Hide & Seek (Larry Stylinson AU)

*NARRATOR'S POV* "You'll come back for me, right?" Harry turns to Louis expectantly, only to note that he has distracted the boy from whatever was previously occupying his mind. "Uh....do you want me to?" Louis finally gets out after momentary deliberation. "In an hour." Only after Louis' driven off and safely within the confines of a usually dead-beat but currently active civilization, does Harry go into the place he's dreaded since he escaped from the asylum. His own mother has earned praise in that psychotic institution, and he had safely hidden behind that dark-winged identification. Now he's free and looking to walk away from the life that's haunted him and stripped him of any trace evidence related to innocence until he was nothing; until he was hollow and bleak. His dark ages, he calls it. When his smile was empty, and every time it came on display it would defy his black soul. When a permanent frown was all he was allowed to show, an emotional frown was his ever-present expression. His fingers clutched at empty sheets the nights he could sleep, or his nails scraping the cold wooden walls of the basement when he disobeyed Mother and received his due punishment. His biggest regret was letting Louis live with him. The boy with blue eyes and a genuinely peaceful heart corrupted Harry's pattern of emptiness. He gave him something to feel, to strive for. To want so completely that the simple need consumed Harry. Now, who knows what they're facing an eternity of? If they could have ane eternity to begin with. Harry's mother is a cruel woman who felt nothing but disgust. Harry is hers, she knew that. The dilemma is that Harry didn't want to be hers in such a whole comparison. He wanted to belong somewhere, to someone just like he'd see on television before the fucked up device broke. He thought he'd find a partner and all would be well. He has never been so wrong. Mother was clingy, he frowned upon the thought. The thought of saving Louis, keeping him safe and protected is what drove Harry away from the edge. There was no comfort worthy of comparison with Louis' touch. Blue is Harry's favorite colour. The gate rattling is what draws Harry's focus back to the present. The smile that continually accompanied the memory of his 'beloved' vanishes instantly. His eyes skip around as he takes in everything that he'd so gladly abandoned. The house hasn't changed at all except for the fact that the television is off completely and the stench of expired food fills the air. He half expects something to happen. For something - by something he means Mother - to float towards him wearing a terrifying smirk. Nothing happens. He is a little disappointed, he wanted so badly to up and leave. No. He was stronger than that. After jogging up the noisy stairs to his room, he withdraws a duffel bag from the closet completely oblivious to what's watching his every move. Up in the crouched corner of the room, where wall meets ceiling, Gemma's eyes blink furiously over the shape of her brother. She is confused. Why would he come back here just to leave again? It looks like he's leaving. Her black eyes, the irises a sliver of white, observe his back patiently until everything is packed and he approaches Hamster's cage. Harry She couldn't resist. She squeaked out a sound that could be her brother's name and he tenses. It's me. Mother's not here. He relaxes just a little and spins around to find her with his eyes. She panics. Don't. Don't speak. Just shut up. Harry frowns and not searching for his sister's shadow. Instead he fidgets with the gate of Hamster's cage. You've never been a bigger fool, Harry. Mother will never let you leave when she gets back. Is that what you want? To stay here, a prisoner like me when you have an otherwise option? You idiot. Leave now. Harry opens his mouth and she floats down to his level, silencing him with a firm glare and his jaw slipped back into place, his silence becoming eminent. Do you know what she's done without you? She's a monster now, Harry. If she finds you here she will ensure that you stay here. She's changed for the worst. Gemma lifts the bunch of hair that concealed the side of the face, an oily and black matted collection of strands that is removed so that Harry can see the scratches on his sister's neck. The night you escaped and refused to come back. Harry, I don't want this for you. I want you to be free in this world but she will not be silenced. He stares at her, his eyes flickering from her skin to her eyes. Without words, he asks how to do this. You have to let her find you. She will be back soo- no even sooner. She's here. She knows you came. Harry, hide! Harry is flustered momentarily as he conjures up a mental escape route. He had the window and the door. She would find him either way so he might as well face this. Harry! Harry, go! Please, brother. Gemma is panicking, the release of her anxiety so clear in her tone. Harry's fist clench at his sides as he stares coldly at the door, telepathically alerting his assailant of his whereabouts. "It's okay, Gemma." He throws her the smallest of smiles but her ghostly eyes are still wide and afraid. Har- When she is cut off, shrill shrieking ensues at the doorway and they both twist - painfully for Harry as his upper body rotates against the lower portion. Growling, deep and