other kids stress over the test, while he casually answered questions he already had the answers to.
Still, his main worry was that the cleaning lady might snitch to Mrs. Martinez, their grumpy old principal, and his final year would end in trouble.
“Harry?”
Lost in his thoughts, a now-familiar voice snapped him back. He turned to see its owner.
Louis, as usual, wore black dress pants and, as if obsessed with sky blue, had on a sky-blue shirt with a red tie and a brick-red vest—unlike his typical style. His bangs, slightly longer, brushed the rim of his glasses.
Harry glanced around, hesitantly walking toward the man leaning against the last red locker in the gym hall. “Yes?… I mean, hi, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis extended his hand. Harry eyed it, stole a quick glance at Louis, then shook it.
“How you doing?”
“Thanks?”
After two quick shakes, Louis pulled back, subtly wiping his right hand on his pants and forcing a smile.
“Did you need me for something, Mr. Tomlinson?”
“Come to my office, Harry.”
Louis didn’t have “please” in his vocabulary—he said what he meant, and you were expected to listen.
“Why?”
Harry blurted it out without thinking, and Louis pursed his lips. “Because you didn’t show up to my office yesterday.”
“Oh… I had an exam today, had to study, and couldn’t make it.”
Harry let out the breath caught in his chest.
“You could’ve canceled.”
Louis gave the bluntest response possible, then rolled his eyes. “I waited in my office for nearly an hour, set up the chessboard because you said you were coming, but you didn’t. Even the water in my glass got warm.”
“I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I forgot to call and cancel.”
Louis ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back, but since he liked them falling over his face, he let them flop forward again.
“No big deal, it’s done now.”
Without checking if Harry would follow, he started walking, and Harry reluctantly trailed behind.
“I gotta get home, Mr. Tomlinson. I’ve got stuff to do.”
Louis waved his hand in the air. “You can do your stuff later. Give me a bit of your time today so we can have a proper conversation for once.”
Harry, following Louis through the second, narrow hallway from the gym to the school building, mumbled an “okay” that brought a smile to Louis’s lips.
They stopped in the middle of the ground-floor hall, and Louis turned to Harry, who stepped back at the sudden move.
“You know where my office is, Harry. Wait for me there.”
Harry nodded, turned around, and walked away from Louis.
As Harry left, Louis headed in the opposite direction toward a small room holding both kitchen and cleaning supplies.
Louis turned on the faucet, washing his hands, which felt dirty. As he turned, he jumped at the sight of a stout woman, his foot catching a broom and knocking it over.
Louis clutched his chest. “Oh, Mrs. Martinez, you scared me!”
The woman laughed loudly, her cackle reminding Louis unmistakably of a clucking chicken.
Mrs. Martinez stopped to catch her breath. “You’re still here!”
Louis bent down, picked up the broom, propped it against the wall, and grimaced at his hands, lips twisting in disgust.
Now he’d have to wash his hands again. He turned back, opened the faucet, squirted some red soap into his palm, and said, “Was about to leave, but I saw one of the students.”
Mrs. Martinez leaned against the yellow metal cabinet, eyeing Louis from the side, eyebrow raised. “They causing you trouble?”
Louis shook his hands in the sink to dry them a bit. “No trouble, just wanna talk to them.”
He stepped back, but before he’d gone a few steps, Mrs. Martinez’s voice rang out again. “By the way, Mr. Tomlinson…”
Louis cut her off. “Later, Mrs. Martinez, I gotta go.”
“Alright, I’ll wait for you.”
On his way to his office, Louis tucked his hands under his armpits, pressing his palms to his sides and resting his arms over them to dry the dampness. At the door, he opened it with his elbow and closed it with his hip.
Harry, like last time, was buried in his phone, which irritated Louis, who took it as disrespect.
He stepped forward, reached out, snatched Harry’s phone like before, set it on the desk, and went behind his desk. He pulled the small window’s curtain, turned to Harry, and sank into the soft chair.
Taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds, he said, “Alright, Harry.”
Harry pressed his lips together, glanced at Louis, lifted himself slightly off the chair, slid his hands under him, and sat on them.
“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Harry’s eyes could never stay on Louis—like it was a rule, he had to scan every inch of the room first. His gaze darted to the flowerpot on the windowsill. “Did you put that pot there?”
Louis glanced over his shoulder at it, let out a single laugh, and looked back at Harry. “Nah, the school put it there.”
Harry nodded. “It’s nice!”
Louis opened his notebook, grabbed his fountain pen, twisted it open, wrote the date at the top, and Harry, anxious, watched him scribble. “Can you not write down our conversations?”
“I’m not planning to. Didn’t write down our not-so-long talks from last time either.”
“Good… so, now?”
Louis placed the pen in the middle of the notebook, closed it, and said, “How was your exam?”
Harry shrugged, pursed his lips, and leaned back in his chair. “Dunno, not bad. I’ll probably pass, high chance.”
He might’ve played it cool, but deep down, he was confident he’d score high, all thanks to Daisy and her second plan.
Louis closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a loud breath. “I don’t know how many times we’ve had this talk, Harry, but don’t you think it’s better to study for the rest of this half-year and do well next term?”
“Dunno.”
“Harry, we don’t do ‘dunno’! You gotta study to at least boost your grades so you can graduate high school with decent marks and get into college.”
“I’m trying.”
Harry said it casually, and Louis half-rose from his chair, propped his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands under his chin, and stared at Harry. “You’re trying, but it’s not enough! Do you even wanna go to college?”
Harry nodded. “I do. I wanna make my dad’s dream come true and become a good lawyer.”
“What was your dad’s dream, Harry?”
Harry licked his lips. “He wanted me to be a lawyer ‘cause someone once screwed us over. Their lawyer bought ours at the last minute, and everything went in favor of the person we were suing. So Dad wished I’d become a lawyer who doesn’t break their oath.”
“And you know you’ve gotta work hard for a future like that, right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to, and I don’t see a reason to when I’ve already got my own job.”
Louis, frustrated, leaned back, spun his chair once, and took a breath to stop himself from slamming his notebook into Harry’s face. “Was this how you always felt about studying?”
“Nah! We all go through something that changes us, and we’re never the same person after. Otherwise, I was that kid with his nose in his books.”
“Hmm… and what was that something for you?”
Louis was visibly curious, and this time, Harry had to satisfy that curiosity.
“My dad’s death.”
Louis, knowing that besides Harry’s sister, who lived far away, no one else from his family was left, still took on a somber expression. “I’m really sorry about losing your dad.”
“I know.”
“I lost my mom two years ago, but I kept myself together so it wouldn’t mess with my life or job. You’ve gotta push forward like that too.”
Harry shook his head, speaking haltingly. “I’m… not… you!”
Those three words hit Louis hard, making him want to know more. He pressed, “If you’re okay with it, tell me about it.”
Louis couldn’t believe it himself—a sentence with a hint of a plea hadn’t come out of his mouth in ages.
“I’m fine.”
Harry answered defiantly, eyes flicking to Louis’s planner. He clasped his trembling hands, betraying his tone, and tucked them between his thighs. “And I’ll tell you, but you can’t write it down.”
That planner was so glaring to Harry, stressing him out, making him feel deeply unsafe—like his life was an open book to someone else, which felt awful.
Louis noticed Harry’s gaze on the planner, so he picked it up, opened his desk drawer, locked it inside, stood halfway, placed the key on the nearby cabinet, and sat back down, looking at Harry. “Now you can relax and talk to me, Harry.”
Harry, still staring blankly where the planner had been, pulled his lips into his mouth.
“Harry?”
He locked eyes with Louis and spoke. “Talking about myself has always been tough. I swear, every time I try, I run out of steam halfway.”
“Just talk. Say whatever you can—it’ll lighten the load.”
Harry wanted to cling to Louis’s faint hope.
“I think I told you some stuff before, about my family—how I lost my mom, then a decade and change later, my dad.
My dad owned a textile factory, exporting top-notch stuff. His name was big in the market, but the factory went bankrupt. Some people flooded the market with cheaper, different fabric, became his nightmare, and we lost in court. Just like that, our lives flipped.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t bring back my dad or our old life.”
Flashback: 2020
[Harry set a glass of water on the table in front of Desmond, who hadn’t moved an inch since returning from court, and knelt beside his father.
The tension coursing through Desmond’s body was so intense that in those few hours, Harry had mentally plotted to sneak out at night and take out the people responsible.
He absolutely didn’t want his grandfather’s legacy, now in Desmond’s hands, to slip away.
He didn’t want Desmond’s twenty years of hard work to vanish in a week.
The curly-haired boy smoothed his dad’s messy, thinning hair and nudged the glass closer.
“Drink some water, Dad. You haven’t eaten since morning. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He placed his hand on his dad’s feverish cheeks. “You’re so stressed and upset you’ve got a fever, Dad. It’s not fair!”
Desmond set aside the bank’s warning letters, picked up the glass with two ice cubes, took a sip, and said, “If I can’t fix this, by the end of the week, the bank’s putting the factory up for auction.”
“They won’t do that. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
“We’ve got nothing left. We’ll have to sell everything to pay off the debts.”
Desmond took another sip, glanced at the clock above the TV, and said, “Go to bed, Harry. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Harry rolled his eyes and let out a puff of air. “Screw school. I can’t sleep when you’re this upset. I need to be with you.”
“No need, Harry. If I need help, I’ll call you.”
“Dad…”
“Harry!”
Desmond’s tone was firm, and Harry, not wanting to stress his dad more, nodded, stood up, and ran toward the stairs.
His mind was so caught up with his dad and the factory that, struck by a brilliant idea, he turned back from the stairs he’d climbed to share it.
Holding the glowing lightbulb of his idea so it wouldn’t fade, he rushed back down, reached his dad, and sat beside him with a smile, proud of his plan.
“Dad?”
Desmond, lost in calculating debts, jumped and shot Harry a stern look.
“I told you to go to bed, Harry.”
Harry grabbed the hem of his shirt. “I’ve got an idea to at least pay off part of our debts.”
“Harry…”
“Please, just listen for a sec, Dad.”
Harry cut Desmond off mid-sentence, then gave his dad an apologetic look and continued, “We could sell the flower shop. We don’t really need it right now.”
Desmond stared at Harry with wide eyes, then looked up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths to stop himself from splashing the water in the glass onto his son’s face to knock some sense into him.
In a voice deepened by the strain in his neck, he said, “Don’t even think about selling Sweet Winter. It’s yours, in your name.”
“Yeah, it’s in my name, but do I even use it? No, and we don’t need it.”
Desmond, flipping through papers, continued, “Sweet Winter is like you—sprouting in despair. Just because you don’t need it now doesn’t mean you won’t later.”
“I hope so, Dad.”
Harry leaned toward Desmond, pressed his lips to his dad’s cheek with a loud kiss, and said, “There’s some food I made on the stove in the pot. Please eat, don’t starve, and don’t stress so much. I promise it’ll all work out, Dad.”
Desmond looked up from the papers, gave his son a hopeful smile. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, and I love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, my little snowdrop.”
The next morning, as Harry came down the stairs, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, reached the last step, and froze, staring at the table in the living room.
Desmond, surrounded by papers, had his head on the table, asleep. Harry knew his dad was in for some serious neck pain, so he dropped his backpack and strode to the table, starting to organize his dad’s handwritten notes.
“Dad… get up, don’t sleep here, you’ll hurt your neck.”
When his dad didn’t respond, Harry set the papers aside and gently shook him. “Dad, get up, go sleep in your bed. You fell asleep here, your neck’s gonna kill you.”
The glass of water Harry brought last night was empty—a small victory—so he stood, went to the kitchen to wash it and refill it.
In the kitchen, he glanced at the stove, frowning as he approached, hoping at least some of the food in the pot had been eaten. But it was untouched.
“Dad, why didn’t you eat your dinner?”
He started washing the glass, refilled it, and said, “I’m gonna dump this water on your head if you don’t wake up, though I’ll probably have to sleep in the park after.”
He glanced at the fridge, betting himself he’d make a sandwich once his dad woke up before heading to school.
Glass in hand, he returned to the living room, sat beside Desmond, set the glass on the table, dipped his fingers in the water, and sprinkled it on his dad.
“Come on, Dad, get up.”
When Desmond didn’t respond, Harry reached out, shook him, and when his dad’s head lolled involuntarily, Harry jumped back in fear, screaming at his father’s lifeless face.
He wet his hand again, splashed water on Desmond’s face, and when nothing changed, the full weight of the tragedy hit him.
Last night, Desmond’s final words were his love for his son, and now he’d left him alone in a world where his snowdrop would have to grow up too soon.
Harry’s tears fell uncontrollably, his screams deafening the house as he desperately sought help from nowhere.]
Harry’s cheeks and nose were red from crying, tears streaming down in pairs without control.
He could never come to terms with his dad’s death, being the only one who saw him in that state, touching his cold body.
With Desmond’s death, Harry’s life split into two: before and after losing his dearest.
“Harry!”
Harry pushed back his tears and looked at Louis, whose compassionate gaze, this time, wasn’t forced.
Louis stood, walked around his desk, grabbed the tissue box, and held it out to Harry. “Take one.”
He paused, then hesitantly added, “Want me to get you some water?”
Harry shook his head, grabbed a tissue, wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and crumpled it in his hand.
Louis sat in the chair across from Harry. “Wanna stop?”
“I’m fine, I’ll keep going.”
Harry’s voice was nasal as he tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling.
“I get what you’re saying, Harry.”
“No, you don’t. If I hadn’t gone to sleep that night, if I’d stayed up with him, I wouldn’t have let him push himself so hard.”
“I know what loss feels like, what it does to you. I lost my mom too. Maybe one day I’ll tell you about it.”
“You’ll never get how I felt the moment I saw his pale face. At seven in the morning on an autumn day, I faced my worst fear. I ran into the street screaming for help without thinking.
Half an hour later, the hospital came to take my dad, saying he’d had a heart attack. Neighbors were at our door, and I called the only person I knew and trusted. By the end of that week, the bank put the factory up for auction.”
Flashback: Three Days After Desmond’s Death, 2020
[Harry stared blankly at the freshly turned soil and the flowers on top.
He couldn’t believe the person buried there was the same one he’d talked to three nights ago, who didn’t open his eyes the next day.
Gemma glanced at the soil, then at Harry, shook her head sadly, and walked away with the guy she’d recently started seeing.
To Harry, even the sky seemed sad that day, crying with big, heavy raindrops soaking the curly-haired boy who had no umbrella.
“Come on, Harry, let’s go.”
Harry looked at Jeff and his dad, who’d handled everything the past three days, and shook his head.
“I’m not coming. You guys go. I’ll stay here for now and head back when I’m tired.”
He reached into the pocket of his soaked hoodie, feeling the crumpled bills, and added, “I’ve got money. I’ll take the bus back.”
Jeff stepped forward, holding his umbrella over Harry, and from behind, pulled the hood over Harry’s curls with his free hand.
“Let’s go home. I’ll bring you back here later. That’s enough for now.”
Harry, choking back a sob, turned to Jeff, his chin trembling as he looked at him. “Dad’s alone. I don’t want him to be scared. I need to stay with him.”
Jeff reached out, pulled Harry into a hug, and the boy wrapped his arms around Jeff’s waist, clutching his jacket and sobbing loudly.
Jeff, rubbing soothing circles on Harry’s back, said, “Right now, you’re what matters. It’s getting dark—let’s go home. I’ll bring you back tomorrow.”
Jeff spoke gently, stepping backward and guiding Harry along with him.]
A strange silence hung in Louis’s office, and Louis, staring thoughtfully at Harry, decided to break it.
“So that’s how you and Jeff got close?”
Harry, gazing at the window, turned to Louis. “What?”
“I said, is that how you and Jeff got close?”
Louis repeated, and Harry let out a single laugh.
“Nah, the story of me and Jeff is from a year later, and I haven’t told it yet.”
Louis glanced at Harry’s leg, jiggling rapidly, and said, “I don’t think you need to. That’s not my business.”
“After Dad died, everything changed. Gemma got accepted to a university far away and moved to the dorms. We sold our house, and I was alone. I roomed with some guy for a couple of months, but we fought one day, and I left because he wanted me to cover more of the bills, which wasn’t fair. Jeff’s dad insisted I live with them, but I was a shy teenage kid who, even when Dad was alive, could barely look them in the eye. Them helping me pay off debts and get my life back on track was already a lot.
I decided to fire the woman working at Sweet Winter and take over, working double shifts. I dropped out of school to keep costs down. My bedroom went from a big house to a tiny room in the flower shop. Eventually, Gemma got a job, so her tuition wasn’t on my shoulders anymore, and I could save a bit of what I earned.
At some point, Joseph’s visits got more frequent. Our talks took on a new vibe. Jeff’s dad wasn’t around for our meetups anymore, and we weren’t just talking about bills and debts. Jeff took me out to lift my spirits, even took me on a trip with them once. They threw me a birthday party, and that’s where I had my first kiss. I couldn’t believe it was me!
A lot’s changed in those four years. I realized I loved Jeff too, and we slowly moved in together. I had to go back to school eventually, and one spring day, Jeff asked me to be his boyfriend. I swear, that day, even the sun was smiling, the flowers were prettier, and random people on the street were nicer to us.”
Louis, with a smile he didn’t know where it came from, looked at Harry. Snapping out of it, he cleared his throat, sat up straight, and glanced at his watch like he was looking for something. “Our talk’s gone longer than a regular therapy session.”
Harry’s eyes widened as he looked at Louis, stood up, grabbed his phone from the desk, turned it on, and sighed at the time. “Time’s up.”
Louis stood, raising an eyebrow. “You had somewhere to be?”
Harry stuffed his phone into his pocket. “I was supposed to hit the mall and order a small Christmas tree.”
“Bit early, no?”
“Nah, the place we order from every year takes pre-orders for special customers a week in advance, and now it’s already late.”
Louis slipped his hands into his pants pockets. “We didn’t play chess this time, and it feels like our talk was missing something.”
Harry laughed, running a hand through his hair. “At least I didn’t have to stress about losing.”
“Now that I think about it,” Louis said, “you’ve really lived a life on your own and been your own hero without ever realizing it. You’ve made your parents proud. I’ve never had a client like you.”
Louis said it, knowing he was stretching the truth a bit, but no one needed to know.
“Saying all this out loud to someone makes me feel lighter, like a weight’s lifted off my chest.”
Harry finished, flashed a shy smile, and looked down, his hair falling over his eyes.
“Can I go now?”
Louis, snapping out of it, extended his hand for a shake. “Of course you can. Have a great holiday.”
“You too.”
Harry shook Louis’s hand and headed for the door when Louis’s voice stopped him.
“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Harry turned, and Louis, holding a piece of paper, stepped forward and handed it to him. “This is my number. I’d be glad if, after these sessions, you’d trust me enough to reach out.”
Harry nodded, took the paper, and left the office. Stepping out of that atmosphere, he felt better, glanced at the crumpled paper in his hand, tucked it into his pocket, and headed for the exit.
ᨒ
The Christmas holidays came faster than anyone expected, and the school closed two days early—an absolute win for Harry, who was always dodging school.
“Harry?”
Harry looked up from his phone at Jeff, who was coming out of a shop.
“Yeah?”
Jeff held out a receipt. “Here’s the purchase slip for the tree order. The seller said they’ll deliver it tomorrow morning.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, took the receipt, gave it a quick glance, then reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and slipped it inside.
“Next year, no more real pines. We’re getting a fake one to keep for a few years.”
Jeff put his hand on Harry’s waist, guiding him forward as Harry took a step.
“Fake pines smell like plastic, and I hate that smell. At least a real one smells like nature, even if it’s dead.”
Harry rolled his eyes, slid his fingers between Jeff’s, and held his hand. “I’ll never get used to your obsession with smells.”
The mall was crowded, so they didn’t stand out. Jeff pressed his lips to Harry’s temple, kissing him, which brought a smile to Harry’s face.
Jeff pointed to the store entrance. “You go in, I’ll grab a cart.”
Harry turned to Jeff. “We don’t need anything to buy.”
Jeff nodded. “I know, but still.”
Harry muttered an “okay” and passed through the store’s entrance with its theft detectors. He turned his phone back on and saw a new message from Louis.
From Mr. Tomlinson:“Glad you trusted me enough to text. We’ll definitely stay in touch. Tell me anything you need, and don’t think the holidays mean we’re done. If you want, come see me—it’d be an honor.”
To Mr. Tomlinson:“If I can, I will. Hope I’m not a bother.”
From Mr. Tomlinson:“You’re not a bother.”
Seeing Jeff approach with a huge cart, Harry glanced back at his phone.
To Mr. Tomlinson:"Gotta go, I’m busy.”
From Mr. Tomlinson:“Wishing you a merry Christmas.”
Harry turned off his phone and walked toward Jeff, who was navigating the crowd with the oversized cart, bursting into loud laughter.
With wide eyes, Harry looked at Jeff between laughs. “What’s that? They’re gonna yell at us for this.”
Jeff glanced around. “Shhh, we’ve got a lot to buy, I had to grab this.”
Harry eyed the cart. “We’re not moving furniture, babe! It’s just got a tiny basket on top.”
“Our stuff’s not much, so it’s fine.”
Harry took off his coat, draped it over his forearm. “Go put that back and grab a basket.”
“Get in it.”
“What?”
Jeff pointed to the cargo part of the cart. “Sit here.”
Harry burst out laughing, resting his forehead on Jeff’s shoulder. “You’re joking, right? I’m not a kid.”
Jeff took Harry’s coat from his hand and whispered, “I’m not joking, Mr. Styles. Please move that fine ass of yours and sit in the cart.”
Harry stepped back, still laughing, and perched on the cargo section. Jeff draped the coat over his legs.
“There you go, Your Majesty. My fine ass has moved.”
Jeff reached out, ran his fingers through Harry’s soft curls, messing them up. “Good boy!”
Harry laughed, turned his head, and looked at Jeff. “Get moving, Daddy, or they’ll kick us out.”
Forty minutes later, they’d roamed the entire store, opened and eaten two or three snacks, left the empty packages behind, and weren’t planning to pay for them. Jeff’s logic was that if they didn’t do it, someone else would and enjoy life more.
“Harry?”
Harry looked up from the book he’d just picked up, having absentmindedly read about twenty pages, as a huge bouquet was placed in his arms.
“Whoa… what’s this, Jeff?”
Harry asked, surprised, clutching the bouquet and staring at the tiny white and pink flowers.
“It says here they’re… gypsophila.”
Jeff mispronounced the name on the bouquet and continued, “They’re pretty, so they’re for you.”
Harry buried his face in the small flowers, sniffing them, only to be hit with their strong scent. “They smell intense.”
Jeff pushed the cart again. “But they’re pretty.”
“Thanks.”
Harry smiled, thanked him, and returned to his book, keeping his finger under an interesting paragraph. “Joseph? You listening?”
“I’m all ears, Harold, tell me, babe.”
Harry cleared his throat. “A family is like a fingerprint; each one is different from the other and leaves its own mark. Our family was like a fabric full of patterns, always with plenty of frayed threads. Before I was born, that fabric was a bit worn, and if you looked closely, you might even find a few holes. Some people, when they see flaws, can’t find the beauty in them, but I always loved every single member of my family dearly, no matter how they felt about me.”
“So?”
Harry shrugged. “Dunno, just wanted to read it to you. I liked it, thought it was cool.”
“You hungry?”
“What do you wanna eat?”
“Dunno, maybe a sandwich?”
When the mall’s closing time hit and the crowd thinned, the two finally let themselves leave with hands full of random purchases.
As they carried their bags through the parking lot, looking for where they’d parked, Harry got chatty late at night.
“You ate noodles too!”
Harry said with a grimace, trying to fight the itch he couldn’t scratch with his hands full.
Jeff, searching for their spot, said, “They were tasty.”
Harry raised a hand, pointing to a pillar marked “M12.” “There it is, found it… What? Jeff, are you serious, babe?”
Jeff chuckled, trying to mix his growing grin with some seriousness. “Dead serious, babe.”
“Ugh, spicy noodles? Then imagine eating a ton of boiled macaroni. Poor Chinese with their food.”
Jeff shifted a bag to his other hand, pulled the car keys from his pocket, and pressed the remote to pop the trunk.
“Trying it for the first time was worth it, Harry. Korean food’s cool too.”
Harry put his bags in the trunk and started taking off his coat, hating the heat and not needing it.
“You need to meet Daisy and Zayn—they love that weird stuff too. I still prefer a sandwich with extra sauce.”
After Jeff moved aside to load the bags, Harry tossed his coat onto the purchases and stepped back to close the trunk when Jeff’s hands landed on his hips.
“What do you prefer me over?”
Harry’s lips curled into a smile at Jeff’s silly, childish jealousy. He turned, looked at him, and teased, “What do you want it to be?”
Jeff wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, bent at the knees, slid his arms under Harry’s hips, lifted him off the ground, set him on the trunk, and stepped between his legs.
“I don’t want there to be anything. I just want it to be me.”
Harry wrapped his arms around Jeff’s neck, pulling him close, and said softly, “I’d choose you over everything.”
Jeff planted a kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth, a kiss that, every time it happened, made Harry feel like a flower was blooming in his heart from the love he had for Jeff.
Jeff gripped Harry’s hips, his hands wandering wherever they could reach, and in that moment, every spot Jeff touched on Harry’s body burned and caught fire.
Harry could swear he could see and feel the sparks flying between them.
“What… am… I… to… you?”
Jeff asked between kisses on Harry’s lips, and Harry summed it up in one word.
“Everything.”
Harry pressed his lips to Jeff’s, giving him a loud kiss, then pulled back, glanced around, and placed his hands on the trunk to slide off.
“Let’s go. I don’t wanna get caught here.”
Jeff stepped back, circled the car, and opened the passenger door. “After you, Mr. Styles.”
Harry smoothed out his blouse, walked toward Jeff, nodded in thanks, and slid into the seat.
Jeff stood between the door and the car, leaning down. “We gotta wake up early tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“’Cause our order’s coming, and we need to tidy the house. Plus, we’ve got stuff to do out in the afternoon.”
“We don’t have anything to do.”
Harry said, confused, and Jeff continued, “Not yet, but I’ll figure something out, babe. Now put your leg in so I can close the door.”
ᨒ
“As far as I can tell, besides his boyfriend, he’s got no one. He needs to love himself and let go of feeling like he’s not enough. Love him so he can love you back!
Louis; December 26, 2024”
Notes:
*We're this close to something huge 💀*
Chapter 16
Notes:
the tumblr post fic please reblog it:-D
Chapter Text
“I know I’m gonna die, that’s why you let me win all three rounds of FIFA.”
Harry shouted from their bedroom, flipping through his childhood photo album.
Jeff grabbed his coffee mug from the counter and walked to the two steps separating the hallway from the living room. He leaned against the doorframe, one hand in his sweatpants pocket, watching Harry with a fond smile.
“Nah, babe, you’re not dying.”
Harry jumped at Jeff’s voice breaking the silence, accidentally knocking the album across the room. He clutched his chest, where his heart was pounding. “Jesus, Jeff! You scared me!”
He reached out and picked up the album, which had landed open on the other side.
“Im Not Jesus, but close enough.”
“Ha ha ha.”
Jeff took a sip of his coffee. “You’re not dying, I swear.”
Harry lifted the plastic cover on the album page and pulled out two photos side by side.
The album was full of pictures of Harry, his sister, Desmond, and a handful—less than ten—of baby Harry with his mom.
Every time he opened the album, he felt a mix of emotions about each photo.
“Harry!”
Jeff called out to his boyfriend, who was lost in the pictures. Harry snapped out of his memory bubble and looked at Jeff, confused. “Yeah?”
Jeff smiled. “I said you’re not dying, don’t worry.”
Harry grabbed the two photos he wanted, closed the album, and tossed it onto their bed. “But I won all three rounds of FIFA!”
Flashback: 40 Minutes Ago
[Harry was laser-focused on the TV screen, his fingers moving instinctively on the PlayStation controller.
As Jeff’s red player got close to Harry’s goal, Harry jumped up, perched on the edge of the couch, and slapped his right hand over Jeff’s eyes.
“If you win, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“Harry…”
Jeff peeked around Harry’s hand, glanced at the TV, and moved his player again. Harry tore his eyes from the screen, glared at Jeff, and covered his eyes again.
“Jeff!”
“I won’t win.”
“You will, like always.”
“Alright, just one goal?”
“Couch!”
Harry said it with dead seriousness. Jeff pressed his index and middle fingers together, leaving a tiny gap, and showed it to Harry. “One goal, this small.”
Harry shook his head side to side. “Nope.”
