ANON. || l.s.

Weathered doors. -H

Water is my eye
Most faithful mirror
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Of a confession
Feathers on my breath

----------------------------------------

Harry's POV:

The heels of my boots rebound on the cracked pavement as I made my way to the address. My briefcase held tightly in my hand. I'd been to many parts of this town but this neighbourhood was more dilapidated than I'd seen. The windows were all partly boarded shut and the cobbles in this small strait were weathering from the usage. When you walked in the richer part of towns you'd almost forgot the economy was bad, but this neighbourhood reminded me of all the lost jobs, rising prices and day to day riots. In these moments I felt bad that I had a small part in the decay of this country. I pinched myself and reminded myself of all the good I had done after the sham this country upheld. Just because something looked pretty, didn't mean it actually was. 

A few minutes ahead of time, I knocked on the door. The blue paint was peeling, and I swear I already had splinters on my knuckles. I was nervous, something out of the ordinary for me. I had visited houses a hundred times now - most of them housing poor families, with rebellious children. The majority of my coworkers were convinced this procedure was useless - the GPS Tag never worked - but they didn't know I was here for other business. I was here to meet the kid, see in what conditions they were living in. And given the fact I already knew the man of the household I braced myself for the worst. 

I usually didn't bring a gun - with me being an official - but today I couldn't resist it. I wouldn't use it ofcourse, I'd blow my cover right away, but with a sick man like that you'd never know. Better safe than sorry. Call it self-defence, I wanted to be sure. It was tucked away in the back of my waistband so they would never know. Let's hope the man didn't provoke me. I had pretty unfortunate trigger fingers. 

I heard a shuffle behind the door and a small hand peeked out to pull the door open. I was met with a dishevelled head of hair, only the crown of his head showing, because he apparently saw something very interesting on the floor. 

    'Louis Tomlinson?' 
   'Yes...' His small voice spoke and then he looked up. Immediately I took a step back, shocked by what I saw when he made eye contact. His bright blue eyes were tarnished by a deep purple bruise, all the way from his eyelid to his cheekbone. It was swollen so that one eye was partly shut. His face was flushed and his pretty lips were ruined by a deep slash in his bottom lip. He was probably the most beautiful but broken angel I'd ever seen. 

My hands started reaching out to his face in a reflex, but I remembered I had to be professional at the last moment. I coughed and composed myself offering him a handshake instead.
   'Hi, I'm Harry Styles from the precinct. I'll be chipping you today.'
He looked rather confused but grabbed my hand nonetheless, his small hand engulfed in mine.  
   'Right...Well...This way.' He stepped aside and gestured for me to come in. The hallway was stark, dimly lit and I saw the brown wallpaper coming off in the corners.

He led the way into a small living room and gestured me to take a seat. I took off my coat and sat down on the couch. Out of courtesy, I avoided sitting in the prominently weathered place of the couch. This was probably the place where that man always sat. I slowly put my briefcase on the salon table and folded my hands. He just stared at me without saying anything. Why was he making me feel so uncomfortable? I cleared my throat and broke the silence.