throaty is what Harry takes in as he turns around to bite his lip at the new presence. "Hi, Mom." Harry smirks and that is his end. He's screaming and kicking moments later, sprawled out on the wooden floor like his life meant nothing to everyone. His breath was knocked out of his lungs in his every effort, his ligaments stretched in resistance as he fought his own birth mother. When Gemma tried to haul her off him, he'd thrown her a glare and a shove. This wasn't her fight. He would defend her even in this state but it was evident that she was, under zero circumstances, allowed to return the favour. Mother, in the angered fit she'd been drawn into by the audacity of her only son, dragged Harry by his hair out of the room. He tried, he tried like he's never tried before, to free himself but with every tug all that was released was strands of his hair from his scalp. "Mother!" He shouted in pain. "Let me go!" She hissed then. Deep and vengeful as they approached the staircase and Harry's eyeballs nearly rolled out of his skull. His head hit the tough timber of the palisades that prevented a person from falling over. He gripped the solid bar with enough force that he got free, released from his mother's grip. He rose to his feet, back to his towering and intimidating stature. It wasn't intimidating to Mother. She grinned, eyes pale and teeth black as she made a grab for him again. Only, this time he was prepared. After an attempt at running for it, away from here, she seized him by the ankle again, knocking the air from his hurt lungs as he hit the ground. He felt bones contract and his chest give away a little from its function of protecting his heart. He coughed into the rug and his vision blurred. He will not call for his sister. He will not. Mother most ordinarily already has a nasty decision to enact with Gemma and he would not worsen it with his helplessness. He struggled to keep his chin from hitting each step he was dragged in descension. His hands were splintered and painfully useless now, the same could be said for his legs. One knock of his Adam's Apple and the stair had him choking loudly, begging for release and air. They made a turn. At the base of the steps, they curved her route until Mother was dragging him towards the door beneath the stairwell. He screamed then. He's always hated where she is taking him, his punishment room. It was dark and loud with sounds you could never ever find the sources of. He'd cried so much as a boy down there. "Mother, please!" He pleaded with her back but it was to no avail. The door is yanked open and he is pulled into the darkness. A cloud of evil and menacing imaginary figures where there were no superheroes. Just him and the ticking of a clock in a room where you could see nothing but nothing. "Harry?" The voice snaps said boy out of his transe-like state of remiscence. It's Louis, sitting next to him in the car as they drive out of Middleston borders. "Yes?" Harry refuses to look at Louis. "I've been calling you for twenty minutes. What's wrong?" Harry says nothing. It's his technique, put to use when he wanted a person to get a hint and know that the question was unappreciated. Louis sighs and speeds up. "Hungry then?" Harry shakes his head and winces, his eyes scrunching up and blocking out his sight. His muscles felt as though they had holes in them, little entrances for air to pass through and inflict pain. His nose was bleeding but every so often he'd wipe it with his sleeve and hide it. "We're going straight back." Louis says softly. "Where's- Where's Phoebe?" Harry could not hold back. He'd grown a little bond with Louis' younger sister. "Atlanta. My dad and her are going to live with my aunt for a little while." "Oh." Harry was disappointed. "They'll be back soon." Louis quickly adds. "As soon as Middleston gets its shit in place." Harry smiles bleakly into the side mirror and winces again. No facial expressions for him anymore. Louis' eyes just happen to slip to the side, before widening at what he sees. "Fuck, Harry!" Harry's head snaps toward Louis thinking the worst to provoke his exclamation but there's nothing wrong and Harry frowns before cringing and relaxing. "You're bleeding!" Louis doesn't know whether to speed up or pull over. "I don't know if there's-" "Just drive, Lou. I won't bleed out in the time it takes for us to get back to the flat." "Why are you bleeding, Harry?" Louis swallows thickly, a little anger flaring in his chest. "Mother wasn't happy to see me. I'm okay though, nothing really hurts unless I move it." "Then why did she promise to help you? You said she wants to be a family." Even more anger boils up inside his restraint. "She's just upset that I left." Harry pets Hamster. "What did she mean by........by being a family?" "She says she wants me to join her." Louis frowns. "In the house?" Harry nods. "To be like her and Gemma. That's the only way-" "No, Harry. Fuck." Louis runs a hand through his hair. "I won't allow you to do that to yourself-" "It isn't your vote that counts, Lou. It's mine." "There aren't very many people who.....who are here for you and I get that, but I will not, ever let you throw your life away. You deserve to be here just as any one else does. Your mother is wrong." Harry stares at him with an empty expression. "Rupert-" "We can deal with fucked up ghosts, Harry. What I can't