"Dancing with the Devil." | Larry Stylinson. TRANSLATION

X. "Loving The Devil Hurts"

Could it be that Death extracted the little desire he had to live? Could it be that he used to have a desire to live before the pain in his chest rose, and now he only felt that he had never wanted to breathe?

After leaving the church, his family pretended not to notice he was being weird. Anne asked a couple of times if he was alright because her son seemed to be having serious trouble walking, but since the reunion with his family brainwashed her -although what they thought was true, Harry had the devil with him- she didn't want to get too close. She was going to follow everything as planned, without ruining anything.

It was too literal for him to come home, walk down the steps, and go to sleep. He didn't even know when he fell asleep. The uneasiness was very strong, the pain in his chest too noticeable. He wondered if he was dying. He prayed that he was so that he would never feel this emptiness.

He woke up the next day and didn't know how long he had been looking at the ceiling, breathing heavily, weakly. Louis hadn't come back, and that sunk him deeper. He tried to keep in his head that he wasn't going to fall, he loved Louis. And he didn't want to die alone. He didn't feel as bad as the day before, at least he could stand, as long as he was leaning on something.

The day went as if nothing had happened, and no one but his sister asked him what was wrong. He could even hear his mother shushing her and continuing to pretend that everything was okay. He would tell Louis if he didn't kill him.

He went to high school and dressed in a big gray coat with black buttons. The cold pierced his bones, even in autumn. One day ago he was in shorts, and now he was shivering, his lips purple and skin pale. Luckily Fionn hadn't been there that day, and he could avoid all sorts of unanswered questions.

He returned home in his father's car with his mother a couple of hours later. He hadn't had a snack all day because the first thing he had drunk -a box of orange juice since he wasn't in the mood for breakfast- was now in the toilet. He had vomited it immediately and understood, apparently his body rejected anything that made him feel good.

Once he arrived, he didn't even greet his aunt and uncle, who were drinking tea in the living room. He noticed that his father was about to scold him for being rude, but he retreated instantly because he remembered the words of the Devil. He had to be very cautious.

Finally, he walked down the steps carefully, holding on to the railing and opening the door to his room, turning on the light and turning to close the door with a lock. He didn't want to see anyone. He sighed and turned, his heart flipping as he noticed the Devil a few inches away, at the other end of the room, to be exact.

He looked different.

His eyes were wide and red, his pupils very dilated, his jaw tense and his fists clenched as he kept lowering Harry with his gaze. The latter froze when he saw him like that because, come on, he was so stupid not to have thought about what the Devil would look like angry. Did he think he would be the precious Louis? The one who had held him in his arms while making love to him? The one who relieved his tears with precious words? No.

Silence reigned in the room for a few long seconds. Harry wasn't going to talk, it would be too disrespectful.

—...What did you do?

Would anyone believe him if he confirmed that he never had the fear that everyone has of Louis? If he swore that, despite being the Devil, he never saw how horrible, terrifying, and cruel he was? Could it be that he was so in love? The Devil's voice had come out so low, hoarse, and quiet that it was too chilling. He felt like crying, but with every impulse he wanted to give to sob, it seemed like nothing was coming out of his chest. Even his eyes, blurred with tears, wouldn't let go of a single one.