When Louis found out, he felt awful. He felt guilt drip from his heart and pool in the bottom of his stomach. His brain felt as if it was melting into regret, and the corners of his eyes burned with fatal embarrassment. A thick lump gathered in his throat, not of sadness, but of sympathy. The kind of lump you’d get when you watch a poverty based film, full of pity and urges to help those less fortunate.
He didn’t even mean to hear. If he was honest, after hearing it he wished he never had. The saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’ never felt more relevant. Because in that moment, he knew something in his heart had changed; whether he sought after it or not, something had. Maybe just a speck of that singular emotion wasn’t enough to affect his state of mind at the present time, but it was enough to trigger something.
Sympathy.
That’s what it was. Slosh in a bit of regret and pity and you’ve hit the nail on the head. It was more the past words that flew out of his mouth without consideration that bugged him the most as he departed the building which was like his second home. He’d never needed to restrain and ponder upon his words beforehand, nor had he felt he wanted to retrieve past sentences, so why did the fact he muttered words of offence to that curly haired boy get to him so much?
He’d been standing in the café queue to buy himself a water bottle before he returned back to his dance class when he heard it. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but if someone is right in front of you talking seriously, you can’t help but listen into the conversation a little. If you want to call Louis nosy, then go ahead, but nobody can claim they aren’t interested in petty information from total strangers when they’re waiting patiently in a long queue.
The woman looked very young for her presumable middle-aged status. She was evidently the lead charity worker, by the badge clipped onto her flouncy clothing. Her ‘chatting partner’ was of a younger age, but not as youthful to be a student or anything of the similar. He didn’t know how they got onto the conversation he overheard, but he listened in nonetheless.
"My boy, Harry, he likes to play the piano too. Gorgeous lad; big curly hair and bright green eyes? I’ve dragged him along here the past few weeks to play in one of the rooms, the one with the big black grand piano?" she said.
That was when Louis’ ears pricked up. His mind made fast connections and paired the boy in discussion to be the one from last Saturday who reacted shockingly to Louis’ presence. It was most definitely him as the only room in the building that had such a grand piano was Louis’ room. Louis resisted a scoff at the fact she was talking so brightly about her son when he was so rude to Louis it was indescribable.
”He seems overjoyed by the piano there; well, as overjoyed as he can express,” she continued. “I wish he’d show some more enthusiasm in things, but I still know that he loved playing on that certain one. Motherly instinct I guess. But still, it was hard to tell at first until he returned to his rickety piano at home.”
Louis almost tuned out of the conversation, not wanting to hear a mother rabbit on about her money troubles, but the line to the counter seemed to be only getting slower so he returned his attention to the conversation before him in a bid to entertain his bored mind.
"Is he just withdrawn? My brother used to be like that when he was a teenager. But it wasn’t serious, just growing up really," the other woman spoke.
"No, Jill, sometimes I wish it was just growing up though," the woman mused. "He’s got a condition that has the side effect of difficulty to express himself, even to family members. So it isn’t really his fault he always has such a blank expression."
"Oh Anne, that’s terrible. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s wrong with him?"
Louis was too intrigued to turn away from the conversation. He wanted answers for the reasoning Anne just supplied about Harry’s ignorance.
