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Throwing himself on his bed and kicking off his shoes Harry lets out a long sigh. He had tried to move his stuff from his dorm to his apartment, in one day. Obviously waiting until the very last day to do the work. And, ignoring the stack of moving boxes against the wall that still needed to be unpacked, Harry thought he had done a pretty good job. This would be Harry’s first own place. Well, Harry’s parents had insisted on buying it for him just like when they insisted on at least paying half of Harry’s study costs. And, well, Harry was completely fine with that. But this was his place. And as a graduated architecture student he has all the right to call it ‘not much’. The apartment his parents got their hands on is part of a big, four floored, old house. And the owner had divided it into four parts. Putting three of them up for rent. The entire third floor is now Harry’s. The third floor in its entirety is quite large and rectangular shaped but, because almost half of it is a big, patio like, balcony, Harry’s actual apartment is not as big as you’d expect it to be. Not big at all. In fact, according to his parents it was a cozy kind of small. But Harry knows they chose this one because of the balcony, thinking he would enjoy it.
His apartment is divided in three rooms. One on the left side of the door, the bathroom, and right next to it his bedroom with a king sized bed, two night stands, a mirror, a simple closet and five still unpacked moving boxes. The third and largest room consists of the rest of the apartment, with a kitchen built up against the bedroom wall. His drawing desk in the corner of the room on the door side. An eating table with two chairs in between them and the empty space between the door to his apartment and the drawing table where a not yet purchased couch and television should be. The wall that divides his balcony and actual apartment is completely made out of two large windows, reaching from the roof to the floor, and a glass door. Thick, stupid, forest green curtains shutting him of from the world outside.
Harry forces himself to get out of his bed again and saunters towards the balcony. Once he is outside he curses himself for stepping onto the stoning bare footed. Because without the sun to shine down on them they are already quickly getting cold.
It’s too early to go to bed yet, so why not waste the time by thinking over your existence? Harry leans over the iron railing on the very end of his balcony. Looking down into the backyards of his, well, backyard neighbors. There’s not much to see, considering it’s already dark, he’s three floors up and every single one of them enclosed their garden with high grown bushes. But Harry isn’t even interested to begin with. He doesn’t really feel anything for watching others try to live their shitty lives and pointlessly maintain their backyard gardens for no one to see and will bewilder as soon as they die anyway. Harry turns his back to the railing, facing the new thing in his life that he is supposed to call home sooner or later. He had already shut the curtains so, again, there is not much to see.
Yeah ok, Harry should be pleased with the place. And Harry should be proud of the way he managed to place his stuff, trying to decorate it creatively. Especially as someone who just graduated in the art of architecture with flying colors. But to be fair, he just doesn’t really give a shit. The art of architecture. He probably was the only one of his class who didn’t treat the whole architecture thing as a form of art. And he certainly would never, ever describe himself as an artist. All his college ‘friends’ couldn’t shut up about this or that specific structure. Star struck over architects like Louis Le Vau, Leonardo Da Vinci or Eric van Egeraat. Harry had to put up with the history lessons. But nothing has really stuck with him. He had enjoyed building buildings ever since he had figured out how to put one lego duplo block onto another one. Sketching whatever home he could come up with down to keep himself from being bored during high school. And, when he was told he could be doing this for a living, Harry’s future was set. Now here he is. In an apartment, funded by his parents. On his way to become an architect in exchange for money. Living in a city he doesn’t know. Never trying hard enough to keep his friends close. All these numbers in his phone he isn’t going to call. Alone, if you want to label it.
Harry had thought out his future until this point. Thought it out until right now.
His life is, like one of Gaudi’s designs; completely planned out, like a carefully braided rope. Completely planned out until this very moment. Harry always had known which direction his life would go. Like one of Gaudi’s ropes, hanging from the ceiling. Just following his path. His already laid out path. Never doubting anything. Until now. Harry was at the exact point where the rope would be weighed down to then only return back to the ceiling. Harry is, from Gaudi’s point of view, at the very top of his life. But there is no more rope for him to follow. He can only look back. Weighed down by an until now always easy life. Probably too easy. He had always had the right choices presented to him on a sliver plate. And here he was. At the top of his own tower. A project he hadn’t finished yet and was now stuck on. His life.
And it only hits him now, even harder on his cold balcony, that he is only expected to go with the flow. To just follow the road he’s been presented to. To wake up tomorrow, shower, eat, go to his first day at his new job; a small fresh company he was offered a place as architect, then to come home, maybe work on whatever structure he was busy creating, eat, sleep. And wake up to only do this once more. Again and again. Harry finds himself with an empty feeling. He has nothing. No long anticipated dreams to finally live out. Nothing to live for. Harry had worked all his life never even stopping to think about a goal. And now, here he is. Ready to fall into routine. And it gives him an empty feeling. A gap in his body. Somewhere between his lungs and his stomach. Like he is missing out. Not on the great things life has to offer. Harry doesn’t need that. But still. It leaves him feeling like something is not right. All his life he has been climbing that rope and now there’s no more to climb. He’s at the end, or, at the top. His hands grabbing onto nothingness.
