Broken Hearts...

twenty

Dinner that night was quiet but comforting. Louis had made a simple pasta dish, and the two of them sat across from each other at the small kitchen table. The warmth of the meal and the soft hum of conversation between them created a sense of peace, something Harry hadn't felt in so long. It almost felt normal, like they'd been doing this for years.

Harry twirled his fork through the spaghetti, stealing glances at Louis as he talked about his day, filling the space with his usual light-heartedness. Louis had a way of making everything feel easy, even in the quiet moments. For the first time, Harry allowed himself to think that maybe-just maybe-things could be okay here.

But as Harry reached for his glass of water, his fork slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. The sound was sharp in the stillness of the room, and Harry immediately tensed. His heart leapt into his throat, his mind racing back to old memories, the ones he couldn't quite shake. The ones where dropping something as simple as a fork could mean trouble, could mean pain.

Before he could react, Louis stood up from his chair, leaning down slightly as if to help pick it up. The movement, so sudden and unexpected, triggered something deep in Harry's chest-an old instinct he couldn't control.

Harry's breath hitched, panic flaring in his chest. He grabbed the fork from the floor with shaky hands and quickly moved away, his eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to-"

Louis froze, confusion flickering across his face. "Harry..." His voice was gentle, filled with concern, but Harry had already moved back, gripping the fork tightly, as though bracing for something that wasn't coming.

Louis's heart ached as he saw the fear in Harry's eyes-the kind of fear he never should've had to experience. Realization dawned on him then, and he felt a rush of sadness for the way Harry had been conditioned to expect violence. The thought of anyone hurting Harry, especially someone like April, made Louis's blood boil. But this wasn't about anger. This was about helping Harry feel safe.

Slowly, carefully, Louis walked toward Harry, making sure his movements were slow and deliberate. "Harry," he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring. "You're not in trouble. I'm not going to hurt you."

Harry's eyes remained wide, his chest still rising and falling rapidly as the adrenaline coursed through him. He wanted to believe Louis, he did, but his body had been trained to react this way after so many years of being on edge.

Louis stopped just a step away from him, giving Harry space but keeping his presence close. "I would never hit you, Harry," Louis said, his voice shaking with emotion. "Never. I promise you. You're safe with me."

Harry's grip on the fork loosened slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The sincerity in Louis's voice started to cut through the haze of fear, and slowly, Harry's panic began to ease. He blinked up at Louis, trying to ground himself in the present-trying to remember that this was Louis, not April. Louis, who had done nothing but care for him, protect him, love him.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered again, his voice trembling. "I-I just..."

Louis didn't let him finish. Instead, he gently reached out and pulled Harry into a tight hug. The warmth of Louis's embrace was immediate, and Harry sagged against him, the tension melting from his body. Louis held him close, his arms wrapped securely around Harry, as if trying to shield him from the ghosts of the past.