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

XIV. "The Prince of the Underworld"

It wasn't expected that as the days went by Harry spent them in his bed, curled up and crying. He couldn't simply forget that while everyone was having a great time with his current father, his real father's soul was in hell, being tortured over and over again by who knows what thing, since Louis was with him. Lately, he had been spending time with him, and all because the boy was extremely depressed. The guilt was really eating him up, and the presence of the Devil made everything worse.

It was when the latter realized it that he decided to put an end to it.

—I'm leaving. —The Devil stood up after he had been sitting for a while on the edge of his favorite boy's bed, who was wrapped in sheets sobbing, lamenting that he was on the same level as bad people.

Louis wasn't just going to leave because Harry was too deteriorated to keep him company, there was also the fact that he had to hear things that weren't true. Why did the curly boy take all the blame, when it was the entity that decided to send the imbecile to hell? Why did he dirty his own hands when all there was in them was softness and gentleness? What did he want to provoke in the Devil by punishing himself mentally like that?

The curly boy whose nose is red, his eyes slightly swollen and full of tears, and curls stuck to it, becomes visible after a few long minutes where he kept it hidden under the covers. —W-what?

—You're too poorly, too deteriorated. I'm going away, at least for two days. —And, fucking hell, he wasn't asking. He was just going to do it.

Harry stands, clumsily advancing towards the beautiful man in front of him, clinging to his arm. Both are surprised by the boy's lack of stability, the tremor that is beginning to take hold of his body, and the way his breathing cuts.

—No. No, n-no. Don't leave, p-please... —He inhales sharply, and his chest tears with every sob. The Devil can feel it in his own flesh, and although he feels only slight prickles in his chest, he knows Harry feels it all too much. —I-I'm... I'm sorry.

—Harry. —He approaches the child, noticing him to be really pale. He gently passes one of his arms behind the curly's back, and the other under his legs. He brings his nose to his angel's brown curls and sighs over them, cradling him against his chest. —Little one...

It was amazing what the human could do to him just by mentioning the fact that he needed him.

—I don't know what I'll do without you, please, I... —He squeezes his fingertips against his shirt, on the Devil's shoulder. —I don't...

Louis starts to walk to the bathroom, and when he gets there he leaves his favorite boy on the toilet seat, leaning him against the wall. He doesn't tell him to stop crying when it increases, he just walks to the bathtub and starts filling it with warm water while taking off his shirt and shoes, leaving him in his pants. Once the bathtub is full, he approaches his boy and begins to forcefully undress him until he is in his underwear, holding him and carrying him to the bathtub.

He got in and put Harry on his chest, taking his ringed hand to the water and running it over the boy's face as he stirred to try to breathe. Finally tired, Louis took him by the face and stared at him.

—If you don't calm down, I'm going to dip you.

Harry holds his breath for a few seconds and releases it slowly and shakily through his nose, but the crying doesn't abandon his chest and he can't help sobbing a couple of times, sticking his cheek against the warm chest of the king of the underworld.

—Don't go, please. I-I don't know what to do... —He sobs louder, about to start crying again.

Louis quickly begins to leave soft kisses on his cheek and then on his neck, holding him more against himself. —Stop crying, I'm not leaving.