The yelling of a woman’s voice breaks Harry out of his thoughts and he turns around, leaning a bit on the railing to spot the source of the still, angry sounding, yells. A cold wind makes him shiver. Then Harry spots a figure through the window of the house on the other side of one of the gardens. She is making fast and enraged motions with her hands towards a figure standing opposite of her. The loud yelling continuous but Harry cannot make out what’s being said as the sound gets unclear over the distance. He watches for a bit, trying to take in what is happening until the other figure, Harry supposes, walks past the female and runs out of the house. With a slam of the door everything turns quiet again. It has now turned completely dark outside and Harry can barely make out the figure as he or she disappears in the high bushes enclosing the gardens. And Harry, not thinking much of it – it was getting cold and late anyway -, turns back around and walks tiredly back into his apartment. But just as Harry is about to shut the door he hears a sound. The sound is too close for comfort. And accompanied by a panting. And Harry silently thanks himself for already having closed his curtains as he hides behind them and stares through the crack of the door. A shadowed figure heaves itself over the railing of his balcony and Harry’s mind goes blank, not knowing what to expect of the intruder. The stranger, however – to Harry’s surprise – doesn’t stand up to walk towards his door. The Stranger walks, right past the door where Harry is hiding and sinks to his knees in the corner of Harry’s balcony. Resting his back against the windowed wall, spreading his legs out and pulling the hoodie he is wearing tighter around himself. The stranger adjusts himself on the cold floor as if he’s planning on staying in that spot for a while. And Harry doesn’t know what to do or how to react. A strange guy just climbed onto his balcony and went to sit in the corner. Ok, Harry thinks, So this person is clearly not going to break in or kill him. So that’s good, right? Maybe it’s just a homeless someone, searching for a safe sleeping spot. Whoever the hooded figure might be. He probably doesn’t even know Harry exists. And that’s great.
Now they can both just go on with their stupid lives and nothing would have ever happened. Except, Harry doesn’t move, doesn’t close the door quietly. Harry doesn’t go to bed, to wake up to his new, predictable life. He finds himself stuck in the same spot, hidden behind the door, still gazing the stranger. And in that moment the stranger turns around. Drawing one knee up to his chest and sighs. He is staring at the tiling so, he can’t see Harry. But Harry can now see his face. ‘He’ is a boy. Most likely somewhere close to Harry’s age. And he has a purple blue bruise on his cheek, not to mention that the boys cheek bones are jutting out and that harry can spot the sharp angle of his jaw and… Ok he is getting distracted. The boy hasn’t moved from the position he was in, head resting on his knee, arms slightly pulling his hoodie closer. And Harry tries to figure out what to do. Should he shoo him, confront him, ignore him and let him stay on his balcony? Harry doesn’t want to risk accidently changing the boy’s life or even his own. And so he stays in his hiding spot, watching for a while longer. Until he is sure the boy is asleep. Then Harry stands up and grabs one of the extra blankets from his bed and drapes it over the boy as quietly as he can manage.
That morning Harry wakes up, not really wanting to go out of bed to start his day. The first day of a hundred and more to come. The first day of falling in an inevitable routine.
But then, there is this little voice, nagging, in the back of his head. Telling him that he, in fact, does want to get up. Because as he brushes his teeth, he slides the curtains open to see.. a completely empty balcony. Oh. Well, Harry didn’t need the blanket anyway, he has one more on his bed. And then another one in his closet. But the same little voice in the back of his head suggests that, maybe, just maybe it is not the blanket he was hoping to see again. Yeah, sure.
It’s been a week. Not that Harry is counting. But it has been exactly one week since he moved into this place. One week since he saw the boy climb onto his balcony on the third floor. And Harry’s life has been falling in a routine easily. Everything had gone smoothly. And of course it bloody would. The company he is now working for has already given him work to do for two of their clients. Completely trusting on Harry’s so called talent. One of them just asked Harry to draw him out three different designs for a flat, collecting ideas from a number of architects. The other one, however, after seeing Harry’s college projects, asked him to design and draw out the blue print for a bridge. And not just any bridge but the bridge that leads to the new museum of the city he’s living now. And yeah, it’s really amazing that out of all they asked Harry. And not many architects get the privilege to get those kind of jobs when they are as new to the business as he is. And Harry should be excited and grateful for the life he has. But as he sits behind his desk, drawing, he still feels that emptiness inside. That gap between his lungs and stomach. A hole. And it is when harry is brushing his teeth, standing in the dark out on his balcony that he wants to slap himself for wanting more. But he knows that this, this life, this automatized routine is not what he wanted. There must be something to fill this sucking hole inside of him. Harry feels like he is missing out on something. Missing something.
It’s been two weeks and Harry is brushing his teeth, standing on his balcony. It definitely became a tradition. His thoughts getting interrupted by the screams from the house across the gardens. The same house where sounds of fights have been emerging from for the past two weeks. Glasses breaking, voices yelling. But it must have been that way for a long time as none of the neighbors of the house have ever looked up strange from the sounds. Harry walks over to the edge of his balcony, leaning over the railing and he can see two figures. The same figures as he saw those two weeks ago. But then Harry flinches and steps back shocked. Because one of them hits the other. Hits again. And again. The other figure holds its arms in front of its body in a way of self-defense but doesn’t fight back. And the first figure pushes the other into the wall, hard. Harry remembers the boy and his bruised cheek. And he’s given into the little voice a long time ago. But this is the first time he lets himself realize that maybe the figure that now lets himself slide down, leaning against the wall, is the same as the boy that had slept on his balcony. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not the blanket he is hoping to see again. Hoping to return even if it is just once.
It’s been two and a half weeks. Two and a half weeks since the boy on his balcony. It’s been two and a half weeks of an empty life. It’s been two and a half weeks as Harry closes the balcony door, thinking about sharp cheekbo… Harry freezes as he hears a sound, knows it’s foolish to get his hopes up, but, still, dares to open the balcony door he was about to shut a bit further. Arms appear, one pushing off the floor with an elbow, the other grabbing onto the railing with a hand. And with a grunt a figure, wearing a hoodie, comes into sight. Climbing over the railing. And even in the late evening glow, Harry can see, knows, it is the same boy that hasn’t left his mind for two and a half weeks. The boy climbs onto his balcony and lifts his hand to swipe away the two tears that had stopped in their path down his cheek. And Harry can’t hold himself any longer, he walks out onto the balcony. But maybe he should’ve thought this through better. Because the boy’s head snaps up into Harry’s direction as he hears him. And as in a reflex the boy goes completely rigid. Face scared. Harry tries to take a step forward. But the boy collects himself in that same time and takes a step backward.