“Babe.”
“Couch, babe.”
“Fine.”
Jeff let out a loud sigh, relaxed his body, and leaned back against the couch. “Play, babe.”]
Jeff pressed his lips together to keep from laughing and followed Harry, who was heading to the living room where they’d set up the Christmas tree.
Harry knew exactly why he’d won all three rounds of FIFA but didn’t let on.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
Harry clipped the photo he was holding to an empty hook and stepped aside. Jeff leaned in to look at it closely.
A newborn, just a few days old, was in his mother’s arms, wrapped in a knitted blanket, wearing a t-shirt, and sucking on a pacifier. Anne, with a tired smile, looked at him, her hair thin from chemo and tied back.
“Awww, so tiny I could fit you in my pocket.”
Harry clipped the second photo to another hook, straightened up, and looked at Jeff. “And get this—I was born early too.”
“So why’re you at home?”
Harry put his hands on his hips, stepped back to eye the tree, and said, “Dad said they brought me home for an hour. Mom put on home clothes so we could take some pictures at the house, ‘cause both me and her had to be under care—me in an incubator, her for her cancer.”
Jeff stepped closer and looked at the second photo Harry had hung up.
The curly-haired boy, in a white t-shirt—Jeff guessed it was a few months before Desmond’s death—had his arms wrapped around his dad’s neck. Desmond, in a short-sleeved white shirt, had Harry’s head resting against his. Both were smiling at the camera—Harry’s grin so wide you could see his back teeth.
“I really miss Desmond.”
Harry pursed his lips, nodded, and said, “I miss Dad too.”
“He was a damn good guy.”
“This was an hour after Dad put Sweet Winter in my name. Then we went to get ice cream together.”
After finishing, Harry stared at the photo, choking up, and Jeff braced for the flood of tears from his favorite person.
“Get dressed, we’re going out. Got stuff to do.”
“Huh?”
Jeff bent down, set his half-drunk coffee mug on the table by the tree, turned, and headed for the stairs, calling out, “Harry, if we wait till night, we won’t even be able to drive in the streets.”
“Alright, alright.”
Harry gave the tree one last look and veered toward their bedroom.
Half an hour later, they were in the car, and to Harry, Jeff seemed to be driving aimlessly.
Harry yanked off his muddy-colored beanie, clutched it in his fist, and glanced at the digital map on the console between them. “Where we going?”
“Harrods.”
Jeff said it without taking his eyes off the road. Harry’s eyes widened as he stared at him. “You know how far it is from Bristol? It’s at least two hours.”
“That’s why I said we needed to get ready early.”
Harry looked at Jeff thoughtfully and continued, “You know how long it’s been since I went to London?”
“We’ve both been slammed.”
Harry stared ahead, leaned his head back against the headrest, and said, “Hmm… I’m gonna nap. Wake me when we get there.”
Jeff lifted his left hand from the steering wheel, placed it on Harry’s right thigh, and rubbed it gently. “If there’s no traffic, we’ll get there quick. Yeah, you should sleep.”
Harry nodded, closed his eyes, but could’ve sworn if he took off his pants, he’d find flowers sprouting where Jeff’s hand had been.
A century later—at least to Harry—they were finally in Harrods’ underground parking lot.
Harry got out of the car, stretched his body, his joints popping loudly. “I slept so hard, it’s like I went into hibernation.”
Jeff closed his door and cracked up. “One hour and forty-five minutes.”
Harry rubbed his eyes, then stared at the crowded parking lot. “We’re definitely getting lost here.”
“Memorize the number on the pillar, and we’re good.”
Harry turned, spotted a pillar five cars away, and read it aloud. “H23… which floor?”
Jeff locked the car, caught up to Harry, put his hand on the boy’s waist, and started walking. “Level minus two.”
“I’m hot. You rushed me so much I forgot to leave my coat in the car.”
Jeff stopped, waiting for Harry to step onto the escalator first, then stood behind him. He lifted his hand, grabbed the shoulders of Harry’s checkered coat—its colors all in the same tone—and said, “Take it off, I’ll hold it.”
Harry pulled off his matching checkered scarf, slid his arms back, and Jeff tugged the coat’s sleeves. Harry freed one arm, passed the scarf to his other hand, and Jeff pulled the coat off, folded it, and draped it over his forearm.
“You wore a coat *and* a hoodie under it? Babe, you’re gonna boil.”
Harry grabbed the collar of his gray hoodie, shaking it to let some air in and cool off. “If I don’t wear a hoodie, I’d have to put on one of your jackets under the coat.”
When they reached the top, passed two parking levels, and stepped off the escalator, *that’s* when they realized what crowded meant at this mall.
“Perfect!”
“Well, I think we’re gonna get lost.”
Harry said, tossing his scarf around Jeff’s neck and grabbing his hand. “Keep this. If we lose each other, we’ll spot it. I’ve got my beanie too.”
Jeff let out a single laugh. “What, you gonna set it on fire so we can find each other?”
Harry laughed at Jeff’s lame joke and pulled his green beanie from his hoodie pocket. “If we lose each other, we’ll call, but you need something recognizable so we can spot you.”
Jeff raised an eyebrow. Harry let go of his hand, brought his fingertips close together, then spread them apart like an explosion. “Boom, that simple.”
Jeff grabbed Harry’s hand again and changed the subject. “Alright, where do we start?”
Harry scanned the area quickly, then looked back at Jeff. “Ummm…”
“Um?”
Harry blew a puff of air in Jeff’s face, glanced around again, and pointed with his free hand to the escalator going up. “Second floor. This one’s got random junk. We bought enough yesterday.”
Jeff nodded, squeezed Harry’s hand, and they headed for the escalator.
Half an hour later, coming out of the Gucci store, Harry let his shoulders slump, took the bag from Jeff, and beelined for some chairs in the walkway. Just then, a woman got up, and Harry swooped in like he’d been staking it out.
Jeff followed and crouched in front of him, staring at the boy.
“We should’ve bought two shirts.”
“There’s no ‘you and me’ here! If you don’t wear it, I will. If I don’t, you will.”
Jeff chuckled at Harry’s comment, and Harry grabbed both sides of the bag, pulling them apart to peek at the shirt box inside. Jeff’s staring made him feel a bit shy in front of everyone else.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Like what you see?”
The corner of Jeff’s mouth quirked up as he placed his hands on Harry’s knees. “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting in front of me, babe.”
“Fair enough.”
“As always!”
Jeff said with a smug grin. Harry closed the bag, set it on the ground, pressed his knees together, and looked at Jeff—the guy he couldn’t help but admire, even when he didn’t want to.
“Man, acting like those rich kids or their dads who think they’re big-shot traders is *hard*. You know how many times I almost cracked up in that store?”
Harry straightened up, puffed out his chest, and laughed. “You were like, ‘Oh, you poor things, I could buy you all.’ And those employees were all fawning over us.”
“Can’t I buy ‘em?”
“Sure, but no need for everyone to know.”
Jeff nodded, stood up, flexed his legs a few times to ease the ache, and held out a hand to Harry. “What else we gotta buy?”
Harry took Jeff’s hand, stood, grabbed the bag from the ground, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “Nothing. Let’s go home. I wanna be there for New Year’s.”
Jeff glanced at his watch. “Still plenty of time till midnight.”
He folded Harry’s coat, which he was still holding, took one handle of the bag from Harry, opened it, stuffed Harry’s coat and the scarf around his neck inside, and took the bag from him.
“Come on, next floor.”
Harry trailed Jeff like a duckling. “Why?”
“’Cause we came all this way, so we gotta make the most of it.”
A bit later, they stashed their stuff in an empty locker, locked it, and headed to the counter and the attendant.
The woman behind the counter, chewing gum, eyed Harry up and down. “Left or right?”
Harry, distracted by the people playing in the lanes, said, “Huh?”
She repeated, sounding annoyed, “Need to know if you’re left- or right-handed so I can give you shoes with the right grip for your dominant hand.”
“Oh… left, size 7.5, please.”
The woman nodded, turned, rummaged through mostly empty shelves behind her, bent down, and placed a pair of colorful bowling shoes next to Jeff’s on the counter. “Here ya go. Swap your shoes for these, and I’ll put yours in the rack.”
Harry mumbled an “okay,” set the shoes on the ground, and leaned against the counter to unzip his boots.
After handing over their shoes and getting a number for their locker, they headed to an empty bowling lane.
Jeff tapped the digital scoreboard by their lane, set it for two players, and said, “Player 1’s me, Player 2’s you. We take turns throwing.”
Harry nodded, walked to the ball dryer, put his hands on his hips, and stared at the bowling balls.
Seeing Harry distracted, Jeff quietly crept up, pressed his ice-cold hand to Harry’s warm neck, and slid his fingers under the collar of Harry’s hoodie. Harry jumped, grabbed Jeff’s hand, and spun around with wide eyes, staring at the man.
“I’m gonna have a heart attack, end up paralyzed, fall into your lap, become ugly and useless, and then we’ll ditch me in the park at night, and I’ll end up homeless.”
Jeff cracked up, bent down, and picked up a red bowling ball. “Even your ugly’s gorgeous… you still got underwear under that hoodie?”
Harry grabbed the collar of his hoodie, pulled it away from his chest, and peeked inside. “Yeah, it’s that white blouse that got stained pink in the wash with that red t-shirt, so I threw it on.”
“Take the hoodie off, it’s hot. You’re half-cooked.”
“Where am I supposed to put it?”
Jeff aimed his ball at the pins, threw it, and covered his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers as the ball rolled. “Hold on.”
His first throw knocked down seven pins. The sweeper came down, cleared the lane, and in a blink, ten new pins were set up.
Harry pulled his beanie from his hoodie pocket, put it on, then grabbed the hem of his hoodie, yanked it off, tossed it into Jeff’s arms, adjusted his blouse, and took a deep breath. “Ahh, cool air.”
Jeff, shaking his head with a laugh, grabbed the sleeves of the hoodie in his arms and stretched it out to smooth it.
Harry walked to the ball dryer, eyed the balls, and picked up a glittery purple one that looked like a galaxy. Turning to Jeff with a grin, he said, “This color reminds me of toilet bowl cleaner.”
Jeff was speechless, realizing in that moment that Harry’s head was full of butterflies.
Harry took three steps back from the line, held the ball in his left hand, stepped forward with his right foot, then his left, and on the final step with his right, he slipped, threw the ball, and stared at it desperately.
“Go, go, go, gooo…”
The ball, thanks to Harry’s bad throw, stopped halfway. “Ugh, why’d it do that?!”
Harry spun around, wide-eyed, looking at Jeff, who was pressing his lips together to stifle a laugh. Harry glanced around, then walked to the gutters on either side of the lane to get his ball, gave it a nudge with his foot to get it rolling again, and jogged back to his spot.
This time, his move sent the ball crashing into the pins, knocking all ten down. Harry jumped up, waving his hand excitedly. “Yesss, that’s it! Knocked ‘em all down on the first try!”
He went to the scoreboard by the lane, saw the 10 next to his name, and kept going. “You losers better bow to me!”
Jeff tossed the hoodie back into Harry’s arms, grabbed a new ball, and while aiming, said, “That one doesn’t count.”
Harry frowned, plopping onto the edge of the ball dryer. “Fine, let’s go home then.”
Jeff glanced at the big scoreboard on the wall. “Take two deep breaths, get up, and throw. This time, you’ll knock ‘em all down in one go.”
Harry turned his head, eyed the row of balls, smirked at the idea in his head, and stood up. He grabbed the hoodie’s sleeves, tied it around his waist, then pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to Jeff.
He walked to their lane, picked up two orange balls, held them to his chest, and looked at Jeff, who was staring at him, confused. “Pretty, huh?”
“Harry…”
“I know, I’m gorgeous, that’s why you’re speechless. Can you take a picture of me?”
Harry said with a smug grin, flashing a flirty smile.
“Are those orange-flavored now?”
Harry looked at Jeff thoughtfully. “Yeah, probably. Like orange milk, freeze it, and it’s orange ice cream.”
“God, Harry… where do you come up with this stuff? Just thinking about it makes me wanna puke.”
Jeff’s face was a mix of laughter and disgust as he turned on Harry’s phone to snap a photo.
Harry flashed a toothy grin at the camera, waiting for the shot.
“Is it lame if I put this on my Instagram story?”
Harry asked, setting one ball down, then aiming the second at the pins and throwing it.
Jeff slipped Harry’s phone into his pocket. “Nah! Just do what makes you feel good.”
After forty minutes, two sets, and a final two-throw turn they played together, they grabbed their stuff and left the bowling alley.
Jeff handed Harry the shopping bag, now stuffed with their coats and jackets, the actual purchases lost inside. As they stood on the escalator heading down, Jeff slung his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You sit on one of those chairs in the middle. I’ve got something to do on the second floor—it’ll take a bit.”
“How long’s ‘a bit’?”
“Umm… I gotta pick something up. If it’s not crowded, it’ll take ten minutes. Otherwise, you might have to wait for me for half an hour.”
Harry pressed his lips together and nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Half an hour later, Harry was on the fourth floor, sitting at a white table with their shopping bags between his legs, munching on fries and chatting with his friends.
Harry:“😂😭😂 Did you tell them if they don’t sleep early, Santa won’t bring Christmas gifts?”
Daisy:“OMG, yeah, you won’t believe it—Doris bought it!”
Harry:“For real?!”
Daisy:“Dead serious. Otherwise, she’d stay up all night hyped for the new year. Ernest’s the same.”
Liam:Sticker
Harry:“Poor kids stuck with you 😂”
Daisy:“hshsjnsjms ^_^”
Liam:“Where you at?”
Harry stacked two fries on his fork, popped them in his mouth, hit the voice message icon, and started talking with his mouth full. “Me? Me and Jeff went out to wander around. No clue where he’s at now, he’s taking forever… Oh, he’s calling.”
He sent the voice message and answered Jeff’s call, which popped up on his screen.
“Yeah?”
“Harry, where you at?”
Jeff was panting as he spoke. Harry took a sip of his soda. “Fourth floor. You took so long, I came up here to grab a bite.”
“Alright, stay there, I’m coming up.”
Harry jumped up, his chair scraping loudly. He held his phone against his shoulder with his cheek, bent down to grab the bags from the floor, and set them on the table. “No need, I’m coming down now. Stay where you are, I’m on my way.”
“Cool, I’m by the Gucci store we bought from.”
Harry hung up without a word, stuffed his phone in his pocket, looped the handles of both shopping bags around his wrist, grabbed his fries and soda, and headed for the escalator.
Soon after, Harry spotted Jeff shoving something into his pocket.
He walked up, immediately handing Jeff the fries and soda. “Where were you?”
Jeff, ignoring the question, stared at the second bag around Harry’s wrist. “What’s that?”
Harry set down the bag with their coats, opened the second one, and said, “Got a new pair of Converse.”
Jeff peeked into the bag, seeing the color on the box. “You already have black ones.”
“Nah, not black. Got brown ones. Loved the color—saw it on TikTok a while back.”
Jeff stepped back, raised an eyebrow. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, put your coat on.”
Harry bent down, pulled Jeff’s coat—similar to his own—from the bag, took the fries back, and handed Jeff the coat.
Jeff took it, slipping it over his cream sweater. “You seriously only got fries?”
Harry bent down, set his soda on the ground by his feet, pulled his checkered coat from the bag, and started putting it on. “Nah, got some fried mushrooms and nuggets too. Left two for you.”
“Thanks.”
After tossing their bags into the car, they walked out of the mall. Harry took his scarf, draped it around Jeff’s neck, and asked, “How late’s this mall open?”
Jeff adjusted the scarf, leaned toward Harry’s hand holding the soda, caught the straw between his lips, and took a sip. “Think it’s open till 1 a.m. on New Year’s Eve. We won’t be here that long.”
Harry let out a “hmmm,” munching on a fry while eyeing the bustling shops around them, people coming and going.
“Guess what?”
Jeff turned to Harry, mirroring his questioning look. “What?”
Harry’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Jeff, his excitement obvious. “The shop where I got the Converse was playing The Beatles!”
Jeff grinned. “No way!”
Harry tilted his head, nodding before grabbing the straw of his soda between his lips. “I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t think anyone else like me still listened to old-school songs.”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I said your eyes turned heart-shaped.”
Harry laughed. “I’d believe it. That moment, I wanted to spend the whole night in that shop, just listening to their music.”
Jeff pointed at the string lights shaped like angels, strung across the street between lampposts. “Wish I knew how they make those stay up so perfectly.”
Harry stared at the angel made of yellow and white lights, pulling his beanie over his ears. “They’re so pretty, especially now with snow falling and sticking to them.”
Jeff tossed the empty fry container and soda cup into a bin, wrapped his scarf tighter to cover his mouth and nose for warmth, then shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Harry grabbed Jeff’s arm.
“We didn’t go to your mom and dad’s this year.”
“Hmm… they went to Paris for Christmas.”
“I miss them.”
“Me too. Think they’re back in two or three days. We can go see them.”
“You know where I wanna go? I wanna go to the Netherlands.”
“For Christmas?”
“Nah, just for fun. It’s gorgeous in summer or spring, especially during the flower festival.”
“I’ll take you. Once you finish high school, I’ll take you everywhere. Hell, next Christmas, I’ll take you to Paris.”
Harry grinned, pointing at a tunnel of string lights nearby. “Wanna take a pic there?”
“You want a pic? It’s cute, sure.”
The last three hours of 2024 flew by faster than anything. Now, with ten minutes left, people crowded the street near the clock tower and the massive Ferris wheel they called the London Eye, all lined up together.
Harry and Jeff stood under a sign that read “Merry Kiss Me,” Harry smiling like it was his first New Year’s in London.
He remembered clearly when Desmond was alive, they’d come to the capital every year. He, Gemma, and their dad would have dinner, and if they had time, pick up a few books as Christmas gifts.
In those final minutes, Jeff was the one staring at Harry, waiting for the boy to notice the two love-filled orbs in his eyes, to feel how much he was adored.
He waited for love to spill from his eyes like shimmering liquid mixed with glitter, running down his cheeks.
Jeff stole a glance at the clock tower—four minutes left until the day was complete.
He reached into his pocket, stepped back from Harry, pulled out a small box, and got down on one knee.
“Jeff, what’re you doing?”
Jeff opened the box, looked up at Harry, and raised his hand.
“W-what?”
Jeff cleared his throat. “Harry, my love.”
Harry stared at Jeff with wide eyes, lost in a bubble of confusion.
“That night we kissed, drunk out of our minds—I’ll never forget it. Maybe we couldn’t live together back then, but I waited for the day I could ask you this. Harry, back then, we were both kids—you know what I mean by ‘kids.’ Four years ago, when it happened, when you lost your dad, I was determined to have you. You were mine, whether you wanted it or not. When you agreed to be my boyfriend, I swear my heart skipped a few beats, like, am I dreaming that you actually said yes? I’m total crap at setting things up, don’t even know what I just said to you, just spilling whatever’s in my heart. I hope you get how much I love you. Harry Styles, you’re straight out of those books you’re always reading—so dreamy, so perfect. The character everyone wants, but I want you all for myself. I want you for all my tough days, for the days I need a shoulder to cry on, for the days when my thoughts drive me nuts and you can calm me down. I want us to walk the rest of this road together, to get through it together. I want us to have each other, and I want you to be the one who holds my hands tight and never lets go. My dearest, I want you to take my last name next to yours and be with me forever. So, Harry, will you marry me?”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat, leaving Jeff hanging, clueless. His hands, balled into fists in his pockets, pressed so hard his nails dug into his palms, the pain reminding him this wasn’t a dream.
His eyes brimmed with tears, and he couldn’t believe he’d ever be in a moment like this. He always thought he might never find his soulmate, but now he’d found someone his whole being screamed for.
The last twenty seconds of the year ticked down as the crowd chanted the countdown, some filming, but a camera from the crowd zoomed in on them.
“You… you sure?”
A smile spread across Jeff’s face. “Of course I’m sure about what I’m doing right now. Harry, I’ve been planning this for a while.”
Harry glanced around, then locked eyes with Jeff. “I accept your proposal, Joseph.”
Jeff stood, took Harry’s right hand, slid the platinum ring onto his middle finger, and as the clock struck midnight, fireworks soaring for the new year, he pressed his lips to Harry’s.
Jeff framed Harry’s face with his hands, fingers brushing under his ears and into his hair. In a split second, the vibe shifted—Harry hesitantly raised his hands, wrapped them around Jeff’s neck, pulling him closer until no space was left between them. His thumb played with Jeff’s ring on his middle finger. Jeff had to move his hands from Harry’s face, wrapping them around his waist instead.
The wetness on Harry’s face made them pull apart. Jeff frowned at Harry’s smiling, tear-streaked face, raised a hand, and wiped the tears from his cheek. “Don’t cry!”
Harry took Jeff’s hand in both of his, sniffled. “I love you, Jeff. Don’t know how many times I’ve said it, but I love you from the bottom of my heart.”
Jeff pulled Harry into a hug. Harry rested his forehead on Jeff’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and fiddled with the unfamiliar ring on his finger.
“Thanks.”
Jeff pressed his lips to Harry’s temple, kissing his pulse, and whispered, “I love you, and thank you for saying yes.”
Harry pulled back, looked at the ring on his finger. “This is so pretty.”
Jeff took Harry’s hand, lifted it. “Look at it in the light—you’ll see the detailing. Take this for now, and when it’s official, when we register it, I’ll give you a gold one for your ring finger.”
“We don’t need government papers. All that matters is our hearts, my love.”
A woman stepped out from the now-thinning crowd, smiling at them. “Huge congrats! Hope you guys last forever.”
“Thanks, ma’am!”
She held up her phone. “I actually filmed you guys. Where can I send it?”
Jeff pulled out his phone. “Oh, wow, that’s so kind of you, ma’am!”
ᨒ
“Today, I finally wore that leather jacket I bought, and guess what? I went out, free as I wanted, walked under the damn cold snow, listened to street buskers playing guitar, and because of that promise I’m gonna keep, I bought a guitar. I’m so stoked to try it out. When midnight hit, I randomly kissed someone—don’t even remember if it was a guy or a girl. But the point is, I had my New Year’s kiss! Forgot that’s something everyone can have.
P. 1/1/2025”
Chapter 17
Notes:
the tumblr post fic please reblog it:-D
Chapter Text
The sound of Harry’s phone alarm shattered the bedroom’s silence.
Harry blindly reached out, grabbed his phone from the nightstand where it was charging, and turned it off, his voice groggy. “Alright, alright, I’m up.”
Phone in hand, his sleepy eyelids drooped, and within five minutes, the alarm blared again.
“Harry… turn… that thing off.”
Jeff mumbled, half-asleep, tossing his left leg over Harry’s and scooting closer.
Harry silenced his phone, rubbing his eyes. “Take your leg off, I gotta get ready to go.”
Jeff buried his face in Harry’s neck from behind and growled, “It’s a holiday, where you going? Sleep, Harry.”
Harry grabbed his phone again, glanced at the date on the screen, and sighed. “Can’t sleep now.”
Jeff wrapped his left arm around Harry’s waist, pressing himself fully against him. “Sleep, you’ll fall back asleep.”
“Joseph.”
“Don’t move, sleep. You’re so warm.”
Harry, now wide awake, pulled his right hand from under the blanket and stared at the ring that had taken up residence on his finger last night.
He lifted Jeff’s hand off his, ran his thumb over the engraving on the ring, and read it in the light filtering through the curtains onto the bed.
“Peace” was a heavy word for Harry.
Peace was what brought their hearts closer, tied their souls together, and sang like a melody in their heads. He never thought he’d be caught up in that kind of peace and connection, wearing the ring of someone he loved.
He picked up his phone from beside his head, unplugged it, and opened the camera.
Raising his right hand so the light hit his fingers, the ring on his middle finger barely visible, he snapped a few photos from that angle.
Though he’d rather spend the rest of the morning in bed with Jeff, he pushed the blanket off, gently moved Jeff’s hands and legs, slipped out of the room quietly, left the door half-open, and headed to the bathroom.
After finishing up, he sat on the closed toilet lid and, as usual, turned on his internet to check everyone’s stories.
From Mr. Tomlinson: “Morning”
Harry frowned, closed the story, and waited for the next message. He couldn’t believe his therapist was messaging him this early on New Year’s.
From Mr. Tomlinson:“Just wanted to say”
From Mr. Tomlinson: “Happy New Year”
From Mr. Tomlinson:“Wishing you a merry Christmas”
He ignored the flood of messages that followed, turned off his phone, stuffed it in his pocket, got up, washed his face and hands, and left the bathroom.
He needed to set the breakfast table, but it was too early, and he knew Jeff wouldn’t be up for a while.
He set a tray with two knives on the kitchen table, pulled cheese, butter, and breakfast chocolate from the fridge, placed them by the tray, turned on the coffee and tea maker, and popped two slices of bread in the toaster.
He pulled back a chair, turned his phone back on, and, ignoring his therapist’s messages, opened a group chat that looked unfamiliar.
Harry:“What’s the deal? Why’s the group name changed?”
It took a few minutes for a reply, and in that time, Harry tried to read more of the messages, making no sense of them.
Liam: “Long story”
Harry:“Short version”
Harry: “What kind of name is ‘Stright Gayest’?”
Liam:“Niall”
Harry: “Why’s my pic the group profile?”
Liam:“Niall was flirting with my boyfriend right in front of me”
Zayn changed the group name to “If you changes the group name, i fuck you”
Harry:“🤣🤣🤣🤣”
Harry:“Zayn, why you up?”
Zayn:“Liam’s here, babe”
Liam:“Yeah, I’m right here, Mr. Malik”
Zayn:“Oh, Harry’s here too. I was spilling my guts last night, fell asleep mid-chat”
Zayn:“Have fun last night?”
Harry: “I Swear we just slept”
Zayn:“I didn’t say anything 😔 Why you snitching on yourself?”
Harry: “Didn’t say nothing, just covering my bases :)”
Liam removed Niall from the group
Zayn: “Why you up now?”
Harry: “What the hell, why’d you kick Niall?”
Liam:“Niall was a flirt with my boyfriend, so he had to go”
Harry added Niall to the group
Harry: “My alarm went off, now I’m setting the breakfast table”
Zayn: “It’s not even 8 yet, and you’re eating breakfast?”
Harry:“It’ll be ready by then”
Harry changed the group name to “If you change the group name, I’ll scream 🎀”
Liam:Sticker
The beep of the tea maker made Harry set his phone on the table, scraping his chair back loudly. He grabbed his and Jeff’s mugs from the open dishwasher, mentally noting to use a CD marker to write their names on the bottom later.
“The smell of coffee could raise me from the grave.”
Harry set his tea-filled mug on the counter, glanced over his shoulder at Jeff, and flashed him a smile. “Morning, Mr. Hardy.”
Jeff licked his lips, stepped into the kitchen, and headed to the toaster. He grabbed the warmed toast, set it on the tray, popped in two more slices, bent down, opened a drawer, and pulled out the sugar canister.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry, he scooped a spoonful of sugar into his mug and half a spoon into Harry’s, then stepped back to the fridge to grab the milk.
He poured a bit of milk into Harry’s tea, kissed his temple, and said, “Morning to you too, Mr. Hardy.”
Harry’s cheeks visibly flushed at Jeff’s words. He quickly grabbed his tea mug to hide his shyness, sat at the table, and checked his phone again, deciding to finally reply to Louis.
To Mr. Tomlinson:“Morning, thanks! Happy New Year to you too, Mr. Tomlinson”
Jeff set his coffee mug on the table, placed the tray of warm toast beside it, and sat down. “You didn’t turn off your alarm.”
Harry put his phone aside and looked at Jeff. “Yeah, sorry, forgot.”
“If you hadn’t gotten up, the bed would still be warm, and I’d be sleeping next to you.”
Harry opened the cheese container and put a slice on the tray. “Even though we got home late last night, I couldn’t sleep anymore.”
“Your body clock’s set to 7 a.m.”
Harry glanced from the kitchen to the messy living room. “Good thing I got up early—can tidy the house.”
Jeff took a bite of his toast, talking with his mouth full. “Ish not that messy.”
Harry, eyes wide and laughing, looked at Jeff and handed him his mug. “Talking with your mouth full? I can’t understand a word, love.”
Jeff took a sip of coffee, cleared his throat. “I’m saying the house isn’t that messy.”
Harry shrugged, stirring his tea with the back of his knife. “At least it’ll keep me busy.”
And of course, that’s exactly what he did!
After breakfast, Harry shooed Jeff out of the kitchen, cleared the table, and grabbed the mop from the guest room—more of a storage closet—and mopped every inch of the hardwood floors.