handle is-" He cuts himself off. No need to go further. No need to say anything more, really. Harry understood though and it brought a real smile to his face for the first time in hours. They drive in silence for the next two hours back to Dynasville. The radio stayed off and the air remained thick with tension between them. Harry's blood was smudged on his coat and formed maroon drops on his pants. The hamster named Hamster was either asleep or dead in Harry's large hand, either way Louis didn't care. When they reach Louis' flat the silence is broken by them opening doors and slamming it shut. Managing to avoid communication with anyone and everyone successfully, they hurry up to the flat with Louis behind Harry to prevent nosy inquisitions about his state. "Sit down. I want to clean your cuts." Louis says curtly and Harry does not argue. Harry strips off his T-shirt, seeing as from the constant throbbing he is able to deduce that there are purple and possibly blue bruises that litter his pale skin everywhere. He was right. Louis returns from the bathroom with a first aid kit that's been put to use three too many times recently. His eyes widen at the side of Harry on the couch shirtless and patient but he approaches him with hostility. Harry's bag is on the floor by the kitchen counter and Hamster is on it, asleep. Harry watched Louis with a feral intensity but also curiosity. How could a person, with the option to leave, stay with him? How could a person care? It baffled Harry, his eyes full of bewilderment as he watched Louis' small hands wipe the cuts clean and place a bandaid over them. "Stop staring at me, Harold." Louis smirks but it held no joy or cheekiness. Harry's cheeks turned a little pink at being caught and he ducked his head. Louis chuckled and tilted his chin up to tend to Harry's chin and cheek. His lip was bust open and Louis felt a twist in his stomach at the sight. "All done." Louis gave Harry a small smile and got up to dispose of any violated wrappers before returning. "I won't go." Harry says after a pregnant pause. Louis sits on the couch next to Harry, stiff and completely unsure of anything but the time. 18h46 and it was already dark outside. Harry earns a gasp from Louis' chapped lips when he straightens out on the couch and rests his head on Louis' lap. Harry couldn't help but feel a little possessive of the older boy. He'd seen no one else take an interest in Louis' life the way he did, and so it was as simple as speaking under oath. Louis was his. "Can I tell you something?" Harry fiddles with Louis' fingers. Louis nods, not trusting his voice. "When I was ten, Mother would make Gem and I play outside. We would wear the these black boots that had to stay outside but one day Gemma accidentally brought mud into the house. I covered for her and said it was me. I spent the night in the basement." Louis' breath was stuck in his throat, refusing to budge and grant him relief. He felt deep pity for Harry. He had a difficult childhood and he deserved a normal life now. Clearly, it was going to be a war. "It was so cold and empty down there. I knew it was except it didn't feel empty. It felt like someone was with me, in the basement. I'd hear boxes fall but didn't know where; I'd hear the window creak but no light came in. I was scared." He didn't look anywhere but at Louis' shirt, hiding his face in the many ruffles. "Why are you telling me this?" And as soon as it's out, it clicks. "Is that where she put you?" Louis asks, his voice not belonging to the chirpy Louis Tomlinson of Middleston. Harry nodded slowly. "They died that night, you know." Louis chokes and let's all his sympathy flow into Harry. Harry is neutral, calm and showing no developing signs of distress. "I got out and ran with my stuff. She told me she'd make sure Rupert never bothered us if I came back to her. I agreed only after she threatened to let him do whatever he wanted to you." Louis' blood ran thin and cold from fear. Before realising what he was doing he sunk down in the sofa as well, basking in the warmth of the soft plastic. He begins to slide down from just how smooth the material is, but Harry's long fingers press into his back and hold him stationary. Harry looked busted up, really. He had a bandage on his nose and eyebrow, his lip was sealed with Vaseline and his chest was sweaty. But Louis didn't care much, everyone got beat up at some point but he hated that Harry had to go through it so many times that it no longer bothered him. Harry's arms locked themselves around the smaller boy like a teddy bear as the couch was clearly not prepared to have this much strain. *LOUIS' POV* Harry's breathing is measured, soft and if I didn't latch my hearing to the sound I wouldn't have picked it up at all. "Do you know.......why I used to hurt people?" Harry suddenly asks me. I'm still unable to see his face and he may be taking comfort in the idea. "You-You said your Mother made you." His arm tightens around my already husk of a waist. I eagerly await his response. Talk about a change of topic. "She did but.........each one had a reason." He says, sounding embarassed. "Each one?" He nods slowly and my ears pick up the vibrations caused by his action. "Like the Sheriff....he was a terrible man." I couldn't agree more but that didn't mean he deserved to have his life snatched from him. I