“I-I-I… uh. Sorry… sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. I-I’ll go. Sorry.” The boy stutters, taking another step backwards.
“No, no wait.” Harry tries as he reaches out. And of course, there is a brick sticking out, and of course the boy trips over it and falls backwards. He tries to catch himself, extending his hands, but as his hands collide with the cold stone he lets out a shriek.
“Oh my, oh, are you ok?” Harry asks, hesitatingly reaching out again to help the boy up. But the boy ignores him as he brings his hand to his chest, wincing slightly. Harry holds still for a second. Not knowing what to do. But he’s already in it this far now. And the boy on his balcony is clearly in pain. And there are new bruises replacing the ones he had seen last time. There is blood. Oh my god there is blood trickling down from small cuts near his temple. But the boy clearly doesn’t want his help. Does he? And why should Harry out of all people try to interfere and step into his life? He has nothing to offer. Nothing but maybe a warm corner on his balcony. High up and safe from what’s hurting the boy. From the world. And before anything in Harry’s brain can go against it, Harry is kneeling down. He holds out his hands, cupped.
"Let me see that.” He says softly.
The boy looks up at Harry through his fringe and after a long moment he lays down his hurting hand in the palms of Harry’s . “I’m Louis”. He mumbles under his breath.
“I am Harry.”
Louis nods. Harry gently tries to touch the boy, now with a name, his swollen wrist. But Louis whines and tries to pull his hand back, which only seems to only hurt it more.
“Can you tell me what happened to it?”
“Nothing.”
“But, I mean, I’m not a specialist, but this doesn’t look good. Not at all.”
Louis now pulls his hand back all the way. Holding it against his chest again. “Forget it.”
“Louis.”
“I said forget it. Harry.” Louis snaps, his eyes forming thin lines.
“I shouldn’t be here anyway and I am sorry for sort of breaking into your balcony.”
“I should’ve known. I will… ugh.” Louis had tried to stand up but lost his balance on his good hand and is now back into his original sitting position.
And Harry makes a decision.
“Look.” Harry begins. And he can’t restrain the need to cup Louis’ cheek, his fragile looking, sharp structured jaw against his palm. And tilt his head up to make those eyes meet his. Blue eyes. “Let me, let me at least help you with those.” He says as his index-finger lightly trails the cuts near Louis’ temple. The wounded boy only replies with a sigh and blinks his eyes, his blue eyes, closed. And Harry takes that as a yes. He lets go of Louis and sprints in and out of his apartment, grabbing a towel and holding it under the kitchen tap to wet it. On his way back he can’t help but hear himself thinking. What the hell are you doing Styles, what the hell are you getting yourself into? Honestly, Harry doesn’t know. But then he sees those blue eyes again as he kneels down in front of Louis. As they stare at him, looking scared but asking, for what Harry doesn’t know, but the little voice in the back of his mind is pleased. And Harry gently dabs at the little cuts, making Louis flinch but he doesn’t move away.
Some of the side of his head is covered by the hoodie Louis is wearing so Harry lifts his hands to pull it off. The movement causes the boy to move his head away so fast it’s almost an instinctive reaction for him. But Harry shushes him, tells him he won’t hurt him and asks him now to pull off his hoodie. Louis does, looking embarrassed and mutters a quiet apology.
Once Harry has cleaned up most of the blood around the cuts on Louis’ forehead, he kind of just throws the, now red stained, towel through the still open door, not caring where it will land. Harry’s come to sit down on the tiles as well. And he tries to make contact with those blue eyes that are awkwardly avoiding his.
“Louis?”
“Don’t, please, just, don’t.”
“Ok, um, well..”
Harry shifts awkwardly, the tension between the two of them growing. Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes, snap up to Harry’s for a second. And after a few seconds he fully looks up at Harry.
And they just sit there. In the dark. Staring at each other. Harry staring into Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes. And it’s clear that neither of them wants to move. So they just sit and stare.
Until -
“Can you tell me about you?”
For a second Harry is completely thrown off, not expecting something like that. So it is with a shake of his head that he replies, “What? What, do you mean?”
“You know.” Louis tries to shrug. “About your life, I would like to know more than just your name.”
“Oh my life really isn’t that interesting at all.” Harry tries with a short laugh. But then those blue eyes meet his green ones again. And with a “please” from Louis Harry gives in. And he tells Louis that his full name is Harry Edward Styles and that he is an architect for a living. And that he recently moved into town. To which Louis gives a knowing nod. Then Harry starts to tell Louis random facts, how he once used to beg his mother a full week non-stop for a lizard and how she returned home with cat instead. And how Harry once cut off a few of his sister’s locks of hair when she had knocked down his self-built block castle. And some time passes as Harry slips into a chronological ordered telling of the story of his life. And Louis listens with his full attention. His eyes, his blue eyes, watching him – maybe no direct eye contact but not leaving his face either -. And there is this little sparkle going on in both of his blue irises. As if he is genuinely interested in what Harry has to tell. But Harry knows that can’t be true as he speaks about the choices he had been given, the circumstances he had been born under, all those things that have made his life so easy to live. His, maybe, so far, too easy life. And Harry explains why he feels like he’s grabbing on to nothingness. That Harry feels like there is nothing he is living his pointless life for. That he has no goals. How he feels like there’s something missing. And Louis sighs, laying down on his back, looking at Harry. “You will find it.”
“What, a purpose?” Harry asks, pronouncing ‘purpose’ as if someone just told him Santa is real.
“Eh, yeah, you know. I hope you will.”
