True Colours

Fears of the past

Trigger Warning: blood, self-harm

Louis‘ POV

Louis wakes up because he feels like he's being stared at. It was a restless sleep anyway and even with his eyes closed he knows straight away that Harry is no longer in bed with him.

He slowly opens his eyes and sits up, rubs the sleep away from his eyes. And Harry is standing there in the doorway of the bedroom, lit only by the light shining from the bathroom. Dripping crimson on the carpet.

Louis inhales sharply and a gasp escapes his lips. Louis slowly gets out of bed and feels as if he has woken up only to find himself in his personal nightmare.

Harry just stands there looking expressionless while the blood has partly dried up on his arm and partly still runs in thin traces along the skin. The closer he gets he sees the blade between Harry's fingertips and Louis feels sick.

When he stands in front of Harry he sees everything in his green eyes. All violations of his soul on full display.

Cutting deeper than the wounds on his arms could run.

He carefully grabs Harry's wrist with his hand still holding the blade and pulls him towards the sink in the bathroom.

"Drop it in there," he whispers and Harry immediately obeys. It lands clinking in the ceramic basin, the blood already dried on the silver blade.

“Why did you do that, baby?” Louis asks quietly, looking for an answer at the saddest eyes in the world. The answer he actually already knew back then. Louis was trying so hard to hold back the darkness in Harry and apparently lost.

"I'm okay," Harry breathes expressionlessly.

Louis just looks at him for a moment, letting his gaze slide over his empty eyes and finally to his arms. Black ink wet with red and Louis can't stand it another second. His baby is in need of help.

He silently takes a towel from Harry's shelf and wets it with water without ever taking his eyes off him. Gently pushes Harry down onto the edge of the bathtub and sits on his knees in front of him. Carefully and slowly he wipes and dabs the blood from his arms until it is all gone, only then really seeing how many times Harry has harmed himself with the blade.

“Where do you have something to clean your skin with?” Louis asks quietly.

Harry nods towards his bathroom cupboard and Louis quickly finds something in there.

When he's finished tending to the wounds, he takes Harry by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. As if the whole weight of the world was on his shoulders, Harry collapses into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and Louis sits down next to him. He reaches for his hand, intertwines their fingers together and swallows his own tears that are now welling up.

“I want to help you but I don’t know how,” Louis whispers.

"I'm okay," Harry repeats simply, his voice free of any emotion. "I do not need any help."

“I cannot fix your wounds this time,” Louis says desperately. Desperate by the wounds Harry carries inside and out. Desperate from this state he is in and sitting next to him as if he doesn't understand how much Louis is suffering from this all as well.

"I'm okay," Harry says again, this time a single tear running down his cheek.

Louis carefully wipes it away with his hand, swings one leg over Harry, sits onto his lap and takes his beloved face in his hands.

His own voice trembles as he says, “I don't believe you when you tell me you're fine. Please don’t hurt yourself again.”

Then he presses a kiss to Harry's lips, putting all of his own desperation into it and only briefly lets go to breathe again, "Just please don't hurt yourself again."