Charlie. (Larry Stylinson)

Blithe.

Styles' Household.

[Charlie's Room]

Charlie had reached another point of being emotionally drain; another night of sleep deprivation. He was starting to feel traumatized, lost in his thoughts where he had to deal with a world without one of his fathers. He never really thought he would see the day coming, a day where his papa would take his last breath. He tossed and turned, he groaned and even pulled on his hair, trying to find some sort of comfort. He kicked the duvet off of him, and then made his way off the bed. His footsteps were light, though his feet dragged along the softness of the carpet. He walked the hall, shoulders gliding across the wall, causing one of the framed-pictures to tilt. He situated it, eyes gazing into the photo. It was the one with Louis and Harry's hands cupping his small, four day old body as he rested peacefully within their palms. It was a time of simplicity; a time when he had opened his eyes for a moment and saw life for what it would be - the love that his parents had bestowed upon him. Harry could still love him, right? Even in heaven?

"What are you doing up?" Charlie was startled, nearly jumping out of his flesh and bone. Louis stood at the doorway of his room, eyes droopy and rosy. Charlie could tell that he had been crying. It was something he had grown accustomed to because, at the end of the day, he had to sleep in the bed a that Harry once slept in. It was complex for Charlie to envision what it was like to not wake up to someone aside him every morning; but he still knew the amplitude of how much it was hard to cope. Louis was strong, but not as strong as he was with Harry; and it would take some time for him to get back to that point in his life.

"Couldn't sleep," Charlie mumbled, hair disheveled and heart slightly thumping against his chest. Exhausted bones and weary eyes became somewhat of a trend in their household. Louis nodded - he understood.

Charlie lied in bed with his father that night, his papa's journal upon his lap.

September 6, 1988.

Louis' his name, something like delicacy and sweets; eyes a different shade of blue than Niall's; and beautifully so. I wasn't expecting him to answer the door, briefs on with a long shirt. His legs were short, but thick and smooth. He asked for my reasonings for being there, attitude somewhat impatient; and I could easily pinpoint that he was having family issues and adjustment complications, being in a new neighborhood and all. I offered him a free newspaper, just a sample; and it wasn't long before his mother [Jay] appeared and signed up, enthusiastically; she deemed it was being the first step into fitting into the neighborhood. Louis, on the other hand, retreated, leaving nothing behind but tension, awkwardness, and an eye roll. His briefs clung tightly to his bum, the outline of it shown perfectly. I suddenly found myself blushing, instantly mumbling a 'thank you' before scrambling away.

That was the first time I ever questioned my sexual preferences; the first time I had even looked another male in a way that led me to fantasizing; left my mind to wander to places that would make even a nun blush.

Charlie quickly closed the journal, cheeks rosy. The mere thought of his parents ever being affection or flirtatious was enough to numb him. "He was always a pervert," Louis chuckled. Louis smiled. He smiled, Charlie realized.