It wasn’t even necessary; both he and Jeff were obsessive about cleanliness, and there wasn’t a single fingerprint on the floors.
With a damp cloth, he wiped down the dining table’s glass, the kitchen window, the sliding glass door to the backyard in the living room and their bedroom, and all the tables and decor, dusting off nonexistent dirt.
He cleaned the light switches and outlets until they practically squeaked.
He just wanted to avoid Jeff, who’d proposed last night and was now making him feel shy. He aimed to talk as little as possible and avoid eye contact for the first day.
He vacuumed the rug in front of the TV, and while bent over vacuuming under the couch, he got two playful smacks on his butt from Jeff!
Snapping out of it, he realized he was tidying their bedroom. He folded the clean clothes from the basket mixed with dirty ones, put them in the closet, tossed an empty lube bottle from under the bed into the trash, and carried the dirty clothes basket back to the kitchen, throwing them in the washer.
“Harry?”
Harry turned toward Jeff’s voice. “Yeah?”
Jeff crossed his arms and walked over to Harry, who was standing by the dishwasher. “You okay?”
Harry dried his hands with an orange towel. “Of course I’m fine.”
“It’s not even 10 yet, and you’ve done all the chores we could’ve spread out over a week together.”
Harry scratched his forehead, raising an eyebrow. “The smudges and fingerprints were driving me nuts. Had to clean them.”
Jeff reached out, untied the apron around Harry’s neck, loosened the knot at his waist, and draped it over a chair. “It’s barely been a week since we cleaned the kitchen, and you’re at it again.”
“But—”
Jeff brushed his index and middle fingers across Harry’s cheek. “Still, my *husband* wants to do a week’s worth of cleaning in a few hours, right after New Year’s.”
“Husband” was a new word, slipping for the first time from Jeff’s perfectly shaped lips, and Harry heard it from the person he loved.
“Swear it’s not on purpose.”
Jeff flashed Harry a smile, wrapped his arms around his waist, and lifted him. Harry, caught off guard, put his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. Jeff set him on the counter, hands on his hips, squeezing until Harry straightened his back.
“Jeff.”
Jeff slid between Harry’s legs. Harry locked his legs around Jeff’s waist, pulling him closer with his hands.
Jeff pressed his face into Harry’s neck, whispering, “Know what I’m thinking?”
Harry tightened his arms around Jeff’s shoulders. “Hmm?”
“That you’re the most beautiful boy I could ever have.”
Jeff whispered, planting a kiss on Harry’s pulsing neck.
The butterflies fluttering inside Harry this time felt different from every other time! It was like the first time hearing such words from someone he loved, like they were just getting to know each other with a ton of dates still ahead.
“I’ve been planning last night for months.”
Harry’s fingers slipped into the hair at the back of Jeff’s neck, grabbing it. “When I think about last night, I’m like, what if it was just a sweet dream?”
Jeff chuckled softly. “If this is a dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”
“Me neither!”
Jeff slipped two fingers under the waistband of Harry’s sweatpants and boxers, brushing the warm skin with his cold fingers. Harry let out a sharp “hiss” at the sudden move.
“Not here.”
Jeff pulled back, locking eyes with Harry’s green gaze. “But somewhere else, yeah?”
Harry didn’t answer, just yanked Jeff closer for a kiss so intense it stole their breath, letting them taste each other.
“Harry…”
Jeff, breathless, pulled back mid-kiss with a grin he couldn’t wipe off. “That kiss mean ‘okay’?”
Harry, tracing the stitching on Jeff’s blouse shoulder with his finger, nodded and brought their mouths together again.
After another quick kiss, Jeff pulled back, pressing his lips to Harry’s neck, his pulse, leaving a kiss that was more like a love bite. Then he kissed where Harry’s neck met his shoulder, finishing with a love bite on his collarbone.
“This… is ridiculous.”
Harry said between choppy breaths. Jeff, kissing under Harry’s ear, let out a questioning “hmm?” and nipped his earlobe. Harry moaned, and instead of pulling away, he arched his back needily, craving more touch.
“What’s ridiculous?”
Harry’s words got lost when Jeff slid his right hand into Harry’s boxers. The boy chose to moan for the man in front of him, tugging the hair in his fist.
Jeff gently grazed the skin above Harry’s dick. “What, Harry?”
Harry braced his right hand on the counter, using it as leverage to lift his hips off the surface, urging Jeff to touch him.
“That we’ve done this a thousand times, and now my nerves are acting like I’m some virgin teenager.”
Harry pulled his fingers out of Jeff’s hair, placed them on his shoulders, pressed himself closer, and dragged his fingertips, leaving burning scratches from Jeff’s lower back to his shoulders.
Jeff pulled back, took his hand out of Harry’s boxers, grabbed his waist, and tugged him forward until Harry’s toes touched the floor.
Staring into Harry’s eyes, Jeff grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, yanked them down, tossed them aside, and went for his boxers. Harry stopped him. “Not here, we eat here.”
Jeff pinched the wide white waistband of Harry’s boxers, tugging it down slightly. “Where then?”
Harry placed his hand on the wall formed by the fridge’s placement. “Bedroom.”
Jeff pulled Harry’s boxers down, letting them drop, and knelt between Harry’s legs. “I’ll take you to the bedroom.”
He lifted Harry’s right leg.
Jeff pressed his lips to Harry’s calf, kissing upward until he reached his thighs, splitting his kisses between both until he got to Harry’s dick, planting a kiss on the skin above it.
“Oh… fuck.”
Harry flailed his hand, knocking the magnetic beads off the fridge door, and stared at Jeff.
Jeff wet his lips, stuck out his tongue, and dragged it under Harry’s dick along the swollen vein. Harry pressed his lips together, stifling a moan in his throat.
Jeff pulled back, took Harry’s dick in his hand, and said, “Let me hear you. No one’s home to be shy about.”
Harry was always loud in bed, so Jeff found it odd he was trying to hold back now.
“Can you stand?”
Harry gripped the counter’s edge with his right hand, nodded, and Jeff wet his lips again, leaned forward, and took part of Harry’s dick into his mouth. The rest of the fridge magnets scattered on the floor as Harry’s hand moved, and he arched his back off the counter, pushing himself deeper into Jeff’s mouth.
Jeff placed Harry’s legs over his shoulders. Harry slowly lay back on the counter, locking his legs around Jeff’s head.
Jeff’s mouth moved back and forth over Harry’s dick, and Harry tugged his hair harder.
“Jeff!”
Harry moaned, tugging Jeff’s hair. Jeff growled, pulling back so just the tip of Harry’s dick was in his mouth, then went forward again, dragging his tongue over the swollen vein repeatedly. The torturous rhythm he’d set was stealing Harry’s breath.
“If you keep going like that, I won’t last!”
Jeff, determined but slowing to a teasing pace, kept going. “Jo… fuck… don’t tease, babe… I want you…”
But Jeff knew exactly what Harry needed, reading him better than any book.
Harry could feel sparks shooting up his spine, warmth pooling under his stomach. It was all too much, and he didn’t want it to end. He could hear his own moans breaking the kitchen’s silence. “Please… Jeff… babe… please…”
When Harry’s hips lifted off the counter, Jeff pulled back, looking at the boy clawing at the wall. He ran his thumb over the tip of Harry’s dick, spreading the precum, but Harry grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t…”
He caught his breath and continued, “I don’t wanna come like this.”
Jeff, his legs aching from the position, untangled Harry’s legs from around his head, stood up, stretched his sore knees, grabbed Harry’s forearms, and steadied him on his shaky legs. They leaned in for another kiss.
Harry lifted one leg, hooking it around Jeff’s waist. Jeff grabbed under Harry’s thigh, and Harry’s other leg came up too. Jeff lifted him into his arms, bolted out of the kitchen, and headed for their bedroom.
Jeff kicked the bedroom door open, went straight to the bed, bent down, and set Harry on it. He pulled back, yanked off his blouse, and hovered over Harry again.
Their lips met in a kiss, Harry opening his mouth for Jeff’s tongue. Jeff explored every inch of Harry’s mouth while Harry’s hands roamed Jeff’s body, slipping slowly into his boxers.
“Fuck me.”
Jeff groaned between kisses, pulled back, opened the bedside drawer, and grabbed the lube. He squeezed some onto his middle and index fingers. Harry grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed, lifted his hips, slid it under his lower back, and spread his legs for Jeff.
“You clean?”
Harry pressed his red lips together and nodded. “Yeah… since this morning!”
Jeff slid two lubed fingers over Harry’s hole, easing them in. Harry’s hips jerked, and he let out a gasp.
Jeff bit his lower lip, a mischievous grin spreading as he rubbed his fingers over Harry’s sensitive prostate again and again, coaxing out a moan.
“Absolutely fucking gorgeous.”
Harry clutched the blanket bunched at the edge of the bed. “I’m ready, Jo… please…”
Jeff, still moving his fingers slowly, said, “Okay,” pulled them out, wiped them on his pants, stepped back, and took off his pants. Harry, mimicking him, stripped off the last piece of clothing he had on and lay back down.
Jeff generously poured lube into his palm, spreading the slick, sweet-smelling liquid over his dick. He leaned over Harry, rubbing himself against Harry’s hole, slowly pushing in just a bit. Harry clawed at Jeff’s shoulder, hissing near his ear at the intrusion.
Harry turned his head toward Jeff’s face, pulling him into a kiss. Jeff pushed in further mid-kiss, murmuring against Harry’s open mouth, “I love you.”
“Always… always loved you.”
The heat between them grew, their bodies trembling in each other’s arms.
“Fuck… Harry, fuck!”
Jeff was above Harry, his hair falling into his face with every thrust. Harry kept pushing Jeff’s wild strands back each time they fell.
Jeff pulled out to the tip, then thrust back in a little faster, syncing his movements with Harry’s needy moans. Harry reached down, grabbing his own dick, ready to burst, and started stroking himself.
“I’m so close, Jeff…”
Harry was panting, barely able to get a word out. Jeff buried his face in Harry’s neck. “Me too!”
Their bodies knew each other so well, picking up on even the smallest habits and reactions to every touch.
Jeff opened his mouth, nipping at the love-bite-covered skin of Harry’s neck, spacing out his thrusts. The silence between them let them hear each other’s heartbeats. Harry could feel his hole being filled with hot liquid, and with a few more strokes of his hand on his dick, the small space between them was filled with his cum.
Harry kissed Jeff’s hair. “We gotta do this more often.”
“Hmm.”
“Best way to start the morning.”
“Same, babe… same!”
“Jeff…”
“Don’t move.”
Jeff’s hand slid down, slowly pulling his dick out of Harry’s sensitive hole.
He lowered his head, kissing the spot over Harry’s heart multiple times, leaving love bites each time he pulled away. Then he rested his head on Harry’s chest, where his breathing was still uneven, reached for the crumpled blanket at the edge of the bed, pulled it over them, and took a deep breath.
“You wanna sleep?”
Jeff planted another kiss on Harry’s bruised chest. “Yeah, I got up early on a holiday! Now I’m wiped, and what’s better than sleeping in your arms?”
Harry laughed, slipping his hand into Jeff’s sweat-damp hair, gently stroking his scalp, kissing his hair, and taking several deep breaths to calm his heart.
He reached for his phone, which he’d brought in while tidying the room—well, everything but the bed—and had been listening to music. He turned it on and saw a new message from Louis.
Swallowing hard, he tapped on Louis’s message.
From Mr. Tomlinson:“Can I see you this afternoon at Chai & Chill Cafe?”
Harry could’ve sworn his eyebrows shot to the back of his head in shock.
To Mr. Tomlinson:“What for?”
It took a bit for Louis to reply.
From Mr. Tomlinson:“If it’s cool, I’ll send you the location.”
Harry scratched his eyebrow with his thumb and softly called out, “Babe?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m taking the car this afternoon, okay?”
Jeff shifted his face on Harry’s chest, his hand under the blanket gently stroking Harry’s bare thigh. “For what?”
“Gotta go somewhere, and then I’ll swing by to see Mom and Dad.”
“Alright, take it, just be careful.”
Harry licked his lips, his fingers quickly typing.
To Mr. Tomlinson:“I’ll come.”
Louis sent a link in seconds.
From Mr. Tomlinson:"See you around 6 then.”
To Mr. Tomlinson:“Cool.”
ᨒ
Harry shifted the small pot of yellow flowers in his hands and took another step onto the untouched, pristine snow.
The cemetery behind the church, leading into the pine forest, was thicker with foggy air that snowy afternoon than the city or surrounding areas. It made every step Harry took feel like he might crash into a gravestone or statue.
Snow blanketed every statue and memorial. Harry wove through them, searching for his parents’ double-tiered grave, marked by a mournful, hunched angel.
He dug the toe of his brand-new shoes, barely a day old, into the snow, kicking at it.
Spotting the bowed angel on the pedestal with the grave’s name, Harry quickened his pace, practically sprinting toward it, not to mention slamming into two crosses on the way.
He stood by the angel, used his shoe to nudge aside some snow on the ground, and sat cross-legged on the cold, wet earth. He placed the flowerpot under the angel’s wing, where it cast a small shadow.
Staring at the ring on his finger, he cleared his throat. “It’s January 1st today, New Year’s, and you guys aren’t here. I’m stuck spending Christmas away from family, unlike everyone else. Even Gemma hasn’t called me in two years. Last time she did, she said she was pregnant, that she’s got a family I don’t have. You know, Mom? Sure, you didn’t have a big role in my life, just brought me into the world, and Dad raised me alone. But sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if you hadn’t had me, then later, when you got better, had a different Harry. And guess what? That night Dad’s heart stopped, you wouldn’t have been as irresponsible as me. You’d have sat by him all night so life didn’t weigh so heavy on him.”
He paused, staring at the faint outline of the church’s massive stone structure across from him, listening to the caw of an old crow breaking the cemetery’s silence.
“I didn’t come here to say this stuff—it’s repetitive. I came to say last night, during New Year’s, Joseph proposed to me. He asked me to start a family with him, something I haven’t had in a long time. You might not know who Joseph is—fair enough, dead people have shaky memories and forget, which is probably why you never visit me in my dreams. Dad, you remember Mr. Hardy’s son? Morgan Hardy, the one who was more than a partner, became our friend, had a son and a daughter, and his son’s name was Joseph, who we called Jo or Jeff? Yeah, him.”
He slipped the ring off, held it between his thumb and index finger, raised his hand to see it clearly, and continued, “He promised me a wedding, promised to give me a gold ring to go with this one. Honest? I’m scared this is all a sweet dream, and I’ll wake up to find none of it happened. But there’s a bright side—like, I wake up, and Dad’s setting the breakfast table, and the pot on the stove’s empty.”
Harry sniffled, slid the ring back on, and stared at the flowerpot he’d brought. “Oh, I brought you some evening primroses. They’re gorgeous, don’t wilt in the cold, and even bloom brighter with new buds.”
He glanced at his watch, stood up, brushed off his pants, now wet from sitting in the snow, pulled his beanie down over his ears, straightened the furry collar of his coat to keep his neck warm, and exhaled, his hot breath turning to steam.
“Gotta go. If I wanna make my meeting with my therapist, I need to head out now to get to the café he mentioned.”
He stepped forward, kissed the angel’s head. “And I miss you guys, especially you, Dad. I love you so much. From here to the moon, back, and to the moon again. That much.”
Without another word, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his brown, coat-like jacket and stepped onto the pristine snow that had covered his incoming footprints, leaving the church and its gloomy cemetery behind.
ᨒ
With his hands in his pockets, Harry pushed the café’s glass door open with his back, the bell above jingling as it swung.
With a quick glance around the quiet café, he spotted Louis waiting for him and took a hesitant first step toward the man, who was buried in his phone.
Harry stood by the table, raised a hand, and gently tapped Louis’s shoulder twice. Louis looked up and turned off his phone.
Louis flashed a smile, unbuttoned his charcoal-gray coat, stood up, and extended his hand to Harry for a handshake.
“Was about to give up on you showing and call you.”
Harry slowly pulled his hand back, took off his beanie, and looked down. “Never been to this part of Bristol before, so I got lost.”
Louis gestured to the leather chair. “Sit, please.”
Harry nodded, tossed his beanie on the table, and went to sit, but Louis, flustered, waved his hands and blurted out, “No!” catching Harry’s attention and a few other customers’ too.
Louis quickly composed himself, standing straight. “I mean, hold on.”
After speaking, he stood behind Harry and grabbed the shoulders of his coat. “Take it off, please.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he did as Louis asked, slipping off his coat. Louis gestured again for him to sit and placed Harry’s coat at the end of the table, against the café’s floor-to-ceiling window.
Harry clutched his beanie, squeezing it, and watched Louis, who was raising his hand to signal a server.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis glanced at Harry, then back at the approaching server. “Let’s order first, then we’ll talk.”
“Ready to order, sir?”
The server, a woman with a smile, stood over their table. Louis, without looking at the menu, took a deep breath. “Just a tall macchiato.”
“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson,” she said, scribbling in her notepad before turning to Harry. “And you, sir?”
Harry scanned the menu, reading every drink with his eyes, then looked at her. “I’m good, nothing for me.”
“Okay?” she asked, glancing at Louis, who sat up straight. “Nah, that won’t do.”
Harry leaned back in his chair. “They’ve all got coffee in them, and I don’t like coffee.”
The server tucked the end of her pen between her lips, nodded, and turned to leave, but Louis grabbed her hand, quickly letting go when she turned back. “Sorry… bring a tea for my guest, with a brownie.”
“Alright?” Harry shot Louis a questioning look.
Louis leaned back in his chair. “Just wanted us to see each other.”
“Why?”
“Felt like it was needed. There shouldn’t be gaps between therapy sessions.”
“Yeah, needed, but not, like, meeting the day after Christmas. We could’ve talked on the phone.”
“I prefer face-to-face.”
Harry clasped his hands together. “Fair enough.”
“Tell me about these past few days.”
“Dunno, nothing special happened. Took me a while to get here today—before this, I was at the cemetery, visiting my mom and dad.”
“The dead always miss you. It’s good you visit them.”
“Brought them evening primroses. They’re tough against the cold, show off their beauty in chilly weather, and their yellow buds cut through the snow’s whiteness, making it less lifeless.”
Louis smiled, crossing his ankles. “That’s a pretty way to put it.”
Harry gave a shy smile, glanced at the fogged-up window, reached out, and drew a smiley face on the glass.
“Here’s your order, gentlemen.”
Harry glanced at the server placing their order on the table and pulled the saucer with his teacup toward himself.
After the woman left, Louis took several deep breaths and said, “Let’s be real with each other, Harry.”
Harry was caught off guard hearing his first name from Louis, who usually called him by his last name or acted like he didn’t exist at all.
He wrapped his hands around the hot teacup, staring at Louis, who leaned forward. Then he heard the sound of a bag rustling from below.
Harry raised an eyebrow, bending down to peek under the table. Louis shot up, banging his head hard on the underside of the table with a loud “Ow!” and pushed back the hair that fell into his face.
Louis placed a small bonsai pot with yellow flowers on the table, nudging it toward Harry.
“Got this for you.”
Harry stared, confused, at the bonsai with its yellow blooms. “What’s this for? What even is it?”
“It’s a mini winter jasmine tree, called a bonsai. Japanese thing.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Louis stirred the foam on his drink and set the teaspoon on his saucer. “Was picking up some pots for my new place, and when I saw this, it reminded me of you.”
“Me?”
Harry, baffled, looked at the bonsai and took a sip of his tea.
“Yeah, you! Felt like it’s been a while since anyone called you that. Winter jasmine’s your vibe, and I didn’t want you to think that part of you’s forgotten—‘cause if it is, your memories get forgotten too.”
“Mr. Tomlinson…”
Louis cut Harry off. “Listen, Harry. Thinking about our talks, especially yours, I get that your dad was right. You’re exactly like a flower bud blooming in the cold and frost.”
Harry stared at Louis, overwhelmed by the weight of his words.
“I don’t know, Harry, but during our not-so-many therapy sessions, I figured out I wanna be with you. I want us to be closer than just therapist and client, or even teacher and student. I’d do anything to have you, Harry, ‘cause there’s no one gentler or more beautiful than you in this harsh world.
I want you to show me every single one of your scars so I can be the one to heal them, to make you feel good. There’s only one of you in this world, and I’m selfish—I want that one-of-a-kind you for myself.”
Harry’s eyes widened, unable to believe his therapist had invited him to a café to say *this*—like it was some unwanted date!
He’d already trusted the man he hated too much, and now his trust was being misused. He’d betrayed Jeff, who he’d been honest with, by lying to him with this.
From the start, he shouldn’t have let Louis into his life, let him drag him here to hear feelings he had no interest in.
He stood, grabbed his beanie, snatched his coat off the table, wiped his tears with the beanie, and said, “You knew about me and still did this. I’ve got Joseph.”
“Harry…”
“This isn’t right!”
“Love doesn’t care about rules, Harry.”
Harry shook his head in disbelief, backing away. “I can’t believe this.”
He hurried toward the door, shoving his left arm into his coat sleeve, raising his middle finger at Louis as he left the café. He stepped out from under the awning and into the gentle snow, heading for his car.
He unlocked it, slid behind the wheel, and with teary eyes, looked back at the café where they’d sat. The smiley face he’d drawn on the fogged-up window now had crying eyes.
He took several deep breaths to at least stop his hands from shaking, pulled his phone from his pocket, turned it on, and did the first thing that came to mind: blocked and deleted Louis’s number.
This shouldn’t have happened, and now that it had, he had to end it himself.
He glanced at his right hand on the steering wheel, saw the ring on his finger, licked his lips, opened Instagram, and pulled up the photo he’d taken that morning. He posted it.
Staring at the cryptic photo, he edited the caption.
“Lights maaaaate”
He turned his phone completely off to avoid the man who was now a nuisance for a while, turned the key, started the car, and drove home.
Chapter Text
The sound of shouting echoed through the house, where furniture was half-settled and cardboard boxes were still scattered across the floor.
“You fucked up! I don’t get what gave you the right to pull that shit.”
He furiously flipped through the notebook, pages creasing as he went.
When he reached the page he wanted, he ran his hand over it and read the first line out loud: “Saw him today and invited him to the café.”
He glanced around the four corners of the living room, running a hand through his hair.
“You messed everything up.”
He glared at the woman sitting on the couch and yelled, “Get out!”
Joanna raised an eyebrow and looked away.
“Mom, please, just go outside.”
Joanna leaned forward, off the couch’s backrest. “Go?”
“Yeah, go. I don’t want him yelling at you.”
“I said get the hell out!”
He stormed to the door leading to the backyard and flung it open. “Out.”
Joanna stood and headed where he pointed, the sliding door slamming shut behind her.
“She’ll freeze out there. Why’d you kick her out?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then dragged them over his eyebrows, letting out a loud sigh. “I don’t care! You answer me first.”
“You don’t get to yell at me.”
“Who gave you permission to do that?”
“I’m my own person! I make my own choices. You don’t get to decide for me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it up—he hated when it fell in his face.
He slid his glasses onto his eyes. “You’re your own person as long as you tell me what you’re doing, as long as you check in with me. Not just randomly going and telling a guy with a boyfriend you love him! Idiot.”
“I—”
“No excuses! Got it? You’re old enough to be his dad.”
A notification pinged from his phone. He stomped over to the cluttered counter and grabbed it.
From Lana:“You good?”
He walked into the kitchen, headed to the sink, took off his glasses, set them on his hair, turned on the tap, and splashed water on his face.
To Lana:“What’s up?”
Seeing Joanna standing outside the backyard door, he set his phone on the counter, went to the door, and opened it. “Why’d you go stand out there? It’s freezing!”
Joanna stepped inside slowly, crossing her arms and staring at Louis.
Louis reached out, brushed her brown hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear, frowned as he plucked a leaf from her hair and tossed it to the floor, then closed the sliding door.
He grabbed Joanna’s shoulders, locking eyes with her as she avoided his gaze.
“Sorry.”
He raised his hand, gently tilted her chin from staring at the blank wall to face him, and looked into her eyes. “Don’t be mad at me, okay? Don’t look at me like that, my love. I’m sorry for yelling, I was just pissed. It was just a quick interrogation.”
Joanna nodded. Louis led her to the radiator, where she sat on the warm hardwood and leaned against it. He grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around her.
“This’ll warm you up, yeah?”
He stepped back, scanned the house, put a hand on his aching forehead, and continued, “First, I gotta find some aspirin.”
He headed back to the kitchen, opened the bag of meds he always kept on the counter, rummaged through, found the aspirin, popped two pills out, swallowed them dry, pressed his forehead against the cabinet, squeezed his eyes shut from the pain, and groaned through clenched teeth.
“My head’s gonna explode…”
Louis took a few deep breaths, lifted his head, ran a hand over his face, and grabbed his hair, letting it fall back into his face.
“Mom?”
He paused, walked to an unopened cardboard box, knelt down, grabbed a knife, cut the tape, and started pulling out fragile dishes.
“You’re not answering? That’s fine, but I wanna tell you something super secret. I’ve got a ticking time bomb in my head.”
He carefully set another plate on the table and continued, “I didn’t put it there. MI6 did. It’s off for now ‘cause it’s not time yet.
Wanna know when it’s time? World War III’s gonna kick off, and I’m part of the army. Guess what? When they put this in my head, they gave me a wire too, said I gotta spy for them during the war. And if I get caught, this bomb’s linked to their main base. If it comes to it, my brain blows up in a second!”
He brought his fingertips close, then flicked them apart, mimicking an explosion. “And BOOM! I’m gone, and I take the place out with me!
You might not believe it, but my rank’s higher than those cops at the station a few blocks from our house! See how cool your son is? Therapist *and* government spy!”
He bent his knee, rested his arm on it, and laid his head on his arm. “Know why I pop two aspirins when my head hurts? ‘Cause it cools my head down faster, stops the pain. I’m scared if it gets too hot, that bomb in my skull might go off early!”
Half an hour later, Louis stood in the kitchen, notebook in hand, staring at the gas flame.
He held out the paper, skimmed it again, laughed at his own stupidity, and held it over the flame to burn it.
He thought if the paper burned and that day’s memory was erased, maybe the events from two days ago would vanish too.
He let the paper burn over the flame, notebook still in hand, pulled back the chair at the counter, sat down, and opened a new page.
He uncapped the blue pen he’d taken from Harry during an exam as a proctor, pushed his wild hair out of his face, and swept it back.
“Got it sorted, scrubbed the walls and floor with soap and disinfectant, ready for guitar sessions without bothering anyone!”
He stared out at the backyard, eyeing the snow-covered pine tree.
He remembered Harry’s habit of holding the pen tip between his lips while thinking. So, Louis raised his right hand, pen in grip, and tucked the tip between his lips.
He focused entirely on Harry’s lips, recalling how Harry would rest his fist under his chin, pen between his lips, while thinking.
It might sound weird, but Louis was lost in his thoughts for a few minutes, smiling at the view ahead.
He imagined kissing the pen tip over and over, and if he saw Harry again, he’d give it back. During Harry’s exam, when he’s thinking and holding the pen between his lips, they’d share an indirect kiss Harry wouldn’t even know about.
But those seemingly sweet thoughts only lasted a few minutes.
He turned on his phone, ignored Lana’s message, and after days, turned on his internet, opened Instagram, and logged into his fake account. He pulled up Harry’s profile, which he followed.
Sure, stalking was unethical, but since when did Louis care about morals?
He sat up straight, grabbed the pen, and opened Harry’s post.
Everything seemed normal until he zoomed in, staring at the ring barely visible in the light.
He clenched his fist around the pen, opened the comments, scrolled through, and stopped at Jeff’s comment that caught his eye.
“Love of my life🤍”
He opened Jeff’s account, and since he knew it by heart, he immediately noticed a new highlight and tapped it.
It was nighttime, the place was packed, and the video was shot from a distance. Jeff was on one knee in front of Harry, and moments later, Harry nodded rapidly, reaching out to take the ring from him.
The pen in Louis’s clenched fist snapped from rage or jealousy, digging into his palm and leaving a nasty gash.
He couldn’t believe Harry had accepted Jeff’s proposal and then showed up at the café with him the next day.
How had he missed the ring on Harry’s finger in the café? How had he not noticed the smile stretching from ear to ear?
How had he even thought he stood a chance against Jeff, the guy who’d been by Harry’s side for years?
The sting in his palm made him unclench his shaking fist, revealing the broken pen lodged in his hand.
That pen, which just minutes ago was his way to feel connected to Harry, to steal a kiss through it, was now shattered like a sharp blade, slicing into his flesh.
