From Nothing (BoyxBoy)

Prologue: Two Different People

The new boy flopped his slim figure down on the grass of the oval and lay there, smiling as he basked in the heat of the Australian summer. The sunlight shone on his pale skin, his first experience of the heat of the southern hemisphere since he moved from the United Kingdom, and he enjoyed it immensely. He shook his head, causing his extravagant crown of chocolate curls to bounce atop his head, squinting and shielding his pure sky-blue eyes from the sun. He was the new year five, still foreign to the private, all boys school that accommodated from year four all the way to year twelve. The new boy who was yet to make a single friend in a school where the 'friend groups' had already been established the previous year. He wasn't like the Australian boys, his features were delicate, making him look younger and, extremely slightly, more feminine. Regardless, he was happy and that was all that really mattered to him.

A shadow cast over his eyes told him that someone was standing over him. He opened them fully and found himself staring up into the blue-grey eyes of another boy, with a blonde fringe that touched his eyebrows - that was the first thing the British boy noticed about him. His facial features were finely shaped, yet still the very opposite of delicate. His already athletic physique made him stand out from the other boys and marked him as one of the cool, popular 'jocks'. He stared back down into the sky-blue eyes of the brown-haired boy, his own brimming with curiosity.

"Hi, I'm Harry!" he spoke with the typical accent of the British but of one whom had grown up in the eastern region of England - where the words are very pronounced. Also pitching higher at the end of his sentences. Again, typically British. He held up his hand for the other boy to shake, smiling warmly.

That voice and smile sparked something inside the blonde boy, causing his stomach to twist and lurch. He hated that feeling, and blamed Harry for causing it. His plan for this boy was to ostracise him - to put as much physical distance between them as possible - and to dislike him. 'Ignore and dislike, ignore and dislike.' It was so simple.

Harry's hand was smacked out of the air, his arm colliding with the ground with a painful thud. His eyes widened and his smile twisted into a frown. "Wha-what was that for?" he stammered, genuine hurt evident in both his face and tone.

The other boy sneered, despising the pangs in his heart at Harry's hurt expression. "Because I hate you." he said, his tone harsh and bitter.

Harry looked from the first boy to all his friends behind him, then back to the first boy. If they were going to attack him he'd have no chance, no chance at all. Knowing that someone hated him hurt more than he'd care to admit, and he could feel tears pricking his eyes. He stood up and replied shakily, "Why?"

"I. Hate You." the boy repeated, emphasising every word in the sentence. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, laughing with his group of friends. He glanced back once and saw the brown-haired boy's face again, he looked on the verge of tears. Guilt tore at his heart but instead of stopping, he called over his shoulder, "Louis WIlliams! Know my name and fear it!"

Even though it was a warm day, Harry shivered.

. 

Three years later...

Teasing, name calling, even physical violence were the challenges that Harry had to face every day at school. All because of that stupid boy Louis. Louis with his hatred of him, Louis with his prejudice. Louis, Louis, Louis. Harry just didn't understand why the boy hated him so much.

Of course he did.

Harry was gay, he knew it from a very, very young age. He started coming out around age twelve, in year seven, but one of the friends he had deserted him. This one 'friend' told the whole school and pretty soon, surely enough, the bullying began. It escalated to the point where Harry, depressed, angry and sick with self-loathing, considered taking his own life. He didn't do it, too much of a coward to go through with it; in his opinion.

He started cutting himself though.

Whenever he was hurting so badly that he needed the release, the razor blade was there as an outlet. Harry never saw it coming until once, after a particularly horrible day, he came home so heartsick he had the sudden urge to see himself bleed. One cut on the left wrist was all it took for the blinding relief to wash over him, a reprieve from the pain that welled beneath the surface and threatened to tear him apart. It would never last though, sooner or later the pain would return - sharper and more acute than before.

The bullying hurt Harry so, so much; more than he'd ever admit. The cutting didn't stop either. No matter how hard he tried that blade was always there, enticing him to split his skin and allow the blood to burst forth from underneath - anything to separate himself from the pain.

And he decided to hate Louis back.

By his sixteenth birthday he had acquired fourteen cuts, seven on each forearm. He had to hide them by wearing long-sleeved shirts and wristbands whenever he had to wear short sleeves. What made it worse was that nobody knew...

...and nobody seemed to care.

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This chapter is for TheWayYouLookTonight because she is awesome and I love here. Also because I am a total TWYLTer (TheWayYouLookTonight-er [I just came up with that because she deserves a fandom name]). If you haven't read her stuff, you need to. Seriously, her works are some of the best I've ever read on here.

PICTURE OF HARRY ON THE SIDE! I know his eyes aren't the right colour in the picture but what the hell, he's close enough.