me, him, and the moon ☾ l.s.

three - never enough

After dropping Niall off at his house when their shift ended, Harry walked slowly along the main street. It was almost fully dark, only a few remnants of gray-ish purple clouds in the dusty sky as dusk fell on their tiny town. He dragged his feet, not quite ready for the day to end. He was plenty exhausted, and he just wanted to fall into his bed and sleep, but he still felt empty.

Before he knew what was happening, tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over and streaming down his cheeks in hot trails. Harry swiped furiously at them. He wasn't even sad -- he was just so, so tired. So drained from putting everything he had into that healing session, and so empty.

And he missed Louis. He couldn't help worrying about the older boy whenever he had to leave.

To make matters more complicated, Harry couldn't stop replaying the conversation he had with Niall. Since they met on Harry's initiation night, he and Louis had been close. They were even closer than him and Niall, even though he worked long hours with the Irish boy nearly every day. Harry couldn't explain the connection he felt with Louis; from the very minute they met in the woods four years ago, Harry just knew that Louis would never let anything happen to him.

That night, he had shared his deepest, darkest secret with a complete stranger, and instead of running for the hills, Louis had stuck right by his side from that moment forward.

Harry entered his house silently, never wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself when he was at home. He headed straight for the stairs, planning to come down for something to eat later in the night, after his father had already gone to bed.

"Do anything interesting today?"

And Harry froze at the bottom of the stairs. He cleared his throat before he answered his father's question, but his voice still sounded thick with emotion. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he replied shortly, still keeping his face hidden and avoiding eye contact.

"You've been crying?" His father laughed, but the sound didn't hold any joy. It was ruthless and bitter, and a shiver of fear scurried down Harry's spine. "Of course you have. Can't even handle playing doctor. You're weak."

Harry swallowed hard, turning to face his father fully. He knew from experience that hiding from the older man would just make things worse. "I'm not weak. I saved a man's life today."

"Yeah, sure. You saved his life. You only saved him because you're a freak." His father took a step closer, and Harry tensed up to keep himself from flinching. "Nothing you do has anything to do with you. You're weak, and you're a coward. The only reason you can pretend you have any use around here is because of your magic, yet if anyone on the council found out, they would throw you out on the streets."

"I'm not --"

"How does that feel, hmm? Knowing that the only thing you're good for could also cost you your life. Could turn your entire pack against you."

Harry bit his lip, refusing to give his father the satisfaction of knowing how deeply his hurtful words really affected him.

"Answer me," the older man ordered, crossing the room to stand directly in front of Harry.

Harry didn't say a word. He didn't move. He barely dared to breathe, keeping his eyes locked securely on the floor in front of him.

His father growled angrily, and then pain shot through Harry's face, his head snapping to the side. He didn't actually feel the claws scraping on his face until a few seconds after his father hit him; the shock dulled the sharp pain of the initial contact, but his cheek quickly settled into a dull, throbbing ache. Harry lifted his hand to brush his fingers over the wound, accidentally spreading the blood already dripping down his face onto his fingertips.