“Thanks.” They sit for a moment in the cold, late, evening air surrounded by a comfortable silence.
But Harry starts to think and wonder. “So, Louis, can I know, will you tell…?” “You haven’t told me yet about your life since you moved in here.” Louis interrupts him. And Harry raises an eyebrow at him. But he lays down next to Louis anyway. And explains the job he’d already gotten from the company. And the day he saw Louis climb onto his balcony. Which makes Louis’ closed eyes shoot open to reveal those blue eyes again and once again interrupt Harry.
“I-I didn’t know you had moved into this place. I mean there never used to be anyone here. So I just, I used to, when… never mind.” He apologizes, stumbling over his words. “And I will get the blanket back. I promise, I will give it back.” Louis is looking right at Harry now. With wide eyes. Wide blue eyes. Trying to sit up. “I didn’t, I don’t know why I came back. This is your place now.” “I…” Louis clacks his teeth together as his hurting hand pushes off against the balcony’s stone tiling. A painful whine escaping his mouth anyway.
“Stop! Louis, no, stop.” Harry commands, sitting up himself and grabbing Louis by his shoulders to make him sop moving. Louis flinches and brings his hand towards his chest..
“Louis. Louis. Louis. I am sorry. Louis, look at me. Ok? Just, just breath. It’s ok. You can stay tonight. I guess it’s ok if you want to come and stay on my balcony some nights. I don’t mind. I promise. Ok?”
Louis nods his head about ten times, calming down. His hand sill held protectively against his chest.
“You, you should get your wrist checked though.”
“No.”
“But..”
“No, Harry, I can’t.”
“You can stay. And you don’t have to do it now. But Louis, please, just promise me you will go to the hospital for your wrist.” Harry watches Louis. Watches his eyes, his blue eyes, shift around the balcony. Watches his blue eyes fall back on his face as he supports the arm against his chest with the other hand.
“Ok, fine. I promise.”
Harry smiles as he lays back down again.
Louis does the same without a smile.
And as they lay, side to side, Harry talks about things that randomly pop up in his mind. And Louis listens. And they’re cold but comfortable. And as they lay side to side Harry talks on. Even if Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes, begin to flutter shut for longer periods each time. And he doesn’t know why he’s doing this, but it feels good so he talks. He talks until the boy is asleep. And Harry watches him. The boy who is still a stranger to him. But Harry doesn’t care. He watches Louis’ long eyelashes that, along with his eyelids, have now covered the blue. Harry watches his slightly open mouth. His sharp bone structure, the angles. His face with all its edges. But Harry also watches his skin. His pale, fragile looking skin. With the scratches and bruises. And Harry wonders, not about how or who, because he thinks he has a good clue. But about why. And he wonders until his own eyes close. Not opening again ‘till sunrise.
Harry wakes up cold and confused. And he tries to sit up even though his painful back protests. He is on his, balcony, alone. And the memories form what happened last night float back to him. The sun has already made his way up and shit! He overslept. Harry is too late. He will be too late for work! For a second Harry sits on the balcony. Not knowing what to do. He had never been late to work before. He had never missed a beat, never missed a part of his routine. For a second Harry feels completely lost. Ok. You got this Harry. You can do this. Just relax, hurry up and go to work.
The rest of the day luckily passes by normally. Though way slower than it’s used to feel for him. His feelings of pointlessness and missing out or missing something stronger than ever. Constant. Distracting him from his, sort of, daily schedule by drifting up to the surface. Provoking thoughts. Harry has to give up the work he is doing right now as he is washed over by another wave of those thoughts. He’s home. But had to spend some of his time catching up on work to compensate with the missed time this morning . But that also means Harry has to sacrifice spending a bit of his evening on the balcony. Something he had been doing ever since the first night. But when he’s done and it is almost midnight, he stands up from his drawing table. He is still thinking about yesterday. As if led by his thoughts Harry still finds himself stepping onto the balcony. Before he has any chance to protest - because of his routine. The balcony, of course, and maybe or not to Harry’s dismay, is as empty as ever. And he mentally notes down a reminder to buy some plants or something. Harry spins around and looks up at the first visible stars in the night sky. Suddenly, it’s there. The sound he’d been secretly hoping to hear. Louis climbing up, up to his balcony. And Harry would start believing in wishing stars if he didn’t know better. He walks closer to the railing and squints his eyes to find, through the darkness, Louis climbing up the same way he had done yesterday. A way Louis had probably used for a long time now. He is holding something under his arm and Harry leans over to reach for it so it’s easier for him to climb. The blanket. It’s Harry’s blanket. “Louis, you didn’t have to, you could keep it.” Harry mutters. But Louis shakes his head and climbs the last part up to the railing. There are no new wounds or bruises on his face, but there is sweat on his forehead and every muscle in his face tenses as he climbs over the railing with a grunt. “Louis?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just, the blanket. And uhmpff..” Louis tries as he lands on the balcony. “And you said.. you said I could come.. ugh..” Right there and then, Louis’ knees give out as he tries to put one foot in front of the other. “Louis!” Harry rushes forward to catch him. And he helps him up again, though Louis bends forward a bit, obviously in pain.” Harry quickly looks him over to check for any visible injures. Then he sees it. Louis’ right hand is in a cast.
“Louis, Louis you went to the hospital. You did it.”
“You told me to get my wrist checked. And I suppose I owed you Harry.”
“No, no you don’t owe me anything. Thanks Louis, I’m..” Louis suddenly doubles over completely and groans a weak “ow”.
Harry quickly grabs him tighter. His green eyes searching for Louis’ blue, blue eyes. “What happened? Tell me.”
“I got my wrist checked at the hospital.” Louis states shortly. And Harry suddenly understands. Shit.
“Shit. I am so sorry. Let me help you.”
