petal [book 1] ❊ l.s.

thirteen - flames

Naturally, they didn't talk about it.

Harry tried, to his credit. He didn't understand why Louis would kiss him and then avoid him like the plague, but he did understand the confusion that Louis was feeling. In fact, he probably understood that confusion even better. But they didn't talk about it, sleeping with just a narrow hallway between them while their problems slipped in between the sheets and haunted Harry's dreams.

Since their kiss, his head had only grown louder and louder, the voices constantly debating and fighting for his attention. They seemed to wake when Louis left for work and sleep when he returned, leaving Harry to wallow in the silence that swept over the apartment as he and Louis moved about in separate worlds.

The very next night after the kiss, he woke up alone from a nightmare, tied up in tangled sheets and choking on something between a scream and a sob. The bedroom was blindingly dark and deafeningly quiet, but Harry pressed his hands to his ears, whimpering at the chorus of words picking at his skull.

"Please," he murmured into the darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut, working hard to make the voices quieter. It took every bit of energy and focus he had to quiet them enough that he could hear the TV playing from the living room. Maybe he was finally going crazy for real, but he swore the voices were getting louder every day.

If only he were stronger. He had never been strong enough to silence them completely.

He climbed out of bed, bringing his blanket with him as he padded into the living room. He was still wiping tears from his eyes when the milky-white glow of the TV screen washed over him. A moment passed before he processed the fact that Louis was sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, looking quite cuddled up and content.

The older boy glanced up when the floor creaked. A flash of uncertainty sparked across his face before he schooled his features.

"S-Sorry," Harry managed to choke out. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were still awake."

Cool and collected, Louis patted the spot beside him. "It's okay. Sit with me."

He didn't have to ask. One look at Harry's panic-stricken face told the whole story. He switched whatever movie he had been watching to a channel playing reruns of Friends as Harry settled in beside him.

"You okay?" he checked carefully. Harry just nodded unconvincingly, and thankfully, Louis left the subject alone.

They sat in silence, side by side, for two complete episodes. The night blanketed them, weighing down heavier and heavier with every passing minute. It was taking longer than usual for Harry to calm down, struggling to disentangle his own thoughts from the chaos. Trying to understand the sudden distance between him and Louis with strangers' voices screaming all around him was getting harder and harder.

"Louis," he said quietly, somewhere around the beginning of the third episode. "About last night --"

"I've always thought that Phoebe should've been the main character," Louis interrupted before he could go any further. "I know you like Rachel, but there's way too much of her and Ross for my taste."

Harry didn't reply, and he didn't try to steer the conversation back to the night before. His hands were still trembling, his entire body wracked by the aftershocks of his nightmare. Louis almost reached over to take his hand, like he'd done multiple times already, but he didn't. He realized that he wanted to, but he just couldn't.

"It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," he told Harry instead -- with unshakable certainty -- and that was all. It felt like an apology, but it wasn't.