Young & Beautiful

drama, then?” And the real question is there, beneath the words.
Harry shakes his head, smile never wavering.
“No drama. I think he’s on his medication again. Should be quiet for awhile.”
And Louis nods, smiling.
Because they’ve begun to talk about things. Now that Louis knows, knows everything, they can
speak about the subjects that they had skirted before, can bring the issues into the light of day.
And they don’t always have to be so serious, so heavy and drenching. They can smile around the
words and keep eye contact and it’s nice.
But there are those dark days, too.
And Louis expected them, understands the sleepless nights in Harry’s stare and the empty
slackened lips. But even those are different now, too.
Because, one day, something different happened.
It was while they were in Harry’s rooms, lounging about and lazily finishing up their homework
before meeting up with the lads for dinner at their favorite restaurant. Amidst happy chatter, some
piano, and lots of tea, Harry received a phone call that furrowed his brow and pressed his eyes
together tightly, lips pursing.
It was a fairly common occurrence—unsettling calls from probably Des that Harry would receive,
causing him to mutter quietly into the phone as he’d depart for the other room, speaking just low
enough for Louis not to hear. Only long after the call’s been ended would he emerge, always
presenting himself with a calm expression, beaten into indifference.
So that day, as usual, Harry’s voice dropped upon answering, his low rumble carrying through the
room as Louis frowned, immediately making to distract himself. He sat at Harry’s desk, focusing
on not focusing on Harry’s voice, ignoring the pitter patter of worry inside and trying desperately
not to eavesdrop. He took Harry’s quill, dipped it in the black, soupy ink, then began sprawling
pointless black lines on the paper before him, watching the ink stain and bleed the paper.
Permanently. Irreparably. Watched as it dried and solidified.
And then suddenly, something unexpected happened.
Harry emerged from his room, face very nearly crumpling, eyebrows knitted together tightly,
phone still pressed to his ear. He didn’t look at Louis, not once. He just walked to him, silently,
small step by small step, until he reached the desk.
Louis looked up from his chair, surprised and concerned, watching his face carefully, but Harry
only perched on the edge of the surface, facing Louis’, left knee pressed against Louis’ right.
He continued to speak, voice low.
“Just don’t, yeah?” he said, sad. His eyes were closed.
Louis swallowed, watched his face, unsure of what this was, what was happening. He’d never
been allowed to listen before.
“I can’t go home. I have school,” Harry said, and now his voice was pained but he schooled
himself into control, swallowing and keeping his shoulders firm. “No, Dad.”