He hooks an arm under Louis’, allowing him to lean on him. “Let’s get you inside, come on.”
But then Louis freezes. “No, no I can’t.. I can’t.”
“Yes you can. I am asking you to come inside.” Louis tries to fight against Harry’s strong arms, but Harry leads him towards the door easily. “Louis, you’re hurting, please.” Louis starts to try and free himself from Harry’s grip but Harry simply tightens his arms around the boy and Louis’ breath stars to quicken. As they step inside Harry takes them to his bedroom for a lack of comfortable chairs and because he still doesn’t own a couch. He sits Louis down on his bed and tries to calm him down.
“You’re safe here. I am not gonna do anything.” He says. Lowering his voice and holding his arms up midway air, not sure if touching Louis will be the right thing to do. “I just want you to be warm and safe. Let me help you.” Tears now start to form in Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes. In his blue, blue eyes the sea overflows. But his breathing evens out a bit and he calms down to a point where he’s only making a broken sobbing sound every now and then.
“Good, you are doing good.” Harry encourages Louis. He has got absolutely no clue on what to do. But he let Louis inside and that feels good. He really does want to help the mysterious boy. Kneeling down in front of the boy he slowly but confidently raises his hand. Keeping his eyes on Louis to see if he’s ok with it. And eventually his hand is cupping Louis cheek, thumb swiping away an escaping tear drop. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Louis sighs.
And it might be a weird thought but Harry is overly aware of the fact that this was the first greeting they’ve ever exchanged.
Thrown off a bit Harry fumbles, his hand still on Louis’ cheek. “Are you ok?” What a stupid thing to ask. Of course he is not ok. Louis looks at him and gives a tiny shrug.
“Can.. Can I see it?”
“I, no. Yeah. I suppose.”
Harry lets go of Louis’ cheek and moves back a little bit as Louis lets his shoulders hang with a shuddered sigh. He wraps his small hands around the hem of his shirt and lifts it slowly. Harry watches as more and more of that fragile skin is revealed. But gasps as yellow and dark purple swellings appear. There is a big almost entirely black spot on the right side of his ribs. Dark versions of blue, green and yellow displaying a stark contrast. Almost as if a gone-wild-painter had his go with oil paint, using Louis’ body as canvas. Even though Harry really wants to, he can’t take his eyes off the terrible view. And the longer he looks the more he sees, little yellow specks he hadn’t noticed before come to view dotting Louis’ stomach. And Harry feels his own stomach turning upside down. Then Louis yanks his shirt down again, making eye contact with Harry, as if daring him to say anything. But it’s not only the daring, defensive stare that Harry finds in Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes. Along with the pool of tears gathering in the camber of his lower eyelid he finds pain. Pain from the things this boy’s gone through that Harry doesn’t know yet. Physical pain but also pain that goes through his core, into his soul, making the few white sparkles in his eyes, his blue eyes, seem dull. And Harry finds the question coming up in his mind once again: why.
“I. Are you..” yes of course he is. “Do you..” There is no blood or open wound to clean and Harry wants to help but doesn’t know what to do and say or even where to start. “Should I get some painkillers or water?”
“No.” Louis sniffs. Bringing his arms up and folding them over his chest protectively.
“Will you stay? Tonight. Please.”
“I..”
“I want you to stay.”
“Ok.”
Harry moves forward slightly, eyeing Louis, making sure he doesn’t scare him in his fragile state, this fragile moment. He sits down on the bed next to Louis carefully, their shoulders brushing. And Harry pulls Louis in gently. Cradling him in his arms. Noticing how his arms can wrap all the way around Louis’ chest with ease. For a few lasting seconds it’s awkward. Harry holding Louis in a feather light hug, not sure if this is ok. Louis not moving at all. Until Louis’ arms come up to shift under Harry’s arms and hold onto his shoulders. Harry brings him closer and Louis’ head rests on Harry’s chest. The hug is nice. Louis focusing on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Harry hugging him tighter, keeping him safe in a strong embrace. “Can I really stay.”
For as long as you want. Harry wants to say. Which makes him freeze momentarily and decides on a “Yeah.”
“Thanks.” Louis says, shivering a little.
“You cold?” Harry asks genuinely surprised, because, well, they’re inside.
“Just, tired, I guess.”
Harry lets go of Louis and stands up from the bed, bows down to take off his shoes. Louis copies him after having wiped his nose with his sleeve.
“I don’t have a couch, are you ok with me and..”
“Yes, fine.”
Harry lifts the duvet letting Louis crawl underneath it before climbing in bed himself. Both still fully clothed. Harry turns of the lamp on his night stand. And for a while they lay like that. Facing each other with only a little bit of space in between the two of them. Safe and warm under Harry’s blankets where no one can hurt them. Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes, are half closed and he is breathing heavily. Harry finds himself watching the boy again. Watching the boy in the darkness of the room, close enough to see enough of his face to make out crystal like reflections of moonlight growing with each tear that fill Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes. Harry watches and waits. Waits patiently for the first tear to start a path down his cheek, to roll out his eye and down his sharp face. To climb out of the secret world that is Louis’ body for Harry.
And it does. And with the second tear Louis starts gasping for air again. Trying to keep the tears inside. His un-casted hand wiping away the escaping tears furiously. “I’m sorry.” He sobs. Sounding pretty lost. Harry blinks. Louis sucks in another breath before sealing his mouth again. Breathing in and out fast through his nose. His hand continuously wiping away at the flood of the rivers in his eyes, his river blue eyes. Repeating the motion but not going fast enough to keep his cheeks dry. And then….
“My dad ran away one month before I was born.”
Harry has to tell himself to actually keep breathing because: it is happening.
“He just, just left my mom all alone to deal with all of it alone. To pay all of everything on her own. To look after their unborn son alone. And. And I guess it broke her. That that’s when she broke.”
