you're cold and I burn (on hold)

connect at any point. He doesn’t h<strong>and</strong>le stress well, so it makes him want to throw himself into the
dewy grass lawn <strong>and</strong> just lay there, get lost in the stars <strong>and</strong> pretend he’s not letting himself get tied
up in this whole thing. He wants to stare ahead, breathe in the cool air even though it’s bitterly
<strong>cold</strong> in his lungs, clear the palette, <strong>and</strong> at the same time he wants to pry further into Harry’s past.
He wants everything <strong>and</strong> nothing all at the same time.
He opts to take a seat on the frozen concrete instead.
It’s so <strong>cold</strong> that it’s making his bum go numb but he can’t bring himself to care. He might catch
pneumonia out here without a jacket, but he’s giving himself a few more minutes to recompose
<strong>and</strong> put on a face that says, ‘no, I didn’t just find out something about you that you like to keep
hidden. And no, I’m not going to use it to my advantage to get to know you more.’ He’s always
been awful at lying. But, if reading the full exposé on Harry’s backstory is even close to a
possibility, Harry can’t know his intentions. And Louis feels awful, but he’s too curious <strong>and</strong> it’ll
drive him crazy not to know, why is Harry ashamed of this?
An obnoxious vibration breaks his thought <strong>and</strong> Louis sighs, reaching into his back pocket to grab
his cell. It’s only when he sees his father’s number does he feel the way he’s instantly nauseous,
this timing couldn’t have been any worst. Nonetheless, he slides to answer, pulling the speaker to
his ear <strong>and</strong> hoping his voice is strong <strong>and</strong> uncaring, “Hello, dad.”
“Louis, how are you, son?”
“Addressing me as your son, eh? Guess you forgot you were embarrassed by me.” Louis
responds, bitter <strong>and</strong> distant, sarcasm so strong he can taste it in the thin air.
“Please, don’t start.” His father sighs, tired. Louis doesn’t care. “I was going to ask you
something, but I need you to listen instead of trying to make digs at me, okay?”
“Shoot.”
“My company is hosting a dinner, all the workers <strong>and</strong> their families will be there. I want you <strong>and</strong>
Liam to attend with me.”
“I’d rather die, honestly.” Louis st<strong>and</strong>s, walking back to the flat because the air is suddenly too
<strong>cold</strong> <strong>and</strong> it’s raising goosebumps all over his arms.
“It’s not really a choice, Louis. You need to be there, it’s already known that you <strong>and</strong> Liam are
my sons, if I had the option to only bring Liam along, I would.”
“Of course you would. Only bring your golden boy so your work doesn’t know what a failure
you’ve raised, am I right?” Louis’ voice is accusing <strong>and</strong> rough, no hint of sincerity, never an
occurrence when he’s talking to his father.
“It’s not that. Liam is just more formal <strong>and</strong> composed.”
“You mean- Liam will kiss the ass of all your executives <strong>and</strong> play ‘pretty <strong>and</strong> perfect’ for your
squeaky clean image? He doesn’t run his mouth with loads of quick back h<strong>and</strong>ed comments, <strong>and</strong>
he won’t care when old, crusty men look down on him?”
“Exactly.”
“You can fuck off, I decline your shitty invitation.”
“Watch your mouth, have you no respect?” Offense is dripping in every word; it makes Louis
smile.