Work Text:
Somewhere beneath Harry's bed, wedged between the tattered Cinderella costume that shifted into a security blanket and the bottles of soda he hid from the tentative eyes of his mother, there was a dusty box of faded yellow that held his cherished memories. It was guarded by the multi-coloured footballs that he never lost hope in kicking, and just diagonal to the Polaroid camera Gemma got him for his tenth birthday and the pile of books about his growing body that would occasionally be waiting against his pillow when he came home. Sometimes, when nights were too long and the air tasted stale across his tongue and made his skin shiver with melancholy, he would pull out the old cube, blow the lid until dust was drifting around his head with the flapping wings of a butterfly, and look at the never changing contents inside. Boo always sat on top, coated in matted fur and ages of stains and sewn holes. Beneath that was a tiny, silver tiara with most of the comb's teeth left broken with the others halves missing. There were the obvious pictures: him entering first grade, him and Gemma dressed in a similar, baby pink ballerina ensemble, a much tinier Louis lifting a much tinier Harry to the dining room table so baby Harry could get his sticky fingers on a cookie, dozens of snapshots of him with the boys. But, there were always two photos that made nostalgia not so large of a word anymore: the picture of the Styles family looking pleasantly happy for a Christmas card, and the last picture taken of Harry before his mother stopped allowing him to cut his hair.
At the time, an eight years old Harry agreed to grow out his hair to look more like his sister. He was still in his girly, dress up phase, and the idea of having Gemma's bouncy curls was charming. But, here an eleven year old boy sat, tangled curls reaching down to his shoulders, constantly looking disheveled if not tied in a feminine twist, and weighing his neck down in all directions. He felt embarrassed that he walked around with either a ponytail or an elastic on his wrist, and openly loathed that his mother refused to allow him to try out for the footie team and would rather watch her youngest spend all his time in his sister's room. Sometimes he is absolutely sure that he was described as the youngest daughter, rather than the only son.
"I make food, Desmond, I don't stand around serving it to my family!" Harry heard his mother's voice boom through the living room, up the stairs, and through the cracks of his door, "I make all the money for this family, not you! I put food on the table! And all I asked in return is for you to be a little more compassionate when I walk through the door!" He crumpled the pictures in his hand, watching as the smiles of his picture perfect family portrait bent into frightened snarls. He heard the front door open and close, "Gemma! And Gemma! You let her take the car without even talking to me about this! We don't talk anymore, Des-..Gemma! Come back here, young lady!"
His bedroom door opened, showing an empathetic Gemma in the frame, and allowing the vibrant vocabulary of his father to seep into his naive ears. The sixteen year old slammed the door behind her, grimacing when the screaming from the level below didn't even tremble. She wandered to her brother's side, wrapping her right arm around his slender shoulders while moving his long hair away from pulling's reach, using her empty hand to put every item back into the box and seal it with a gentle set of the lid. Harry would then reach for the tiny remote lingering atop the comforter of his bed, and start up the throbbing beat of whatever CD he left in the player, allowing it to fill the room until the repeated slander from downstairs was nothing more than a whisper in the breeze. Both would stair blankly at the sticker covered white surface of Harry's door, and wait with the hope that the stars would be placed back into the sky.
"What is P-...Fl...P-Hol-ooem?" the boy stuttered, twisting the paper on its axis until the whole page was holding upside down letters. Harry thought it might make more sense that way, with each large word broken down into basic, functioning letters swimming within the white paper in their own bubble. It was all nonsense in the world that defied gravity, and yet everything was so simplistic that Harry believed his own lesser intelligence level stood a chance.
"Phloem?" Louis asked, his hands busy with stirring the powdered cheese into the steaming pile of microwave mac-n-cheese. His eyes glanced up, easily as his long fringe was pulled away from his forehead and into the confines of his beanie, finding Harry splayed out over the extent of the couch with his beat up Converse covered feet lifted, pigeon-toed into the air. The younger boy flipped the paper so it stood horizontally before shrugging and continuing to wait for the answer, "That would be the name of a vascular tissue in a plant that pushes sugars and the sort into the leaves, yeah?" he hesitated as he held two cups of noodles by the rims, clutching them within the pads of his fingers. He kept his eyes on them until his bum made contact with the cushions of the couch, lifting his arms to peak so Harry could settle his tiny legs over his lap.
