Bleu; larry stylinson [Top!Harry Cop!Harry Bottom!Louis]

6. Hope is a Dangerous Thing.

"you have within you a deciding force that knows what to receive, what to turn from." —Rumi
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Pre-note: I changed the last part of the previous chapter to 'I' instead of 'we'. so it's just Anne's cafe.
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She still looked the same. Her brown hair parted at the side and the length falling to her shoulders. Her face was radiating the same kindness as her eyes, and her lips stretched into their signature charming smile. "Oh my." She holds her hand over her mouth. Then, she surges forward.

Louis grunts, Anne's arms are tight around his neck. She holds him tight and pets his head.

"You haven't grown at all." She whispers as she pulls away. "It's so great to see you." Anne mumbles. Her gaze turns to Harry, the tall man standing not too far. "Why didn't you tell me Louis came to visit?"

Louis stiffens, and Harry clears his throat. "Mom, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?"

Anne's face twists in confusion, before nodding slowly. She hugs Louis one last time and runs her fingers through his fringe. She points to the back of the cafe. "Just go sit in that booth and I'll bring you something to eat." She offers him a tiny smile and follows after her son.

Louis takes his time walking to the booth. He touches the texture of the bar, the little grooves in it matching with some of the polished logs visible in the ceiling. He is drawn to a bigger picture on the wall behind the counter. It's in a white frame and displays Anne, Harry, and his father. The small hand-written date in the bottom corner states it was taken two years ago. It was of the trio, in full ski gear with big smiles on their faces. Harry was the happiest, the happiest Louis' ever seen him. It was somewhat relieving to see such a joyous expression on the cold man's face. Once Louis sits in the back booth, Harry and his mother return.

Anne walks closer, holding a tray with two bagels and three steaming cups. "I'm going to open later in the day—"

"Mom," Harry frowns in disapproval, the tip of his hat crooked.

"Shush, I'm my own boss, remember?" Anne places the tray before Louis as Harry sits in the booth after taking a bagel and tucks himself in the corner with a newspaper.

Anne sits down, taking the cup with two hands. She blows on the liquid, her attention on Louis. "Now, how are you, dear?"

Louis prepares himself to reply but Harry beats him to it. "Mom," He says, this time he gives her a look.

Anne breathes out and purses her lips. "How are your parents, Louis?"

The smaller boy instinctively glances at Harry before quickly looking away. He didn't need the man to answer for him. "My mom is good. She came by the other day." He shuts his eyes. "My dad," his voice trails off, "he passed."

Anne wastes no time in taking his hand and holding it tight, giving him comfort with a gesture that often goes overlooked. "Oh, honey. What happened?"

Louis' vision goes blurry. "Druck driver." As Anne brushes her thumb over the back of his hand, for a second Louis thinks about Harry, who never asked about his dad. To Louis, that meant he didn't care—but Anne cared, she always did.

The pressure is too much and Louis changes the subject. He tries to turn the attention away from the lone tear streaming down his cheek to Anne. "I love your cafe."

Bless Anne's soul because she lets him go. "I bought it the year after we moved here. An elderly couple decided to sell it to travel the world." The adoration in her face is obvious. "They send me postcards still." She tells a story about how she got used to the new environment and Louis listens eagerly, feeling a great weight lift off his shoulders as she rambles on and on.

Two minutes later, when she's in the middle of talking about her first experience with a wild moose, the cafe phone rings from its place on the counter. Anne excuses herself and goes to take the call in the kitchen. As Anne leaves, Louis takes a long sip of his hot chocolate. "Harry." The man hasn't said a word since scolding his mother.

The green-eyed man glances up from the newspaper. "Hm?"

Louis cradles his arms around himself. "Did you tell your mother about me?"

"Today I did."

Louis tries to bury his suspicions. Harry's family were incredibly close to one another, he remembers that from back in London. They shared everything with each other. "You didn't tell her when I got here?"

Harry sighs softly. "No."

Jasper was a small town, no doubt. A part of Louis thought his face would be plastered on every news channel and newspaper since his arrival. All news-worthy stories are the talk of the town. "How did your mother not know about me?" He asks.

Harry folds the newspaper then clasps his hands on the table. "Liam thinks Jackson's parents are keeping their family name out of the papers to keep their reputation clean." Harry's voice lowers. "If word got out about their son... and the things he did to you, they'd lose all credibility. With credibility comes power, and they want to stay on top."

Louis' face immediately falls, the Millard's were that concerned with their image that they would completely disregard what their son did. Louis feels so vulnerable and bare, so small and insignificant. After everything he went through, not a single person in Jasper knows. It came back in a rush, his emotions piling on top of him like a million tonnes and sinking him into the water. He's drowning.

"Louis," Harry calls gently. He could practically see the thoughts running through Louis' head. "We're going to find Jackson, okay?"

At that moment, Louis sees a small sliver of sunlight shine in Harry. It was tiny, but it was there. It was warm.

"Promise?" The London boy's voice was quiet that Harry had to strain his ears to hear him.

The officer takes a long look at the boy before him. Louis' blue eyes pooling with tears, dark bags under them, his cheeks and nose red. His shoulders curved in a way that made him appear smaller and more delicate. All the bitterness Harry held for Louis is thrown out the window. "I promise."

Those two words gave Louis hope, but hope is a dangerous thing.

NOTE: hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have - but i have it BY lana del rey bitches