*WARNING* Drug use and nonconsensual sex
When Harry gets home, after he's dragged his sore body up the stairs, he lays on the tile floor under the scalding hot water in the shower, fully clothed, until it runs freezing cold over him. He tries to cry, to do something to make his body feel normal, but he can't. It's like his soul was torn from his body and left on that floor.
He scratches at his skin and scrubs the parts of his body that aren't covered in clothes trying to clean himself of the night. It doesn't work. When he looks at himself in the mirror, his tongue is still blue from the pills, his skin is red, bruised, and cut from his nails, and there's still bright red lipstick stuck to his skin like a tattoo.
"You're a part of my job," Louis spits back trying not to sound irritated. Louis knows he's right; he knows that he bends his rules for Harry, that he gives him special treatment, that he gives Harry more of himself than anybody else gets.
"Okay," Harry finally says. "I understand. I just thought," Harry sighs. "It doesn't matter, are you ready to go in?"
Louis presses his lips into a line wishing he had said anything else to Harry than what came out of his mouth.
But it's there, it happened, and it's hanging in the air between them like a thick fog.