"If you say so," Harry giggled, using his arms to properly sit up and take the nearest cup of steaming cheese sauce that he could get his hands on. He took a mouthful of pasta and winced at the heat of it, quickly shoving it to the side of his cheek, "I hate shtudying wif you," he mumbled through his scalding taste buds.
"I hate studying," the elder replied, the remote already in his grasp and aimed toward the television. The screen lit up with an electronic buzz infiltrating the quiet afternoon, bright flashes of pink and yellow clouding Harry's vision, and a musical number filling his ears, "Wicked, I love Grease! Greatest love story ever seen," Louis added, well-versed enough in Harry Styles to know that he wasn't the type to sit around with his eyes glued to a screen, tallying the classics of each movie genre.
The boys sat with their eyes stuck to the screen, while girls danced around a lunch table and boys bounced up and down bleachers acting like breaking out into song was just pat of the routine. Louis inhaled the cheese coated dough in the cup, waiting for Harry to finish his own before setting the two on the table and opening his arms for both boys to get more comfortable. The edited the position of their bodies until Louis was propped up against two of the loose-skinned pillows, Harry lying on top of him with his head in the space between his cheek and shoulder, pretending to focus on the movie. Louis' hand was carding through the boy's long curls, combing through their length only to stop when the truly tangled or knotted sections made him cringe. Harry sighed, disgusted with himself and his hair, and silently wished the older boy would just leave it alone despite how sweet he was attempting to be.
"Hey, Louis?" Harry finally asked, keeping silent long enough for the entire high school within the movie to go into a large dance number, and the lead girl to run off in tears. From what Harry gathered through his half listening, the leading man was too interested in the bustier woman at his side, and chose to dance with her instead of his date. The younger suddenly questioned the title 'the greatest love story ever seen', because it was working out nothing like it should in the movies, "Do your parents ever fight?" he asked with a meek voice, suddenly very embarrassed.
Louis' fingers are busy pulling apart a large knot in the back of Harry's head, though his eyes never leave the screen, "Sometimes. It's normal," he replied in a voice lowered to be just as soft as the younger boy's. He was doing that thing where he sucks the oxygen out of the atmosphere and brings it all into a sphere just made for the two of them. He would lower his voice even in an empty house, making it seem like any background noise was amplified until it was screaming down the neighbourhood. It made a bubble of happiness form right under Harry's chin, lodged in his throat. It made him feel like he was floating in a gooey mess of melted chocolate, protected by the way Louis' voice built bars of a protected space.
"My parents fight all the time," Harry winced as Louis pulled some of the hair away from the knot, and wished he would just rip that section of hair out, "Sometimes, Mum even breaks stuff. And when things start getting smashed, dad leaves the house for the night," he feels the muscles in Louis' arms tense, clinging against him like a half-hearted embrace, "But...you don't have to be sorry...because, I don't give a shit about them," Harry spat.
"Hazza, whoa," Louis breathed out a chuckle, finally ripping through the knot. He slid his now empty hands around Harry's back, entwining his fingers so the boy was perfectly cradled into his chest.
"Love is stupid," Harry muttered, taking a fistful of Louis' white shirt and wringing it until he could see the fabric pulled taut against his side.
"Love? I thought we were talking about your parents," Louis brought one of his hands around toward Harry's clinging fingers, sliding his hand where the shirt once lay. He watched as Harry focused of the way the shirt unbunched itself, folding out slowly but still keeping the new indentations of where five digits pulled.
"W-Whatever," Harry caught himself, instinctively knowing Louis was already opening his mouth to babble, "Gemma says that she's going to move far away when she's done with college, and that I'm going with her no matter what. I'd like to move somewhere warmer, like LA, when I grow up. I'll save up for a plane ticket and a van, and we can take a road trip. You, me, Zee, Liam, we'll all go there together. Niall can bring his guitar or something and we can sing dumb songs the whole way there. 'n get some dumpy flat once we get there. All five of us will get out of here," Harry sighed, closing his eyes and picturing the piercing rays of the sun sizzling his complexion into a kiss of tan. He could hear Niall pluck his guitar, and giggle nervously when he made a mistake, and how the boys all cheered him on for an encore when he finally made it through a set, "It's my idea, so I'll drive," he continues, nuzzling his cheek until he can feel the bump of Louis' collar bone, and trying to imagine his hands on the wheel of a car, twisting the wheel left and right along a swerving, winding rode.
