petal [book 1] ❊ l.s.

fourteen - he & she

Louis didn't burst through the front door until almost midnight, his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder and his button-down shirt wrinkled. He tossed the jacket on the counter and beelined into the living room where Liam, Niall, and Harry were waiting. Liam had called Niall on their way back to Louis's apartment, and they had all gathered together to wait for him to come back from the murder scene.

Even if he couldn't admit it to himself, Louis only cared about one person.

Harry was curled up on the couch, his eyes glassy and distant. Louis strided across the room in just a few steps, his fingers finding Harry's shoulder naturally. At a glance, the curly-haired boy looked frozen in place, but as soon as Louis touched him, he realized that Harry was shaking.

He lowered his voice, leaning over the back of the couch. "You alright?"

Harry nodded. His headache had only worsened, and he couldn't help shifting further into the hold that Louis had on his shoulder. The simple touch soothed his aching head more than any painkiller would.

The voices were a loud and incoherent rumble, and the taste of failure was bitter on his tongue. If only he had realized sooner, maybe he could have saved Carter's life.

"What happened?" Niall piped up from the armchair across the room. "Liam already gave me the important details, but did the police have anything to say?"

Louis shook his head. He looked older than he had that morning, dark bags under his eyes giving him a worn and weary look. He sat down next to Harry on the couch, and it took everything in Harry not to immediately curl into him for comfort -- and for quiet.

"They had no idea. Idiots," he muttered, shaking his head. He leaned back against the cushions, stretching one arm out across the back of the couch, opening his body up to Harry. Harry could have cried with relief.

Niall huffed, echoing Louis's frustration. "They can't just keep ignoring it. They claim the cases are open and then they don't do shit with them. Doesn't sound too open to me."

Harry's ears perked up, his brow furrowing. "Cases?" he asked. The other three looked at him all at once, like they had forgotten he was even there. "Plural?"

"That's the third death in Louis's company in two months," Liam said, his voice monotone. He was clearly still in shock, his face emotionless. "Three employees."

"One of them was a preexisting condition," Louis supplied unconvincingly.

"The third? Why didn't any of you mention this before?"

"Thought you'd already know," Liam quipped.

"Oi," Louis cut in. He didn't tolerate Liam's jabs at Harry for even a second. "Knock it off or get the fuck out of here."

Liam shut up without another word.

Harry's voice filled the room again, his question directed at Louis. "What happened to Thomas?"

Louis blinked, his intimidating glare softening as he addressed Harry. "Who?"

"The man whose funeral we went to."

Louis couldn't believe that Harry remembered the guy's name -- hell, he couldn't remember the guy's name, and he wasn't the one having a panic attack during the ceremony. He remembered the accident, though, like the back of his hand:

"He was hit by a car."

"Jesus," Niall muttered across the room. "I don't want to hear the story again."

The crease between Harry's brows only deepened, his gaze locked on Louis. "What story?"

"It's not really a story," Louis tried to dismiss his question.