He chucked his phone aside, and the moment it hit the ground, it shut off.
Grabbing the pen’s body, he yanked it out, his scream of pain echoing through the house as thick drops of blood splattered the counter and his notebook.
He shoved his chair back, ignoring it crashing to the floor, rushed to the sink, turned the tap on full blast, and stuck his hand under to wash off the blood.
Big mistake—putting a bleeding wound under high-pressure water made it bleed more, and the pain and burning stole his breath.
He wiped his teary eyes with his shirt, poured some dish soap into his hand, and, ignoring the pain in both his heart and his wound, started scrubbing the blood off. Still bent over the sink, he opened the drawer beside it, pulled out a brush, and used it to clean his hand.
He ran the brush over the deep, wide gash in his palm. The first stroke was agonizing, burning so bad he slammed his forehead against the cabinet. He kept scrubbing until his skin went numb to the pain, but the wound burned like someone had ripped his heart out and was slicing it to bits.
It was like his skin was being slowly peeled from his flesh, done with such care to make him suffer and wish for death.
He dropped the brush in the sink, staring at the wound, now bleeding even worse under the water.
He rubbed his trembling hand a few more times, hoping the bleeding would slow, then turned off the tap. But the blood was worse than before, coating both wrists, soaking into his jacket, and dripping down to his elbow.
He pressed his fingers over the now-larger wound, clenched his fist, and stared at it.
Big drops of blood plopped into the sink. He cupped his good hand, now also bloody, under his fist and bolted out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. Barefoot, he raced up the stairs.
He pressed the doorbell, and when he pulled his hand back, his bloody handprint stained the wall and buzzer. He tried wiping it with his elbow, but it just smeared the blood more. Frantically, he hit the buzzer again, and finally, the door swung open, revealing Lana in the doorway.
Lana gasped at Louis’s bloody hands and let him in without asking what happened.
Lana was the only person close to Louis who wouldn’t question him even if he’d killed someone—she’d just figure out how to hide the body and act like everything was normal.
She sat Louis on the couch, knelt in front of him, and stared at him with worry, seeing he wasn’t okay.
“What happened, Louis?”
His whole body was shaking. He didn’t answer Lana, didn’t even look away from his clenched fist, and finally squeezed his eyes shut from the pain.
Lana cupped Louis’s face, forcing him to look at her. “Take deep breaths, Louis, breathe! Your heart’s gonna stop!”
She paused, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “Open your eyes, Louis, look at me. Everything’s okay, love.”
Louis swallowed hard, panting, opened his eyes, and stared into hers.
“Blood!”
Lana nodded gently. “I know, love. What’d you do?”
She wiped the tears on his cheek with her fingers. Louis mimicked her with his good hand, leaving a smear of blood on his face.
“H-Harry!”
“Harry? Is he at your place?”
Louis shook his head no, unclenched his trembling fist, and showed Lana the wound—skin peeled back, flesh torn from the brush’s scrubbing. Lana gasped, eyes wide, stepping back to stare at him.
“Stay right here. I’m grabbing the first aid kit, and then you’re telling me everything!”
When Lana left, Louis felt like his body’s blood was draining out. He saw it now on his clothes, his pants, even Lana’s light-colored couch, dripping onto the floor.
Lana rushed back, dropped a box of tissues and the first aid kit on the floor, pulled out several tissues, and pressed them to Louis’s wound.
“Don’t sit… floor! Your clothes… bloody! Blood… lake!”
Louis mumbled incoherent words, confusing Lana.
“You’re not bleeding *that* much to get me bloody. Just your clothes are, and you’ll need to change so I can wash them.”
“Tick… tick… tick… tick…”
Lana studied the wound closely. “This needs stitches, Louis! Let me get you a sedative first, then I’ll deal with your wound.”
Louis stared at Lana as she moved away, shrinking smaller and smaller in his vision until everything went white, a blinding light messing with his sight.
“Now… the bomb… in my head… is gonna… explode!”
ᨒ
It was after lunch, and Jeff’s fingers were weaving through Harry’s long and short curls, stroking the scalp of the boy who was reading a book on his lap.
The sound of the book slipping from Harry’s hands made Jeff look up from his phone. Harry jolted upright as the book fell on his face, quickly sitting up, grabbing it, and turning to Jeff with sleepy, half-lidded eyes.
“Your fault!”
Jeff laughed, turned off his phone, and said, “What am I supposed to do if your hair’s so sensitive to touch?”
Harry slid his finger into the book to mark his place, playfully scowled, and whacked Jeff’s arm with the book. “I don’t get what’s the secret in those hands of yours—every time they’re in my hair, I pass out.”
Jeff wiggled his fingers in the air. “The magic of love! Lala-lalala…”
Harry pressed his lips together, stifling a laugh that came out as a weird noise. Jeff’s cackle rang out as he leaned forward and kissed the dimple on Harry’s cheek.
He pulled back, turned his phone back on, and held the chat screen in front of Harry. “What’s this?”
Jeff scrolled through the messages. “My mom texted. She’s surprised you didn’t see her messages!”
“I turned my phone off.”
“Yeah, I told her that and said you wanted to stay off social media.”
“What’d she say then?”
Jeff shrugged. “Nothing, just wanted to congratulate us on Christmas and the engagement.”
“I’ll turn my phone on and reply to her.”
Jeff opened a photo and showed it to Harry. “Mom sent this.”
Harry took Jeff’s phone, turned to face him cross-legged, studied the photo’s details, and asked, “Who’s the lady with white hair?”
He zoomed in and handed the phone back to Jeff. “This one!”
“That’s my dad’s cousin.”
Harry nodded. “She’s pretty.”
He paused, peeked at the photo again. “Young, but her hair…”
He gestured at his own hair, frowning and looking at Jeff with a confused expression, snapping his fingers. “Can’t remember the word… ugh…”
Jeff turned off his phone, stood up, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Albinism!”
Harry, hearing the word he couldn’t recall, pointed at Jeff like he’d hit the bullseye. “Yes, yes, that’s it! Fuck, I’ve got Alzheimer’s.”
Jeff laughed, heading to the kitchen to make himself coffee. “Even if you get Alzheimer’s, I’ll still love you.”
Harry threw himself back on the couch, hands over his face. “Nah, then you’d leave me at the doorstep.”
The sound of a cabinet slamming came from the kitchen, and Jeff replied, “No way that’s happening. Take a look at that ring on your finger.”
Harry lifted his right hand from his face, twisted it, and stared at the ring on his middle finger. “Yeah?”
“No ‘yeah’ about it. Like I’d ever leave you at the door! Want something to eat?”
Harry scratched his forehead, sat up, picked up his book—now on the floor with its page lost—and stood. “I’m heading to the room. If you come that way, grab the biscuit box for me… pleaseee.”
“Got it, babe!”
ᨒ
Zayn, behind the wheel, lifted his hand from the steering wheel, tapped the digital screen, and answered Daisy’s ringing phone, connected to the car’s Bluetooth.
Daisy gasped, squeezing between the front seats. “Maybe I didn’t wanna answer!”
Zayn shrugged, staring at the road with extra focus.
“Why didn’t you wanna take my call?” Louis’s voice came through.
Daisy huffed. “Everyone can hear you, Louis.”
“Daisy!”
“Louis… what’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Niall leaned forward, resting his head on Daisy’s shoulder, listening closely to Louis.
“Go on?”
“Let’s have a get-together at my place on Monday. I’ll get my stuff sorted by then, and you guys can have a good night before school starts.”
Daisy pushed Niall’s head off her shoulder. “Who’s coming?”
“Ummm… I called Lottie, Dad, and Phoebe, and told Lottie to bring Doris and Ernest too.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dan directly?”
Louis paused for a few seconds. “’Cause I don’t like Dan. Whatever, make sure to tell your friends to come.”
Liam, pushing the gum he was chewing to the side of his cheek, said, “We’re hearing you, Mr. Tomlinson. If we can, we’ll come.”
“Cool!”
“I’m hanging up now.”
Daisy reached for the digital screen to end the call, but Louis stopped her. “Oh, Daisy.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget to tell Harry!”
Zayn burst out laughing, glancing at Daisy through the rearview mirror. “Think he’s got a crush on Harry.”
“Zaaaayn!”
Daisy’s eyes widened as she stared at Zayn, and Louis replied from the other end of the line, “No way… Harry’s the same age as my nonexistent kid, same as you guys. Why would I even think that?”
“Whatever, Louis, catch you later. Bye.”
Daisy hung up before Louis could say another word, and the car filled with music again.
Niall leaned forward, his head close to the back of Zayn’s seat, whispering in his ear, “You gonna speed up a bit or what?”
Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Nah, I don’t have a license, and the last thing we need is a cop pulling us over for speeding.”
Niall, exasperated, leaned back in his seat. “Dude, at 40 kilometers an hour, we’re not getting there for another hour.”
Zayn hit a roundabout, turned the wheel to loop around, and the car stalled out of nowhere. He yelled, “What the fuck is this crap?!”
Niall, cracking up, said, “You took your foot off the clutch, that’s why it died. Get out, swap with me.”
Zayn unbuckled, opened the door, stepped out, and opened the back door, warning Niall as he got out, “This car’s precious! Be careful!”
A bit later, they pulled up in front of a house with a red sloped roof and white exterior.
Liam stared at the house’s windows, curtains drawn but glowing with light. “They’re home.”
Daisy shoved her phone into her coat pocket, opened the door, and hopped out fast. “Oh god, fresh air.”
Niall handed the keys to Zayn, whose heart was pounding from stress, and they all headed to the door. Liam pressed the doorbell, its relentless chime shattering the silence.
Zayn stood next to Liam, pounding his fist on the door. “FBI, open up!”
Daisy’s sneaky giggle mixed with the doorbell’s ring. Before Zayn could knock a third time, the door swung open, and Jeff stood in the doorway.
Liam lifted his hand from the bell, Zayn lowered his fist, flashed Jeff a grin, put his hand on Jeff’s chest, pushed him aside, and bolted inside. “If the bathroom’s taken, I’m doing it in Harry’s favorite flowerpot.”
Jeff glanced down the path Zayn took and shouted, “It’s free!”
Liam kept his head down, said nothing, and went straight for the kitchen. Jeff, puzzled, watched Harry’s friends pile in. “Hey?”
Daisy slipped off her coat at the door, tossed it into Jeff’s arms, gave a quick “hi,” and Niall came in last, closing the door behind him and giving Jeff a casual hug. “Hey, my dear groom.”
“What?”
Jeff clutched the coat to his chest, stepped away from the wall, hung Daisy’s coat on the rack, and followed the group. “That’s all of you, right? No one got left behind?”
Daisy flung herself onto the couch from above. “Nope, just us. Where’s Harry?”
Jeff glanced at the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Asleep… or was.”
Liam tucked a cylindrical chip can under his arm, opened another, sat next to Niall on the couch by the TV, placed both cans on the table, grabbed a PlayStation controller, restarted the paused soccer game, and started picking his team. He nudged Niall. “You playing?”
Niall looked up from his phone and at Jeff, who was standing with his arms crossed. “You guys change the Wi-Fi password? Why can’t I connect?”
Zayn, drying his hands on his pants, walked into the living room. “Nah, they didn’t change it. My phone just connected. Give it a sec to find it.”
“Well?” Liam handed Zayn the second controller as he sat down. “Jeff, my man, there’s no ‘well’ about it.”
He paused, took a breath, and shouted for Harry. Moments later, Harry walked in, tying up the bit of long hair at the front of his head. “I’m awake, I’m awake.”
Daisy shot up, rushed to Harry, threw her arms around him, and patted his back as he stood there in shock. “There’s my boy!”
She pulled back, and the vibe shifted as she flicked Harry’s forehead with her index and middle fingers. “You’ve had your phone off for two days. Don’t you think we’re dying of curiosity?”
Harry pushed her back to create some space, looked into her eyes, and laughed. “I just wanted to stay away from the internet and all its nonsense.”
Liam shoved a chip in his mouth and turned to Harry. “Yeah, right, staying away while posting that kind of post.”
Harry perched on the arm of the couch, reached over, grabbed a chip, and popped it in his mouth. “Well, it was a bit risky, but whatever…”
Seeing he had no place in their banter, Jeff stepped forward, grabbed his work bag, kissed Harry’s forehead, and whispered, “I’m in the guest room. Gotta go over some blueprints again.”
Harry listened closely, nodded at Jeff, and as Jeff walked off, Zayn set his controller on the table and turned to Harry. “Spill.”
Liam turned off the game entirely, lunged at Harry—half his body sprawled over Zayn’s legs—grabbed Harry’s hand, slipped the platinum ring off his finger, held it up, and gawked at it with excitement. “I’m getting you one of these later, Zayn.”
Zayn carefully read the inscription on the ring, then made a fake gagging sound, pulling his head back. “Ugh, gross, sappy lovebirds, cut it out, I’m gonna barf.”
“That night you posted that pic, Daisy wouldn’t shut up!” Niall said. “She called me in the middle of a party, screaming that Harry pulled some stunt without telling us.”
“I didn’t even know myself!” Harry protested.
Zayn nodded, backing Niall up. “The group chat crashed that night. We had to make a new one.”
Harry couldn’t hold back his laughter, cackling between short breaths. “My Telegram’s outta space with all the groups you guys keep making.”
“I swear, Daisy told the whole damn world that night,” Niall said. “That was just your engagement news. If she hears about your wedding, she’ll probably call up King Charles III himself.”
Daisy started counting on her fingers. “Right now, Lottie and her husband knows—and they’re super stoked for you—Phoebe knows, and she won’t sit still, she’ll tell Dad, even Mark knows too.”
“Neighbors!” Liam added.
“Exactly, that’s what I was gonna say—she told everyone!” Niall said.
“Anyway, we’re so damn happy for you, like you’re our kid,” Daisy said.
“Well, you kinda are, ‘cause I called Jeff our groom at the door!” Niall grinned.
Two hours later, after everyone else left, Daisy, still hanging around, was sitting at the small two-person dining table in the kitchen, playing Snakes and Ladders with Harry.
“I don’t get why he had to come with me to Lottie’s!” Daisy said.
Harry looked up from the game board. “Who?”
“Louis. He’s got stuff to do at Lottie’s, called me asking where I am, saying he’ll pick me up so we can go together.”
“At least you’re not like me—Gemma doesn’t even check in,” Harry said.
“We’ve got you covered, better than Gemma. Even if we weren’t around, you’ve got Jeff,” Daisy replied.
The doorbell rang, and Harry got up, headed to the door, and scowled when he saw Louis.
“Hey!” Louis said.
Harry stepped aside in the doorway, calling loudly for Daisy. She rushed to him in a flash.
Harry grabbed her coat from the rack, holding it out for her to slip on. Daisy hugged him again. “Today was so much fun.”
Harry grinned, squeezing her back. “I had fun too, though you left us no dignity in that Minichat.”
Daisy rolled her eyes, stepped back, and stood by Louis. “At least we’re in that French guy’s YouTube video now.”
Louis put his hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yeah, yeah… bye, Harry.”
They’d barely taken a few steps from the door when Louis spoke up. “Did you tell Harry?”
“Tell him what?”
“The party!”
“Shit, no, no, hold on, I’ll go tell him.”
Louis grabbed Daisy’s arm. “Nah, don’t. Go wait in the car. Since I’m here, I’ll tell him myself.”
“By the way, what’s up with your hand?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
He turned back to Harry. “Uhmm.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Uhmm?”
Louis shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. “Monday, we’re having a party.”
Harry leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Good for you guys.”
It was the first time Louis felt this nervous. He ducked his head, ruffled his hair, swept his messy locks to the left with his right hand, and looked at Harry again.
“Wanted to say you’re invited too.”
Harry was wearing his carefree mask today, and it was driving Louis nuts—both rattling him and pissing him off so much he wanted to punch that pretty face.
“Your family party’s got nothing to do with me, Mr. Tomlinson.”
“No, no, everyone’s coming, even Daisy’s friends.”
“Sorry.”
Harry stepped back, grabbed the door to shut it, but Louis slapped his hand on it, stopping it. “Just this once.”
Harry opened the door wider, staring into Louis’s eyes. “There’s no closeness between us for me to come to your party, Mr. Therapist.”
Louis paused, stepped back, and thought for a second. “I didn’t know you and Jeff were that serious. I admit I fucked up, and I don’t wanna lose my career or ruin it over this mistake.”
“That’s not my problem. What happened can’t be undone.”
“Please come to the party. Just do me this one favor. You don’t even have to be there the whole time—even showing up late is fine. I just want you there so no one thinks something went down between us.”
“What if I say I don’t wanna see you? You were my therapist!”
Louis took a deep breath, glanced around, and locked eyes with Harry again. “Yeah, I was your therapist, and as that therapist, I’m saying our professional relationship is done. I can’t do anything more for you. You’re good! You always were.”
“I know. You just wanted to dig into my life.”
“Harry! Come on, man, I never did that and never meant to.”
“I can’t come.”
“I know I fucked up, and I own that, but you know it’s easier for you too. All your friends will be there, and if you don’t show, they’ll wonder why you bailed when everything seemed fine. You’re smart, Harry, you can figure out what’s best for you.”
Harry gripped the doorknob, looking everywhere but at Louis. “I don’t know what to do… I don’t know! I’ll let you know. Now go.”
Without giving Louis a chance to respond, he slammed the door in his face, leaving Louis wide-eyed, staring at the closed door.
Chapter 19
Notes:
anyone still here? Cuz im back with more than 5000 fucking word. This is crazy chapter.
Welcome to BASEMENT.
*evil laugh!
Chapter Text
Harry glanced at the two-story building with the curtains pulled back on the first floor, its bright exterior catching his eye. He double-checked the address on his phone, hoping he’d gotten it right.
“This is my stop, man.”
The driver hit the brakes and looked at Harry through the rearview mirror. Harry reached out, handing over a couple of bills and some coins.
He grabbed his cream-colored Panama Hat from atop his folded khaki jacket on his lap, plopped it on his head, picked up the jacket, and got out of the taxi.
He opened his phone and sent Jeff a text: “Just got to the party.”
Jeff had reminded him a million times before he left to text when he arrived, and when Harry was getting into the taxi, Jeff apologized for not being able to drive him but promised to pick him up later.
Harry put his hand on his cap, looked at the building again, and noticed someone watching him from a window. When their eyes met, the person ducked away.
He stepped onto the cobblestone path leading to the entrance, climbed two steps, stood on the porch, pressed the buzzer for the first floor, and waited for the door to open.
A girl opened the door, flashing Harry a smile. “Hey!”
Harry raised an eyebrow, eyeing her up and down, and took a step back. “Haven’t seen you in four days—how’d you change so much?”
She laughed, stepped aside from the doorway, put one hand on her hip, and leaned her head against the door. “Nah, I’m Phoebe.”
Harry walked in, and she closed the door behind him. They crossed the landing, and she opened the second door, stepping aside. She bent down, pulled a pair of house slippers from the shoe rack, and placed them in front of Harry. “Put these on, please. Louis’s picky about dirt.”
Harry lifted his right foot, grabbed the lace, and tugged it loose. “Been a while since I saw you.”
“Studying in London’s a hassle.”
“Glad you’re studying somewhere with better facilities.”
Phoebe took Harry’s jacket and hung it with the other coats on the rack, admiring him as she spoke. “I love your cap.”
As Phoebe started walking, Harry followed, rolling up the sleeves of his cream knit sweater to reveal the striped cuffs of his shirt underneath. He took off his cap and plopped it on Phoebe’s head.
“For you.”
She spun around, her lilac knit skirt flaring out, and excitedly placed both hands on the cap’s brim. “Does it look good?”
Harry flashed a crooked smile, stepped closer, took the edges of her thin knit cardigan, and buttoned it up. “Totally, you look great.”
“Thanks! Oh, everyone’s in Louis’s room, come on.”
Before Harry could reply, Phoebe darted off toward Louis, who was talking to a guy around his age. She tapped his shoulder and whispered in his ear.
Louis spun around, shooed Phoebe away, and, ignoring the guy he was talking to, shook the glass in his hand, downed it, and strode toward Harry, calling out loudly, “Oh, Harry… Harry, Harry! We’ve been waiting for you!”
Harry shifted uncomfortably, ran a hand through his hair, and pushed it back.
“Hey, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis slapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry, startled, glanced at it and edged away so Louis’s hand wouldn’t touch him.
“Was gonna ask Daisy to call you.”
“Oh… I was at a work party. Wasn’t even planning to come here, but Daisy was so insistent yesterday, so I said I’d swing by toward the end.”
Louis pursed his lips like a duck’s beak and nodded. “You being here now is a win for us.”
“Heh, yeah… uh…”
Louis headed to the counter with snacks, grabbed a gingerbread man cookie, took a bite, and, mouth full, said to Harry, “Your friends are in the room.”
Harry nodded. Louis picked up a red cup brimming with whiskey from the counter and handed it to him. “Help yourself.”
Harry’s eyes widened at the whiskey in his hand. Louis added, “I won’t tell anyone you drank tonight. Try it!”
“Thanks.”
Louis pointed at Harry with the hand holding the cookie. “No need to thank me.”
Harry tilted his head, took a sip of the golden liquid, grimaced as he swallowed, and set the cup on the counter with a scowl.
Just then, something zoomed toward him and latched onto his legs.
Harry looked down, saw a blond little boy clinging to his pants, gripping the fabric tightly in his fist, and smiled. He bent down and scooped the kid up.
“Hey, Lucky!”
Lucky giggled, raised his hand, and waved it open and closed at Harry, who he recognized. “Hi… hi…”
Lottie, chasing her son, reached Harry and smiled. She stepped forward and pulled Lucky from Harry’s arms. “Good to see you again, Harry.”
Harry hugged her respectfully and kissed her cheek. “Sorry, I’ve been swamped. Couldn’t come earlier. I’m only here now ‘cause of the others.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“No need to thank me, beautiful Charlotte.”
“We’ve known each other forever, Harry. Call me Lottie, love. Oh, I heard you accepted your boyfriend’s proposal. Congrats!”
Harry laughed and looked down. “Thanks to Daisy, all of Bristol knows I’m getting married.”
Lottie squinted, flashing a toothy grin at Harry. “Make yourself at home, love.”
Then she set Lucky down and said, “Lucky, you wanna take your friend to Daisy?”
Lucky stepped forward, grabbed Harry’s hand, looked back at his mom, and nodded. “Daisy? Okay…”
Harry followed Lucky, and the fact that the little kid saw him as a friend was probably the most valuable thing he’d gotten from the Tomlinson family.
When they reached the room, Lucky let go of Harry’s hand, burst in with a squeal, startling the quiet group of friends glued to their phones, and ran to Daisy, shouting, “My friend!”
Daisy glanced at the doorway, saw Harry, tossed her phone on the bed, got up on her knees, and shuffled across the hardwood toward him.
She grabbed Harry’s hand, yanked him into the room, and Liam, leaning against the wall, kicked the door shut with his foot.
Harry plopped down with the others, leaning against the bed. Niall threw an arm around Harry’s neck.
“Was starting to lose hope you’d show.”
“Me too!”
Harry stretched his legs between Liam’s and stared at Niall’s phone screen. “Wasn’t in Bristol.”
“Where were you?” Liam asked.
To dodge the question, Harry glanced around the cluttered room. One wall was plastered with rock band posters, another lined with books, separate from the bookshelf outside.
“By the way, where’s Zayn?”
“He’s with you, Liam!” Niall said.
Liam looked up from his phone. “Zayn doesn’t like Louis, so he didn’t come.”
Daisy frowned and kicked Liam. “Hey! You’re talking smack about Louis in front of me.”
Liam cracked up, leaning his head against the wall. “We all know Zayn’s not a fan of Louis.”
“Fine, whatever,” Daisy said.
“You didn’t say where you were, Harry,” Liam pressed.
“We were in London. One of the company’s investors threw a party, and we were at the hotel where it was held.”
“Idiot, and you came *here*?” Niall said.
“Oh, Niall, I’m here for you guys.”
“Get this! You ditched a super cool party to come here,” Niall teased.
“The party’s two days. It’s still on tomorrow, I’ll make up for it.”
The door opened, and Lucky, wearing Harry’s cream baseball cap with a mischievous grin, darted in, weaving through the junk scattered on the floor to reach Harry.
He took the cap off and plopped it on Harry’s head, grabbing both sides and yanking it down so the back flipped up. Harry laughed, freeing Lucky’s hands from the cap.
“No, no, Lucky, not like that, you’ll ruin it.”
He took the cap off, fixed the back, tilted his head, pushed his hair back, and put it on properly. “Ta-da! That’s how you wear a cap.”
Liam got up, scooped Lucky under his arms, carried him out of the room, left the door half-open, and sat back down.
“What was the party for? And you were at a work party dressed like *that*?” Liam asked, eyeing Harry’s outfit.
“I don’t remember. Jeff told me, but I forgot.”
Harry glanced at his clothes, ran a hand over his sleeve, and added, “Nah, I was in a suit. Changed before coming here.”
Daisy let out a loud sigh, grabbed a tray from the side table by Louis’s bed, and set it on Harry’s lap. “Here, try these gingerbread cookies. They’re delicious. Lana made them.”
Harry picked up a gingerbread man, took a bite, let out a “Mmm,” and said with his mouth full, “These are good! Shrek was right to want that gingerbread man.”
Daisy laughed and nodded. “God, yeah, they’re so good. Lana made them, but she said Louis helped.”
“Who’s Lana?” Harry asked.
“Louis’s upstairs neighbor. Kinda his friend,” Daisy said.
Niall grabbed the gingerbread man’s leg, tore off a piece, and popped it in his mouth. “I like Lana.”
Liam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, me too. She was cool from the jump, two points ahead of the rest.”
The door opened again, and Phoebe poked her head in, looking at them. “Stay here till I’m back.”
Without waiting for a reply, she let the door swing and left.
Harry watched Phoebe head into the room across the hall, its door wide open.
“You and Phoebe are like night and day,” he said. “Even your style’s completely different.”
Daisy straightened up. “Ever since she went to London to study with Dad, she’s totally changed.”
“No offense, but she’s super spoiled,” Harry said.
Daisy threw her head back, her voice strained from the stretch. “Ughhh, yeah, I’ll give you that. No need to get upset, it’s just a fact—Phoebe’s super spoiled.”
Phoebe, rummaging through her bag in the room across the hall, looked up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Hey! I can hear what you’re saying!”
“I’m saying it so you *can* hear, Fifi!” Daisy shot back.
Phoebe stuck out her tongue, pinched it between her lips, and blew air out, making a weird noise that had everyone’s eyes widening. Harry was the first to crack up.
Liam, leaning against the wall near the door, stuck his hand out the doorway and flipped Phoebe the middle finger. “Shame on you, London girl.”
“Fuck you back, Liam,” Phoebe retorted.
She pulled a small box from her bag, stood up, crossed the hallway, and entered the room, kicking at the others’ legs. “Move your feet, I’m trying to do something.”
“Oh god, she brought her cards again,” Niall groaned.
Phoebe opened the box, pulled out a deck of cards, and started shuffling. “Don’t look, I’m doing this with Harry.”
“You’re screwed, Harry,” Liam said.
Phoebe sat in the circle they’d formed. “Alright, this is an official session. Keep it quiet.”
“Yeah, you too,” Niall muttered.
Niall glared at Phoebe, then looked out the door, spotting Lucky coming with his hands full. “Heads up, Lucky’s coming.”
Phoebe quickly tucked her cards under her leg, and they all watched as Lucky got closer.
The kid walked in, holding a big red cup out to Harry. “Take it.”
Harry carefully took the cup from Lucky. “Aww, thanks, little man.”
Liam reached over, snatched Harry’s cap off his head, and plopped it on Lucky’s. “Go on, Lucky.”
Lucky, thrilled, touched the cap and ran out of the room.
Harry set the red cup, brimming with whiskey, on the floor. “This cap’s a big hit with Lucky.”
Phoebe pulled her purple-backed cards from under her leg. “It’s a hit with me too, and I’m not a kid.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “Everything about guys is a hit with you.”
Harry glanced at his cup and turned to Phoebe. “Told you, the cap’s yours. It looks better on you than me.”
Phoebe pulled out four cards and placed them on the floor without looking at them.
“For real? Thanks, Harry. No one’s ever given me a cap before.”
“Phoebe Tomlinson!” Daisy exclaimed.
“Chill, Daisy!” Phoebe shot back.
Daisy reached over and grabbed the whiskey cup meant for Harry. “Always wanted to try this stuff.”
She brought the cup to her pink lips, took a sip, and as the whiskey went down, she grimaced and pushed the cup away. “Ugh, what *is* this crap?”