And Louis sniffs, still wiping at his face. And Harry reaches out and grabs Louis’ hand and holds it. Trying to tell him without words to “Let it”.
“She and I were good for about ten years I think. But she never saw me as her son. As her blood. And once I was old enough to look after myself she sort of forgot who I was. Never gave me any acknowledgment anymore. She had done what she was expected to do. Raise me, no matter what. And after she just gave up. She allowed herself to be broken. And she wouldn’t do anything anymore. I became the grown up and I would cook the meals. I became a stranger to her. As if she doesn’t have a son. Unless she got drunk or angry or had a bad night. Then she will throw things at me or beat me.” Louis shudders. “The worst is when she would start yelling. The things she says about me. That’s when I hide on the balcony. Your.. Sorry.”
Louis’ hand holds Harry’s tight. And he continuous. Explains how this has been going on for nine years now. And how he never could or dared to stand up before. He would just run away.
And he had thought about standing up to her. He had thought so often about pushing back. But he couldn’t because even though she might not see him as her son “She is still my mother.”
And he talks about the nights on the balcony. And about the very first time he climbed up those walls. And then about the first time he walked away. And he talks. He says so many words. Gives his past to the air between the two of them to travel over their joined hands. And all of it is now allowed to reach Harry. And Harry let’s Louis talk. Harry tries to take every word Louis wants to give. Because, he thinks, he understands that Louis needs to do that. So he listens, squeezes Louis’ hand.
But he also says that every time he runs the thought of leaving forever gets stronger.
And Louis tells Harry that he is not sure if he wants to go back anymore.
At that he closes his mouth and looks with half open eyes, blue eyes, in Harry’s direction. And Harry looks back. And he smiles.. They both smile. Because it felt like a good thing to do, for a second.
And in that way they fall asleep. Facing each other in a new bed that has now been spilled with bad words from the past. And tears sticking between two hands that hold on for each other’s comfort. And for some reason, for now, that feels good.
That afternoon, as Harry walks up to the door of his apartment, he feels very, very nervous. Because when he woke up, surprisingly to him, on routine time, the boy in his bed, the boy from the balcony, Louis with a past, was still asleep next to him. And Harry left, leaving a note on his then empty pillow.
‘I have to work until four.
You don’t have to leave.’
And Harry also feels really, really nervous as he sticks his key in the keyhole. Because as he hung over a design he was working on, two hours ago, he caught his mind on the act of imagining him and Louis spending the rest of the evening and night together in his apartment. Imagined him staying the whole week! And, what? But this feeling he got. It was weird and new. It made the hole near his sternum disappear. Or maybe it was filled with something. He maybe felt, almost, whole. And it made him experience a strange kind of warmness. And it made his heart beat heavier and more pronounced. But it also made him feel this thing in his chest that you feel when you are really, really twitchy. And for the entire day Harry couldn’t think of anything but that. He couldn’t get his mind off of it. It is definitely weird.
Harry turns the doorknob and opens the door. He quietly shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the non-existing coat hanger. (The pile of shoes and now his coat on the floor.) He walks towards the living room to find him standing there. In his small kitchen, Louis., frozen. with a frying pan in his hand. He stares at Harry. Stares with two fierce blue irises. And Harry eyes the boy’s body. There’s a pancake in the pan. And there are probably more on the plate on the counter behind Louis. Louis looks scared.
Harry doesn’t move.
Louis does. He shrugs and swings the pan dangerously as he does so. “Look. I-I- I’m sorry.” He sets the pan back on the fire and turns off the gas. “I thought I would make you dinner as a thank you. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t touch anything if. I shouldn’t have stayed.” “I’m sorry.” Louis sighs, dropping his head and he starts to study his shoes with his eyes, his blue eyes, avoiding Harry.
The little voice in Harry wants to disagree with Louis. Wants him to sit down and calm down. But Harry keeps his mouth shut.
“I will go.” Louis says softly. And he walks away from the kitchen. He walks past Harry and past the small table. He turns around. Breaths in heavily and Louis looks at Harry one more time. Harry looks back in to those eyes, those blue eyes, too. “I just. Thank you Harry. Thank you for all of it.” And with a soft “Bye” he turns around and walks towards the glass door and the stupid green curtains. And all of a sudden something in Harry wants to reach out. Wants to stop Louis. Wants to grab him by his arm and ask him to stay. Make him stay. And Harry is confused. Harry is, feels, so confounded because Louis. Louis was never meant to come into his life, was he? He’s just some boy on his balcony. But he kept coming back. And Harry kept thinking about him. But also, Harry didn’t want to accidently change the boy’s life. Because that is not his role to play. He wasn’t meant to be a person who mattered. He had never been. So Louis had to leave.
But then there is this hole in his body. And there is what he felt today. And Harry doesn’t know what to do. And it’s like he is two persons. Like his head is trying to split in two. And Harry doesn’t know what to do. There’s the boy from beneath his balcony and he let him in. But Louis wasn’t supposed to. But then Harry gave and Louis gave. And they weren’t supposed to. And Louis has one foot already on the balcony to go back to his life. So Harry should continue his own life. That is how it goes, right? No more disturbances in his routine. Louis closes the door with both his hands. And now they will forget about each other, right?
Louis will go back to his mother. Trapped. Why. No. No. No Harry did the right thing. No he did nothing. And that is good right? Because this is his life. This is how it was supposed to be. How his life was designed. No blankets but ropes, hanging from a ceiling. And Harry doesn’t know what that means but that’s not the point. And he should start with forgetting his mistakes now. He throws the pancakes in the bin. Because that is all it is. What he had done. Harry thinks as he picks up a small note from one of the nightstands. Just a mistake on Harry’s side.
