Midnight Black Stilettos. [L.S.]✓

Ch. 6; Harry's Wrath.

A/N: don't hate me 💀🙏

They're surrounded. There's about ten of them, all closing in.

Louis reaches into his blazer, when one of them points a gun at him. "Hands in air, fag!"

Harry rolls his eyes, swinging his bat around and hitting the closest two, kicking another. They grab him, another advancing with a knife, which Louis quickly shoots after withdrawing his gun. He shoots another two, so they're down to seven, four of them trying (and failing) to restrain Harry.

He doesn't know how it happens, but suddenly one has a knife, and Harry ducks, and suddenly Harry's hair is no longer attached to his head.

Louis' eyes widen, as does the one with the knife. The others go to run, and Louis shoots them in the foot. 

***

He feels a bit sick.

Harry's wrath is something he's witnessed many times, but not like this. He just beat the people bloody, tying the one who cut his hair to a tree and instructing Louis to stay where he is (as in out of the way) and Louis could do nothing but comply for fear of his life.

The other three died fairly quickly, just a sharp kick in the side and a slit throat.

But the guy who cut his hair? He really fucking suffered.

Harry beat him with the bat (Louis has got to get that thing off of him, seriously), not hard enough to kill him, but hard enough to bruise and break bones. The spikes and rhinestones cut his skin, little holes peppering his skin, small trickles of blood running down his body. Then he cut off his fucking hand, aggressively slicing his side and then resuming work with the bat, untying him so he can use his shoes as well. 

By the time he's done, the guy is just a bloody, mutilated mess, no discernible features.

Harry straightens up, chest heaving, back to Louis as he inspects the body. "What's wrong with you?" He asks casually, as if he didn't brutally murder someone just like that.

Sure, Louis' killed plenty of people, but not like this. Jesus.

"You- I-" Louis stutters, gesturing to the dead bodies at Harry's feet.

"What?" Harry scoffs. "You've seen me kill people before, Lou."

"Not like this!" Louis exclaims.

"I know the hair is horrible," Harry pouts, gesturing to his impromptu haircut. Somehow, he still makes it look good. It's uneven and shaggy, reaching to just about his jaw (when it was originally halfway down his back) and slightly longer at the back, curling upwards slightly, "but it'll be fine. I'll get it cut properly, and it'll grow back."

"I didn't fucking mean the hair cut, Harry!" Louis yells, grabbing at his hair in frustration. "Fuck, Harry. Look at him. He's an unrecognisable bloody pulp, for fuck sake. Was that really necessary, you fuckin' pyscho?!"

Harry turns around, eyes blazing, showing Louis a deep cut on his collarbone that he didn't see before. Blood is soaking his dress, another cut across his cheek and ending at his lip, which is also cut and bloody. There's a slice on his neck as well, small pinpricks of blood coming through. A bruise is forming on his left eye, nose bleeding, another stab wound soaking through from his chest, a large, ugly gash on his arm.

"Oh." Louis mumbles.

"It's not just because he fucking cut my hair, Louis." Harry seethes, ripping his dress to wipe the blood. "For fucks sake. Ow. And no need to call me a psycho as an insult."

"Baby that looks pretty serious-" Louis says, stepping forward.

"You think?!" Harry exclaims. "You know what, fuck you, Louis. I'm going to phone Juan, you do whatever the fuck you want. Wedding's off. I'm not getting married like this."

He storms away, leaving Louis alone with the several dead bodies, an impending sense of doom, and a mounting sense of guilt. He follows, running after Harry and trying to catch him up.

"Harry! Harry, for fucks sake can you just stop!" Louis yells. "I didn't mean it like that- but you gotta understand that all I saw was a guy cut your hair and you go bat shit crazy! What was I supposed to think, huh?"

Harry continues walking, only slowing down slightly for Louis to fall into step with him. Tears prick at his eyes, his jaw tight.

"Sorry-" he finally mutters, almost to himself. "I'm just about ready to lose it. I wanted our wedding to be perfect, you know? Everything else in my life has been kinda shit, and when it finally got back on track I almost lost you but then I kinda got back on track and I wanted something to go my way, you know? I wanted a perfect fucking wedding... But then you- you just randomly decided that you hated my dress because I don't even know why and now this?! And, yeah, maybe it's a little about the hair... Because now I- now something else hasn't gone my way, and I snapped. And you're right, there really was no need for me to murder him quite so brutally, but, fuck. I just- I just couldn't take it any longer... I'm sorry, Lou. I don't wanna cancel the wedding."

"H. Don't be stupid." Louis huffs. "I know this isn't the wedding we planned, but we're getting marrjed. I'd marry you in a fucking bin with only trash pandas as witnesses and be happy."

Harry laughs, running his hand through his hair. "Nobody told me short hair was so light." Harry muses absently, 

Louis chuckles, shaking his head fondly. "I think you'd suit short hair." 

Harry's face goes blank. "I think you were dropped on your head too much as a child." He deadpans.

"What?" Louis asks. "Look, you're hot, baby. Short or long hair, you suit it, it's not necessarily you, but you still make it look good. You look like you're in an adventure movie or something."

Harry smiles, pulling out his phone from his garter, unlocking it as they reach their destination, scrolling through his contacts with his brow furrowed. 

"If you were drunk, how would you spell Juan?" He asks distractedly.

"Probably with a h? I don't know." Louis shrugs.

"Ah, found him!" Harry exclaims.