shift backwards and Harry doesn't notice. "He used to catch people. Corner them and make them do things for him." Harry's face is set in a permanent grimace. "He got her one day. My mom. Gemma and I were out that night and we found her when we got back." I found this story to be a tragic one, and it tugged a little on sensitive strings buried in the confines of my emotions. He regards me with passive observation, no curiosity or bleek intrigue, he just watches as my expression morphs. I give him a tiny smile, incapable of much solace let alone empathy. I keep my arms to myself, wanting him to go on seeing as he was volunteering information about himself. Our legs however were in an unfortunate tangle, mine trapped between his. "I'm sorry." I finally mutter. "But what about the young girl? Elizabeth?" Harry's face hardens. "Her brother attacked Gemma." "So why should she have had to pay?" "Because he died years ago. I wasn't the cause of that." "I don't understand." "I know." He sighs in exasperation. "But I owe Mother a lot, and so I cannot tell her no." "You're telling her no now." "That's because I'm at capacity with her whims!" He closes his eyes and when they reopen his orbs are blazing green. "She expects me to do everything for her and soon enough Middleston won't exist. I said I'd do one thing for her to keep you safe but that's it. I won't go back there." My eyes widen in a leaping motion of my heart. He seems to be inwardly arguing with himself, over a topic not only debatable but infuriating as well if his furrowed brows are anything to go by. A creaking sound cuts off my heated thoughts, and my head snaps to the window hoping to see a tree branch scraping the glass. Nothing. Harry is stiff but unmoving, his arms forceful and preventative. "What was that?" I enquire when the sound is repeated but could be coming from above us. "Don't move." He says in a warning monotone. "It's the attic." "How can it be the fucking attic when no ones up there?" "Because someone is." I'm certain that the colour from my cheeks drain out pitifully. I listen to the padding of what could be bare feet looming above our heads, the thumping gets heavier and it resembles a person running. Running from what? To what? My chest constricts and upon finding Harry positively unafraid, move closer to his warmth. "Don't be scared." He says with a faint smile. The running has ceased and the temperature of the room has dropped. Goosebumps rise on my legs and arms, crawling up my neck until every part of me feels the chill. "Don't be afraid, Lou." He cooes more to himself than me, his hand encouraging me closer and my face hiding in his shoulder. Cold breath that smelt of death. It brushes the skin of my nape and I resist the impulse to cover it with my palm. "You smell so sweet." Harry abrupty speaks, his fingers pressing into my back as he holds me. "Fuck, Harry. I don't care." He chuckles under his breath and I keep my eyes closed. I had no desire to look up and see what the Hell was causing the back of my T-shirt to rise. I move impossibly closer to Harry who flattens my shirt again and replaced the spot with his warm hand. The light buzzes and flickers. "Look at me." Harry bumps my forehead with his. I shake my head in refusal. "Hey. It's me. Louis, look at me please." He places a finger under my chin and tilts it up so that I'm looking at his soft smile. The light completely goes out, creaking of the wooden floors coming from all around and my fear escalated rapidly. "I'll keep you safe." He reassures me with a gentle peck to my lips. "I'll protect you." I feel a climax coming on, a frighteningly fatal ending that would have me fighting to not scream. But I get nothing. The light blinks back to life and the room is empty again except for us. I breathe out a sigh of relief and Harry does too, though he tries to mask his. Was he afraid? Afraid yet promising me my unrequited safety? "You can look now." Harry's slight chuckle can be heard in his voice. It was fucking funny to him. I wanted to strangle the inappropriate humor from him, make him see this for what it is. This is my punishment, Karma for commiting some unruly and uncouth act a long time ago. I glare at him and his brave smile vansishes. "What's wrong?" He asks competely, fucking oblivious way that was miles from being cute. "What's wrong? Are you so fucked up that you don't even see what's wrong?" He frowns and I don't feel the least bit sorry. He seems to be grasping at straws of hope, honestly and undoubtedly confused. "I-I- Lou?" "This is not what I expected when I met you. Far fucking from it, really." Don't look at me like that, I won't censor my vocabulary no matter how fucking long you silently bitch about it." His scowl spreads and frown deepens until his mouth is set in a grim, unhappy line. I snort and crawl out from this entanglement, pushing off the comfortable feeling it left me with. I hated that Harry was or pretended to be so damn innocent. It wasn't like him. He was as mercurial as it got, one moment he was grinning and being smiley but the next he is exerting fierce anger. There was no middle. My least favorite mood swing would be when he was like this, acting blond and stupid. I sigh when I enter the bedroom, feeling negligent and no better than an abuser who came, ranted and left. With a heavy heart I return to the lounge and see Harry sitting up, elbows braced on his knees and head bowed. He doesn't look up when I round the couch and stand in front of him. "I'm sorry." I mumble more to myself than him. He slowly lifts his head and I get to stare into his foresty green pearls, flabberghasted once again by their pure beauty. "What for?" He drags the untidy mop of curls away from his eyes in a swift relfex. "For.....getting mad. I know you're trying to do something about this and I'm not being helpful." He leans back in the couch and I have the insane impulse to scramble onto his lap and encase myself in his familiar warmth. It was the only kind I accepted these days. "You're scared, I know. No matter how many times I tell you not to be." He replies. I shrug my shoulders. "What else do I do? I haven't been in a mess like this before." My skin both crawls and forms goosebumps when his fingers curl around my wrists. I try not to flinch from the reflective flop of stings, but it dies down and I ignore it. "I told you I'd take care of you." He beckons me closer until I have no choice - I swear I didn't - but to fall onto his lap astride him. "I promised you, didn't I?" "You did." I breathe when he hides his face in my neck. "But I'm not completely defenseless too, Harold." At this, he chuckles. "I know. Can I ask you something?" I shift in his lap and he removes his hands from my own to relocate them on my waist, fistis buried in the fabric of my work shirt that I hadn't changed since this morning. It was arguably the finest cotton around. "Yes." I answer cautiously. What does he want to know? "Were you ever.......did you ever hate me?" "Yes." He stares expectantly at me. "When you were being a dick the first day I moved into that house. Hated your guts, I did." He smirks. "You didn't." "I did!" I playfully hit his shoulder and instantly regret it when he flinches. "Sorry. I forgot." "It's okay." He says with a smile, taking my hands and throwing them carefully over his shoulders. "Why did you hate me?" "You were being a jackass with all your anymosity and cantankerous mood swings." "Cantankerous?" His eyebrow peeks. "Grouchy. You never even let me meet Hamster." He laughs louder than I ever heard him to so before. "I know what cantankerous means, Lou." I take a selfish moment to admire his God-like frame and figure. He had a jawline that was sharp enough to hurt, hair brown enough to send unbidden thoughts into anyone's mind, and lips rosy enough to drive me insane. I never felt like this before, nor did this wash over me upon Harry's and my first encounter. I remember the night as a bitter-sweet occurance. "What do you feel for me now?" Harry leans his head back against the couch and my arms do not shuffle in movement. "Honestly? Admiration." He makes a soft snorting sound before looking at me with calm eyes, settled now from the unstable before effect. "It's true." I say guiding my finger along his stubble. I wanted to count each hair folicle, every rough strand that was already peeking through the surface then the newborns still to arise. Memorise the creases in his forehead caused by relentless frowning and study the chiselled features of his collar. Harry's frontal lobe was marred with a scar amidst the lot of flopping hair. I push it back and trace the outline of a linear mark. Could have been a knife, a Swiss Army knife; or a paper cut that got too deep. His arms. They were beautiful, but cruelly laden with cigarette shaped burn marks, along with tiny red dots that could have formed a rash if I didn't know better. They were needle pokes where the substance was too acidic to disintegrate and reddened his skin in the reaction. "Why would they do this?" I ask, horrified. Psychera is a reputable institution for the rehabiliation of mentally ill patients. "New medication." He starts. "I was the closest they had to a normal person whose body would respond normally." "It was so cruel." "Couldn't stop them." "Did you try?" "I did. Every night until I knew they'd just knock me out and do it anyway." "Are all the doctors involved?" "No." He shakes his head. "Most of them are good. It's a shame my friends couldn't tell the difference." "Who are your friends?" "Rupert and a few others. They'd all been down to the basement too. They were all being experimented on too." I felt like daggers were twisting in my heart. And a sour cringe at that monster's name being mentioned. "You need a distraction." He says. "I doubt it will help." I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. "I think it would." He proclaims with a wide grin that has me in blatant awe. "How?" I raise a suspicious brow at him, and I witness his cheeked become tinged with a light shade of pink. Woah. His mouth is on mine, and it takes a moment's strength to not fall backwards and be awarded with a concussion. The blood coursing through my veins causes a faint shudder in me. Harry's lips are rough, deceitful in their distractions of drawing my attention away from the fact that his fingers are fumbling around with my T-shirt. "Calm down." I chuckle. More redness in his cheeks from his side, and he plants a firm kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Distracted?" He asks cheekily. I imagine Harry is an overly ambitious toddler with great teeth and a big heart. Maybe I'll ask him more about his child years one day. "Firmly."

Notes