"Can you shut the fuck up !!, English , do you speak English?" Harry groaned sliding his large hand down his face in frustration because of the small blue eyed boy in front of him .
"je veux aller a la maison" Louis sobbed brokenly , shoulders shak...
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Il était charmant, imprudente et a vu le jour même si le monde autour de lui était devenu sombre ; froid et souvent amère.
Louis paused , rubbing a small finger over the fresh red apple in front of him - Grand-père made them every summer while the weather was warm and crisp , he said often that rain was its special touch making sure to settle deep into the core of the apple and birth a work of Amour.
He did not eat the Apple, stared of course , touched and praised its defined beauty but never sinking teeth into its flesh beginning to rip it apart piece by piece , flesh by flesh , seed by seed .
The Apple had history- a story told down from generations from father to son , father to son but somehow stopped with Louis Père right after he left for Britain never to return only sending small soft detailed cards promising to be home again to eat the red Apple , read all the stories Louis has written and a necklace; a heart necklace that matched perfectly.
Louis sighed tracing the necklace between his fingers and slowly the thoughts of his Père became distant and tasteless almost - how did Père even smell ?
Sweet like the wine Grand-mère made for special occasions, bitter like the cigarettes he shared with older men or like pine painfully a reminder.
" oh Louis , Your Grand-mère said you'd be out here ." A deep voice spoke , Rose to be exact , a man that sometimes Louis would share his nights with - in his bed , nude skin to skin and lips against lips .
Rose dark blue eyes and dirty blonde hair , Rose who had a wife and beautiful children- Rose that took his virginity... Rose that left marks of shame on his skin .
He laid on his stomach on the fresh grass beside Louis , grabbing a few stray white threads from the small boys puffy dress .
"Are you not speaking to me ?"
" your wife needs you , please leave ."
Rose chuckled , a man that find everything humorless but chuckled for the aftermath of confirming to social standards- (you laugh ).
Louis breathed hitched when the man moved closer , no one was around but the trees : the trees that whisper "we saw you take your clothes off here for him , are you doing it again ?"
The flower fields that sing " remember you rode him so sinfully that night on your birthday?"
The apples that whispered in his language, in his tongue and brought tears in his eyes "N'oubliez pas vous avez dit que vous aimiez, n'oubliez pas garçon."
He pushed away when hand touched his skin , shivered when lips whispered apologies against neck .
"Je suis désolé, tellement Désolé" Rose said softly gripping the firm skin of hips above the fluffy dress , Louis struggles some refusing to cry right here - cry where he once cried years ago as his father left .
"Louis , chere, it's something important "Grand-mère spoke hastily, eyes red and hair in a state of complete mess - Rose quickly released his grip getting up and dusting himself off as if innocent: as if freed.
He could only imagine what might have happened and one being death for this look , the look on his Grand-mère was the exact look she had when his Père left .
The day once sunny had turned dark , Rose stood silently and Louis fell to the ground head first with tears in his eyes as Grand-mère held him tight .
Who I picture Rose as is Armie hammer from cmbyn .. his character is slightly important
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