In Too Deep (Dancing With The Shadows)

seven

The chafing of wool gliding against the skin of Louis' fingers is all that sounds in the dim lit bedroom. The wool will occasionally squeak when a tight stitch opens for a new row, Louis' breathing going in time with his quick hand of wrapping the wool around the hook and bringing it in on itself time and time again.

There's patches of squares already scattered along his bed in different colours from red to black. Clifford is laying on a few, eyeing Louis suspiciously as if any moment he will snap.

Maybe he will. Maybe he won't, Louis isn't so sure.

He rubs his nose a little with the back of his head, trying to chase out the thoughts as best as possible with the activity at hand.

So far, the thoughts are only midway in his mind, it's as though there's a wall barricading them to go any further as long as he has the key which is the hook in his hand. Though his heart is in a steady rhythm, the nerves curl and flick within like a candle flame dancing in the wind.

His hands are a little frantic and he swears to himself when he loses a stitch but is quick to shove the hook back through it before he nestles into the row forever.

He's so caught up in crocheting and trying with all his might to not let the thoughts creep closer, that he doesn't hear someone ascending the stairs until the knock of the door quite literally makes him jolt, heart twisting.

He doesn't snap his head up though, just mumbles quietly to himself about how he has to finish this row. Just has to get it done.

Peter's brows crease, concern washing over him as he watches his boy pull wool to and fro, almost rocking back and forth from where he sits hunched over in his bed.

"What's wrong?" Peter asks sternly yet gently, as if Louis was a puppy he's needing to train but doesn't want it to get upset.

Louis shakes his head. "Gotta, gotta get this row done, Dad." He doesn't realise there's tears sheering his vision until they begin to blur his vision and cluster in his eyelashes.

Peter treds carefully into the room and lowers himself on the side of the bed.

Louis knows that Peter knows that when he's in this state, it's because something is bothering him. And with each day nearing and nearing to that one dreadful date, he can't get his head out of the shadows.

Peter lays a hand on Louis' shoulder and Louis stops his hands at the top of his pink row.

"Lad, I don't know what's going on in that big mind of yours, but I can promise you that what ever is bothering you, isn't worth fighting over. Let it go," Peter gives, stroking Louis' hair back kindly.

Louis doesn't let himself relax into the touch though, he doesn't deserve to be comforted, that's what his brain tells him anyway.

His lip begins to tremble and his sucks it between his teeth to try and stop it. "I can never forgive myself, Dad," he whispers, not trusting his voice to go any louder.

Peter squeezes his shoulder reassuringly and shakes his head. "It was never your fault to begin with, son," Peter begins and just hearing the word son causes a tear to slip down Louis' warm cheek.

He doesn't deserve to be called a son, not when there's others that deserve to be called that but never do anymore.

"You need to stop beating yourself up over it. I thought we stopped this," his dad sounds slightly angry, but Louis doesn't know if he's angry at him or himself.

"I c-can't! I've tried, Dad, but every year I'm reminded and it all comes flooding back. And how can you possibly say it wasn't my fault when Mum and Lottie have never forgiven me? If it wasn't my fault they wouldn't have blamed me either," Louis snaps back, fingers shaking now that it is almost impossible to start a new row so he drops everything all together.