Young & Beautiful

“You can’t help that,” Harry says quietly, never looking up.
“I know that. He doesn’t.”
“Have you tried to speak with him?”
And what are all these questions?
Louis jiggles his leg, taps his pen. “Sort of. But he’s not having it, trust me. But I really couldn’t
give a fuck, so. Whatever.”
The bowed, curly head finally lifts from the page. “He’s your father.”
“He’s a bad person,” he replies simply, forcefully.
Harry goes back to looking at his book.
More silence.
Louis taps out a beat onto the armrest.
He sees Harry swallow. Then:
“Do you know who my father is?”
The question is asked so quietly and lightly, Louis momentarily thinks he may have envisioned it
within. But, no, Harry’s most definitely said it, and he’s nibbling his lip, brows tugging together,
staring unblinking at the same page.
Harry has never spoken about his father to Louis. Never. Not directly, anyway. And Louis knows
this, Harry knows that Louis knows this, and everything feels important right now as Louis’
stomach clenches and he resists the urge to walk over to Harry, rip the book out of his hands, grab
his shoulders, and find a little bit of reality in the shade.
Instead, he sits in his chair, clutching his pencil so tightly he fears he may snap it in half. “Yeah,”
he replies truthfully.
Harry nods, mostly to himself. “I’m sure you’ve heard all sorts of things.”
“Yeah,” Louis repeats.
Harry nibbles harder on his lips.
“I’m—“ he stops, blinks hard. He looks up from the book but stares only at the wall, eyes wide
and glassy, with a touch of fear in the corners. “I’m not sure if he’s a bad person or not,” he admits
quietly, whisper soft, and it’s said so fearfully and so confusedly, that Louis has to physically
restrain himself from gathering the boy in his arms and embracing his demons away.
Because fuck. He’s staring at the broken, jagged bits of Harry right now. And it’s painful. It’s
actually physically painful.
Louis says nothing, just stares and bites back his own prickling emotions. “How is he?” he dares
to ask, opting for that instead of ‘where is he.’
But he imagines Harry’s reply would have been much the same:
“I don’t know.”