The Runner ➳ Narry (Book One)

Chapter Twelve

(Louis' POV)

I plopped down in frustration on the reclining chair.

 I don't get why he can't just take his stupid pills, it'll help. He's never once snapped at me, or pushed me around or even slightly raised his voice. I've seen him do all those things to other people, many other people. But never to me.

 Ever since I've met him, I knew he was troubled. Maybe the fact that a little, freshly kicked out sixteen year-old wanted to take up a job as a drug runner gave it away, or maybe it was how he always had purple bags under his eyes and bloody knuckles. 

I remember letting him live with me in my old flat while we worked together, how he would just sit on my sofa and stare straight ahead at the wall like he was crazy. I was convinced that he was for a while, but he quickly started to warm up to me. I would always find that he was so interesting to just sit and watch. 

The way he would constantly pull at his hair and breath deep sighs, narrowing his eyes at the ground like he was trying to figure out if he hates the world or not. I took a lot of the time just to study him, his moods and what he was thinking about. 

Eventually I got him to open up. Spill me all his secrets and thoughts. It was like he looked to me for answers and orders, like I was his brother or something. I could technically say I was his brother, it sure feels like it. 

Although I am only two and a half years older than him, I feel like his guardian. Sure, he's extremely tough and can take a hit, but when it comes to being responsible and independent, he needs that extra support to back him up.

Now that I think about it, I feel horrible about the whole Paris thing. In all honesty, maybe I did purposely cut contact with him. He needed to learn what life without a guardian or support system was like.

 My busy schedule ended up taking over anyways. But now that I'm back, that empty feeling in my heart is filled again. I never realized it was there until Harry came home last night. I had already unpacked my stuff into the spare part of the small dresser in his bedroom and payed this months rent since I knew Harry probably couldn't. I know he'll most likely freak out on me for doing it, but hey, what are uninvited roommates for?

I had enough money for the both of us, most of it coming from the flat that I had sold before taking off to Paris. The pay from the dealer over there was shit, but like always, I found a way to get loads of cash.

 I have plans to move Harry out of this dump of a flat and to a nicer place, but that will have to wait. For now, we'll both have to learn to live together again. We had both lived in separate flats for about two years. With constant visits, though.

Now, I was sitting on the plush recliner in Harry's living room, thinking over the recent events that took place in the kitchen. I raised my hand to my chest, feeling over the plane where I could already tell a bruise was forming from earlier. I took a minute to let that run through my mind, Harry bruised me.

"Lou?" I heard Harry's voice from the living room door. I looked up to see him leaning against the frame, his hands intertwined in front of him and his face white as the walls in the room.

"Are you okay?" I asked, standing up. It looked like he was going to be sick. His eyebrows were slightly creased, making him seem almost worried. I knew this look too well.

"Yeah," he said after a pause. "I'm okay."

I stood up and walked over to where he was standing, placing a palm on his clammy forehead. He wasn't warm, but he was still white as ever. "Who called?" I asked, letting my hand fall back to my side.

Harry's eyes darted around the room, his mouth staying glued shut. His brows narrowed as if he was concentrating really hard. "No one," he finally replied.

I sighed. "I can tell you're lying." He shifted back and forth on his feet, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued ignoring eye contact. I rose my arm and touched his waist, his green pools immediately snapping to my attention. "Who was it?" I asked softer.

Harry's eyes flickered down to my hand on his waist before replying. "The man from last night."

My mouth fell open slightly. "How did he get your number?"

"I don't know. He wants me dead, though," Harry said as if it was no big deal, but I knew he was internally freaking out. I softly slapped my palm to my face, dragging it down in frustration. "What did you do to him?" I asked.

Harry backed away, putting his hands up in defence. "I didn't do shit, he stabbed me! I should be the one giving death threats here."

"Don't say that, Harry," I snapped back. "A criminal record will get you no where."

"Like you're one to talk, Louis! You rob stores like it's your fucking life goal!" I was taken aback. Harry knew the reason I had to rob stores and what got me started. He does it with me all the time!

"I've been back for a day, Harry. Stop picking fights with me," I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest. I was a bit hurt by him bringing up my actions like that. It's not like I was proud of myself. I'm not one to talk, yeah I get that. But he should at least see where I'm coming from.

Harry scoffed and threw his hands up. He paused for a moment before locking eyes with me again. His face was fallen back down into it's normal expression. "Okay. Sorry."

I just nodded and brushed past him, heading back to the kitchen. I heard him follow me with heavy footsteps. I walked to the front door and grabbed my coat from the hook, sliding into it.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked as I slipped on my black Vans.

"It's nearly ten," I said, pointing at the digital clock visible on the microwave from the front door. "We should get going."

Harry's eyes held a hint of confusion for a moment, like he wasn't aware it was already that late. Without saying anything, he slipped on his old white converse as well, and grabbed his jacket.