‘You don’t have to leave.’
Except he doesn’t.
The note is still there, not fumbled up in the palm of his hand but somewhere in his bedroom.
And the pancakes are still on their plate on the counter.
And Louis has one foot on the balcony.
And Harry’s hand is on Louis’ shoulder.
Because.
‘You don’t have to leave.’
Louis flinches. Of course he does. And his eyes, his blue, ocean eyes stare at Harry.
And Harry stares back.
‘You don’t have to leave.’
You don’t have to leave.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“What. Harry, I do. I don’t belong here.”
“You don’t. But I want you to stay anyway.”
They stand there in the doorway to his balcony for a long time. Until Louis nods. Then Harry nods. And they walk back inside.
Harry makes Louis sit on one of the chairs while he grabs plates and cutlery. “You baked.” He says. He places the plate of cooled down, but probably still delicious pancakes along with a pot of syrup on the table and sits down on a chair as well.
They eat in silence. Well not exactly. Because they are both smiling. And they are smiling so loud. It’s overwhelming. And both of them know they have never smiled this bright before in their life.
But it’s all ok. For now. For tonight. Because Louis can stay and Harry feels whole.
And they go to bed together and hold each other’s hand tight.
The next morning Louis is still asleep as Harry goes to work. And the old note is still there on the nightstand. So it’s ok. And he comes home to Louis cooking pancakes again. Because that’s all he can cook he admits shyly. And Harry feels strange. And Harry feels weird. But Harry likes this so he tells himself it’s ok. Harry spends the night explaining Louis what the numbers and figures on his drawings mean. And Louis is close, very close to Harry. And they fall asleep with joined hands again.
The next afternoon Harry comes home to a crying Louis, sitting on the kitchen floor. And it’s not ok anymore.. Harry asks but Louis doesn’t want to tell him what is wrong. But Louis’ whole face is ridden with panic and sadness and hurt and his eyes, his blue eyes, with all of that together at the same time. And Harry starts to panic because he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do. And Harry feels angry, at himself. For letting Louis in. Because this is not the life he was supposed to have and he doesn’t know what to do. And he walks into the bedroom. Hiding from a sad Louis. But Louis comes after him, climbs onto the bed with Harry. And Harry can’t help but let the tears out. Louis brings his arms around Harry’s chest and they hug, soothing each other. From that day on Harry is the one making dinner.
Two more days pass, Harry making dinner, Louis is there. They are living together. And Harry finds that for the past four days his daily routine hasn’t changed as drastically as he had feared at all. Louis is just always there. And they try to be there for each other. Still new at everything and not knowing what to do at all. But they’re both doing ok.
That night as they fall asleep Louis holding onto Harry’s hand, which has now become a thing on Harry’s list of rituals, Louis has a nightmare. Harry is woken up by a scream of a still asleep and trashing Louis. And Harry goes on instinct, tries to wake Louis. But the boy won’t wake up. So Harry shakes him harder and Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes, shoot open and he sucks in a too big amount of air at once and ends in a coughing fit. Harry rubs his back through it and gives Louis a worried look. Louis says he doesn’t remember what the nightmare was about and that he wants to go back to sleep. Harry thinks Louis means he doesn’t WANT to remember what the nightmare was about, but he lays down next to Louis and holds his hand.
The next day is a Saturday and Saturday means grocery shopping. When Harry’s putting on his shoes he suddenly realizes that he forgot about Louis. He hastily walks back into the bedroom and asks Louis, who is still in his, their, in their bed if he wants to come along. But Louis quickly shakes his head.
As Harry puts the correct products from the correct brands in the correct order from his shopping cart into one of the cardboard boxes the supermarket provides, the thought strikes him that maybe Louis doesn’t want to go outside of Harry’s apartment because of the nightmare he had had. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to leave the apartment because if he does he won’t come back. And that makes Harry sad. Even though every single part of him screams that he shouldn’t let Louis stay.
That night they go to bed early.
The next day is a Sunday and Louis’ found a pack of cards in one of Harry’s cupboards. After asking Harry for permission to use them Louis dedicates his entire morning to trying to build card houses while Harry works some more behind his drawing table, secretly glancing at Louis every so often. Around eleven Harry gives in and comes over to help Louis in his game. Thus together they built the highest card house surely ever known to mankind but halfway through, of course, it crumbles down. And Harry and Louis both burst out with laughter, rolling over the floor, swimming in a sea of cards. And Harry feels Happy. And Louis looks happy. And Harry feels strange as Louis crawls over to him and tries to built a card house right on Harry’s forehead. He feels.. complete. Harry watches Louis who has the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. Yes he does. It’s a new feeling. And it scares him a bit. But maybe it’s ok, he supposes, because it feels good. And Harry tries to lay as still as he can. But all those thoughts and feelings, they make him laugh. Laugh so much it causes the cards to fall off his forehead. Louis looks at him and even though there is so much joy in his eyes, his blue eyes, he looks at him with a ridiculous, childish pout.
When it’s around six they decide to bake pancakes together. Louis demanding to be the one who makes the mixture. And after a short, playful fight for the syrup during their dinner Louis decides he really does need a shower to wash all the ingredients out of his hair. And Harry escapes to the balcony.
