Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 38- POV Louis: I Promise

"Well, you look awful today." I declare as I waltz in through Niall's door and plop down in a navy bean bag chair, waving my arms frantically when I tip backwards and land on my head with a dull thud. 

Niall cackles, wrapping his arms around his torso as his eyes crinkle. Reagan snickers behind me, adorned in a flowy yellow sundress and tan sandals. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek braid, with a few strands pulled out to frame her oval jaw, and her cheeks gleam in the summer heat. A window open next to her grants a cool breeze to flow through and ruffles her dress elegantly.

"Next time you insult me, at least don't make a fool of yourself in the process." Niall refutes, still chuckling under his breath.

"Mate, I wasn't insulting you- I was describing you." 

From behind me, I hear a loud cough as Reagan tries- and fails- to hide a laugh. Niall rolls his eyes and tosses me a bottle of water, which I catch with grace, bowing humorously towards him subsequently. "Lad, I'm really worried about Harry; have you heard from him?" I ask, plunking my ass back in the bean bag chair.

"No, why?"

"Last time I heard from him was two days ago. He always texts me, always. I... I don't know, I'm worried something bad happened and... and when I went to his hotel they said he had checked out, and he didn't even tell me, and I just..." I sigh, shaking my head.

"It's okay mate, I'll just call him."

I roll my eyes dramatically. "You don't think I tried that?" I yell. "Idiot."

"Hey!"

"Oh, I said that out loud? Sorry." I smirk. Niall furrows his eyebrows and spins around in his office chair.

"Okay, anyways lad, why don't we try calling around. You know, people he knows at the hotel, friends-"

"Nialler, his friends are you and Reagan- that's it! He never made friends from the hotel except Marge, and she doesn't know where he went! When I find that boy, I'm gonna be pissed at him. He knows I get worried about him easily, I mean this is bullshit! He-" My phone rings from the floor.

The caller ID identifies the number as Gemma. I pounce to pick up the call, and shoot a glare towards Niall when he chuckles under his breath as I answer laying on my back.

"Yes, hello?"

"Hi, Louis." Gemma replies.

"What's up?"

"It's about Harry."

"Oh, do you know where he is? Cause I haven't heard from him in a few days and I've been so worried, but now I'm just mad, because he probably just forgot to text me and he knows that when he does that it worries me, because then I don't know where he is, which I am now realizing sounds possessive but I promise it's not, I just love him a lot, so anyways-"

"Louis." Gemma says loudly, but I can hear a forlorn twinge of emotion in her voice.

"Yeah?" I whisper.

"Harry called me last night at 2 in the morning. I was going to tell you but then there was a rain storm and we lost power and then my phone died, and then I fell asleep-"

"Gemma, where is he?" I yell, tears brimming in my eyes. I'm mad- at Harry for being MIA, at Gemma for not telling me she heard from Harry, at myself- so mad I stand up from the beanbag chair because I can't keep still.

"Right. He didn't give me any details, but he said he's at Zayn's."

"Thank you, Gem. Bye." I jog towards the door, and call out over my shoulder, "I'm going to Zayn's." Before sprinting down to my truck, later realizing mentioning Zayn is probably a sensitive topic for the couple, then dismissing the thought when Harry reenters my mind.

"Zayn, open the door!" I shout, slamming at the white chipping door with my fist. He opens the door and lets me in soon after he hears my yelling, and I rush past him, sprinting around the house in bewilderment, swinging my arms around wildly as I attempt to navigate the small apartment. "Harry," I shriek. "Why didn't you call me? You had me so worried, and I mean, I love you, but don't you dare ever do that again, okay?"

I come to a sharp halt when I enter the living room. "Oh, Hazza." I mumble to myself, an undesired tear making its way down my face. I rush towards him. My sweet little Hazza is curled up on a ratty gray couch, clothes damp, stuck to his pale skin like plastic wrap to a bowl, hair extended out, pointing every which way so as to give the illusion he has been electrocuted, and... damn.

Tear stains tint his rosy hued cheeks a bleached white that pains my heart. Oh, I had this all wrong. "My poor baby, I'm so sorry." I collect him into my arms, pressing his soft face to my chest with a gentle hand behind his head, twisting his beautiful curls in between my fingers.

__________

I squeeze the larger boy tighter and mumble, "It's okay, Hazza. He's gone for now. I'll always protect you."

"You promise?" He whispers back, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Yes. I promise. I promise to always protect you." I respond, swiping his sweaty fringe from out of his eyes and planting a kiss on his forehead.

__________

The day I returned Harry's guitar to him, the day after my birthday, the day I rocked him tenderly in my arms as his father condemned him for being gay, that day... I had promised to protect him. I promised, and I meant it, I did. I truly believed I could protect him from all the evil life had to offer. 

But here he is now, heart torn apart from within, eyes closed and sleeping but wholly tired.

I could never protect him, but I could teach him how to protect himself.

His eyelids flutter open gently like small butterflies on a breezy day. I stroke his face with a gentle finger, whispering, "Hi, Hazza." He blinks in response and pulls my head down towards his with a hand on the back of my neck.

A tear ripples along the creases of his face, and he whispers, voice cracking in broken harmony, "Don't ever forget me. Please." I pull him in tight.

"I won't." 

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