Strawberry Milk

11

They don't really talk about it. Louis tries asking Harry if he wants to get some professional help, or tell the police, orsomething. But Harry always closes up, starts sobbing and shaking, 'please Lou, I don't want to talk about it,' sob harder and then ask for strawberry milk. Louis will sigh, fetch him a glass, and then wrap his arms around him and hold him as tight as he needs.

(The fighting:

"Harry, the 'forgive and forget' method is shit! You don't forgive people like that; you don't forgive unforgivable things!"

"Get out."

"Harry-"

"Just get out!"

Louis would return the next day with an incoherent but genuine apology, lean against Harry's door and say it through the grain.

"Harry, Look. I'm really sorry for being that way yesterday. You're the one who went through it -well, you still are, I guess - I just- I don't want you thinking that what he did to you was okay, because it wasn't. Just - please let me in. I - I miss you.

The door would snick and Harry would be there with open arms and an apology that he would mumble into Louis' neck.)

They grow closer, though. Harry isn't hiding anything else from Louis. He told him he was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused, and Louis never asked questions. He held in his quivering lip, and all the tears that threatened to fall from his cheeks, and was strong for Harry. Every little thing he closed off before, finally made sense. Louis understood, even if he didn't understand.

Louis spends most his days and nights with Harry. They don't share the same bed, but there is a sea of pillows and cushions and blankets on the floor, and they'll sleep there together.