It’s gotten even colder than last time. The wind blowing softly but with an ice cold feeling to it. And the moon not able to bring the same warmth as the sun. But, Harry sits down on the jacket he brought with him anyway. He need this alone time to get his thoughts organized. And as Harry thinks back on the last six days he realizes he has dared to take a big chance. Harry and Louis were never meant to come into each other’s life. But then, maybe, he had already done the damage on his first night. By lending him his blanket. No, even already by hiding behind the door instead of just shutting it and walking away. Walking away from what could have possibly changed everything for the both of them. – And in some ways it might have. And honestly, Harry is glad he did stay to watch that boy on his balcony. He had been so very unsure at first. Scared. Because of that boy on the balcony. Scared because he had his boring life to live, a routine to built on his own now that there was no more rope. And the more Harry got to know about who the boy was, the clearer it became that Harry had no clue what to do if he wanted to help Louis. And he did. So he shouldn’t have. Yet he did. And Louis seemed to fit into Harry’s life perfectly fine so far. Weirdly enough. Harry could only look back on the last few days as happy. There had been no stress at all caused by looking after another person as he originally anticipated. This new life is, is good. Actually Harry hasn’t been as happy as he has been over the past six days in a long time. Louis has been with him for almost a week now and the hole inside of Harry is still filled up with whatever it needed. Harry feels complete. Like he is no longer missing anything. And that feels good.
“There you are!” Louis exclaims, walking over quickly to sit down next to Harry. He is wearing his, Harry’s, pajamas, his hoodie and a brought a blanket to stay warm too. And Harry is immediately pulled out of his thoughts. This is them. And they are content and that’s ok. Louis’ bruises have faded a lot over the past six days and he looks so much better than he did those six days ago, healthier. Even though he still has his cast.
“Thanks. I don’t think I ever said that. So, thank you Harry.” Louis sighs, smiling up at Harry.
“For what?” He asks, smiling jut as much.
“For wanting me to stay, for looking after me, you know.”
Harry looks at Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes, and he is a bit scared but in that moment it feels like the right thing to do. So Harry leans forward, brings his head closer to Louis’. Their foreheads knock against each other’s awkwardly and Louis giggles under his breath. But then, after a second, Louis is also tilting his chin upwards and their lips are touching. The press of their lips together feels oddly warm in the cold night air on the balcony. Harry’s arm slips around Louis’ waist and Louis’ hand slowly trails up that arm until he is gripping Harry’s shoulder. And they are both tilting their heads a tiny bit more and leaning in a little bit further. We are kissing. Harry thinks. We are kissing! And Louis isn’t pulling away. And his eyes, his blue eyes, are closed, so, Harry closes his eyes too. And Louis presses his thin lips just as much against Harry’s as Harry does against Louis’. There are tiny explosions in Harry. There are tiny explosions everywhere, Harry is sure of that. And he wants to find the little note he wrote for Louis all those days ago and cross out the ‘you’ and ‘have to’.
The kiss feels like a year long one but at the same time so short as they eventually pull away. Harry brings up his other hand and cups Louis’ chin and stares at him. Louis swipes his tongue over his own lips and slowly opens his eyes, his blue eyes. They are still so close, so close that they can see each other’s blush burning over their cheeks even in the darkness. And they both smile at each other like it’s the only thing they have been doing for the past couple of days. Because it’s all still new for Harry and it’s probably all still new for Louis. And Louis still has nightmares. And Louis still has very sad moments. But in the end they are together.
And they go to bed together and hold each other’s hand, because Louis knows that that is how Harry works. He understands it. And Harry never wants Louis to leave.
It’s day six. It’s day six and Louis isn’t there. And Louis isn’t there.
Well ok, it’s not like that.
Louis leaves.
Harry leaves Louis that morning to go to work with a kiss, because that’s what they can do now.
Harry comes back to an empty house and the sound of a door shutting, the balcony door.
There is a note on the table but Harry doesn’t even read it.
He runs after Louis and he yells at him.
And they fight.
And it kind of goes like this:
“Where are you going!?”
“Home.”
“Louis, no. Why?”
“Because I realized I have to.”
“Why?”
“Listen, Harry, I had a great time. Honestly, I have never been so happy as I have been with you. And I.. I-I love you. And thank you so much for everything. You’ve been great. But I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because of my mum Harry.”
“What?”
“She doesn’t know how to look after herself. I should’ve known this way- No, I shouldn’t have forgotten about her and… She gets drunk and she’s, she’s broken and I-“
“She hurt you Louis! She hurts you.”
“She is still my mother.”
“You can’t go back.”
“I have to.”
“You can’t leave. “
“I’m sorry I have to.”
“No! Stay.”
“Was that a question or a demand?”
“I’m, I’m sorry, Louis…”
“I’m sorry Harry.”
Then Louis’ is walking towards Harry, leaning on his toes, giving Harry one quick kiss on his lips. Then Louis closes his eyes, his blue eyes, so Harry does too. And the next second Harry watches Louis’ back as he climbs over the railing of the balcony. And something inside of him yells that he should grab Louis and get him inside and lock the doors. So they can stay happy. But Harry knows that’s not the right thing to do. He wants to. Because he can’t have a life without Louis now. He got used to him. Louis is part of his life now, part of Harry. But he knows Louis wouldn’t appreciate that. Louis would get angry at Harry. And he wouldn’t want to sleep with Harry anymore. And he would still want to leave the next day. So they would have to fight again the next day. And that would be just the same but worse. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t lock Louis up in his apartment. He doesn’t keep Louis for himself. Louis is gone. Louis is gone. Louis is gone. Louis is gone. And the hole is empty again, as everything that filled it leaves. Harry feels empty again. Maybe even more than he did at the start. Because Louis. Because Louis was more than a friend. And because Harry loves Louis back. So much. And now Louis is gone. Harry sits down on the cold stone. Kind of let’s himself fall down into a sitting position actually. And it’s not ok. There is nothing.
“You could be happy, and I won’t know.
But you weren’t happy the day I watched you go.
And all the things that I wished I had not said.
Are played in loops ‘till it’s madness in my head.
Is it too late to remind you how we were?
But not our last days of silence, screaming, blur.
Most of what I remember makes me sure.
I should have stopped you from walking out the door.”
And Harry is so afraid he will never again see Louis’ eyes.