FINGERTIPS ║ Larry Stylinson

7 ║ Just A Word

July 9th

Louis was sitting with Harry on his bed, he was watching him, leaning on the mattress, sitting cross-legged, his fingers trying to run on the paper, the frown over the younger boy's face was getting worse and worse through the minutes. The director of the school agreed to lend a Braille alphabet book to Louis and he couldn't thank him enough for that. It was about 5pm, Louis was secretly trying his best to avoid Tamara, he hadn't answer the phone and had ended up by turning it off before coming, he didn't want to face her, he was still scared about what could Zayn have possibly said to her. The questions was running in his brain, it seemed like he was even able to hear it, said by his own voice, he felt like becoming crazy, a bit more crazy each day. He could feel that heavy weight on his chest and it didn't want to leave, staying there, getting heavier and heavier, taking his breath away from his lungs. It was getting so painful, anxiety was so heavy and huge on his stomach, making him puke sometimes and he wanted to stop all of this. He slid his hands in his hair, running his fingers through it, pulling a bit without really noticing. It was eating him, devouring his brain slowly, he couldn't even think straight anymore and he hated that. Who would like that anyway? He felt something patting his ankle gently making him look down at the thin, long fingers next to his foot, his eyes went up to look at Harry, his head a bit up, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes?"

His hand let his hair go and he put his own fingers on his knees, tapping his skinny jeans with the tips of his fingers. He looked at Harry's face, always covered by his sunglasses, he wanted to see his eyes, why hiding them? He wanted to rip them from his face and throw them somewhere he wouldn't be able to go.

"I got the first letters but..." Harry started, his cheeks getting a strong shade of red.

He was working on that book for an hour or so, at first, Louis was explaining how to find the good letter, then he just sat and watched him learn. It was a beautiful thing to be witness of. Most of the time, his eyes never left Harry's face, he wanted to read on his face if he was understanding or not. Because Harry wasn't big of a talker, he wanted to keep his problems to himself, he wouldn't have said it if he didn't understand. That was probably why Louis was a bit surprised by what the younger boy had just said. Maybe he didn't know him since years but he was pretty fast to grasp people and how they worked.
Louis stood up and walked toward Harry, standing beside him, looking down at the Braille book, he climbed on the bed behind him. In a slow move, he covered the back of Harry's hands with his palms, pressing his fingers against Harry's ones. Harry's heart tightened in his chest, blood running faster and faster through his body, he froze at the touch. The feeling of the touch around his hand felt so weird, that wasn't a bad thing though, well he didn't really know. It was just a strange feeling here, trapped in his chest. It was making his heart beat faster. It was making his hand sweat. It was putting knots in his throat and making his lungs heavier. Louis' cold skin was almost freezing Harry's hot one, but he didn't pull away. He surprisingly felt safe there, Louis' chest pressed against his back. He didn't say a word although thousands of them were getting through his messed up mind, his mouth was almost closed, a thin gap was forming between his lips, helping him to breathe properly. He kept his head down, more down than ever and it was tugging on his bones, the back of his neck started to hurt but he couldn't raise his head. If he did, he knew it would interlock in the crook of Louis' neck, and he didn't want that to happen. It was already embarrassing for him. He was trying to breathe as calmly as possible, but it was hard, his heart was jumping so fast and was making his lungs work so quick, that was causing him chest pain. He felt Louis moving their fingers together against the paper, his own skin meeting the irregularities that were supposed to help him to read: there were four this time, square-shaped. He thought about the last letter he learnt, which was a "F", so he said, in the lower voice possible: