In My Veins - Chapter 7
pairing: arry/Louis
rating: ature
summary: arry Styles is an arrogant pop star who has fallen into a black hole of drugs and self-loathing. Dr. Louis Tomlinson is hired to fix the unfixable; but not if Harry has any say in it. Coauthored wit onedirection5 she writes even numbered chapters, I write odd).
Harry sat on the hideous purple couch, studying the tanned man perched on the mahogany desk with a brooding intensity. His gaze bordered on creepy, but the Cheshire boy either didn't realize what he was doing or simply didn't care. The target of his stare didn't seem to notice, continuing the monologue that Harry hadn't absorbed a single word of, if they were being honest. but suddenly the slim doctor was pushing himself off the desk, walking over to stand in front of his patient, sinking to his knees to plead with the boy and whispering "please Harry, you have to stop before you kill yourself, it isn't worth it please trust me, you do trust me, don't you?" and Harry found himself nodding and then the golden face was gravitating toward his own and all he could see was blue eyes, ocean blue and he was getting sucked in as they came ever closer, he was practically drowning in those waters, but then long eyelashes were closing over the blue and Harry could feel heat radiating off of the older boy's skin as their noses brushed, could feel his lids fluttering shut and lips parting in anticipation, just another moment and--
Harry jerked awake with a gasp, a sheen of sweat slicking up his pale skin and sheets tangled around his legs. The first thing that registered in his racing mind was that he was embarrassingly, achingly hard. He turned his face into the pillow, releasing an aggravated groan into it that vibrated throughout the bed frame. Louis had been a reoccurring theme in his dreams for some time now, but the NC-17 plot twists were a recent development. It was difficult for Harry to pay attention during their sessions when all he could think about was the way Louis had writhed underneath him on that cursed purple couch during his unbidden fantasies the previous night. It was becoming rather problematic, really, and Louis had clearly noticed his lack of focus; however, he hadn’t remarked on it. Harry figured that was because he took it as a great improvement from the normal snark and animosity that the singer usually treated him with so was willing to let it slide. Truthfully, Harry just couldn't muster the energy to constantly antagonize Louis anymore.
He was dreading the thought of the appointment he had with the therapist that afternoon, but not because of Louis. The spacious office now made Harry feel claustrophobic, much too warm and constricting for his liking.
Grabbing his phone off of his side table, he blearily tapped out a message to the contact labeled with a lazy LT:
"cant stand your office. we're going for coffee instead. marie's cafe at 3."
He pressed send and dropped the phone back into its original place before shoving both his hands down his boxers, allowing himself the wank he so desperately needed.
~
When Louis read the text he couldn't hold back a chuckle at the unapologetic bluntness. Even though it came from an unknown number, he could hear the boy's gravelly tone through the words as if he were actually speaking them. It was Harry all right. Louis was actually relieved by his patient’s suggestion; sessions had been painfully awkward as of late and the older boy wasn’t sure of the cause. Harry wasn’t being a cocky asshole anymore, but Louis almost wished he were; cocky asshole he could handle--had been handling for three months now--but this brooding, dreamy-eyed teen that had taken Harry’s place left Louis baffled. Without the almost easy routine of biting banter the two had fallen into over the past several weeks the conversations were stilted and slow, or occasionally nonexistent. Sometimes Harry just wouldn’t speak at all, leaving Louis to examine him in silence, or worse, push the normally composed man into babbling meaninglessly just to create some noise.
After replying with his agreement, Louis added the number to his contacts. Never know when it might come in handy.
~
When Louis arrived at the cafe that afternoon, he found Harry sitting in a corner booth nursing a comically large mug of coffee. Upon sitting down, he felt the table vibrating; Harry was jiggling his leg at an inhuman pace, causing the mug to rattle in its saucer.
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Double-shot espresso?”
“Decaf, actually,” Harry replied dryly.
The waitress came by and Louis ordered a large mocha with extra whipped cream, choosing to ignore the snort his choice of beverage elicited from the boy sitting across from him.
After a few minutes of both sipping their drinks, Louis decided to get the session rolling.
“So, Harry, I’ve actually been meaning to ask you how your songwri--” He hadn’t even managed the first sentence before Harry cut him off.
“How ‘bout instead of reviewing my pain and shortcomings for the umpteenth time, you tell me a little about yourself, Tomlinson? I’d hate to think this is a one-way relationship.” There was a cheeky glint in those green eyes as he lifted his mug back to his mouth to take a long, languid slurp.
Louis was caught off guard, much to the younger boy’s delight, and it was a moment before he managed to respond. “Me? Why would you possibly want to know anything about my utterly uninspiring life?”
Harry grinned, leaning back against the seat, leg still shaking like an overexcited Chihuahua. “I dunno doc, humor me. It just doesn’t seem fair that you get to know every intimate detail of my sorry life whereas I know next to nothing about you, now does it?”
Raising his hands in mock surrender, Louis ceded to the smug brunette. “Alright then, I see your point. But don’t blame me if you nod off into that monstrous cup, there is absolutely nothing exceptional or interesting in my life story that could possibly entertain you.”
“Try me.” Harry held his gaze unflinchingly, and Louis found himself squirming under the penetrating eyes that seemed to see straight through him. Thankfully the waitress appeared to refill Harry’s coffee, breaking the eye contact and saving the shorter boy from having to answer immediately; speech became a challenge and Louis’ words tangled and evaporated on his tongue under the scrutiny.
The waitress, petite and blonde and clearly undressing the curly-haired celebrity with her eyes, brushed her fingers up Harry’s arms with a wink and whispered “if there’s anything else you need, just give me a shout,” before sauntering off with hips swaying self-conciously, obviously anticipating that the boy’s stare would follow. Something dark and unbidden twisted in Louis’ stomach at the interaction, but when he looked back to Harry he saw that the lad’s vision was trained on his therapist’s mouth rather than the retreating back of busty blonde. The clench on his gut relaxed its grip, replaced by something warm and liquid and perplexing.
Louis cleared his throat, stalling while he grasped at the words that evaded him. “Well, I’m 22, born and raised in Doncaster. I enjoy long walks on the beach, drinking tea while watching reruns of Friends, and I hate cats but love dogs.”
Harry tut-tutted. “Come on now, Lou, this isn’t an eHarmony profile. I would think that after all the hours we’ve spent together we would be past this point.”
Louis chuckled, pleased by the singer’s jocular mood. “Fine. I hate cats because when I was six, my grandmother’s tabby used my blanket as a scratching post and shredded it to bits, and when I tried to reclaim my property she slashed me across my knuckles.” He immediately regretted his telling his story when he saw his dining partner’s expression.
With a grin that threatened to split his face in half, Harry adopted the tone of a grandmother cooing to her baby grandchild. “Aww, did the mean kitty eat little Louis’ blankie? That’s precious. I’m pretty sure I gave up all my comfort items by the time I was three, you must have been an emotionally stunted child...”
“Oh hush, I’ll have you know I’ve still got the battle scars to prove it.” Louis splayed his hands out on the table for the other boy to see. Sure enough, four thin white lines trailed over the delicate fingers, sharply juxtaposed against the sunkissed skin. Harry hunched over and gently pulled the hand into his own, pale against tan as he lightly traced the lines with the pad of his finger. Louis' breath hitched at the unexpected gesture, and he couldn't ignore the flutter in his chest as Harry's breath ghosted over his palm.
Although Louis was a bit distracted by the heat of Harry's skin, it registered that the boy's hand was trembling ever so slightly. Louis tucked this observation into the back of his mind for later consideration.
"With a wound like that, I'm shocked you made it out alive. She must have been some tiger." Harry's tone was nothing but serious, but there was undisguised mirth sparkling in his eyes.
Louis heaved a melodramatic sigh. "You know, if you're just going to make fun of me then we can go back to me psychoanalyzing you since that's what I'm getting paid for anyway."
Harry immediately dropped Louis' hand (Louis wasn't disappointed, no really, he wasn't) and folded his hands meekly in his lap. "My deepest apologies. I'll behave, I promise." Unsurprisingly, Harry didn't appear sorry in the least. "So what about school? Family and friends?"
The therapist adjusted his fringe while he considered his answer. Harry's eyes tracked the movement of his fingers as he raked them through his tousled hair. "School was nothing special, really. Got good grades, had a few good friends, played football. I was actually pretty good, that might surprise you." Louis looked up to gauge the other boy's response, but Harry merely nodded solemnly.
"You've definitely got the legs for it," the younger boy stated matter-of-factly. Louis choked on his mocha a just a little bit; was Harry flirting with him?
"Ahem. Yes. Thanks, I suppose. Where was I? Oh, right. Well, I met Liam at uni, we were roommates, and he's been my best mate ever since." Harry grimaced at that, much to the older boy's chagrin. "I went to uni to study to be a drama teacher, but after taking an Intro to Psychology course I realized I'd rather follow that path. Never really saw myself as a "Dr.," it always sounded so stuffy and formal, but hey, I've made it work." Louis gestured to his striped Toms and vividly turquoise skinny jeans for emphasis.
Harry snorted. "Yeah, out of all the professionals they've tried to send me to, you certainly stand out.” He slouched against the booth, his digits tapping an erratic rhythm on the stained table. “What about your family, if you’re anything to judge by they must be quite...unique.”
The grip around the mocha tightened and the blue eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
"My family...they're my everything. I've got four younger sisters, considerably younger actually, and since my dad was such a prick I kind of became their father figure. I mean, I'm still their big brother of course, but when my dad left my mum sort of fell apart so I ended up taking care of them more than I would have under normal circumstances. I don't resent it, though. I love them more than anything." Louis had a hazy expression on his face as he recalled all the tea parties, Disney marathons, sick days, and making tea for tearful preteen girls that had defined his later years at home.
Harry's eyes were uncharacteristically soft as they caught Louis'. "I can see that. I have a sister myself, older though. She and I used to be close, until--" the singer coughed uncomfortably, "--everything happened." He dragged his nails across his skin, scratching at an invisible itch. The table began to quiver as his leg resumed its shaking.
Louis took it all in with a professional eye; there was something Harry wasn't telling him.
"How ‘bout we take a walk, yeah?"
~
Soon they were strolling down the London streets, chatting about everything from last night's ManU match to Ed Sheeran's latest album.
"I'm not gonna lie, Small Bump makes me cry every time. Call me an emotional sap but that ginger has the voice of an angel and the heartwrenching writing abilities of Nicholas Sparks." Louis hummed a few bars, then theatrically wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye.
Harry laughed. "Oh, Ed's a good mate of mine, he's wonderful. He wrote a song off my last record, you know, the one that won Best Song at the Brits?"
The older boy smiled sheepishly, but before Harry could ask why, he began to sing in a high, but surprisingly clear voice, “get up, get out, get away from these liars, ‘cause they don’t know your soul or your fire.” The Cheshire boy joined him for the next line, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from rising. “Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine, and we’ll walk from this dark room for the last time.”
Grinning shamelessly, Harry quipped, “Well aren’t you just full of surprises.”
“What, I’ve done my research on you. I’m nothing if not thorough. And if that involves listening to a few gloriously sappy love songs then I won’t complain, I’m a sucker for the romance.” Louis winked at his companion, noting the way the other boy immediately bit his lip and averted his eyes, scratching his nails up his biceps and leaving faint red lines in their wake.
Louis decided that he’d held his tongue long enough.
“Harry, I don’t mean to pry--who am I kidding, it’s my job to pry--but something’s up with you. Mind telling me what’s going on?”
Running his unsteady hands through his curls, the taller boy hummed resignedly. “Um... well, if you must know, I’m... I’m going through a bit of withdrawal right now.”
The psychiatrist’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Oh! Alright. Erm... intentionally or not?”
Harry snorted. “Oh, how you underestimate me. If I wanted it I could get it, believe me. I haven’t used in two days and it sucks arse, to be quite frank. My hands won’t stop fucking shaking and my skin crawls and I can’t sit still. But this is nothing, just wait til tomorrow...” A bitter tone crept into his voice as his sentence trailed off ominously.
“But why?” Louis winced and backtracked quickly. “I mean, I’m thrilled of course, but why now? It’s not exactly breaking news that that shit is bad for you and it hasn’t seemed to bother you before. Are you trying to get clean or is this just a- a break?” He hated how insensitive and fumbling he sounded, and steeled himself for Harry’s potentially angry retort.
Much to his surprise, the boy’s voice was quiet and almost shy when he replied. “I- I’ve been thinking about what you said and... I want to quit. I want to try and get my shit together. Things have been going a little better for me lately and I guess I owe it to Niall and my family not to end up dead in a gutter. Mum would never forgive me for that.” The false joviality sounded harsh and grating on their ears, but before Harry could apologize for his lack of tact he felt a warm, firm weight slamming against his chest.
Louis didn’t know why he did it, didn’t know what compelled him to throw himself into the arms of the heroin-addicted patient that seemed to despise him (most of the time), but somehow he found himself with his arms wrapped around the boy’s neck, breathing in the musky scent of his coat. He felt Harry’s bony form freeze underneath his touch, but then large hands were sliding up his back tentatively, pulling Louis in a bit closer and holding him fast.
They stood there for an indeterminate amount of time, melded together in the middle of the quiet sidewalk. All Louis was aware of was the heat of Harry’s body, the way he could feel the press of the the boy’s ribs through the jacket, how Harry’s heartbeat hammered against Louis’ chest, shaking the pale boy’s thin frame to the core.
Louis finally drew back, blue eyes rising to meet green.
His hands raised of their own accord to cup the sharp jawline, and this time Harry didn’t flinch away. Louis let his palms graze down the side of the white column of Harry’s throat, over the shoulders and down the long arms until he was lightly gripping the Cheshire boy’s wrists.
He didn’t open his mouth, couldn’t break whatever fragile thread hung between him and the damaged musician. Louis just stood there, letting the green eyes bore through him, letting them consume his heart and soul.
And with a mere whisper, the scene shattered.
One instant the Louis was fighting the urge to burrow back into that lanky torso, and the next Harry was slamming a stubbled, middle-aged man up against the brick wall of the shop they were standing in front of.
“What did you just say?” Harry’s teeth were bared and his biceps were taught with the effort of keeping the potbellied man pinned to the building.
Fear flashed in the man’s squinty eyes, but he composed himself long enough to spit at his attacker, thankfully missing. “I said, you faggots should keep it in your pants. The last thing society needs is your type pawing each other in public.”
Harry snarled and raised his fist to strike the man’s sallow face, but Louis reached him in time to prevent the anticipated crunch of bone.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Harry?!” Louis dragged him away from their tormenter, thanking the stars that Harry was mere skin and bones, making it easy to subdue his straining body.
The man guffawed contemptuously, although his immediate leap to escape the singer’s grasp was not lost on the other two. “What, you gonna let your fairy boyfriend turn you into a pussy? Figures.” With that, he spun on his heel, wobbling slightly, and sped away.
Louis spun Harry around to face him. "Bloody hell, Haz! What was that?!"
"He called you a- said I was- jesus FUCKING christ, how do people like that even live with themselves?" Harry spluttered in reply, chest heaving and voice trembling with fury.
Pedestrians were starting to gawk at the pair, so the older boy grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him toward the lot where he had parked his car a couple blocks away.
Louis lowered his voice to evade the ears of the inquisitive witnesses. "Not to be a prick, but if I recall correctly you aren’t exactly the poster child for sensitivity towards the queers. And I may sound like a raging hippie but violence really isn't the most effective way to sort out disagreements. People like that only want a reaction and you gave it to him. It's ridiculous, but there's nothing pretty in the psychology of the insecure. Besides, he was referring to me. That makes it my problem."
"Except you're wrong. It's just as much my problem as it is yours." Harry was walking ahead of Louis now, and the doctor had to jog to catch up to his long, loping pace.
Louis sighed in exasperation. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Harry didn't reply until they reached Louis' silver Porsche, throwing out an arm to prevent the bewildered lad from getting into the driver's seat.
With a carefully guarded expression, Harry regarded his companion for a few seconds before speaking. Quietly, but clearly enough that Louis could make out every syllable, he whispered, "what...what would you do if I said I was gay?"
Louis could barely process anything other than the buzzing in his ears that followed the confession, but he saw the expectant look on the younger boy's face and scrambled for an appropriate response.
"Well, I'd probably bake you a cake and write 'congrats on the sodomy' over the top in rainbow icing, then maybe throw a coming out party and invite Elton John and the Village People... I dunno, if you gave me some preparation time I'm sure I could come up with something better."
Harry's entire face lit up in a breathtakingly sincere smile, and Louis couldn't help but think it was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen. Harry slipped his arms around the smaller boy's waist for a quick hug, murmuring "Thanks, Lou" against the elder's neck. The therapist could do nothing but grin in reply, not when the Harry's smell was filling his senses and the goofy smile was still directed at him.
They slid into the sports car, and the young celebrity turned to his doctor, legs quivering with nervous energy.
"So, uh, would you like to come over for dinner? I'm making my signature carbonara for Niall and I, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined us."
"I'd love to." Louis' answer came out quicker than was strictly necessary.
And as Louis watched Harry's pallid cheeks flush pink and the corner of his mouth tug up into a charming half-smile, he accepted that he was well and truly fucked.
rating: ature
summary: arry Styles is an arrogant pop star who has fallen into a black hole of drugs and self-loathing. Dr. Louis Tomlinson is hired to fix the unfixable; but not if Harry has any say in it. Coauthored wit onedirection5 she writes even numbered chapters, I write odd).
Harry sat on the hideous purple couch, studying the tanned man perched on the mahogany desk with a brooding intensity. His gaze bordered on creepy, but the Cheshire boy either didn't realize what he was doing or simply didn't care. The target of his stare didn't seem to notice, continuing the monologue that Harry hadn't absorbed a single word of, if they were being honest. but suddenly the slim doctor was pushing himself off the desk, walking over to stand in front of his patient, sinking to his knees to plead with the boy and whispering "please Harry, you have to stop before you kill yourself, it isn't worth it please trust me, you do trust me, don't you?" and Harry found himself nodding and then the golden face was gravitating toward his own and all he could see was blue eyes, ocean blue and he was getting sucked in as they came ever closer, he was practically drowning in those waters, but then long eyelashes were closing over the blue and Harry could feel heat radiating off of the older boy's skin as their noses brushed, could feel his lids fluttering shut and lips parting in anticipation, just another moment and--
Harry jerked awake with a gasp, a sheen of sweat slicking up his pale skin and sheets tangled around his legs. The first thing that registered in his racing mind was that he was embarrassingly, achingly hard. He turned his face into the pillow, releasing an aggravated groan into it that vibrated throughout the bed frame. Louis had been a reoccurring theme in his dreams for some time now, but the NC-17 plot twists were a recent development. It was difficult for Harry to pay attention during their sessions when all he could think about was the way Louis had writhed underneath him on that cursed purple couch during his unbidden fantasies the previous night. It was becoming rather problematic, really, and Louis had clearly noticed his lack of focus; however, he hadn’t remarked on it. Harry figured that was because he took it as a great improvement from the normal snark and animosity that the singer usually treated him with so was willing to let it slide. Truthfully, Harry just couldn't muster the energy to constantly antagonize Louis anymore.
He was dreading the thought of the appointment he had with the therapist that afternoon, but not because of Louis. The spacious office now made Harry feel claustrophobic, much too warm and constricting for his liking.
Grabbing his phone off of his side table, he blearily tapped out a message to the contact labeled with a lazy LT:
"cant stand your office. we're going for coffee instead. marie's cafe at 3."
He pressed send and dropped the phone back into its original place before shoving both his hands down his boxers, allowing himself the wank he so desperately needed.
~
When Louis read the text he couldn't hold back a chuckle at the unapologetic bluntness. Even though it came from an unknown number, he could hear the boy's gravelly tone through the words as if he were actually speaking them. It was Harry all right. Louis was actually relieved by his patient’s suggestion; sessions had been painfully awkward as of late and the older boy wasn’t sure of the cause. Harry wasn’t being a cocky asshole anymore, but Louis almost wished he were; cocky asshole he could handle--had been handling for three months now--but this brooding, dreamy-eyed teen that had taken Harry’s place left Louis baffled. Without the almost easy routine of biting banter the two had fallen into over the past several weeks the conversations were stilted and slow, or occasionally nonexistent. Sometimes Harry just wouldn’t speak at all, leaving Louis to examine him in silence, or worse, push the normally composed man into babbling meaninglessly just to create some noise.
After replying with his agreement, Louis added the number to his contacts. Never know when it might come in handy.
~
When Louis arrived at the cafe that afternoon, he found Harry sitting in a corner booth nursing a comically large mug of coffee. Upon sitting down, he felt the table vibrating; Harry was jiggling his leg at an inhuman pace, causing the mug to rattle in its saucer.
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Double-shot espresso?”
“Decaf, actually,” Harry replied dryly.
The waitress came by and Louis ordered a large mocha with extra whipped cream, choosing to ignore the snort his choice of beverage elicited from the boy sitting across from him.
After a few minutes of both sipping their drinks, Louis decided to get the session rolling.
“So, Harry, I’ve actually been meaning to ask you how your songwri--” He hadn’t even managed the first sentence before Harry cut him off.
“How ‘bout instead of reviewing my pain and shortcomings for the umpteenth time, you tell me a little about yourself, Tomlinson? I’d hate to think this is a one-way relationship.” There was a cheeky glint in those green eyes as he lifted his mug back to his mouth to take a long, languid slurp.
Louis was caught off guard, much to the younger boy’s delight, and it was a moment before he managed to respond. “Me? Why would you possibly want to know anything about my utterly uninspiring life?”
Harry grinned, leaning back against the seat, leg still shaking like an overexcited Chihuahua. “I dunno doc, humor me. It just doesn’t seem fair that you get to know every intimate detail of my sorry life whereas I know next to nothing about you, now does it?”
Raising his hands in mock surrender, Louis ceded to the smug brunette. “Alright then, I see your point. But don’t blame me if you nod off into that monstrous cup, there is absolutely nothing exceptional or interesting in my life story that could possibly entertain you.”
“Try me.” Harry held his gaze unflinchingly, and Louis found himself squirming under the penetrating eyes that seemed to see straight through him. Thankfully the waitress appeared to refill Harry’s coffee, breaking the eye contact and saving the shorter boy from having to answer immediately; speech became a challenge and Louis’ words tangled and evaporated on his tongue under the scrutiny.
The waitress, petite and blonde and clearly undressing the curly-haired celebrity with her eyes, brushed her fingers up Harry’s arms with a wink and whispered “if there’s anything else you need, just give me a shout,” before sauntering off with hips swaying self-conciously, obviously anticipating that the boy’s stare would follow. Something dark and unbidden twisted in Louis’ stomach at the interaction, but when he looked back to Harry he saw that the lad’s vision was trained on his therapist’s mouth rather than the retreating back of busty blonde. The clench on his gut relaxed its grip, replaced by something warm and liquid and perplexing.
Louis cleared his throat, stalling while he grasped at the words that evaded him. “Well, I’m 22, born and raised in Doncaster. I enjoy long walks on the beach, drinking tea while watching reruns of Friends, and I hate cats but love dogs.”
Harry tut-tutted. “Come on now, Lou, this isn’t an eHarmony profile. I would think that after all the hours we’ve spent together we would be past this point.”
Louis chuckled, pleased by the singer’s jocular mood. “Fine. I hate cats because when I was six, my grandmother’s tabby used my blanket as a scratching post and shredded it to bits, and when I tried to reclaim my property she slashed me across my knuckles.” He immediately regretted his telling his story when he saw his dining partner’s expression.
With a grin that threatened to split his face in half, Harry adopted the tone of a grandmother cooing to her baby grandchild. “Aww, did the mean kitty eat little Louis’ blankie? That’s precious. I’m pretty sure I gave up all my comfort items by the time I was three, you must have been an emotionally stunted child...”
“Oh hush, I’ll have you know I’ve still got the battle scars to prove it.” Louis splayed his hands out on the table for the other boy to see. Sure enough, four thin white lines trailed over the delicate fingers, sharply juxtaposed against the sunkissed skin. Harry hunched over and gently pulled the hand into his own, pale against tan as he lightly traced the lines with the pad of his finger. Louis' breath hitched at the unexpected gesture, and he couldn't ignore the flutter in his chest as Harry's breath ghosted over his palm.
Although Louis was a bit distracted by the heat of Harry's skin, it registered that the boy's hand was trembling ever so slightly. Louis tucked this observation into the back of his mind for later consideration.
"With a wound like that, I'm shocked you made it out alive. She must have been some tiger." Harry's tone was nothing but serious, but there was undisguised mirth sparkling in his eyes.
Louis heaved a melodramatic sigh. "You know, if you're just going to make fun of me then we can go back to me psychoanalyzing you since that's what I'm getting paid for anyway."
Harry immediately dropped Louis' hand (Louis wasn't disappointed, no really, he wasn't) and folded his hands meekly in his lap. "My deepest apologies. I'll behave, I promise." Unsurprisingly, Harry didn't appear sorry in the least. "So what about school? Family and friends?"
The therapist adjusted his fringe while he considered his answer. Harry's eyes tracked the movement of his fingers as he raked them through his tousled hair. "School was nothing special, really. Got good grades, had a few good friends, played football. I was actually pretty good, that might surprise you." Louis looked up to gauge the other boy's response, but Harry merely nodded solemnly.
"You've definitely got the legs for it," the younger boy stated matter-of-factly. Louis choked on his mocha a just a little bit; was Harry flirting with him?
"Ahem. Yes. Thanks, I suppose. Where was I? Oh, right. Well, I met Liam at uni, we were roommates, and he's been my best mate ever since." Harry grimaced at that, much to the older boy's chagrin. "I went to uni to study to be a drama teacher, but after taking an Intro to Psychology course I realized I'd rather follow that path. Never really saw myself as a "Dr.," it always sounded so stuffy and formal, but hey, I've made it work." Louis gestured to his striped Toms and vividly turquoise skinny jeans for emphasis.
Harry snorted. "Yeah, out of all the professionals they've tried to send me to, you certainly stand out.” He slouched against the booth, his digits tapping an erratic rhythm on the stained table. “What about your family, if you’re anything to judge by they must be quite...unique.”
The grip around the mocha tightened and the blue eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
"My family...they're my everything. I've got four younger sisters, considerably younger actually, and since my dad was such a prick I kind of became their father figure. I mean, I'm still their big brother of course, but when my dad left my mum sort of fell apart so I ended up taking care of them more than I would have under normal circumstances. I don't resent it, though. I love them more than anything." Louis had a hazy expression on his face as he recalled all the tea parties, Disney marathons, sick days, and making tea for tearful preteen girls that had defined his later years at home.
Harry's eyes were uncharacteristically soft as they caught Louis'. "I can see that. I have a sister myself, older though. She and I used to be close, until--" the singer coughed uncomfortably, "--everything happened." He dragged his nails across his skin, scratching at an invisible itch. The table began to quiver as his leg resumed its shaking.
Louis took it all in with a professional eye; there was something Harry wasn't telling him.
"How ‘bout we take a walk, yeah?"
~
Soon they were strolling down the London streets, chatting about everything from last night's ManU match to Ed Sheeran's latest album.
"I'm not gonna lie, Small Bump makes me cry every time. Call me an emotional sap but that ginger has the voice of an angel and the heartwrenching writing abilities of Nicholas Sparks." Louis hummed a few bars, then theatrically wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye.
Harry laughed. "Oh, Ed's a good mate of mine, he's wonderful. He wrote a song off my last record, you know, the one that won Best Song at the Brits?"
The older boy smiled sheepishly, but before Harry could ask why, he began to sing in a high, but surprisingly clear voice, “get up, get out, get away from these liars, ‘cause they don’t know your soul or your fire.” The Cheshire boy joined him for the next line, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from rising. “Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine, and we’ll walk from this dark room for the last time.”
Grinning shamelessly, Harry quipped, “Well aren’t you just full of surprises.”
“What, I’ve done my research on you. I’m nothing if not thorough. And if that involves listening to a few gloriously sappy love songs then I won’t complain, I’m a sucker for the romance.” Louis winked at his companion, noting the way the other boy immediately bit his lip and averted his eyes, scratching his nails up his biceps and leaving faint red lines in their wake.
Louis decided that he’d held his tongue long enough.
“Harry, I don’t mean to pry--who am I kidding, it’s my job to pry--but something’s up with you. Mind telling me what’s going on?”
Running his unsteady hands through his curls, the taller boy hummed resignedly. “Um... well, if you must know, I’m... I’m going through a bit of withdrawal right now.”
The psychiatrist’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Oh! Alright. Erm... intentionally or not?”
Harry snorted. “Oh, how you underestimate me. If I wanted it I could get it, believe me. I haven’t used in two days and it sucks arse, to be quite frank. My hands won’t stop fucking shaking and my skin crawls and I can’t sit still. But this is nothing, just wait til tomorrow...” A bitter tone crept into his voice as his sentence trailed off ominously.
“But why?” Louis winced and backtracked quickly. “I mean, I’m thrilled of course, but why now? It’s not exactly breaking news that that shit is bad for you and it hasn’t seemed to bother you before. Are you trying to get clean or is this just a- a break?” He hated how insensitive and fumbling he sounded, and steeled himself for Harry’s potentially angry retort.
Much to his surprise, the boy’s voice was quiet and almost shy when he replied. “I- I’ve been thinking about what you said and... I want to quit. I want to try and get my shit together. Things have been going a little better for me lately and I guess I owe it to Niall and my family not to end up dead in a gutter. Mum would never forgive me for that.” The false joviality sounded harsh and grating on their ears, but before Harry could apologize for his lack of tact he felt a warm, firm weight slamming against his chest.
Louis didn’t know why he did it, didn’t know what compelled him to throw himself into the arms of the heroin-addicted patient that seemed to despise him (most of the time), but somehow he found himself with his arms wrapped around the boy’s neck, breathing in the musky scent of his coat. He felt Harry’s bony form freeze underneath his touch, but then large hands were sliding up his back tentatively, pulling Louis in a bit closer and holding him fast.