Liam snatched the cup from Daisy, took a sip, and had the same reaction. “She’s right, this is garbage. Niall, you try it, confirm it.”
Niall, laughing, took the cup from Liam, swirled it, tasted it, coughed, and handed it to Harry. “Yeah, total crap.”
“I’d rather die than touch alcohol and this nonsense again,” Harry said.
Harry laughed, eyeing the golden liquid, hesitant to drink.
“Drink it, Harry. I wanna read your fortune,” Phoebe urged.
Harry closed his eyes, chugged the whiskey—now half-gone—in one go, and lowered the cup. The alcohol burned his throat, and he felt like if someone held a lighter near him, he’d burst into flames.
He slammed the cup on the floor, wiped his mouth with the striped sleeve of his shirt, took several deep breaths, and stared at the purple cards.
“So, what do we do now?”
Phoebe clapped her hands. “These are tarot cards, and their predictions are super accurate. I’ve tried them on everyone, and you’re my new guinea pig. I love seeing people’s futures.”
Daisy smacked her forehead. “She’s gonna curse you, Harry, and you’ll dry up and drop.”
Phoebe elbowed Daisy in the stomach and started explaining from the left. “The first card’s your past, the next one’s your present, the third’s your future, and the last one sums it all up.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Cool!”
“They get even cooler,” Liam said.
“Shut up, Liam,” Phoebe snapped. “Alright, Harry.”
“What do I do now?” Harry asked.
“Ask the question that’s on your mind.”
Without thinking, Harry blurted out the question that had been swirling in his head for a while. “What’s gonna happen with me and Joseph? And will I get what I want?”
Liam and Niall simultaneously let out a “Whoo!” Harry ducked his head, embarrassed.
“Hey, hold up, who’s Joseph?” Phoebe asked.
“Joseph? Uh… Joseph…” Harry stammered.
Liam cut in, impatient. “By the time you spit out who Joseph is, it’ll be tomorrow. Joseph’s Harry’s fiancé.”
Phoebe touched Harry’s knee. “Oh, I forgot! Daisy told me about that. Congrats!”
“Thanks!” Harry said.
Phoebe leaned back with a serious look, reached out, and picked up the first card from the left. It showed a skeleton with a scythe walking through a field where the crops were body parts, a river running beside them, and a red sunset behind.
Phoebe’s face turned somber. “Number 13—Death! Sounds scary, but it can mean an ending or a new beginning. It’s about change and transformation.”
Harry’s eyes widened as he stared at Phoebe. “You cheated!”
Phoebe gasped, taken aback. “I didn’t cheat! You saw me pull the card without looking.”
“How could it be accurate? You knew what happened to me in the past,” Harry said.
“The cards have their own power, Harry! Wanna explain what went down?”
Harry shook his head no. “Not a chance.”
“Alright, fine. Let’s read the next card,” Phoebe said.
She picked up the second card, the one for the present. It showed a knight on a brown horse holding a staff.
“What’s this one say?” Niall asked, leaning in to see the cards, catching Phoebe’s attention as she scratched her head in confusion.
“Knight of Wands… uh, I don’t remember exactly, but it’s about being impulsive, which doesn’t seem like Harry. But basically, it says expect the unexpected.”
Liam slung an arm around Harry, who was taking the cards way too seriously, and laughed. “From tomorrow, you better lock yourself in your house and bolt the door to avoid ‘unexpected events.’ Before any decision, come to the group chat, we’ll talk it out and smack some sense into you.”
Harry, head heavy from the whiskey, pushed Liam’s arm off. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Liam. Keep going, Phoebe.”
She nodded at the cards. “Third card’s your future. Go on, check it out.”
Harry took a deep breath, reached out, and flipped the third card, the one for the future. It showed a man holding a staff, trying to plant it in the ground next to six other staffs, a deep frown between his brows.
Harry handed the card to Phoebe. “What’s this one say?”
“Seven of Wands. It says your future’s full of challenges and obstacles. You’ll have to stand your ground and fight for what you’ve got. It’s telling you to keep fighting, never give up, even if things get tough.”
Niall blurted out the first idea that popped into his head. “Sounds like it’s talking about final exams. Right, Harry? Gotta be.”
Phoebe raised her hand and smacked the back of Niall’s head. “No, you idiot, the future you’re talking about is a few months from now. This is about years down the line.”
Niall shrugged. “Whatever, my future’s final exams, London girl.”
Phoebe glared at Niall, scowling. “Call me London girl one more time, and I’ll shove these cards down your throat.”
Niall, being stubborn, repeated it, and Phoebe lunged at him. Laughing, Niall leaned back, and Liam grabbed Phoebe’s waist, pulling her back.
“Sit down, Phoebe, don’t be a kid!” Liam said.
Harry’s head was spinning, and he genuinely felt like it might explode. He’d always avoided alcohol as much as possible, but now, caught up in the moment with his friends, he’d chugged high-proof whiskey without a second thought.
He took a deep breath, let it out loudly, stood up, and fixed his clothes, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Where you going, Harry? We’ve still got the result card,” Phoebe said.
Harry put a hand on his throbbing temple and gripped the doorframe with the other. “I don’t wanna know. I don’t care. I’m going to get some air. I feel sick.”
Liam half-stood. “Want me to come with?”
Harry waved him off and headed out of the room. “Nah, you guys keep playing. I’ll go alone.”
He walked toward the living room, where the sound of laughter and chatter had quieted down, and spotted Louis in the kitchen next to an unfamiliar woman.
Harry gently tapped Louis’s shoulder. “Mr. Tomlinson?”
Louis spun toward the voice. “Yeah?”
Seeing Harry, he finished, “Oh, Harry! Yeah, Harry?”
Harry eyed Louis up and down, noticing he’d changed into all black.
“Where can I go to get some air?”
Louis brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead, his expression turning worried. “You okay?”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut in pain. “My head’s exploding. My body’s not used to alcohol. I’m seeing two of you right now.”
This time, the woman next to Louis answered. “Want some painkillers?”
“Nah, some air’ll do me good.”
“Alright?” she asked.
“Alright,” Harry groaned, pulling out his phone. Ignoring Louis watching him, he punched in his passcode, opened his chat with Jeff, and typed: “I’m staying here a bit longer, I’ll call when I’m ready for you to pick me up. Not sure when exactly, enjoy the party.”
Before he could write a second message, Louis held up a keyring. “Here, go to the rooftop.”
Harry shoved his phone in his pocket and hesitantly took the keys. “The backyard?”
Louis grabbed Harry’s arm. “You’ll still hear the noise in the backyard, and your headache’ll get worse. It’s quiet up there, you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Louis flashed a smile. “Make yourself at home.”
Harry bolted out of the kitchen, headed down the hallway to the front door, swapped his house slippers for his shoes, and threw his khaki jacket over his cream knit sweater. He opened the door, stepped into the landing leading to the second floor, and climbed the stairs. When he reached the metal door, he tried the keys, finally unlocking it with the white one. A rush of cold air hit him, making him shiver.
He left the key in the door, propped it half-open, and took his first step onto the rooftop. Shoving his hands into the warm pockets of his jacket, he exhaled, his breath turning to vapor in the chilly air. He stared at the reddish sky, a sign of heavy snow coming.
His temples throbbed, and he felt like someone had planted a ticking time bomb in his head. He cursed himself for the thousandth time for touching alcohol.
He walked to the rooftop’s edge, where tall railings reached his waist, scooped up some snow from the ledge, and pressed it to his burning forehead, hoping it’d cool him down. The heat from his forehead and hand melted the snow, and droplets trickled into his sleeve.
He kicked aside the snow by the wall, still holding the snow to his forehead, and sat on the cold ground, pulling his knees to his chest. Despite feeling hot, he straightened his jacket’s collar to shield his neck from the wind, dried his hand, wrapped his arms around his knees, and rested his head on them.
He took deep breaths, hoping the fresh air wouldn’t make him feel worse, and closed his eyes to block out the hallucinations swirling in front of him, willing his brain to calm down.
A bit later, using the excuse of checking where the cold draft was coming from, Louis left his guests, raced up the stairs, grabbed the key from the door, and stepped onto the rooftop. Seeing Harry curled up against the wall, legs hugged to his chest, Louis smirked and shook his head with pity. He leaned closer, heard Harry’s steady breathing—a sign he was asleep—and turned back, locking the rooftop door before returning to his guests.
An hour later, when the house had emptied out, Daisy, phone in hand, approached Louis as he vacuumed.
“Louis?”
Hearing her, Louis hit the vacuum’s off button with his foot. “Yeah?”
“Where’s Harry? Did he leave? I didn’t see him!”
She held up her phone, which she’d been using to call Harry, and shook it. “He’s not picking up.”
Louis licked his lips and scratched his head. “Uh… he came to me, said he needed air. Probably called someone to pick him up and left.”
Daisy pursed her lips and ended the call. “He left without saying goodbye?”
Louis nodded, turning the vacuum back on. “Didn’t say bye to anyone.”
“I can’t believe it!” Daisy said.
“Daisy! Put your coat on, we’re heading out,” Lottie called, stepping out of Louis’s room with her sleeping son in her arms.
Louis turned off the vacuum again and faced Lottie. “You guys leaving?”
Lottie glanced at her son. “Yeah, Lucky’s asleep, and it’s getting late.”
She set the cap Lucky had been obsessed with since Harry arrived on the counter and turned to Daisy. “By the way, where’d your friend go?”
Daisy, pulling on her coat, shrugged. “No idea! Louis says he went home.”
“He forgot his cap,” Lottie said.
“He’ll come back for it later. Let’s go, I’m ready,” Daisy replied.
Lottie walked to Louis, who hugged his sister, kissed her cheek, then kissed Lucky’s blond hair. “Thanks for coming, you guys made my night. It’s been forever since we all hung out.”
“We’ll miss you, Louis! Come visit us. Just ‘cause you’re far now doesn’t mean you can skip our place or not check in,” Lottie said.
“He never checked in before either!” Daisy teased.
Louis stepped back, flashing Lottie a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “If I get the chance, I’ll swing by.”
“Thank Lana for me too. Bye!”
Once Louis was sure everyone had left, he ditched the vacuum, turned off the extra lights, and drew the curtains. He grabbed the keyring from the counter, threw on a sweatshirt, opened the door, and headed up the stairs.
Louis slid the key into the lock, opened the door quietly, and walked over to Harry, who was still asleep.
He knelt beside the boy and gently shook him.
On the third shake, Harry jolted awake, gasping and staring at Louis.
Louis put on a surprised look. “Why’re you still here? I thought you left.”
Harry, flustered, scrambled to his feet, his joints popping loudly.
“Sorry, I totally zoned out. Didn’t even realize I fell asleep.”
Louis flashed a smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “No biggie, happens.”
“Everyone else gone?” Harry asked, his voice softer now.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and checked the time: “12:45.” Seeing a bunch of missed calls from Daisy, he frowned.
“What’s with all these calls from Daisy?”
“Nothing,” Louis said.
Louis started heading back, and Harry followed. “So why’d Daisy blow up my phone? You didn’t tell her I was on the roof?”
“Nah, no one asked me anything.”
Harry headed for the stairs first, and Louis locked the door behind him. “Go on, Harry.”
“I’m really sorry,” Harry mumbled, hurrying down the stairs. At the landing, he bent down to tie his shoelaces.
Louis came down as Harry stood up quickly. “I’m gonna call someone to pick me up now.”
Louis nodded. “Alright, Harry. Wanna come inside and wait?”
Harry grabbed the main door’s handle and opened it. “Nah, I’ll wait outside.”
Louis shrugged. “Suit yourself. You need anything, though?”
Harry paused in the doorway, glancing at Louis, then at his freezing hands. “Can I use the bathroom?”
Louis, leaning against the wall to take off his now-dirty socks, nodded. “Sure.”
Harry stepped back inside, and as Louis followed, he bent down to untie his shoes.
“Mr. Tomlinson? Where’s the bathroom?”
“It’s labeled on the door, same as the shower.”
In the bathroom, Harry took off his jacket, hung it on the rack, unzipped his pants—wet from sitting in the snow—and hung them up too. He balled up his socks and stuffed them in his pocket.
He turned the water to hot, grabbed the showerhead, and aimed it at his icy feet and thighs. Closing his eyes, he let out a “Mmm” as the warm water soothed him, feeling like life was creeping back into his aching body.
After rinsing his legs and finishing up, he stood from the toilet to flush, but froze when he saw specks of blood in the water. The brief moment of feeling good vanished. Frowning, he tossed the tissue in his hand into the toilet, flushed, and stared as the water swirled, sniffing softly.
He put his clothes back on, washed his hands, and stepped out, spotting Louis leaning against the counter, sipping tea and checking his phone.
Clearing his throat, Harry walked over. “I’m gonna wait outside.”
Louis turned off his phone and set his tea mug on the counter. “You call someone to pick you up yet?”
Harry, heading for the door, answered, “Nah, I’ll text them when I’m outside.”
Louis frowned slightly. “Alright, whatever works. But before you go, can you help me move that trunk? Everyone’s gone, no one’s here to help.”
Harry turned to find the trunk Louis was talking about. “Where?”
Louis headed to his room, Harry trailing behind, and pointed at the trunk. “This one.”
“Where we taking it?”
Louis bent down and grabbed the handles. “Hurry up, lift it.”
Harry spun around, facing away from Louis, grabbed the other handles, and they hoisted it up together.
“Downstairs… to the basement,” Louis said.
They moved through the hallway, and Louis added, “That open door, right there.”
Harry stepped toward the door, carrying the trunk, and Louis nodded approvingly. “Yeah, that’s it, keep going.”
They struggled down the stairs with the heavy load, Harry carefully scanning his surroundings.
When Harry stumbled, Louis snapped, “Watch it!”
They took a few steps into the basement, packed with boxes and stuff, and Harry bent to set the trunk down gently. “Here?”
“Nope!”
Louis grabbed the edge of a tool shelf and yanked it to the side. It slid loudly on its track, revealing a wooden door behind it.
Harry, wide-eyed, watched Louis’s every move. Louis opened the wooden door, stepped into a hallway with cinderblock walls, and Harry had no choice but to follow.
Harry, bewildered, glanced around as he stepped through the damp, musty, winding hallway.
“Where the hell is this?”
“This house is from World War II,” Louis said. “After the war, the original owner built a bomb shelter to survive a nuke.”
They reached a door, and Louis stopped, hitting a button on the wall. The heavy door creaked open as he shoved it with all his strength.
“And the guy who inherited the place upgraded it a bit.”
They stepped into the basement, and Harry’s face showed a mix of fear, excitement, shock, and confusion as he took in the surroundings.
Louis pointed to the farthest corner. “Let’s put it over there.”
Harry nodded, heading to the spot Louis indicated. They moved toward the wall together and carefully set the trunk down.
“Let’s bounce,” Louis said.
As Harry stretched his back from lugging the heavy trunk, he fixed his eyes on Louis.
Louis, slow and sneaky so Harry wouldn’t notice, started backing toward the wall with the door, spreading his arms. “So, what do you think?”
Harry put his hands on his hips, looking around. “It’s crap. Smells bad, it’s dark, and no windows.”
Louis bent his knees slightly, picking up a baseball bat leaning against the wall. “You don’t like it?”
Harry turned toward Louis, noticing him backing into the doorway, and quickened his pace. “Mr.—”
Louis gripped the bat tightly. “This is real bad!”
He grabbed the door’s outer handle, and Harry, heart pounding in his throat, bolted toward it. “What’re you doing, Mr. Tomlinson? What the hell—”
Before Harry could finish, Louis stepped inside, raised the bat, and swung it hard behind the terrified boy’s head.
It took only seconds for Harry’s eyes to close. Louis dropped the bat, catching Harry in his arms.
He grabbed Harry under the arms, dragged him to the middle of the basement, and laid him on the floor. Pulling a damp cloth from his pocket, he rummaged through Harry’s pockets, found his phone, and turned it on.
A text from Jeff: “Waited forever, you didn’t call. I’m on my way.”
Louis glanced at the timestamp—half an hour ago—stood up, looked at Harry, tucked the bat under his arm, and muttered, “Don’t die.”
He closed the door but didn’t lock it, stood behind it, and peered through the small window that only showed the inside. He stared at the unconscious boy, then quickly turned Harry’s phone back on.
Using the passcode he remembered, he unlocked it, deleted everything tied to himself—numbers, chats, calls, history—and bolted out of the cursed basement and storage room. He raced upstairs, hid the bat under his bed, and rushed out of the room toward the living room.
With the damp cloth, he wiped his fingerprints off Harry’s phone, then headed to the front door, slipped on his shoes, and ran outside.
Moments later, he dashed back in, grabbed one of Harry’s shoes from the entryway, and vanished into the dark night.
Panicked, he sprinted toward the nearby empty lot.
He wove through pine trees, his numb body and wheezing breaths not stopping him, even when he fell hard. He got up and kept running.
In that moment, he didn’t care if his clothes got dirty or if the cold made his lungs burn. All he cared about was erasing the evidence of the heavy crime he’d committed.
Reaching the lot, he paused for a second, hands on his knees to catch his breath, then looked up, scanning to make sure no one saw him.
Light but large snowflakes danced in the sky, settling on Louis’s shoulders and the ground, signaling a big snow coming.
He straightened up, unwrapped the cloth around Harry’s phone, wiped it again to ensure no fingerprints remained, and chucked it a few meters away into the mud. He ran to it, stomping on it furiously several times.
A few steps away, near some bushes, he tossed Harry’s shoe, used the cloth to break branches, and kicked at the bushes. Satisfied with the crime scene he’d staged, he ran back to the house.
With trembling hands from what he’d done, he unlocked the main door, locked it behind him, and stripped off his muddy clothes right there. He pushed the half-open front door and bolted to the bathroom, tossing his clothes on the tiles to wash later.
He ran out, dashed to the shoe rack, grabbed Harry’s other shoe, and raced to the basement.
He took the basement stairs two at a time, entering the hallway leading to the underground room.
He hit the button on the digital panel to open the heavy door, which creaked loudly.
He untied the shoe’s laces, glanced at Harry—who hadn’t moved—and bent down, placing the shoe by the wall.
He stepped back, closed the door, pressed the lock button, and entered a new code.
Peering through the door’s window at the boy, he felt a pang of regret for Harry, who’d trusted him.
This time, he walked back calmly, grabbed the key from the lock, closed the wooden door, and locked it twice.
He pulled the tool shelf back into place, stood on his tiptoes, and hid the key on top of it.
With a smirk, he shook his head in pity and said, “Sleep tight, dove.”
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis slowly climbed the basement stairs, trying to whistle a new melody he’d heard, and closed the wooden door behind him.
He glanced at the wall clock—only fifteen minutes had passed since he checked Jeff’s message.
Now in his coolest, calmest mode, Louis headed to the kitchen. Balancing on one foot, he tried to open the washing machine door with the other. He yanked off his muddy black sweater, stripped off the rest of his clothes, and tossed them in. He grabbed the laundry basket, sorted out the colors, threw them in too, and hit the start button.
To make sure no trace of mud was left on him, he stepped into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and held his hand under the stream to check the temperature.
When the water was warm enough, he stood under it, feeling the droplets slide over his skin. He thought about how, just half an hour ago, Harry had been in this exact spot. Closing his eyes, he pictured Harry next to him, a rush of heat and desire flooding his body. His longing for Harry grew stronger, and he was counting the seconds until the nosy intruders would leave so he could finally be alone with him downstairs.
When Louis stepped out of the shower, he felt like all his worries had washed away. He grabbed the abandoned vacuum in the living room and turned it on.
As he meticulously cleaned, he replayed the events in his head, trying to keep his emotions in check for when they’d inevitably come looking for Harry.
He was happy—his restless heart had settled. His only regret was for Harry, who’d trusted him. But deep down, his heart was thrilled, even smug, that he’d finally gotten the boy he wanted.
A faint pounding sound broke through his half-sleep, but he couldn’t place it.
The noise kept looping, pulling Louis further into consciousness until he realized it was coming from the door. Someone had been banging for a while, trying to wake him.
He cracked one eye open, groped the wall to find his way, and stumbled to keep sleep from slipping away. Barefoot, he opened his apartment door, then the main entrance, coming face-to-face with a frantic Jeff.
Louis, groggy, looked at the man. “What’s up this late, Mr. Hardy?”
Jeff, trying to mask his panic, said, “Harry’s here, right? Call him. Why isn’t he answering his phone?”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “He left ages ago. No guests are here anymore.”
Jeff’s face grew more worried, his expression crumpling.
“If he’s not here, where is he? Why’s he not picking up?”
He shoved Louis aside, stormed into the house, and started searching the eerily quiet place.
“Harry? Harry, come out! This isn’t the time for games, love!”
Louis, annoyed, trailed behind. “Mr. Hardy, I’m telling you, Harry’s not here.”
His eyes followed the muddy footprints Jeff was leaving, fighting the urge to yell at him.
Jeff, upset, pushed open another door and peeked inside. “Harry? Come out.”
He opened another room’s door. “I’ve searched the whole damn city for you, Harry!”
Louis grabbed Jeff’s trembling shoulder, pulling him back. “I’m telling you, Harry’s not here.”
“He was last here!” Jeff snapped.
He shook off Louis’s hand and kept moving.
“I only saw Harry at the party. He said he was going to get some air, and after that, neither me nor his friends saw him.”
Jeff stopped dead, turning to Louis. “He left the house?”
“Yeah, said he wasn’t feeling good, went to get some air to feel better.”
“I checked our place too, but he didn’t go there.”
Jeff dragged a hand over his face, retracing his steps toward the door.
Louis was fuming over the mud Jeff’s shiny black dress shoes were tracking in. Now he’d have to scrub the whole house with bleach to get it clean.
Jeff scanned the house quickly, freezing when he saw Harry’s cap on the counter. He picked it up, suspicious. “Why’s this here?”
“Harry left it,” Louis said.
Jeff narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying to me. You’re fucking lying!”
He straightened the cap’s brim, his voice rising as he called Harry’s name. Louis, frowning, stepped forward and clapped a hand over Jeff’s mouth.
“I’ve got an upstairs neighbor who’s super sensitive about sleep. I don’t wanna wake her.”
Jeff nodded, and Louis removed his hand.
“I don’t care. You’re lying like a dog that you didn’t see Harry.”
Louis, scowling, stepped back and grabbed the house phone from its charger. “Keep this up, and I’ll call the cops and say you’re accusing me of kidnapping on my own property.”
Jeff put Harry’s cap on his head and raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”
Louis shook his head and put the phone back. “I’ll help you look around the area.”
Jeff bolted out of the house without a word. Louis grabbed his phone, snatched his jacket from the rack, pulled the house key from the lock, and slipped on his shoes.
“Let’s go, Mr. Hardy.”
Jeff straightened his coat collar, turned on his phone’s flashlight, and stepped into the darkness around the house where the streetlights didn’t reach.
“Harry?”
Louis followed Jeff, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice and shouted Harry’s name.
“Harry, where you at?”
“Harry?”
“My love, where are you?”
Louis shot a hateful glance at Jeff for calling his boy “my love.”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and trudged through the muddy ground toward Jeff.
“Mr. Hardy.”
Jeff spun around, shining his flashlight in Louis’s face, forcing him to shut his eyes.
Jeff lowered his hand. “Sorry.”
“No biggie. Call him again, maybe he’ll pick up.”
“I’m calling, but can you keep shouting for him in the meantime?”
Louis nodded, stepped away from Jeff, raised his voice, and yelled Harry’s name again.
A sound caught Louis’s ear, and he stopped shouting, looking at Jeff.
Jeff sprinted toward the sound of a phone ringing.
Louis ran after him, asking, “What’s up? Did he answer?”
Jeff, weaving through towering pine trees, called Harry again.
“Nah, but I hear his phone. Harry, you here?”
With every step closer to the sound, Louis was laughing in his head at Jeff’s desperate hope.
When they reached the empty lot, Harry’s phone was ringing just a couple of steps away.
Jeff, wide-eyed, rushed toward the sound and bent down to pick up Harry’s phone, its screen cracked wide open.
Louis grabbed Jeff’s wrist. “Don’t touch it.”
Jeff unlocked the phone, and seeing the missed calls and unanswered texts, his body shook violently. He looked up, scanning the area.
“Harry, where are you?! Harry?!”
Louis, fuming, gritted his teeth. “I’m saying we need to call the cops.”
“Why the hell would we call the cops?”
Louis exhaled sharply, his breath turning to vapor in the cold, snowy air.
“‘Cause you’re dealing with a missing person case, maybe even a murder.”
Jeff, defensive, snapped at Louis. “Harry just went for a walk. Watch your mouth and don’t throw around words like murder.”
Louis smirked, yanking Jeff’s phone from his hand and stepping back.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m calling the damn cops to come here.”
“Don’t drag the police into this.”
“Don’t drag the police? Maybe *you* did something to your boyfriend and now you’re scared of the cops.”
“Shut up.”
Louis took three deep breaths, fighting the urge to grab Jeff’s head and slam it into the ground until his brains were mush.
“Keep some respect, Mr. Hardy, and don’t touch anything.”
As Louis dialed 999 with the local area code, he stepped further from Jeff but kept his eyes locked on him.
Ten minutes later, two officers from the nearby station showed up.
Jeff ran toward them, frantically spilling the whole story in seconds.
The older officer, with faint wrinkles on his face that screamed experience, raised his hands to push Jeff back as he charged. “Hey, hey, calm down.”
“Calm down? I’m telling you—”
The younger officer reached for the taser on his belt, stepping in front of Jeff with a threatening glare. “Back off, or I’ll have to use this.”
Jeff lowered his head, eyes widening at the taser. He dropped his hands from the officer’s chest and stepped back. “Sorry.”
“Good.”
Under the glow of the lot’s streetlight, the officers’ faces were clearer now.
Louis flashed a smile, tossed his cigarette to the ground, and stomped it out with his shoe before stepping forward.
“Good to see you guys.”
The Black officer nodded. “I’m Sheriff Boyd Steven, and this is my deputy, Kenny Leo.”
The sheriff pulled out his flashlight, switched it on, and aimed the white beam at the trees where the streetlight didn’t reach.
“Who called the station?"
Jeff pointed at Louis. “Him.”
Louis took another step forward. “That’d be me, Sheriff.”
“Good. Now explain,” Boyd said.
Louis glanced at Jeff. “I’ll take the blame for the call, but I’d rather he do the talking.”
Boyd, clearly annoyed at being bounced between the two like a ping-pong ball, started walking to scope out the scene.
He stopped by the tossed shoe and said, “Still not gonna explain?”
“My fiancé’s missing,” Jeff blurted.
“Oh!” Boyd exclaimed.
Jeff whipped his head toward the deputy, raising an eyebrow at the young Chinese guy. “Problem?”
The deputy shook his head quickly. “Nope.”
“Missing persons is a criminal case. A local cop can’t do much,” Boyd said.
“Well, where’s your detective?” Jeff snapped.
“Like the rest of the world… asleep!”
“So what’re you gonna do?” Jeff pressed.
Boyd turned to his deputy. “Kenny?”
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“Go grab the camera from the car.”
“On it, Sheriff.”
Boyd stepped toward Louis. “What’re you doing here, Mr…?”
Louis cleared his throat. “Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson.”
“Mr. Tomlinson!”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Jeff cut in before Louis could say more. “The party was at his place.”
“Alright, Mr. Tomlinson, let’s start with some questions for you,” Boyd said.
Louis glanced at Kenny, who was returning with a camera. “Your deputy’s back, sir.”
Boyd turned, saw Kenny, and pointed at the shoe. “Take pictures of that, all angles! But don’t touch anything—we don’t have clearance.”
“Yes, Sheriff.”
“Then do another sweep around here,” Boyd added.
Kenny nodded, and Boyd turned back to Louis, with Jeff now stepping closer to eavesdrop.
“Alright, Mr. Tomlinson.”
“One sec,” Louis said.
Boyd nodded, and Louis turned on his phone, opened the voice recorder app, and tapped record without Boyd noticing.
Louis brushed the hair out of his face. “Go ahead, Sheriff.”
Boyd pulled a notebook from his coat pocket, opened it, and clicked his pen.
“Full name, last name, and date of birth.”
Louis paused.
“Louis William Tomlinson.”
He stared into the darkness, and Boyd asked, “Forget your birthday? You’re zoning out hard! You been drinking?”
“What? Alcohol? Nah… just thought I saw something move.”
Boyd turned, scanned the darkness, saw nothing, and faced Louis again, pursing his lips. “I didn’t see anything. Blow.”
