Missing: The boy who disappeared

Chapter 12 - Thank You

A/N
Sorry for the long wait. We have been ill. 🥺

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'When someone is going through a storm, your silent presence is more powerful than a million empty words.'

Embarrassment had clung to Louis, fueled by the regret of the ill-fated Insta Live that he wished he had never aired. Nasty comments had slashed through his online presence, prompting his withdrawal away from the virtual and toxic online space. He felt shitty more than ever but one thing he had been enjoying was going for a nightly walk. Whether it was to clear his mind or internally search for Saxon he can't define, either way it makes him feel better afterwards.

Tonight, he strolled through the silent streets, deliberately sidestepping the incessant calls from Garcia that had become a persistent background noise in his neglected phone. He knew it was just a call to scorn him about the live, but he doesn't give shit anymore. The police station, once a reassuring bastion, had receded into the shadows of his past, replaced by an eerie emptiness and now, he wanted nothing more than to leave it that way.

The remnants of Saxon's face, once glaring from shop windows and electricity poles, had slowly vanished, leaving behind only a couple of stubborn reminders. The articles in the paper and fleeting mentions on TV were dwindling, slipping away like sand through his fingers. The world seemed to be turning its back on his little boy, erasing the traces of a once-publicised tragedy as if it were an inconvenient memory fading into the recesses of collective forgetfulness.

Upon returning home and after much thought, Louis, fingers tapping on his phone screen, crafted a concise text to Harry, proposing a meeting in a few days. Each word carried a weight of restrained emotion, a subtle dance of conciseness and remorse.

To Harry:
"Mum mentioned you're back. Harry, I can't fathom how you managed it, but you'll never grasp the depth of my gratitude for retrieving Saxon's toy. I've been all over the place lately, and the way I compelled you to leave was- I'm just so sorry. Shit, this is hard, um, you wanna meet up for lunch, not tomorrow, the next day maybe?"

The message conveyed a desire for a delay, a need for a brief respite to mend wounds before facing Harry once more. They settled on a specific time, a text, acting as a bridge between two individuals who were both navigating the aftermath of pain, but it held the promise of a meeting that might either heal or deepen the fractures between them.

The following night, Louis stepped into the busy liquor store, and immediately picked up his pace as he approached the shelves adorned with bottles of varying shapes and sizes.

The media's unrelenting onslaught had painted him as a tarnished figure, and the collective judgement from strangers weighed on him as he sought refuge in the aisles. He doesn't condone nor appreciate that he has allowed himself to come back here, right back to the very place he deep down knew wasn't doing him any favours. Yet in the loud aisles, he somehow found a flicker of something, peace maybe, as his eyes remained on which item he fancied. He felt a little shitty at the way he could tell his body was full of desire for just this momentary escape, the same "momentary" escape he feels has become too frequent.

In his quest to drink and forget, he approached the shelf, frustration etched his expression as he struggled to reach for the desired bottle. Fingers grazed the glass surfaces below as he reached for a small bottle, suddenly sub consciously annoyed at his parents once again for providing him with the gift of being short.

Turning to the person behind him, Louis gently tapped a shoulder requesting assistance. The person shifted and turned, making Louis internally hold back a smirk because he is beginning to realise that life is truly dreadful and testing him, like they say though, if fate doesn't make you laugh, then you simply didn't get the joke.