They stood there for an indeterminate amount of time, melded together in the middle of the quiet sidewalk. All Louis was aware of was the heat of Harry’s body, the way he could feel the press of the the boy’s ribs through the jacket, how Harry’s heartbeat hammered against Louis’ chest, shaking the pale boy’s thin frame to the core.
Louis finally drew back, blue eyes rising to meet green.
His hands raised of their own accord to cup the sharp jawline, and this time Harry didn’t flinch away. Louis let his palms graze down the side of the white column of Harry’s throat, over the shoulders and down the long arms until he was lightly gripping the Cheshire boy’s wrists.
He didn’t open his mouth, couldn’t break whatever fragile thread hung between him and the damaged musician. Louis just stood there, letting the green eyes bore through him, letting them consume his heart and soul.
And with a mere whisper, the scene shattered.
One instant the Louis was fighting the urge to burrow back into that lanky torso, and the next Harry was slamming a stubbled, middle-aged man up against the brick wall of the shop they were standing in front of.
“What did you just say?” Harry’s teeth were bared and his biceps were taught with the effort of keeping the potbellied man pinned to the building.
Fear flashed in the man’s squinty eyes, but he composed himself long enough to spit at his attacker, thankfully missing. “I said, you faggots should keep it in your pants. The last thing society needs is your type pawing each other in public.”
Harry snarled and raised his fist to strike the man’s sallow face, but Louis reached him in time to prevent the anticipated crunch of bone.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Harry?!” Louis dragged him away from their tormenter, thanking the stars that Harry was mere skin and bones, making it easy to subdue his straining body.
The man guffawed contemptuously, although his immediate leap to escape the singer’s grasp was not lost on the other two. “What, you gonna let your fairy boyfriend turn you into a pussy? Figures.” With that, he spun on his heel, wobbling slightly, and sped away.
Louis spun Harry around to face him. "Bloody hell, Haz! What was that?!"
"He called you a- said I was- jesus FUCKING christ, how do people like that even live with themselves?" Harry spluttered in reply, chest heaving and voice trembling with fury.
Pedestrians were starting to gawk at the pair, so the older boy grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him toward the lot where he had parked his car a couple blocks away.
Louis lowered his voice to evade the ears of the inquisitive witnesses. "Not to be a prick, but if I recall correctly you aren’t exactly the poster child for sensitivity towards the queers. And I may sound like a raging hippie but violence really isn't the most effective way to sort out disagreements. People like that only want a reaction and you gave it to him. It's ridiculous, but there's nothing pretty in the psychology of the insecure. Besides, he was referring to me. That makes it my problem."
"Except you're wrong. It's just as much my problem as it is yours." Harry was walking ahead of Louis now, and the doctor had to jog to catch up to his long, loping pace.
Louis sighed in exasperation. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Harry didn't reply until they reached Louis' silver Porsche, throwing out an arm to prevent the bewildered lad from getting into the driver's seat.
With a carefully guarded expression, Harry regarded his companion for a few seconds before speaking. Quietly, but clearly enough that Louis could make out every syllable, he whispered, "what...what would you do if I said I was gay?"
Louis could barely process anything other than the buzzing in his ears that followed the confession, but he saw the expectant look on the younger boy's face and scrambled for an appropriate response.
"Well, I'd probably bake you a cake and write 'congrats on the sodomy' over the top in rainbow icing, then maybe throw a coming out party and invite Elton John and the Village People... I dunno, if you gave me some preparation time I'm sure I could come up with something better."
Harry's entire face lit up in a breathtakingly sincere smile, and Louis couldn't help but think it was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen. Harry slipped his arms around the smaller boy's waist for a quick hug, murmuring "Thanks, Lou" against the elder's neck. The therapist could do nothing but grin in reply, not when the Harry's smell was filling his senses and the goofy smile was still directed at him.
They slid into the sports car, and the young celebrity turned to his doctor, legs quivering with nervous energy.
"So, uh, would you like to come over for dinner? I'm making my signature carbonara for Niall and I, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined us."
"I'd love to." Louis' answer came out quicker than was strictly necessary.
And as Louis watched Harry's pallid cheeks flush pink and the corner of his mouth tug up into a charming half-smile, he accepted that he was well and truly fucked.