Louis, hesitant, let out a “ha.” Boyd sniffed the air. “No alcohol smell, so quit acting like a dazed idiot and answer my question. I’m not asking twice.”
“Born July 18, 2002.”
Jeff’s eyebrows shot up at the year Louis gave. He couldn’t believe the guy was younger than him!
Boyd jotted it down and continued. “Got your ID?”
“Nah, left it in my office.”
“Why’re you here, and what’s your goal? Better be honest, Louis Tomlinson.”
Jeff jumped in. “I asked him for help.”
Louis finished the thought. “Uh… I’m here to help this guy ‘cause he came banging on my door, saying he’s looking for his fiancé.”
“Where were you the last few hours, who were you with, and did you see the missing person?”
Louis scratched his head. “I was asleep in my house. Honestly, we had a little get-together, invited people I know, and Harry was my student, so I invited him with his friends.”
Boyd’s eyes widened, and he shot a look at Jeff. “What? Your fiancé’s a kid?”
He reached for the handcuffs on his belt. “I could arrest you right now for being with a minor and report you to the higher-ups.”
Jeff stepped back, raising his voice. “My fiancé’s not a kid!”
Louis, loving the drama, cut in. “I teach high school.”
Boyd returned the cuffs to his belt, glaring at Jeff with a warning look before turning back to Louis.
“Last question. Ever been arrested, in a situation like this, or got a criminal record?”
“Nope, never. First time I’m even talking to cops.”
“You willing to cooperate with the police?”
“Absolutely, absolutely. I’m gutted this happened and will do everything I can to help find that innocent ‘them.’”
Louis answered without thinking, stepped back, pulled a cigarette from his pack, lit it with his yellow lighter, and listened to Kenny in the distance shouting Harry’s name.
Boyd scribbled Louis’s last words, flipped through his notebook, and fixed his eyes on Jeff. “First, some questions about you, then you’ll answer about your fiancé.”
He read the date at the top of his notebook aloud: “January 8, 2025.”
“Alright, I need your personal details—full name, age, and how you know the missing person.”
Jeff took a deep breath, trying to cram all the info into a short answer.
“Joseph Murphy Hardy, born November 12, 1997.”
“Go on,” Boyd prompted.
“Harry and I were family friends, known each other for years. My dad and Harry’s were business partners.”
“Interesting relationship, Mr. Hardy,” Boyd said.
“How so?”
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me about your fiancé—full name, age, physical description.”
“Harry Edward Styles, he’s in high school and—”
Boyd cut Jeff off. “Hold up, his name’s Harriet and he’s a ‘he’? Why’s his middle name Edward?”
“No, no, his name’s just Harry, not a ‘she.’ He’s a guy!”
Boyd scratched out his note, started writing again, and Jeff continued. “He’s tall, kinda skinny, pale skin, green, almond-shaped eyes, sharp nose like every Brit, and a freshly shaved face—I did it for him.”
He pointed to the middle of his neck. “His hair’s long, down to about here, brown.”
He raised his index finger, touching the left side of his chin near his mouth. “And he’s got a small mole right here.”
“Good work, Joseph. Now, what was he wearing, where’d you last see him, and was anyone with him?”
Jeff thought for a second, pulled out his phone, opened his gallery, and scrolled through their photos. “Last saw him in London at 7 p.m. I walked him to the taxi he took. He was alone.”
He opened a photo, zoomed in on Harry. “This is what he was wearing.”
Boyd read aloud as he wrote. “Cream knit sweater, black jeans.”
“And a brown jacket,” Jeff added.
He turned, pointing at the shoe. “And black Converse.”
“Good. Has Harry ever taken off before, ditched a place suddenly, or gone to a favorite spot?”
“No, never. Harry always tells me where he’s going.”
“I need Harry’s contact number and whether he had a wallet or ID on him.”
Jeff took the notebook from Boyd and wrote Harry’s number. “His phone’s with me—he left it—so the number won’t help much. Yeah, he always carries his wallet with his ID.”
Boyd took the notebook back, closed it, and stuffed it in his pocket. “Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Hardy.”
He extended his hand, and Jeff shook it, his warm hand gripping Boyd’s cold one.
“Just doing my duty, Sheriff.”
Boyd raised his voice, shouting, “Leo? Where you at? We’re heading back to the station.”
Jeff yanked his hand back, his smile fading, a frown creasing his brow. “You’re leaving? You haven’t done anything! Where’s your yellow tape?”
“We weren’t supposed to do anything, just take the report. We’ll pass it to the detective and criminal division tomorrow.”
Kenny approached, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them to warm up. “Let’s go, sir.”
Jeff, at his breaking point, grabbed Boyd’s collar and yelled, “Go where? It’s the golden hour for a missing person—wherever he is, now’s the time to find him!”
Boyd gripped Jeff’s wrist tightly. “Let go.”
“Hey, back off, man. Right now!” Kenny warned.
Seeing Jeff grappling with the officer, Louis rushed over, grabbing Jeff’s shoulders. “Chill, Joseph, you know what you’re doing?”
Jeff shouted in Louis’s face. “He’s leaving! He’s done nothing and he’s leaving!”
“He’s gotta go to do something,” Louis said.
Jeff shook Boyd. “Do you even get that my fiancé’s missing?”
Boyd matched Jeff’s volume, shoving his hands away and landing a sharp slap across Jeff’s face. “That’s for yelling at an officer and getting physical. If you’re so worried, go look for him yourself.”
He glanced at Kenny. “Cuff him. He’s spending the night in lockup.”
Louis pulled Jeff back, looking Boyd in the eye. “He messed up. My friend’s just too in love, couldn’t control himself.”
“I didn’t mess up!” Jeff protested.
Jeff lunged again, but Louis held him tight. “You don’t wanna be in lockup tonight. You gotta stay out to do something.”
A crackle from Boyd’s radio silenced them all. He grabbed it from his belt and pressed the button.
“Sheriff Steven speaking.”
The radio crackled again, then a voice came through. “What’s the status on the inspection?”
“Inspection’s done, sir. We’re heading back to the station.”
“Received. Out.”
As the two officers walked away, Jeff, as if regaining his nerve, shouted, “I’ll hire a private detective for this case. You guys don’t know shit!”
“Shh, keep it down, Joseph. We don’t need trouble!” Louis hissed.
Jeff grabbed Louis’s wrists from his shoulders and pressed them to his chest.
He couldn’t believe he’d turned into a kid who’d lost his mom without Harry, tears now sliding down his cheeks.
“They’re idiots, idiots! They left without doing anything.”
“He said he’d report it to the criminal division,” Louis said.
“That’ll take forever.”
“You just gotta wait till morning.”
Jeff glanced at his watch. “Four hours is too long. Something could’ve happened to my love already.”
“So what’re you gonna do?” Louis asked.
Jeff let go of Louis’s hands and stepped back. “I’m gonna look for him myself, and first thing tomorrow, I’m getting a private detective.”
“Joseph!”
“No, no, I’m going to his friends’ places, then I’ll sit at home in case he shows up there.”
“Breathe, man. Stop spinning around, you’re making me dizzy.”
Jeff froze, spotting the cigarette burning uselessly in Louis’s hand. He stepped forward, snatched it, and took a deep drag. The smoke warmed his throat, but he coughed hard and tossed the half-burned cigarette into the snow.
“Fuck… fuck… just die.”
He put a hand on Louis’s shoulder, staring into his eyes to drill in his words. “I’m going to his friends’ houses. You search around here.”
Louis nodded. “Alright, alright.”
“You’ve got my number. If anything—anything—happens, please let me know.”
“Got it. Go.”
“And sorry,” Jeff added.
Louis raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“For showing up at your place, accusing you, and messing up your sleep.”
Louis paused. He didn’t want to sympathize with his rival, but he had to play along.
“No worries. Good you looped me in.”
Jeff scanned the area again, half-expecting Harry to pop out from behind a tree, yelling, “Ta-da! I pranked you all, I’m fine!”
He shook his head and walked away from Louis.
Louis watched Jeff, who’d turned on his phone’s flashlight and was weaving through the trees until he disappeared from sight.
Louis cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and, to keep Jeff from getting suspicious, shouted Harry’s name loudly.
He lingered outside the house for a few minutes, just in case Jeff came back, so it wouldn’t look like he was dodging responsibility.
Back inside, without thinking, he headed to the bathroom—still wet from his earlier shower—to wash off the grime and warm up his body.
Louis thought he’d dodged every bullet, but he was wrong. He was stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper with every move.
Right then, the urge hit him to go back to the basement, grab unconscious Harry, and dump him somewhere far away.
After his shower, he paced to the wooden basement door and back several times.
If he let Harry go, the chance of getting caught was sky-high—a bad risk. The second Harry opened his eyes, he’d run straight to the police.
He even considered waiting for Harry to wake up, then whispering the scariest threats in his ear before kicking him out. But a weird fear and distrust of Harry, from who-knows-where, gnawed at him.
Or he could bury Harry alive in the backyard, frame Jeff for murdering his boyfriend, or—like a case he’d read about—chop Harry up, flush his blood, grind his bones to dust, and feed his flesh to stray dogs.
He hated himself for loving Harry.
He hated that he had to either let go of the one he loved, keep him locked in the basement, or, like some serial killer, murder his beloved so no one else could have him.
At 5 a.m., he made himself a coffee.
He grabbed his planner, slipped on his wool socks, sat cross-legged at the living room table, turned on his phone, and replayed the voice recording he’d made over and over.
Notes:
Learn how to dodge the cops and your rival’s boyfriend from Louis—guaranteed ☑️.
Now tell me what's in your mind? Tell me anything!
Chapter 21
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The man parked the car on the side of the street, turned it off, and glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. He pushed a few stray hairs off his forehead and got out.
He strolled down the sidewalk like he had all the time in the world.
When he reached the shop and read the sign above, he pulled his hand from his coat pocket, pushed the glass door open, and set off the bell above it.
Taking a deep breath, he filled his lungs—worn out from constant smoking—with the cool, fresh air of the flower shop.
“Welcome, sir,” a girl’s voice said.
Hearing her, Louis looked up from the flowers, big and small, and met her brown eyes.
She placed both hands on the counter, leaning into them.
As Louis walked the cobblestone path to the counter, he grabbed a few yellow and white roses, ignoring their thorns, and held them.
The girl hurried over and took the flowers from him. “Want me to wrap these for you?”
Louis glanced at the name tag on her chest, then locked eyes with her. “Appreciate it, Miss Liza.”
“Plain wrap or something special in mind?”
Louis bent down and picked up a red pot with sword-like leaves. “Plain, please.”
“Sure thing!”
As she walked off, Louis wandered the shop a bit more, then headed to the counter and set the pot down.
“Add this to the bill.”
Liza, tying a bow around the plastic-wrapped flowers, glanced at the pot. “Yes, sir.”
The glass door opened again, and both Louis and Liza turned toward it.
Seeing that familiar face sent a wave of pointless stress through Louis.
“Mr. Hardy!” Liza said.
“Hey, Liza,” Jeff replied.
The man in front of Louis didn’t look anything like the guy who’d come to his place begging for help finding Harry. His eyes were sunken, dark circles under them, his hair a greasy, disheveled mess.
Without thinking, Louis stepped forward and hugged Jeff, feigning sympathy.
Jeff, startled by the unfamiliar embrace, pulled back. “Do I know you?”
Recognizing Louis, his tone softened. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Tomlinson!”
Louis pressed his lips together and nodded. This time, Jeff stepped forward, sinking into the unfamiliar but needed embrace to find some comfort.
“Any news?” Louis asked.
“Nah, it’s like he’s vanished into thin air.”
“The police didn’t do anything?”
Jeff let out a bitter laugh and stepped back. “The police just brush it off. Say they’ve filed a report.”
“Well, they’ll do their job, right?”
Jeff sidestepped Louis and headed to the counter. “If they were, my boy would’ve been found by now.”
Liza stopped wiping the counter, her eyes wide as she looked at Jeff. “What happened to Mr. Styles?”
Jeff ran a hand through his greasy hair, letting out a loud sigh. “Harry’s missing!”
Liza dropped the cloth on the counter and turned to Jeff. “What? He’s not a kid, is he?”
Louis grabbed a stool by the wall and set it behind Jeff. “Sit, Joseph.”
Jeff glanced at the stool, sat down slowly, and mumbled a thank-you to Louis.
“No, he’s not a kid, but he’s gone like one. No trace of him.”
“Where was he last?” Liza asked.
“His friend’s brother’s place,” Jeff said.
“Have you checked there?” Liza asked.
Louis answered this time. “We searched together. They were at my house.”
Jeff took a few deep breaths. “We did all that detective crap two days ago. I came to tell you to head home later from now on and…”
Louis cut Jeff off, faking sadness. “I’m gutted, man.”
“By the way, Mr. Tomlinson, what’re you doing here?” Jeff asked.
Louis glanced at the counter. “Was gonna visit my mom, so I came to get some flowers. Can you ring me up?”
Jeff chewed on his words, choosing to stay quiet, and gestured to the counter. “Take care of this guy first, Liza.”
Liza nodded, went back to the register, and started counting the roses. “Each rose is two pounds, you’ve got eleven, and the sword plant pot’s five pounds ten. That’s twenty-seven pounds total, sir.”
Louis pulled out his wallet, opened it, and started counting bills.
Jeff looked away from Louis. “Liza?”
She glanced up instantly. “Yes, sir?”
Louis slapped the cash on the counter, grabbed the bagged pot and the bouquet, and headed out. “Thanks.”
“Have a good day, sir. Come back soon!” Liza called.
Jeff grabbed Liza’s hands. “If Harry shows up here, call me. I’m always on alert.”
Louis smirked at Jeff’s naivety, pushed the glass door open, and left the flower shop.
ᨒ
He bumped the main door open with his hip, having already unlocked it, and froze when he saw Lana on the steps to his apartment, letting out a startled yelp as he dropped the bag with the pot.
“What the fuck, Lana? What’re you doing here? You scared the shit outta me!”
Lana, flustered, stood up, let go of her jumper’s hem, and went to the bag where the pot had shattered.
“You broke the poor pot,” she said.
Louis set the bouquet on the ground, bent down, and started scooping up the spilled soil from the torn plastic. “If you hadn’t popped up outta nowhere, my poor pot would still be alive.”
Lana grabbed Louis’s hands. “Leave it. Go inside, I’ll clean this up and bring it to you.”
Louis nodded, shook the dirt off his hands, stood up, and picked up the bouquet. “What’d you want?”
“I’ll come in and tell you.”
He turned the key, opened the door, left it ajar, and headed to the kitchen, placing the bouquet on the counter before washing his hands in the sink.
“Louis? Where do I put this poor pot?” Lana called.
Louis dried his hands on his jeans, turned, and eyed the woman holding the broken pot. “Can you fix it?”
Lana looked at the plant’s broken leaves, nodded, and said, “I’ll fix it.”
Louis scratched his forehead. “Uh, so what’d you want with me?”
“The police came by your place, wanted to talk to you. I was coming in when I saw them.”
Louis raised an eyebrow and took a few big steps out of the kitchen, stopping a foot from Lana. “Oh, they finally sent their detective? Took ‘em ten days, huh?”
Lana, confused, asked, “Something happen? They mentioned a missing person, but I didn’t get it.”
Louis took the pot from her. “That curly-haired kid from the party last night? Seems he’s gone missing, no trace of him. We called the cops with his boyfriend, but they’re only now sending a detective.”
Lana gasped, covering her mouth. “For real? Poor kid! Why him?”
Louis shook his head with fake pity. “No clue. It’s so sudden. Hope they find him soon.”
Lana nodded, still dazed. “Yeah, yeah, me too. You really got no idea where he could be? It’s so random. Super suspicious.”
Then, as if snapping back to reality, she glared at Louis and punched his arm.
Louis yelped. “What’s wrong with you, girl? What’d I do?”
Lana, glaring, stepped closer. “You’re out here buying flowers in the middle of this? Don’t be so damn indifferent. I know how cold you can be.”
Louis rolled his eyes, pushing Lana away, a bit pissed. “Don’t talk nonsense. I care plenty about what’s around me. This ‘cold’ guy you’re talking about was out till dawn two nights ago looking for Harry. These are for my mom.”
Lana, seeming to regret her words, tried to cool things down. “Alright, alright, I said something stupid. Forget it. Let’s fix this poor pot before it dies.” She grabbed Louis’s hand and dragged him along.
ᨒ
Harry felt sick from the damp, musty smell of the basement he was trapped in.
Harry glanced at his watch for the thousandth time. It still read 11:45 on January 7, not moving a second forward, like it was messing with him.
He clearly remembered checking the time on his phone an hour earlier, and now his watch was playing some dumb game.
Even though he knew time wasn’t moving, he kept checking the damn thing, hoping for a miracle.
He aimed his flashlight at the small basement vent, wishing it’d turn on to clear out the nasty smell, but like every other time, his hope fizzled out.
The air down here was freezing, and he’d quickly figured out even his jacket wasn’t enough for this winter chill. The concrete walls soaked up the cold from the ground.
A fresh wave of nausea hit him. He tossed the flashlight aside and, in the darkness his eyes had adjusted to, rushed to the small sink nearby.
He bent over it, gripping the edge tight, and retched with what little strength he had left. His stomach acid burned his throat.
He hadn’t eaten anything but water in days, and it was making his stomach eat itself, leaving him drained.
The pain in the back of his head made him dizzy, his vision going black, and every few hours, he’d be hit with nausea and vomiting.
He wiped his wet eyes with his jacket sleeve, sank to his knees in front of the sink, and pressed his forehead against the cold metal.
He’d always been scared of being alone, and now, surrounded by silent walls like a steel fortress, loneliness weighed heavy on his heart and body.
There was no sound to hear, no hand to touch, no eyes to meet his. Each time, he drowned in the silence he’d always feared.
He was terrified of this loneliness.
Terrified because every time he thought about his dreams being left unfinished, his heart rotting in this absolute isolation.
The basement was a dark, silent void where time passed, but nothing changed.
He took a deep breath, stood up, and the quick movement made the world spin. He collapsed to the floor.
Pressing his eyes shut, he rested his forehead on the ground and sniffled.
“I hate you… I hate you… I hate you… I fucking hate you.”
Crawling on all fours, he inched toward the vent and sat hunched beside it.
With faint hope, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the damp smell, and screamed, “Help!”
He prayed someone outside would hear him, realize he was trapped in this musty hellhole.
“Please…”
He tore off his jacket, tossed it aside, knelt, pressed his palms to the floor, and leaned his face toward the vent, shouting again, “Help!”
His tear ducts and the corners of his eyes burned from crying so much, and now it felt like blood was dripping from them.
He dropped his head, and twin tears slid down his cheek, hitting the floor and spreading out.
“I’ll do whatever you want, just let me go,” he pleaded.
Sobbing, he grabbed his jacket and crawled toward where he’d left the flashlight.
He curled up on the floor like a fetus.
Turning off the flashlight, he stared into the pitch-black basement where nothing was visible, his aching eyes slowly warming.
Every time he slipped into something barely qualifying as sleep, a nightmare jolted him awake, his heart pounding in his throat as he scanned the darkness.
He’d learned to sleep lightly because he felt sick and just wanted out.
When the fluorescent lights and vent roared to life, Harry, sprawled on the floor, jumped.
Wide-eyed, he listened to the sounds around him, dragging himself backward until his back hit the wall.
Once sure no one was coming for him, he stood, walked to the lidded metal bucket, unzipped his pants, and peed out the little water he’d drunk today.
He closed the lid, slowly grabbed the handles, lifted it, and shuffled to the sink to empty it.
“I hate you… I hate you… I hope you die…”
Frowning, he went to the panel and punched in new codes that came to mind, trying three times. Their failure made the lights and vent shut off again.
He gritted his teeth and screamed, “Fuck you!”
A bit later, exhausted from pacing pointlessly in the cool, damp air with the vent off, Harry took off his jacket and draped it over the trunk they’d hauled down.
Like always, he went back to the vent—his usual spot for sitting and sleeping—curled his knees to his chest, rested his arms on them, and propped his chin there.
When he heard the loud scrape of something dragging, he shot up and darted behind a thick pillar to hide.
He stared into the darkness ahead, every sense tuned to the sounds around him.
He heard the four-digit code being punched into the door.
All the fluorescent lights flicked on, followed by the heavy basement door creaking open.
Harry took a deep breath and sprinted toward the man, whose hands were full, shoving him against the wall and yanking open the door that hadn’t fully closed.
Panting, without looking back, he ran down the short, dim hallway that felt endless in that moment.
Reaching the wooden door behind the tool shelf, he frantically pounded on it and screamed.
“Help…”
He glanced at the digital lock beside the door and, in a panic, punched in the first numbers that came to mind.
“4-3-2-1.”
He grabbed the handle, twisting it clockwise fast, hoping it’d open, while slamming his other fist against the door.
“Help… help…”
Louis, unfazed, calmly picked up the bouquet—its petals now broken—from the floor and placed it on the trunk next to Harry’s jacket.
He walked slowly down the hallway.
Tugging down the rolled-up sleeves of his sweater, he approached the boy, who even from a distance reeked of fear.
“Go ahead, scream all you want,” Louis said.
Hearing Louis’s voice behind him, Harry jerked back, trembling as he pressed himself against the wall.
Louis’s calm demeanor sent a cold sweat over Harry’s body.
“Scream. This basement’s soundproof.”
“What?” Harry started, but swallowed his shock before he could finish.
Louis raised his hand, tangled it in Harry’s curly hair, gripped tight, and yanked him along by it.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut in pain, grabbing Louis’s wrist and digging his fingers into the veins, trying to loosen the grip and free his hair.
“Sir, let me go…”
His socked feet dragged across the rough concrete floor, the pain in the back of his head and his scalp being pulled making the moment truly terrifying.
“Sir, let me go! Let me go!”
As they passed through the main doorway, Louis shoved the pleading boy hard in the opposite direction.
Ignoring Harry’s groans, he straightened up, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut.
Harry, who’d faceplanted on the floor, pushed himself up on his hands and glared at Louis through the curls falling in his face, furious.
He shifted his weight to one hand, wiped the warm blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and, panting, spoke. “You… can’t… do this… to me.”
Louis locked the metal door tight. “Oh, I sure as hell can.”
Harry looked up at Louis approaching him. “I can’t breathe. There’s no air down here.”
Louis crossed his arms, staring down at Harry. “Show me.”
Harry inched back. “What?”
Louis spread his arms. “I caught every signal you were throwing my way. Now show me!”
Harry backed up until he hit the wall. “I don’t… I don’t get it.”
Louis bent forward, hands behind his back. “All those signals you gave me over the past three months, and you thought I wouldn’t notice?”
Harry stared at Louis, baffled, with no clue what he was talking about.
“I didn’t give anyone any signals.”
Louis locked eyes with Harry. “I’m not some kid you can fool.”
“I didn’t even show up to half your classes to talk to you, and you’re saying I—”
Louis cut him off, shouting, “Enough!”
“No! You dragged me down here to feed me some bullshit.”
“You smiled at me.”
“Never.”
Louis straightened up, exhaling sharply and running a hand through his hair.
“You gave me that pen you always held between your lips.”
“‘Cause you needed it.”
“If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t have given it to me. You know how many times I kissed that pen ‘cause your lips touched it?”
Harry gathered all his courage and spit out the name of the man Louis despised. “I love Jeff.”
Louis shut his eyes for a moment to keep from doing something stupid.
“Don’t say the name of the guy who’s touched my favorite boy.”
“I’m not your favorite boy.”
“You are, and I love you, and you like me too, but you won’t admit it. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come to my party.”
“No.”
“Yes, Harry, yes!”
Harry thought for a second, then, with the idea of playing along to get out, stood up on shaky legs but with a determined face and stepped toward Louis.
Louis, stunned, stared at Harry’s legs in tight jeans, moving in a straight line.
Harry clenched his fists but kept picking at his thumbnail.
He stood as close to Louis as possible, leaned in, and whispered in his ear, voice low. “Let me go, Louis.”
It was the first time he’d said the man’s name, and the sound felt so foreign to him.
“Loren!”
Harry pulled back, staring. “What?”
“Say my name again, Harry.”
Harry stepped back, trying to distance himself from the guy acting so weird.
“You know how long I’ve waited to tell you who I am? Playing a role for three months is tough. I was starting to forget my own name.”
He took a deep breath and repeated, “Say my name, Harry.”
Harry didn’t know what to say; his jaw was locked. Seeing his silence, Louis reached for his hair.
He let his bangs fall over his forehead, wiped the smile off his face, and looked at Harry with blank eyes that gave nothing away. “This is Louis… the one whose name I’ve been saying all this time.”
“Y-you…”
Loren, now fully in character, ran all ten fingers through his hair, pushing it back, and flashed a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, staring at Harry like it was the last thing he’d ever see. “Loren! The one who loves you. We’re not that different, but you never even noticed me, while I paid attention to every tiny detail about you.”
Harry’s brain was screaming, and he didn’t know how to react. He just wanted to wake up from this cursed nightmare in Joseph’s arms.
Now, looking Loren up and down, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed. Louis and Loren were only different in their hairstyles, and Loren dressed younger.
In a split second, he pressed himself against the heavy metal basement door, pounding his fists and screaming, “Help me!”
Loren squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, stepping toward Harry. He grabbed the collar of Harry’s jacket and yanked him back, making the boy fall again.
“Please, Loren,” Harry begged.
Loren stepped forward, straddling Harry’s body, leaning over his face, pointing a finger at him, and dictating his words.
“Before you, I was never in the light, but now I step into it every day because of you. I’m not letting you slip away that easily. You don’t know, but since I saw you, my entire notebook’s about you, Dove.”
Harry, still sprawled on the floor, dragged himself backward, staring at Loren in terror. “No… no… no way.”
Loren smirked. “Oh, it’s very possible, Dove.”
He glanced at Harry’s trembling body and stepped back but quickly barked, “Get up, Harry.”
When Harry ignored him, Loren stepped forward again, sat on his chest, pinning him down, and stared into his eyes.
“Listen to me, my Harry.”
“Never.”
Loren turned his head, glancing at Harry’s legs squirming beneath him, then snapped his eyes back to Harry.
“Take off your pants.”
Harry stopped struggling. “No.”
Loren, fed up with hearing “no,” raised his hand and slapped Harry hard, making more tears spill from his green eyes.
“Take off your pants. They’re filthy—I can feel the dirt squirming under me. I’ll take ‘em upstairs, wash ‘em, and bring ‘em back. You can use the clothes in the trunk for now.”
Seeing Harry still frozen, Loren took a deep breath and yelled, “I said take off your pants. Now!”
Harry nodded frantically.
“Okay, okay, don’t yell, Loren. I’ll do it! Just get off me.”
Loren got up from Harry’s stomach and knelt beside him, like he was waiting for his order to be followed before heading back to where he came from.
“Don’t look at me.”
“What?”
“I mean, please. Please don’t look at me.”
Loren looked away from Harry, and the boy struggled to pull off his jeans, handing them over without meeting Loren’s eyes, his hands covering his bare, cold thighs.
Loren pressed his lips together, nodded in approval, and turned back to his spot.
Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. “Now let me go.”
“Nope.”
“There’s no air down here. I can’t breathe.”
Loren leaned over Harry’s face, staring at him from close range.
“As long as there’s power, there’s air.”
He pointed at the metal door. “Three wrong code attempts, and the keypad shuts off, which means the ventilation and electricity go too.”
Harry, panting under Loren, felt his hatred for the man grow stronger by the second.
“A system you’ll never crack, no matter how hard you try.”
“Hey.”
Loren fell silent at Harry’s voice, letting him speak.
Without looking at the man, Harry asked, “Why are you doing this?”
Loren pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “Life’s a chain of interactions. Action, reaction, choice, consequences. You chose to ignore me, disrespect me, and this is what you get.”
Harry raised his voice, repeating his unanswered plea. “Help, somebody help me, help…”
Loren, ignoring Harry’s struggles, went on. “That vent you’re breathing through? You’ll eat when I say, do what I say. Want a blanket or a book? You’ll get ‘em when I say you can. Everything you get now depends on the points you earn.”
He looked at Harry’s trembling pupils and got off him. Harry shot up, scrambled to the pillar, and hid behind it.
He couldn’t believe this was the same psychologist who’d given him hope, only to rip it away. He never thought Louis could treat him like this.
“Got it?” Loren asked.
Without looking behind the pillar, Loren knew the boy was shaking back there, his panting echoing in the empty basement.
Harry was trying everything to muffle the sound by pressing his hands over his mouth, but he couldn’t.
“You’re not deaf, so answer me. I know you’re there.”
