the light's on but nobody's home || l.s

ii

harry

louis. the way his name rolls off harry's tongue is like pouring milk into a glass, the way it lands into it ever so smoothly. harry couldn't stop thinking about a set of blue enticing eyes ever since he had seen them.

he stares blankly at his reflection in the mirror, thinking about how dumb he is. why would he even think that a stranger would like him? he's just a damaged man who can't think rationally and does the most impulsive things without warning.

fuck. what have i gotten myself into, he thinks.

he breaks away from his own thoughts when he hears someone banging on the door, shouting incoherent words which harry took for as a sense of urgency.

"open this goddamn door or i swear to god i will piss on your floor!" the voice shouts. harry's eyes widen at the vulgar threat, surely an intentional accident wouldn't be necessary now, would it?

he quickly recollects himself, putting on a million dollar smile like he was some sort of puppet, a mere pleaser, as he opens the door of the bathroom and struts his way out, ignoring the thorns of glares being sent his way by the impatient lad.

"how are we doing here, beautiful ladies?" he purrs, kissing both the sparkly dressed women's knuckles and pretending to listen to what they were saying. he may or may not have internally puked at how much they awfully reeked of expensive perfume. sure, he likes to wear perfume too, but emphasis on the word wear not bathe in.

he walks over to the bar and pours himself a glass of red wine, swirling it a little, fascinated by that tiny tornado it forms whenever he does so. he takes a sip and proceeds to mingle with the other guests.

it's a fine sunday evening and he's surrounded by sparkly dressed people and endless champagne and music that was a tad too loud for his liking, he wanted to take it down a notch but decided against it. after all, he is a people pleaser.

after a few hours of mingling and a bunch of risqué comments and invitations from the guests, which he desperately wants to politely decline, but grits his teeth as he accepts them, he decides that the party should end as he was getting bored of everyone already.

with a few clinks to his wine glass, he announces, "i am truly sorry for this but the party must end now, unfortunately something personal has gone terribly wrong and i need to fix it as soon as possible, my apologies." which were lies. there wasn't any problem, except his own self.

he hated the look of disappointment and distaste from his oh so lovely guests and kindly escorted their way out, giving out a few thank yous and cheeky winks here and there, just to satisfy them.

as the last guest leaves, harry heads straight to bed and does not even bother to take a shower or at least change his clothes, despite the alcoholic odour that clings in the cold air of his room.

he lays down and stares at the ceiling, ruminating his life. what the hell is he? some kind of object to the society? something that people can just use and throw away however they like? harry knows that he's being used. he knows that everyone is phony and selfish and all they aim to do with him is use him again and again and again until he's worn out. he's like a prostitute but with nothing in return. like a fucking recycling bag except it doesn't help the world, instead it destroys his.

albeit his frustration, he knows better than to be just a puppet to society. he knows he can completely change his life and live normally. he knows he can put an end to this.

but he can't. not when his father is still alive and well.

and then there's another problem. that problem happens to be a cerulean-eyed man with feathery brown hair and cheekbones that could cut his fruits. he's aware that he shouldn't go out looking for someone to love, because he's sure that by the end of the day he'll get hurt and used, just like they all do.

he's meaningless and doesn't deserve to be loved and to be in love.

he runs his hand through his disheveled hair and shuts his eye, silently hoping that tomorrow brings nothing but joy, which we all know is a white lie he tells himself just so he can have some decent rest.