"We'll Give You One More Fight"

Part 2

March 18th, 2016: 5:36 p.m.
     They're sitting on the edge of an abandoned pool. The cold from the concrete seeps through Harry's black skinnies, but he doesn't mind. He absentmindedly swings his dangling legs, creating a scuffing noise every time his beat up, brown boots graze the empty pool wall. He looks down at Louis, who's head is propped up on Harry's thigh. A lit cigarette is pinned between his delicate, bony fingers.
       Louis' eyes are closed, their pale-blue color hidden behind his eyelids. His small nose is rosy due to the bitter, March day. Harry thinks the smaller-man may have fallen asleep, but then Louis takes a drag of the cigarette.
He tracks the action, getting lost in the way Louis' thin, pink lips wrap around it. The smaller-man's long eyelashes flutter, as he lets the smoke out.
      "Here, Haz." Louis opens his eyes, motioning the fag in Harry's direction. He plucks it from Louis' hand, placing it between his lips. Breathing in deeply, he lets the smoke fill his lungs. It starts to burn, so he opens his mouth, letting the smoke pour out. He watches it dissipate into the cold air, and takes another drag. This time, he sighs as the smoke vacates his body. Suddenly, Louis reaches up, and grasps the cigarette in Harry's hand.
       "My turn," He states, bringing it to his own mouth. Harry retaliates by grabbing Louis' small wrist and pulling his hand to his lips, lightly biting his ring finger.
      "Hey!" Louis shouts in surprise, dropping the cigarette onto the cement. Giggling as he struggles to pull his hand away from the taller man's mouth. Harry just smiles, and let's go of his finger. The skin around the bite is flushed and irritated. Harry soothes it with a closed-mouth kiss. He thumbs over the indent, imagining a cold metal band taking the bite mark's place. Louis watches, then tugs Harry's face down to connect their lips. He tangles his fingers in the curls at the nape of Harry's neck, sending chills down the older-man's spine.
        "Get a room, you cunts!" Niall laughs from the bottom of the empty pool. His skateboard under his foot.
       "Fuck off, Niall," Harry says, annoyed. Louis picks up their forgotten cigarette, and chucks it at the Irish lad. Niall squeaks, and narrowly avoids being burned. Annoyed by their antics, Liam walks over and snuffs out the cigarette with the sole of his shoe. Through everything they've done, Liam has always made sure the other four didn't die. Even though that was a difficult task at times.
      "Waste of a cigarette," Zayn says solemnly. His heavily tattooed hand running through his onyx hair. "It's fucking cold,"  Zayn shuffles his feet and sticks his hands in his leather jacket pockets.
     "Pass me the pack,"
      Louis lifts his head from Harry's thighs, grabbing the Marlboro pack that was throw off to the side earlier. He tosses it to Zayn with a grunt, and returns to his previous position on Harry's lap. Humming as Harry runs his fingers through Louis' soft, tangled hair, gently working out the knots.
     "Thanks, mate." Zayn opens the abused pack, pulling out a cigarette. "We've only got four more," He mutters, eyeing the pack like it was the one that smoked away all its contents.
Liam pipes up,"We'll just stop by the convenience store on our way back to The Dump." 'The Dump' was the run down, one-bedroom shack the four of them inhabited. A one-story house, with out-dated appliances and moldy doorways. They moved in thinking they would spend a few months there before moving on to "bigger, better things," but here they were. Still cramped in the same shitty house, in the same shitty town.

6:48 p.m.
*ding*
     Louis shoves his way through the smudged glass door. Harry and the others following suit.
The store looks as it always does; grimey, unkempt, and haphazard.
     They split up, Harry follows Louis to the counter. Shuffling behind him as he grabs two packs of their usual cigs and one pack of gum. Throwing them on the conveyor belt. He looks at Harry and smiles; big, bright, and radiating love. The taller-man reaches over to touch Louis' cheek, leaning in and capturing his lips in a chaste kiss.
     "Gross, Mom and Dad are fondling each other in public again!" Niall's Irish lilt sounds, dropping the snacks in his hands on the floor. Zayn mock gasps, and clasps his hand over Niall's eyes, cradling his head to his chest.
    "How could you expose your child to such profanity!?" Zayn accuses loudly; a smile threatening to emerge. Niall's shoulders shake with laughter, as Zayn whispers in his ear, "Shhh.....It's okay. You'll be okay.." Harry laughs, then looks at Louis with a glint in his eyes.
    "Oof!" Louis gripes Harry's shoulders tightly as Harry dips him down.
    "Watch and learn kids," Harry says with a wink, kissing Louis. The smaller-man giggles into Harry's mouth.
       "Excuse me," They look up at the employee, and quickly stand up-right, apologizing.
      Niall gathers up the scattered snacks, dumping them next to the cigs and gum. Liam finishing it off with a six pack of beer.
     "This all?" The disinterested clerk says. Clearly wanting his shift to end, so he can get the fuck out of here.
    "Yeah, this is it," Louis responds, cheeks flushed.
    "That'll be $23.50." He opens the cash register, the loud noise draws in Harry's attention.
     "Aiden! Come out back, there's a delivery." The clerk, Aiden, turns around to face the man who just yelled for him.
      He's an older man, with wrinkles that frame his squinty eyes.
    "Sure, boss. one second." He turns back to face them, "I'll be right back." Then he trudges out a door decorated with a large sign that says "EXIT" in bold letters. The old man disappears back to where he came from.
     Harry is immersed with the open register for several minutes.
    "Hey, sorry for the wait," the clerk says apathetically.
    Harry's head snaps up, looking at the clerk like he was caught red handed.
Louis gives the curly-haired man a concerned look.

  10:47 p.m.
   "Why were you staring so intensely at the cash register earlier?" Louis interrogates, but he already has an idea. 
    They're cuddled together on The Dump's roof, under a threadbare blanket. The crooked shingles dig into Harry's back, as he watches the town lights flicker contemplating his answer.  
    "I saw the money," Harry encaptures his bottom lip between his pointer finger and his thumb. His turquoise ring adorned on his finger, glares in the moonlight. "And, I thought 'We could get away with it.'" Harry turns to look at Louis, his face intent, and serious. It unsettles the blue eyed-man. "We could get away with robbing that shitty old convenience store. With the money in that register we could be in London by tomorrow," Harry says, determined.
   "We've been waiting for life to give us a chance, but we have to just take it."
     The weight of what Harry was saying scares Louis, but he understands what he means. This town is a black hole that eats up ambitions, and dreams. The town had it's sinister claws dug deep into them.
    "Well, if you never shoot, you'll never know. Let's fucking do it, " Louis breaks the silence. He doesn't know why he says it, but he does. He knows if they stay here they'll fade away. They will die without ever seeing anything but this gloomy town that has a ravenousness hunger for hope. Louis is scared to be consumed.
       Harry grins lopsidedly. His dimples pop out, and he kisses Louis briefly. Then he lets his body slide down the roof. When he gets to the edge Harry grabs the gutter and jumps down onto the patchy grass below. The curly-haired man stretches his arms up, making a grabbing motion at Louis. Signaling the other man to jump down. Louis shuffles down slowly. Harry's rings dig into Louis' hips as he helps him down.
    Harry stalks over to the ripped screen door. He leans on the wall adjacent to it, looking at Louis with a devilish smirk.
    "Boys! Come out here," Harry shouts inside.
    The three men trudge over, with bemused expressions.
    "What?" Zayn mutters with a thick accent. He leans against the door frame across from Harry.
    "How do you feel about committing a felony?"

"She had a face straight outta magazine."