Harry flinched at Loren’s loud voice and bit his lip.
He didn’t want to seem weak, but he could feel the tears welling up.
“You better come out, ‘cause if I have to grab you, it’ll be bad for you.”
The sound of Loren’s shoes hitting the floor echoed, and Harry curled into himself more.
Loren got close to the pillar and yanked the trembling boy out from behind it.
Harry stared at the angry Loren, silent, motionless.
His eyes showed no emotion now, but the tears falling weren’t under his control.
Loren grabbed Harry’s face and shouted, “I said, got it?”
The man’s second yell went unanswered again, and Harry stared back without flinching.
In that moment, seeing Harry’s wet but fearless eyes, Loren felt nothing but rage. He wanted the boy to be scared, to respect him.
Fury burned through him like fire, the voice in his head mocking him for being ignored. In a split second, he had Harry turned around, face pressed against the rough brick pillar.
Harry tried to move, but Loren’s body pinned him tight.
Loren grabbed both of Harry’s wrists as he tried to push back, locking them behind his back with one hand and pressing his elbow into Harry’s spine.
“Louis… please, no.”
Seeing no way out, Harry clung to begging, his only shot at buying time to delay facing the monster in front of him.
Hearing “Louis” instead of his name and Harry’s desperate tone only made Loren more determined. He yanked his belt off his waist and bound Harry’s wrists even tighter.
A bit later, when Loren was done with Harry’s body, he let go of the boy he’d used.
He stepped back, scowling at Harry, hearing the thud of Harry’s knees hitting the floor, the sound of his bones smacking the ground echoing in his ears. He saw Harry, trembling, curl up, pulling his knees to his chest and tugging his jacket over himself.
For a moment, Loren stared at the droplets on the floor, stained red with blood, then walked to the trunk, grabbed the bouquet he’d brought down, returned to Harry, and tossed the flowers beside him. He headed to the door, punched the code into the panel, and left the basement.
Harry didn’t know how much time had passed, but he wasn’t whimpering anymore. He just stared blankly at some unknown point, a fresh wave of nausea hitting him from the fear and distress.
With difficulty, leaning on the pillar, he stood on his aching legs. Though he hated making a mess, he tried to move with steps that caused the least pain.
He pressed his hand to his mouth, took short, cautious steps to the sink, and puked up his stomach acid before sitting on the floor.
He hated his body for being touched against his will. He wanted to cut off every part that had been touched or burn it with fire, but all he could think about now was washing himself.
When his trembling eased a bit, he took a few short steps to the shower, yanked off his jacket and sweater, and tossed them aside. He pulled down the torn waistband of his boxers, kicked them off in the opposite direction, and turned on the water.
To his surprise, the water was slightly warm. He stepped under it and, with rage, scrubbed every touched part of his body, trying to wash away the filth, ignoring the bleeding as he cleaned the main spot that had been violated and hurt.
In that moment, he didn’t think about any other terrifying things that might happen. He just wanted to die and wake up in a new body, a better life.
Harry had no idea that Loren was watching his naked body through the small window on the door, which only allowed a view from the outside, staring without a shred of guilt.
Notes:
Yo, I cut out the part where Loren raped to Harry 'cause it was honestly too messed up for me. But yeah, just wanted to throw it out there what Lauren did.
Anyway, swing by here and drop your thoughts in the comments!
Chapter 22
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Three days later, the aspirin had kicked in, dulling Louis’s pounding headaches after a few hours.
Now, Louis was casually flipping through his planner, the only sound in the house being Loren’s footsteps on the hardwood.
He read the new entries carefully, his eyes widening with each passing day.
He sat up straight on the couch, pulling his slouched shoulders back, and scowled at the words scrawled in big letters.
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table beside him and blew out the smoke lingering in his lungs.
Clearing his throat, he read aloud, “The sound of his begging and whimpering is still ringing in my ears, filling my head.”
He flipped the page and read the five words written there: “He’s still here, but quiet now.”
He opened the next page: “In the shadows of the basement, while you sleep, curled up in yourself, I watch you.”
He shot up and stormed toward Loren, who was aimlessly pacing the house, grabbing his collar and holding him in place.
Loren raised an eyebrow, turned to Louis, and pushed his hand away, looking confused. “What’s up?”
Louis slammed the open planner against Loren’s chest. “What’s this bullshit?”
Loren peeled the crumpled planner off his chest. “What’re you talking about, Louis?”
“Why the hell are you writing this crap in the pages of *my* notebook, where I keep my notes, letting your writer’s block diarrhea spill out?”
Loren’s raised brows and clueless expression pissed Louis off, bringing back his damn headache to his exhausted body.
Louis yanked the planner from Loren’s hands, flipped through it, and read aloud, “Now you’re mine, all my ‘what ifs’ turned real, you’re tied to my veins, my breaths smell of you, I’m the happiest guy on this crowded earth, glad you’re free from that cancerous tumor, you’re mine, and you’ve lit up the darkness behind my eyelids.”
He took several deep breaths to keep from getting into it with Loren, who’d ruined his planner and filled its pages with nonsense.
“What is this, Loren?”
“It’s all for my boy.”
Louis’s brows knitted together again, and he blinked rapidly, processing those four words. Loren thought if Louis kept that up, he’d take flight.
“Hey, Louis, you good?”
“Your boy? Who’s your boy? Why you feeding me info drop by drop?”
Loren shrugged carelessly. “Harry, duh.”
Louis’s eyes widened, his brows shooting up. “Harry who? Styles?”
Loren nodded, smirking. “Yup, thrilled he’s finally with me.”
“Where is he?”
Loren glanced at the wooden basement door, and Louis followed his gaze, asking, “Down there?”
“Yeah. That place was so useless, so I brought a life here. Glad it’s not just his guitar noise filling it up anymore.”
Louis tossed his planner to the floor, planted both hands on Loren’s chest, and shoved him aside to head for the basement door.
“I don’t get why I’m always cleaning up your messes.”
Loren, panicked, ran after Louis, who’d opened the door and was staring down the stairs. “I swear I didn’t mess up this time.”
“You kidnapped someone and you’re saying you didn’t mess up?”
“Louis!”
Louis rushed down the stairs and stood in the cluttered basement, hands on his hips, eyeing the packed boxes and shelves.
“Looks like we’ve switched places,” he muttered.
“He loves me!” Loren shot back.
Loren didn’t give Louis a chance to respond, heading straight for the air purifier unit that connected the basement to the garage.
He pressed his ear to the pipe leading to the basement. “You hear that? I love that he’s begging for my help, thinking I’m his savior.”
Louis hesitated, stepping toward Loren, tuning into the faint sound echoing in the quiet basement.
“He’s got a boyfriend he’s in love with,” Louis said.
“Yeah, I know, that inseparable cancerous tumor,” Loren sneered.
Louis let out a dry laugh at Loren’s analogy. “It’s not too late. We can still get him out of the basement.”
Loren shook his head. “Don’t even think about it! We’re already in deep shit.”
Louis tapped the purifier with his foot. “Why’s this thing not working?”
Loren grabbed a folded rug from the corner, unfurling it as he answered, “It’s off.”
He draped the rug over the purifier to muffle any noise.
“Why’s it off?” Louis asked.
“‘Cause he punched in the wrong code three times on the panel. Now there’s no fresh air, no power, no light. His flashlight battery’s gonna die soon too.”
“Where’s your humanity, Loren? We gotta get him out.”
Loren took a few steps back toward the stairs, turned, and planted a foot on the first step.
“My humanity died when Harry turned me down at the café… when he accepted Joseph’s proposal… when he looked me in the face and said Joseph saved him.”
“Let the kid go, Loren. He’s got a life outside this place!”
Loren reached the top step and stared at Louis. “But you know what? Despite all his talk, he gave me so many signals. In his silence, he told me he liked me. He *smiled* at me!”
As Loren left, Louis, stunned, paced the basement to calm his nerves. When he finally got a grip, he looked at the empty spot where Loren had been and shouted, “I’ll fix this myself… idiot!”
With determined steps, he stormed out of the basement, grabbed the car keys and garage key from the key rack, and threw on his jacket as he left the house.
Even though the garage had an indoor entrance, he wanted the cold air to hit him. He circled the house to the garage door, kicking away the snow piled on the lock.
He bent down, unlocked it, grabbed the shutter’s edges, and pulled it up, then slipped underneath and yanked it back down.
He scanned the junk cluttered in the garage until he spotted a thick hose used for watering, hanging on the wall.
He pulled it off the hook, unrolled it, and stood still for a moment.
Listening to the faint sound he could hear, he slowly walked toward it.
He bent down, pulled open the vent on the wall, and shoved one end of the hose into the pipe that led into the dark.
He stood there, frowning but hesitant, staring at the vent. Then he took the other end of the hose and jammed it into the car’s exhaust.
Circling to the driver’s side, he opened the door, slid the key into the ignition, and turned it.
He pressed the clutch and gas pedals, releasing the clutch while flooring the gas. The car’s roar filled the garage.
He let off the pedal, then gunned it again and again. In that moment, he felt no mercy, only a burning need to get rid of the guy in his basement and dump Harry’s lifeless, suffocated body in front of his own house that night.
A voice louder than the exhaust snapped Louis’s attention.
“Louis, where you at? Louis? You home?”
Louis quickly hit the button to pop the hood, jumped out, and lifted it, propping it open with the rod.
“Yeah, Lana?” he called.
“Where you at, Louis?”
To throw her off, Louis pulled out the dipstick, smeared some engine oil on his hands, slid it back in, and rubbed the black grease across his fingers.
“I’m in here… in the garage.”
The door from the house flew open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back.
Lana rushed toward Louis, and he grabbed her shoulders with his greasy hands.
Lana glanced at Louis’s oily hands smudging her coat. “Louis!”
He quickly pulled back, snatching a rag from the side to wipe his hands. “Sorry, I’ll get it dry-cleaned.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, look, you startled me, or I wouldn’t have messed it up.”
Lana grabbed her coat’s belt and undid the knot.
“Louis.”
He noticed her trembling hands—rare to see her like this.
With his now slightly cleaner hands, he framed her face. “What’s wrong, Lana? Talk to me.”
Even her pupils shook along with her whole body, making Louis’s stress skyrocket.
“I’m screwed,” she said.
“What?”
Louis brushed her brown bangs aside. “Take a few deep breaths for me, Lana.”
She stared at his calm face and nodded.
Louis took a deep breath, raised his right hand, spread all five fingers, and slowly lowered them one by one, then exhaled.
“One more time?”
“Okay… okay.”
They repeated the process until the trembling Lana calmed down in Louis’s hands.
“Now can you explain, sweetheart?”
Lana pushed Louis’s right hand off her face, nestled into his arms, wrapped her arms around his neck, and stared at the garage’s shutter door.
“I’m screwed, and I floored it here without looking back.”
Louis lifted his head from hers, kissed her hair, and with his left hand, removed the hood prop and slammed the hood shut.
He wrapped his arms around Lana’s waist and sat her on the hood. “So?”
Lana rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, smearing her mascara and eyeliner, which mixed with her tears and streaked down.
“Let me put it this way: me and two others were doing a procedure.”
Louis wiped the black-streaked tears from her cheeks with the back of his hands. “Procedure? Where?”
“At the clinic.”
She wiggled the index and middle fingers of both hands, rolling her eyes. “Without a license.”
“Lana…”
“Listen, Louis, I swear no one was supposed to find out. At the cosmetic clinic, one of my friends does procedures, and in exchange for the organ the person sells us, we pay them. It’s a win-win deal.”
“What, like in that movie where you take a kidney and hand the guy a grilled steak instead?”
“Ha ha, I’m serious, Louis!”
Louis raised his greasy hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, my bad, Dr. Lana.”
Lana kicked his shin with the tip of her boot. “Ow, I’m talking here.”
“Go ahead.”
She took another deep breath. “Yeah, so even though we were super careful, they caught on. The family of the person we were operating on showed up at the clinic, started a fight, and threatened us big time.”
Louis pursed his lips, and Lana continued. “Now they want compensation ‘cause they think we tricked the guy into it, and they’re threatening to go to the cops.”
“How much money?”
“Thirty thousand pounds.”
“Can you shut them up with cash?”
“I don’t know, but they threatened me bad, and I really don’t wanna see myself behind bars,” Lana said.
“I know, I know, sweetheart,” Louis replied.
He wiped her tears again and continued, “We’ll shut ‘em up with a bit more cash.”
Even though Lana’s heart had calmed a little, she was still sobbing, the stress gripping her tight.
Louis stepped closer, pulled her into his arms, kissed her forehead, and said, “Go upstairs, change your clothes, then come back down so we can talk.”
“Okay?” he asked.
Lana, voice hoarse, nodded, looking into Louis’s eyes for reassurance. He nodded back. “Okay.”
Once Louis was sure Lana had gone, he yanked the car key out, pulled the hose from the exhaust, put it back in place, and secured the vent. After tidying up, he headed upstairs.
In the kitchen, while washing his hands, he cleared his throat. “Hey, Siri?”
Within a second, his phone’s AI responded, “Yes, Louis?”
“Call Joseph Hardy.”
“Call initiated.”
Louis, drying his hands with a towel, walked to his phone on the counter.
Joseph picked up after a few rings. “Mr. Tomlinson!”
Louis leaned against the counter. “Hey, Joseph, just checking in on you.”
“Oh, thanks, Mr. Tomlinson!”
Louis let out a dry laugh. “Call me Louis, man. Any news on Harry?”
A silence hung on the line, making Louis think the call dropped. He pulled the phone from his ear to check the screen.
“You still there, Joseph?”
“Yeah, I’m here… Honestly, no. The detective and cops came to our place yesterday, questioned all the guests from that night and Harry’s friends.”
“Shouldn’t I have come by?”
“Uh, no, they passed on what you told the cops that night to the detective.”
“Hmm, good. So, you’ll let me know if you hear anything, right?”
Joseph sniffled on the other end. “Yeah, I’ll call you if there’s news… Louis.”
“Later.”
Louis hung up before Joseph could reply, then bolted to the living room to hunt for his planner, hoping to find some clue about Loren’s actions.
ᨒ
The damp, cold, musty air in the basement, mixed with the bitter stench of smoke that choked Harry’s lungs, had finally settled after hours.
When the stinging in his eyes from the thick smoke eased, he lowered the cloth he’d held over his mouth and breathed in the slightly fresher air, still tinged with smoke.
He was exhausted from the silence, cold, and darkness, not even knowing if it was day or night to keep track.
The fluorescent lights and vent roared to life after hours, flooding the space with light. Harry, his eyes used to the dark, squeezed them shut and shielded them with his hand.
He slowly stood from the pile of clothes he’d stacked by the pillar to ease the pain in his lower body, zipping his jacket up to his chin.
Clutching the cloth tightly, he took slow, short steps to the small sink.
In the first hours after Loren violated him without consent, Harry wanted to bash his head against the concrete wall until his brain merged with it.
He wished he could go back and scream “Don’t go!” at the oblivious Harry to avoid this nightmare.
A thousand times, he’d thought if he hadn’t closed his eyes, hadn’t fallen asleep, and had returned to London sooner, he’d still be waking up in Jeff’s arms, maybe even planning their wedding.
At the sink, he tossed the cloth in and cranked the water full blast to soak it.
He folded the wet cloth, grabbed both ends, and twisted it until it was just damp, then shook it out.
Turning, he paced the basement, waving the damp cloth to trap the lingering smoke and let it settle on the floor.
Each step made his face scrunch up, a sharp pain shooting through his lower body, like a hot pipe being shoved in and out with every move.
When the weight of longing hit him, he replayed sweet memories, knowing well that a strong mind could save him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, a tear sliding down his cheek. Absentmindedly, he let go of one end of the cloth, wiped the tear, and when he pressed on the bruise on his face, he screamed in pain and wished death on Loren.
“Hazza?”
The familiar voice from behind made Harry jump, ignoring the pain shooting through him.
Recognizing that face was the easiest thing for Harry, and it stunned him.
“What… what are you doing here, Joe?”
Harry knew that blue checkered shirt and those pants all too well.
“I’m always here, babe,” Jeff said.
“Help me get outta here.”
Jeff glanced around and took a step forward. “Come here, Harry.”
Harry dropped the cloth in his hand and shuffled to the center of the basement where Jeff pointed.
He watched Jeff walk to the pile of clothes, kick them aside, scattering them across the floor, and sit down.
Jeff patted the ground next to him. “Come sit here.”
Without a word, Harry sat beside Jeff on the cold floor, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.
“Remember that day?” Jeff asked.
“Which one?”
Jeff slowly lay back on the ground, hands behind his head. Seeing him settle, Harry carefully lay on his side next to him, resting his head on Jeff’s arm.
“August, after you agreed to be my boyfriend.”
A smile crept onto Harry’s cracked lips, splitting the barely healed cuts.
“Yeah?”
“Close your eyes, and I’ll tell you about it. You know how you always said the mind’s powerful for imagining? Let’s relive a memory!”
Harry hesitated but closed his eyes. “Okay, but don’t leave.”
“Told you, I’m right here.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Can you feel the cool grass?”
“You mean the cement?”
Jeff warned, “Grass!”
“Oh, yeah, I can even feel the critters moving in the dirt!”
“Quit messing around, Harry.”
“Alright, fine… it’s all dark now.”
“Yeah, dark, but you see that purple star in the sky?”
Harry’s brows furrowed. “Which one?”
“Haz! The sky’s clear, look closer, my love.”
“Whoa… I see it. You see how it’s shining?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. It shines like you did at the campfire hangout.”
“Oi, you’re making me blush, Joseph Morph Hardy!”
“That was the plan.”
“Don’t get sappy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mmm, good boy!”
“You know, Harry? I wanna buy a motorcycle and travel the world with you.”
“Idiot! A car’s way safer for world-tripping. I don’t wanna die ‘cause of a bike.”
“Shhh, don’t cut me off. When you’re on the back of my bike, I’ll be extra careful so we’re both safe and don’t die.”
Harry let out a small laugh. “Oh, really?”
Jeff cleared his throat. “I’d bet my life on it.”
“No, no, I don’t like betting on your life. Forget it! What’s next?”
“Uh… well, it’s not that safe, but I can get you a helmet too.”
“What color you getting for yourself?”
“Black, like the night!”
“Then get two blacks, ‘cause it’d look dumb if we got a red one for me…”
Harry paused, then after a moment, added, “God, I’m talking nonsense.”
“You drunk?”
“No, you idiot… keep going.”
“Yeah, I was saying we’d travel the world together, conquer every road,” Jeff continued.
“Where’d we go?” Harry asked.
“Wherever your heart wants.”
“Brazil?”
The loud click of the door unlocking made Harry jump. He scrambled on all fours to the dark corner behind the pillar.
In that moment, the calm he’d found in his heart vanished, and now it was pounding against his chest.
“You in here?” a voice called.
Harry, trying to quiet his breathing, peeked from behind the pillar, saw the man, and quickly pulled back.
“I saw you! Come out.”
Harry slapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide, staring ahead and shaking his head in disbelief.
“Come out, I’m not gonna hurt you… Harry? That’s you, right?”
He heard something being set down and dragged across the floor, followed by the man taking two steps.
“Yeah, Harry! So, how ‘bout you come out?”
Maybe if he looked him in the eyes and begged to leave, it’d work. Maybe if he fell at his feet and pleaded, he’d let him go. Maybe if he said he’d agree to his demands, he’d be free?
“Harry?”
Harry gathered all his courage, licked his dry lips, and answered, “Y-yeah, Loren?”
It was all the bravery he could muster, but fear and stress gripped him so hard he stammered.
“I brought you food. Come out!”
“O-okay.”
Harry slowly stood, pulled the drawstring of his sweatpants tight, tied it, and stepped out from behind the pillar. He glanced at the tray of food, then at Loren.
“Come on, I know you’re hungry. You either ate all the snacks in the trunk or flushed ‘em.”
Harry scanned the man in front of him. Seeing no threat in his face, he moved closer, passed the tray, and stood chest-to-chest with Loren.
He was so close he could feel the man’s heartbeat—or maybe it was a second heart beating on the right side of his own chest.
Loren put a hand on Harry’s chest, gently pushing him back. “Let me go, Loren… I’m begging you, let me go.”
Loren stared at him, his eyes unreadable.
“When I leave, I’ll forget everything, act like nothing happened… I’ll even agree to your demands, Loren!”
Loren let out a loud exhale. “I’m not Loren.”
Harry froze, frowning, and took two steps back, staring at the man. Why couldn’t he tell the stupid differences between Loren and Louis?
“Okay, Louis!” he corrected.
He paused, then after a few seconds, continued, “Sweetheart! Why am I down here? Let me go.”
Louis narrowed his eyes. “Because the nuclear plant exploded, and we saved you from its deadly radiation.”
Harry’s hands clenched into fists, and he took a step forward. “I don’t care. Let me go so I can at least die out there.”
Louis backed up to the door, holding his palms up like a shield in case the limping boy lunged at him. “No! I don’t control anything here, and you need to know your place.”
Harry, confused, said, “If you don’t control it, when’s Loren coming so I can beg him?”
“None of your business. I’m already doing you a favor by bringing food, so be grateful.”
“You’ve got a person locked up down here!”
Louis shrugged carelessly. “Told you, it’s not up to me.”
“Louis! At least tell me if it’s day or night.”
“Night.”
Harry whispered, “I wish I could just die.”
Ignoring Harry’s murmur, Louis pointed at the tray on the floor. “Eat the rice and potatoes for dinner now. Save the apple, biscuits, and canned beans for tomorrow and the days after.”
Without waiting for a reply, Louis turned, punched the code into the panel, opened the door, and left.
Harry ran to the door, pounding it with his fists and feet. “Louis… please don’t go, stay with me…”
“Louis! Get me out of here…”
He slammed his fist on the small window that only showed the inside from the outside. “Louis… please…”
Exhausted from yelling, he turned, shuffled to the tray, knelt beside it, and leaned over, grabbing the metal spoon and fork.
He scooped a mountain of rice onto the spoon and shoved it in his mouth. The fact that the rice was still slightly warm, unlike the potatoes, was a damn blessing to Harry.
Louis, with a smirk, brushed a stray lock of hair to the right with two fingers, watching Harry devour the food through the small window on the door.
Notes:
Hmm??
Chapter 23
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
January 20
The holidays flew by, packed with stress, and now he had to go back to the place where he’d seen the boy in the basement for the second time.
From behind the small window on the door, he watched Harry, curled up like a fetus, clutching the clothes beneath him.
He wiped his hand over the glass, fogged up from his hot breath, again and again.
Since they’d brought Harry down here, he’d wanted to bring him back up multiple times, but he was stuck in a done deal and couldn’t do anything now.
He wished for the boy’s death but didn’t act on it anymore—he was too scared to kill a living thing.
A loud crash from upstairs made him jump, shoving his thoughts aside. He took a deep breath, glanced one last time at Harry, who rolled over onto his stomach, then turned and strode down the cold hallway.
He shut and locked the wooden door behind the tool shelf, grabbed the shelf, pulled it back into place, and set the key on top.
Heading toward the stairs, he adjusted the rug draped over the air purifier, made sure it was running, and picked up the box of junk stashed there.
“Louis, where are you at?” a voice called.
He stepped onto the first stair, glanced at the trembling box in his hands for a second, and shouted, “Coming, sweetheart!”
His next step caught the edge of the stair, the box shook too much, and he dropped it, yelling in pain as he hit the ground.
The box’s lid popped open, spilling out all the toys inside.
He saw the smiling figurines from the box flying through the air, and the whispers in his head turned into screams that deafened him.
He pressed his hands hard over his ears, which were ringing with the sound of laughter.
“You remember Mom?”
“Shut up…”
Now he saw the figurines from the box on the ceiling, twisting together, laughing at him.
“The frog in the pond!”
“Hahaha…”
He clenched his right hand into a fist and slammed it into his temple to drown out the laughter and screams.
“Hahaha…”
He smashed his fist into his head again, yelling, “Shut up… shut up… SHUT UP!”
Lana, hearing Louis’s relentless screams, dropped the toast she was smearing with cream cheese on the table and bolted toward the basement where the noise was coming from.
Lana reached the doorway and gasped at the sight of Louis slamming his fist into his head. She rushed down the stairs.
“Louis, Louis, calm down, what are you doing?”
She grabbed the box that had fallen beside him and set it a few steps higher, but Louis groaned, “Don’t… touch… it.”
Lana reached for Louis, grabbing his shoulders and sitting him down in place.
“Calm down, Louis…”
Louis slammed his fist into his head again, making Lana scream involuntarily. The shock hit Louis hard, and without thinking, he raised his hand and slapped her across the face.
Lana let go of his shoulders, eyes wide, hand on her stinging cheek, stunned. “Louis!”
“Water… help… shut up…”
With teary eyes, Lana grabbed his shoulders again, half-stood, and struggled to lift the trembling man.
Louis looked up at the ceiling again, glaring at a giant smiling figurine staring back at him. It grinned wider, and he screamed, “DIE!”
“Calm down, Louis, lift your foot, it’s a step, you gotta step up…”
Louis lifted his foot slightly, stumbled, but was lucky Lana was there to catch him.
Lana bent down, grabbed his thigh, and helped him place his foot on the next step. Slowly, they climbed the stairs together.
“Toys… scattered…” Louis mumbled.
Lana, standing with him in the doorway, glanced back. “Nothing’s scattered. The box is taped shut.”
“I saw… it spilled… shut up…”
He raised his fist and slammed it into his head again. “SHHH… stop it…”
Lana wiped the tears soaking her prominent cheeks with her sleeve, kissed the side of Louis’s head where he’d been hitting himself, and asked, “What’s wrong, Louis?”
Louis gripped her arm and pointed to the kitchen. “There…”
Lana nodded and guided him slowly to the kitchen.
Ignoring Lana, who’d stuck with him this far, Louis staggered to the cabinet, yanked it open so hard the door swung back and smacked his head.
“FUCK!”
“Louis, what do you want?!”
Ignoring her, he grabbed the corner of his bag of meds, dumped them on the counter, and rummaged through the bottles, searching for a familiar name for these moments.
Lana stepped forward, reaching in without permission to sift through the bottles and pill packets.
“Can’t… find it…”
“Which one? What’s it called?”
Louis squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his forehead against the cabinet. “C… clo… clor…”
“Got it, got it.”
Lana nodded, found the bottle with the partial name Louis had stammered, and grabbed a glass from the open dishwasher, filling it to the brim with water. She popped the bottle open with one hand, tilted it, and held the pill that fell onto the counter in front of Louis’s mouth.
“Take it.”
Louis cracked one eye open, saw the pill, lowered his head, and took it from between Lana’s thumb and index finger, swallowing it with a gulp of water.
Lana set the glass on the counter, pulled a chair back from the counter, and guided Louis to sit.
“Go…”
Lana tucked her hair behind her ear. “What?”
Louis, panting, squeezed his eyes shut. “Go… don’t stay here…”
“You’re not okay.”
Louis planted his hands on the counter, then rested his head on his forearm, voice low. “I’m fine…”
“You’re not! What happened all of a sudden? How are you even gonna go to school?”
“I am… I’ll go… go!”
Lana rubbed his back. “You sure?”
Louis’s breathing was slowly steadying, his heart rate dropping from its frantic pace, the numbness behind his eyes fading.
That was the thing about these pills—they worked fast, minimizing the damage to himself and those around him.
“Fifteen minutes… I’ll head out… I’ll go…”
Lana leaned down, pressed her soft lips to the back of Louis’s neck, where his messy, long hair hung, and kissed his warm skin. “Take care of yourself, and don’t drive if you can help it…”
“Hmm…”
ᨒ
Zayn stared at Harry’s empty spot next to him, the absence hitting hard, and kicked the chair in front of him.
“Why’s there no news about Harry?”
Niall, wincing, put a hand on his lower back where the kick landed and spun around. “Chill, you savage.”
“I’m saying, why isn’t Harry showing up?”
“The cops should be doing something, but…”
“Liam’s here,” Zayn cut in.
Niall turned, spotting Liam, and called out, “What’s up?”
Liam rolled his eyes. “Mr. Tomlinson switched his class time. We’ve got him next period.”
“What?”
Zayn pulled his hand off Liam’s desk, looked at him, and said, “What do we do now?”
Liam bent down, grabbed his bag from the floor, and slung it over his shoulder. “No clue. I’m gonna find my next class’s teacher so I can at least make that one, then hit Mr. Tomlinson’s class after.”
Zayn let out a loud huff and laughed. “This ain’t a school, it’s a circus! And we’re the clowns they’re laughing at.”
Niall glanced at his watch again. “It’s almost eight, and Daisy’s not here.”
“She’ll show,” Liam said. “I’m out.”
Liam ruffled Zayn’s dark hair—knowing he hated it—and headed to the door, peeking into the hallway before turning back to his friends. “Daisy’s coming, moving like a turtle.”
“Come on, your mom’s here, stop whining,” Zayn teased.
Niall laughed, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Read your damn book, cat, and quit scratching.”
Zayn slammed his open book shut, stuffed it in his bag, and pulled out his phone. “Where you been?”
Daisy tossed her bag on her desk, plopped onto Niall’s lap, and Niall wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her arm.
“I was in the courtyard. They put up those missing person flyers on the fences near the school gate.”
Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t see ‘em, why not?”
Daisy dug into her coat pocket, pulled out her phone, opened the gallery, and handed it to Zayn.
Zayn grabbed the phone and started reading the text with his eyes.
“We’ve been coming to school for a week, took two exams, and *now* his boyfriend decides to put up flyers?”
Zayn zoomed in on Harry’s smiling photo, then handed the phone back to Daisy. “I miss Harry. He’s the only one who listens to my bullshit… well, after Liam.”
Daisy set her phone on Niall’s desk, took a deep breath, and shifted in her seat. “I saw Jeff in Ms. Martinez’s office.”
Niall let out a dry laugh. “Now that chubby lady with her rolls stacked up is gonna fall for him. Poor Harry’s not here to see his man getting stolen.”
“Oi! No news yet,” Daisy said.
“I don’t get why the cops aren’t doing anything,” Niall added.
“‘Cause the cops are dumb, just like Harry’s boyfriend,” Zayn said.
“He’s dumb, sure, but he’s a solid architect and engineer,” Daisy countered.
Niall looked at the ceiling, acting like he was praying. “Wish I was dumb but a good architect.”
“Your basketball!” Daisy shot back.
“Yeah…”
"Yo, did you know Jeff sketched out the blueprint for their house?"
"Hmm, Harry already spilled the beans to me."
Zayn slumped back in his chair, blowing out a frustrated breath: "How come every time I bring up something about Harry lately, you already know it, Niall?!"
Daisy got up from Niall’s lap, where her foot had gone numb, and as Niall shook his leg to shake off the tingles, he said: "‘Cause while all you lot wanted Harry to listen to you, I was the one who actually listened to him. He opened up to me about his interests, his struggles, everything."
Zayn yanked the hood of his sweatshirt, tucked under his jacket in the chilly weather, over his head. He dropped his head onto his book on the desk: "I barely slept last night, cramming for tomorrow’s exam. When the next period hits and Mr. Tomlinson shows up, give me a shout."
Daisy flipped her phone back on and shifted her gum to the other side of her mouth: "Harry’s got tomorrow’s exam on lock, and he’s not even here! I wish he’d show up soon. I’m so done with fielding everyone’s questions about him this whole week."
Zayn’s voice came out low and muffled: "He’s not playing hide-and-seek to just pop out like, ‘Tadaa!’ He’s a person, man! He’s gone, maybe snatched."
"Oh, and you know that how, Sherlock?"
Zayn threw up a thumbs-up: "Sixth sense, mate."
"Dunno, I just hope he’s back before his birthday. I’m craving a proper party, cake, and some booze."
"No lie, his birthday’s the one time anything goes."
Niall stood up, threw on his jacket, and zipped it up as he said: "I’m heading to the assembly hall to cram for tomorrow. Too noisy here to focus. You guys can tag along if you want."
Two hours later, when Louis strolled into the classroom, the students hushed up, though a few whispers still lingered.
His beige shirt and black velvet pants fit him so well, every kid in the room was low-key jealous, wishing he was their teacher.
In the few months since Louis had taken over as the substitute, this was the first time he’d cracked open the textbook to teach from it.
Louis scanned the class, scratched under his nose with his pointer finger, then flipped the open book upside down on the desk and got up: "Nah, this ain’t it."
He walked over to the board, grabbed the edge of the whiteboard, and slid it aside to reveal the chalkboard.
He picked up an eraser, wiping the board clean, and said: "Let’s switch it up and dive into something new, something I’ve heard a lot of chatter about lately."
He grabbed an orange piece of chalk and scrawled “ADHD” in big letters.
A murmur kicked up from the left side of the class. Louis raised an eyebrow, mentally counting to ten to keep from snapping.
He cleared his throat, and even the whispers died down as the class tuned in to him.
"Imagine you’re chilling in class."
He stepped forward and put his hands on Alia’s shoulders: "Imagine Alia’s messing with her pen nonstop, getting distracted, looking like she can’t keep her focus on anything!"
"She’s got autism!"
Louis threw a sharp look at the kid who cracked the random joke: "Alia’s totally fine, but I’m not so sure about you."
The whole class lost it laughing at Louis’ comeback, and he gave the boy a sly smirk, a grin tugging at his lip.
He clapped his hands together: "Alright, let’s do this…"
"Now imagine this: what if this isn’t just an in-class thing for her, but it’s with her all the time—her life, her home, her job, her relationships."
"So you’re saying she’s, what, a serial killer?"
Louis let out a quick laugh and glanced at Niall: "Not always, but yeah, some serial killers have had these traits."
He turned back to the board and finished spelling out the term he’d started: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.
"That little intro I gave? That’s the world of folks living with ADHD."
"Are they, like, sick or something?"
Louis pushed his glasses up his button nose, where they were always slipping.
"Nope, not at all! It’s not some illness or label. It’s just a different way the brain works, with its own challenges and strengths. We’re gonna dive into this world, figure out how to get it and how to help."
He turned to the board and scribbled as he talked: "It’s got three main parts. 1: Getting super distracted and forgetting stuff = inattention… 2: Moving around a ton, can’t control it = hyperactivity… 3: Making quick decisions without thinking about consequences = impulsivity."
"Mr. Tomlinson?"
Louis spun toward the girl who called him: "Yeah?"
The girl, dragging her finger across her desk, said: "What symptoms does this… condition have?"
Louis corrected her: "Not a condition, a difference!"
He glanced at the board and kept going: "I just laid out the three main parts with some symptoms. Now you tell me—what traits do you think it has?"
The class got all hyped, everyone tossing out ideas out loud for a sec.
A dark-haired kid threw his hand up, and Louis raised an eyebrow, shocked: "Whoa, Saeed! You’re actually jumping in? Lay it on us, man!"
"Haha… back before I moved here, in my home country, I’d see my cousin who could never sit still, always fidgeting in his seat."
"Exactly. One of the signs is restless movement, no chill."
Louis stood between the desk rows, snapping his fingers while twisting his waist: "Come on, what else? Get those brains going, I’m wait—"
A girl cut him off: "Like, bailing on a task halfway through or getting distracted super easy."
Louis pointed at her: "Yup! And you know you’ve got a bit of that yourself, right?"
The girl’s cheeks went red: "No way, I’m good."
Louis chuckled: "Chill, I’m not saying you’ve got something wrong. You just jumped in while I was talking, and that’s another sign—cutting folks off mid-sentence."
"Dork!"
Louis whipped around to Tanya, the girl who tried to sweet-talk her way into his good books on day one: "Watch your mouth, Tanya!"
Tanya flipped her hair: "Mr. Tomlinson…"
Louis frowned and pointed at the door: "Out."
"Sir—"
"Out! Now."
After Tanya stormed out, Louis walked back to the front and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"We don’t know exactly what causes ADHD, but it could be genetics, brain chemistry shifts, or even environmental stuff."
"Serial killers… serial killers are like that too."
"Zip it, Niall."
The whispers from that crew who always caught Louis’ eye didn’t slip past him.
Louis locked eyes with his sister"No, Daisy, let him keep going."
Daisy tucked her hair behind her ear Nah, he’s been rambling about his crime files since this morning."
Louis raised an eyebrow and looked at Niall "What, you trying to be a lawyer, Niall?"
Niall, half-sprawled in his chair, sat up all flustered"Nah, but I’m kinda obsessed with crime cases."
"Solid hobby, Niall! Alright, since you’re such a crime nerd, can you name a few serial killers who had this disorder?"
Niall’s eyes sparkled when someone gave a crap about his interests. He cleared his throat: "There’s a ton, but I can only think of a few right now! Ryan Grantham, that actor charged with killing his mom. Or Jim Jones, the cult guy behind the Jonestown mass suicide. Or that kid who shot up a school in Florida, Nicholas Cruz."
Louis raised his brows and clapped for Niall, while the kid’s grin was so big it barely fit his face.
"That’s some serious knowledge, mate. What got you hooked on this stuff?"
Niall opened his mouth to answer, but Liam cut in: "Harry! It’s ‘cause of Harry, who’s been gone for almost a month with no word."
"I miss him so much."
“I feel so bad for him!”
The class’s chatter was seriously getting to him, mixing with the voices in his head that had just started to quiet down, making his brain throb. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and said: “I was one of the first to hear the news, and when it hit me, I was gutted.”
“What can we even do about it?!”
“Harry was legit beautiful.”
Zayn cut off the blonde girl who’d always been low-key obsessed with Harry: “Not was, Harry’s still beautiful! Just some stuff’s keeping us from him right now.”
“What if it’s his beauty that got him taken?”
“Nothing’s gonna happen, my sixth sense doesn’t lie.”
“Where’s this sixth sense of yours at?”
Zayn straightened up and slapped a hand on his stomach: “Right here.”
Liam threw his head back and cackled loudly, and Zayn was stoked he’d finally managed to shift the vibe among his friends.
“What if Harry’s disappearance is some copycat’s doing?”
The girl paused, took a deep breath, and went on: “Like, what if someone’s out there mimicking serial killers? Hannibal, Jeffrey Dahmer, or, I dunno, that clown from that movie, or the dude with the mask who’d kidnap people and leave black balloons behind, or like Dexter, someone who wants him for his skin and, like, taxidermies him.”
“Why would it even be something like that, Katie? There’s been no word of anything like that, and now it just randomly starts with Harry?”
“Dunno, it’s all just possibilities.”
“Harry is beautiful!”
The convo was heating up, everyone throwing in their two cents, ideas piling up, and Louis couldn’t believe one little question had sparked such a massive debate!
“What if they took him for drug trafficking or to, like, Sicily or Israel for prostitution or some crap like that…”
Daisy instantly zipped up her pencil case and chucked it from the right side of the room to the left, smacking the other girl square in the face.
Catherine, eyes wide and teary, stared at Daisy, clutching her nose that was screaming with pain and dripping blood like ink.
Daisy was breathing hard, chest heaving with rage, practically vibrating, while Niall tried to rein in her anger and calm her down.
Daisy, scowling, struggled to break free from Niall’s grip, lunging toward Catherine: “Shut your mouth, Catherine.”
Catherine, fuming, shot up from her seat, flipped Daisy the middle finger with her free hand, and yelled “Fuck you, Tomlinson!”
At that, the whole class let out a collective “Ooooh” and fell into a silence so thick you could hear footsteps echoing in the hallway.
Louis dragged a hand down his face and snapped at Catherine“Go wash your face, now!”
Catherine bolted for the door and slammed it shut behind her.
He turned to Daisy“Straight to the counselor’s office.”
The girl, choking back a huge lump in her throat, started packing up her stuff.
“I’m talking to all of you—having all this knowledge is awesome, but if you’re gonna act like this, nobody’s gonna listen to a word you say. I don’t get why you teens get so heated so fast.”
He paused, scanned the class, and went on “Truth is, there’s not much we can do right now, but we’ve all gotta work together to find him.”
“We could look for clues… anywhere, even if we have to go into the dark to do it.”
Louis, who always seemed to know everything, let out a little chuckle at the kids’ naive hope. “Nah, real talk, if we could actually do something, the cops would’ve been knocking by now! What I’m saying is…”
Before he could finish, the classroom door creaked and swung open, and in waddled Mrs. Martinez, the old, chubby principal.
Daisy shot up from her seat and headed for the door, but Louis called out, “Uh, Daisy… go sit back down.”
The girl let out a loud huff and trudged back to her spot.
Mrs. Martinez flashed Louis a smile. “Sorry for barging in mid-class. Got some news.”
She paused, glanced at the door, and said, “You can come in.”
The half-open door swung wide, and first thing you saw was a baby carrier, followed by Ms. Clare, the teacher Louis had subbed for three months ago.
One of the girls in the front row spotted Ms. Clare, jumped up with a squeal, slapped her hands over her mouth, and blurted, “Ms. Clare!”
Mrs. Martinez sidled up to Louis, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Good or bad news, depending on how you look at it—Ms. Clare’s back, her leave’s over, and this was your last session with Mr. Tomlinson.”
“What’s that supposed to mean…”
“No way!”
“That’s awesome!”
“You mean Mr. Tomlinson’s leaving? We won’t see him anymore?!”
Even Louis was caught off guard.
He slipped out from under Mrs. Martinez’s arm, cleared his desk, strolled over to Ms. Clare, grabbed the baby carrier, and set it on the table.
“Just found out myself… so…”
He rubbed his hands together, glanced at the class, then at Mrs. Martinez and the other teacher.
“Well, these past three months with you guys were a total blast.”
“We’re gonna miss you, Mr. Tomlinson,” some kid piped up.
A smirk crept onto Louis’s lips as he looked at him. “I’m gonna miss you lot too.”
“You gonna drop by later?” another kid asked.
Louis flicked his eyes to Ms. Clare. “If your teacher’s cool with it, I’ll definitely swing by.”
Ms. Clare grinned at him. “Absolutely, you’d make us so happy, Dr. Tomlinson!”
Louis shot her a smile back and turned to Mrs. Martinez. “Can I head out now?”
“Yeah, yeah, just gotta grab your stuff.”
Louis circled the desk, snatched his coat off the chair, and slipped it on. “I’ll pick it up later.”
He shut the flipped-over book on his desk, said bye to the kids, and bolted out of the classroom.
With the weight of teaching off his shoulders, he felt free as a bird.
He headed to his office, the counselor’s room.
He pushed the door open and, with long strides, made his way to the tall drawer in the corner.
He dug into his pocket, pulled out his keyring, picked the right key, and unlocked the drawer.
He grabbed the stack of copied case files, tossed them on his desk without a glance, yanked the key off the ring, and left it in the lock.
He neatened the papers, folded them in half, stuffed them into his Samsonite briefcase on the desk, and bounced out of the office.
As he descended the main hall stairs and stepped into the cold courtyard, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He almost called Jeff but changed his mind and opened their chat instead.
To Joseph Hardy: “Any news on Harry?”
To Joseph Hardy: “Oh, hey, by the way.”
To Joseph Hardy: “Saw the missing posters at school, got me thinking about Harry again.”
When he got to his car, he hopped in, slid behind the wheel, and typed out another message before starting it.
To Joseph Hardy: “Hit me up if you hear anything, got this guilt nagging at me, no clue why I feel so tied to this.”
To Joseph Hardy: “Think of me as a mate, and know I’ll help however I can!”
By noon, after running some errands and grabbing groceries for the house and the basement, Louis got home and dumped the bags on the counter. He turned to the sticky notes plastered on the fridge door.
He grabbed the pen stuck to the fridge and jotted down what was on his mind on a pink note.
“Cook the cans, take some fruit and snacks downstairs.”
ᨒ
January 23
The air purifier hummed, venting the damp basement air and cutting through the deafening silence with its soft buzz.
Harry, bored out of his mind and dreading that hated face, had passed out on his stomach atop the pile of clothes on the cold floor.
[He yanked his belt from his waist and tied the boy’s wrists tighter than before.
With both hands, he pulled Harry’s hips back, slid his right foot between Harry’s ankles to spread them apart, and angrily tugged the right leg of the boy’s boxers until the ripping sound echoed.]
Harry’s soft, light brows furrowed, his face twisting in fear.
His lips pulled downward, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight.
[Loren moved cruelly in the boy’s tight, closed entrance, burning Harry’s entire being with pain.
His hands and feet were lifeless, the unbearable agony in his lower stomach and back overwhelming.
His tears fell uncontrollably.]
His heart was pounding hard against his chest.
[Loren pulled himself out, and in a split second, slammed back into Harry’s entrance, pressing his body against the boy’s feverish frame.
It was Harry who screamed Loren’s name in pain.]
He thought he was screaming Loren’s name in his sleep, but the scream echoed through the empty basement, hitting his own ears and jolting him awake, terrified from the nightmare that had been haunting him lately.
Still panting, he rolled over in his spot, not caring that the move pressed on his aching chest, and laid his back against the cold floor.
He lifted his numb hands and dragged them across his face, soaked with sweat and tears.
He took deep breaths, over and over, trying to calm his racing heart and shaking body.
Slowly, he sat up, but the second he remembered the thing he’d made, he scrambled through his underwear, and when he saw the makeshift self-defense tool he’d crafted, he let out a relieved sigh.
It was still there.
His nightmares never stopped, showing up in a new twisted form every time he closed his eyes.
He wished he could zap his brain and wipe out the chunk holding that memory.
He wished he could break free from this place and that some surgery would be invented to swap out his brain.
Still on his hands and knees, he turned on his knees, and when he saw the tray—left exactly where he’d abandoned it ages ago—he realized neither Louis nor the man from his nightmares, Loren, had come downstairs.
The food in the box had run out long ago. The cans and other stuff on the tray? He’d scarfed them down the day they were brought, starving out of his mind.
He got up, loosening the drawstring of his sweatpants as he shuffled toward the metal bucket in the corner of the basement.
He grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his nose to block the stench of piss that made his empty stomach churn, lifted the bucket’s lid, set it aside, and pulled himself out to relieve himself.
It blew his mind that with all the crying he did and no water to drink, his body still had so much to let out!
When he was done, still holding his shirt over his nose, he bent down, picked up the bucket, and headed to the sink to empty it.
Mid-step, a brutal stabbing pain shot through the left side of his chest, and with his face screwed up in agony, he dropped the bucket, slapping a hand over his chest.
The liquid inside spilled everywhere, no mercy, soaking his clothes and anything nearby.
The pain felt like a knife plunging into his chest, yanked out viciously from behind.
When he opened his eyes and saw the mess he’d made, he kicked the bucket in frustration, sank to the floor, and screamed, “Die! I hate you!”
A bit later, when he felt like he’d run out of tears, he got up and wiped his face with the sleeve of his pullover.
He washed the bucket in the sink, filled it with water, and used it to guide the piss and filth toward the drain under the small, rusty shower across from the door.
The guy who used to change his clothes and shower every day now switched outfits as little as possible to avoid sleeping on dirty clothes at night.
The guy who was a clean freak, who’d even put off hooking up with Jeff to scrub the house, now just rinsed himself with water, leaving his skin itching like crazy.
The guy who cared about looking neat now had scruffy blonde facial hair sprouting and body hair grown out way past when he’d usually trim or shave it.
After changing his pants, tying the drawstring tight, and rinsing the old pair, he sat on the pile of clothes and stared at the blank wall in front of him.
He didn’t know how much time passed when the sound of the code being punched into the door panel hit his ears.
He shot up and stood facing the door.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, smoothed his brows, sucked his lips into his mouth to make them look redder and wetter.
He shoved a hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out the self-defense weapon he’d made, hid his hands behind his back, and gripped the handle of the spoon he’d taped to a can lid.
The iron door swung open, and the man walked in, hands full, closing it behind him.
He took two steps toward Harry, eyeing him up and down.
“You’re learning to show some respect.”
The man dropped the bags he was carrying on the floor, straightened up, and raised an eyebrow at Harry.
Harry, not even clocking if this was Louis or Loren, channeled all his rage into his grip, stepped forward, and raised his makeshift weapon to strike the man’s neck. But the guy was quicker, stronger, and grabbed Harry’s wrist, hurling him backward with full force, sending the boy crashing to the ground.
Fuming, the man pushed back the hair that had fallen into his face from the sudden move and stalked toward Harry, who’d faceplanted on the floor.
The man stomped on Harry’s left arm—the one gripping his makeshift weapon—with his booted foot, and Harry’s scream of pain echoed through the basement.
Harry curled into himself, clutching his arm. He didn’t want to look weak in front of this guy, but his body wasn’t on the same page as his brain, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
The pain in his arm was so intense it made his head buzz, his left side going numb and burning hot.
The man hooked his foot under Harry’s trembling body, flipping him over and straddling his waist with his legs.
He planted his hands on his knees, leaned over the boy, and started yelling in his face with full-on rage.
“From your first breath and every damn day since, it’s all been your choice.”
He grabbed both sides of Harry’s shirt, yanking him up off the ground, and as the boy screamed in pain, he hissed the rest of his words right in his ear.
“The fact that it’s all been up to you is why you’ve got the nerve to stare me down and disrespect me like this.”
He slammed Harry against the wall, pinning his body tight against him, still gripping his collar, and kept going: “The pain you felt that day, when you came on my dick like a slut, the pain you’re feeling now—it’s all because your dad raised a ungrateful little punk!”
He held his face inches from Harry’s, let go of his collar, and reached for the drawstring of Harry’s sweatpants. Harry’s eyes went wide, staring into Loren’s face, and with every ounce of fear in him, he stammered, “I-I… m-messed… up.”
The man pulled his hands back, locked eyes with Harry’s terrified gaze, and barked in his face, “What?”
Harry swallowed hard. “I messed up…”
“Messed up what?”
Harry blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling, and repeated, “I messed up.”
He clocked the shift in the man’s expression and quickly added, “Loren! I messed up, Loren.”
Loren raised an eyebrow, tilted his head slightly, and stepped back. “Not Loren.”
Harry froze, scanning the man’s face for some change he’d missed, but everything about the guy screamed Loren!
“L-Lor…”
“Sir!”
Harry rubbed his chest, swallowed hard, and nodded frantically. “I messed up, Sir!”
“Good.”
A lump clawed at Harry’s parched throat, and he felt like if he coughed, he’d bleed.
He hated himself for stuttering when he was stressed and scared of this guy!
“Go check the bags.”
Harry shifted, moving past Loren, but the man grabbed his arm, and Harry froze in place.
Loren leaned in close, his nose grazing Harry’s neck, sniffing.
He could smell the filth and sweat clear as day, so he grimaced in disgust and said, “Why the hell aren’t you washing yourself?!”
“B-Because… there’s nothing here… j-just water… to w-wash with.”
Loren let go of Harry’s arm, and the boy darted to the bags, carefully minding his injured hand as he opened them.
He pulled out new cooked cans that made his stomach turn, a few packs of biscuits, some red apples, and a roll of paper towels, then turned to Loren.
“T-Thanks.”
Loren walked toward Harry and the bags, and Harry instinctively stepped back as the man crouched beside him and opened the second bag.
He pulled out a towel and shampoo.
“You can go wash while I’m here.”
Harry cautiously took the shampoo and towel from Loren, glancing at the shower with no curtain.
“I’ll… do it later.”
“Now! I’m not leaving you alone to off yourself with cleaning crap.”
“I-I can’t.”
“You can!”
“C-Can I… make a request?”
“Wash first. You stink!”
A few minutes later, Loren was sitting on Harry’s pile of
clothes, looking around the basement.
“But this place is kinda dope, you know? Quiet, perfect for chilling with your thoughts.”
Harry, scrubbing his body with his good hand—the one that wasn’t even his dominant one—stopped dead at Loren’s words.
He wanted to clap back with every ounce of courage he had, but he was in his most vulnerable state, naked and terrified that opening his mouth would make his nightmare a hundred times worse.
Loren’s shameless eyes, despite his promise not to stare, roamed over Harry’s body, practically drooling over the two inches covered by the boy’s boxers.
He was jealous of the water droplets slipping into Harry’s underwear.
A bit later, Harry, now dressed with his injured arm bandaged, was kneeling on the floor in front of Loren, shaving his face as the man instructed, getting rid of the sparse blonde hairs Loren pointed out.
The whole time under the shower, he could feel the weight of Loren’s gaze on him. He’d been torn about his request, but what he’d wanted from the start was way more important than some curtain for the shower.
Loren wiped the shaving cream off Harry’s face with a paper towel, grabbed his jaw, and inspected him.
“You clean up nice.”
“Thanks.”
Harry clenched his injured hand into a fist. “Can I make my request now?”
“Spit it out.”
Harry, uneasy and anxious, glanced around. “Uh… can I… can I have a b-blanket?”
Loren raised an eyebrow.
“It’s cold here… my jacket doesn’t keep my legs warm.”
“You gotta earn it.”
Now it was Harry raising an eyebrow.
“How?”
“Kiss me.”
Harry froze.
He’d been running from Loren and this body, and now he had to kiss it just to get something he deserved.
“Alright.”
“What’d you say?”
Harry, realizing he’d mumbled, repeated louder, “Alright.”
He leaned in to kiss Loren’s lips, but Loren pulled back, grimacing. “Your breath stinks.”
“‘Cause I don’t have a toothbrush… ‘cause I haven’t eaten…”
Loren pointed at the bags. “There’s two chocolates in there. Go eat one, then we can talk about your request.”
Harry scrambled to the bags, turned one upside down, and a chocolate bar fell out.
He snatched it up, tore into it, swallowed it fast, and turned back to Loren.
“Can I now?”
Loren nodded and stepped closer.
Harry licked his chapped lips, got closer to Loren, and with disgust, pressed his lips to Loren’s, giving him the kiss he didn’t want to give, then quickly pulled back.
Loren frowned and opened his eyes. “Not like that!”
He grabbed the back of Harry’s neck, his fingers digging into the boy’s wet, cool hair.
He pulled Harry in and kissed him again, this time the way *he* wanted.
His tongue slid over Harry’s lips, and the boy reluctantly parted them, letting Loren’s probing tongue swirl in his mouth.
Loren dragged his tongue along the roof of Harry’s mouth, grazed his tongue against Harry’s, then sucked on it.
He could taste the cocoa in Harry’s mouth clear as day.
While kissing him, Loren’s free hand landed on Harry’s body, slowly sliding down between his legs to touch him. Harry broke the forced kiss instantly, pulling back.
He jabbed a threatening finger at Loren. “No! We agreed on just a kiss.”
Loren frowned, dropped to his knees, and leaned toward Harry, one hand on the floor. “Fine.”
His other hand cupped Harry’s cheek, his thumb stroking it, then he leaned in and planted a long, closed-mouth kiss on Harry’s lips, no tongue, no spit.
He picked up the razor from the floor, stood up, and pointed at the used and new shampoo by the sink. “I’m leaving these here. Wash your dirty clothes, and don’t forget to wash *yourself* like you do your clothes.”
“Alright.”
“You better not even *think* about poisoning yourself with that stuff. I won’t know until I come back and find you dead down here! And if that happens, I’ll bring your soul back just to kill you myself with my bare hands.”
Harry mumbled, “Alright.”
Loren punched the code into the panel, and as the door opened, he said, “What’d you say you wanted?”
Harry, still sitting, twisted around to face Loren. “A blanket!”
Loren nodded. “I’ll think about it. If you see me with a blanket next time I come down, your request’s granted. If not, you gotta do better to earn it.”
“Got it.”
“Good! Be a good boy and stop messing with the door code so you can keep the electricity and fresh air.”
As the door shut, Harry immediately wiped his mouth with his sleeve, scrubbing off Loren’s filthy kisses.
Even though he’d wiped away the wetness, he could still feel the trace of Loren’s lips. He got up, went to the sink, turned on the water, and stuck his mouth under it to wash out any leftover spit from Loren.
He stretched out his injured left arm, pain shooting through his whole body, and in that moment, he prayed to every god in the sky that his arm wasn’t broken, just bruised from the beating.
As he flexed his hand open and closed, he walked to his makeshift weapon, grabbed the spoon’s handle, peeled off the tape, tossed the can lid to the ground, and wiped the spoon clean with his shirt before heading to the bags.
“Fuck… I hope you get hit by a car.”
He paused, thinking. “No! Get me out first, *then* get hit by a car and die!”
He sat on his pile of clothes, picked up a can of corn and mushrooms, and with his right hand—not his dominant one—started prying it open.
Even though he knew he should ration what little food he had, he was so hungry he filled the spoon with corn and mushrooms and shoved it in his mouth.
Swallowing the first bite, he let out a “Mmm” from pure starvation, closed his eyes in bliss, took a deep breath, and happily scooped up another spoonful.
“I hate you.”
He could hardly believe it himself, but the things that used to be so ordinary, always within reach, had turned into wishes. Every time he got them now, they felt like a damn prize.
Notes:
Don't be silent or shy reader, tell me what is on your mind.
lwtrockstar on Chapter 1 Sat 10 May 2025 08:53AM UTC
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eyasamin on Chapter 1 Sat 10 May 2025 01:21PM UTC
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