"I call shotgun. With Niall playing guitar all day, Liam being absolute shit at reading maps, and Zayn serenading us with his snores, you're going to need a co-pilot," Louis smiles softly, flexing his hand so his palm shows toward the ceiling, and Harry absentmindedly draws unknown shapes into the skin with the nail of his index finger, "Sounds like a plan," he watches as Harry's face stirs with thought, before guiding Louis' hand toward his mouth and placing a kiss atop it.
The front door stirs open, the creaking sound of wood scraping against itself until it was finally thrust open. Anne stumbled in, snow decorating the crown of her head like a melting halo. She shut the door behind her before turning in the direction of the living room, eyes widening when she saw Louis sitting on the couch. Harry had sat up on his own when he heard the stomping footsteps that were usually defined by a rough day at work. His eyes facing the area of his mother made him miss how Louis' face was bright red, "Louis? What are you- did Harry invite you over? Because he knows how I feel about-"
"No, Mrs. Styles, your husband asked me to babysit Haz for a bit while he went out," Louis cleared his throat before speaking, keeping his voice light and friendly despite imaging Anne throwing a vase by his head. Louis' hidden hand worked to knead at the base of Harry's spine, not enjoying how the younger boy tensed up like a terrified cat when his mother's figure entered through the door.
"Did...Did he say he would-uh-pay you?" Anne stuttered, reaching into her bag in a frantic search for her wallet.
"Mrs-Mrs.Styles, no. I never take any money for hanging with Harry for a few hours," he smiled when Harry finally fell backward until he was leaning against Louis' shoulders once again.
"Oh...Oh, God. I can't have you going home without giving you anything," Anne had set down her bag and removed her coat at this point, dusting off the flakes of snow so they could disappear on the road to the ground, "And the storm is not one you could really walk home in...How about you stay for the night, Louis? It's spaghetti night,"
Harry twisted around, eyes wide with a look of actual groveling, like begging for Louis to say yes for the sake of his own life's safety. Louis stared at Harry for a moment, glancing outside at the large patches of snow that were beginning to cover the ground in a thick blanket of white that his old Vans wouldn't be able to keep out. One glance back to Harry, who was looking at Louis still for an answer and his mind was made up, "Sure, I'd love to stay if you'll have me,"
"Wake up, you son of a bitch," Anne's voice echoed loud enough for Harry to hear through the headphones Liam had loaned him. He was sitting at the island floating in the kitchen, notebook and pencils rolling around with every bump of his elbow as he worked out the math equations that were two levels above where he should be, "I let you back into the house because you agreed you were going to support your children, not so you could sit around all day and just call babysitters when you want to get out!" Harry grit his teeth, trying to divide two fractions so he could finish the problem, slam his book, and lock himself away in his room, but the numbers might as well have been translated into Greek for him.
"I am supporting my children, Anne! You're wasting your life away in a job that barely pays the bills, while I'm here spending time with the kids!" Des keeps calmer, though his voice is still raised, and Harry briefly wonders if the neighbours can hear through their walls every night.
"I wouldn't need to be away working everyday if you would just get a fucking job!" Harry glared at the numbers, the shapes that decorated the paper in copy-printed black ink. The playlist of his music had long since stopped, he realized as he pushed his long hair away from his face, but he didn't care as long as the numbers had a chance to make sense to him.
"The children grew up with me taking them to school, cooking their meals, raising them! They might as well have been raised by a single mother, Des, you've never been there!" The pulsing beat of music eventually makes its way to Harry's ears, though it's a distant sort of throbbing that isn't coming from the immediate force of his headphones, "Gemma! Turn that shit down," Anne shouts, her voice bouncing against the walls of the staircase and into the bedroom door Gemma always left open. There was no response other than the throbbing music drumming in Harry's dangling feet, "Gemma Anne Styles, I said turn the fucking music down!" Harry moved the fallen hair away from his face as he ripped the headphones away from his ears and wandered into the living room with his Converse hardly making a sound.
Harry watched as his father stumbled up the steps toward Gemma's room, "Listen to your mother, bitch," he spat, reaching into the room an unplugging the stereo with an electric pop. Gemma was protesting in the background, to which her father swore and smacked his fists against the wall until her plastic dance competition trophies were clanking in contact to the floor. Harry tried to calculate the answer to his homework in his whirling brain, moving his shifting hair away on impulse as his mother shoved by him on the stairs, clinging tightly to the railing.
"You do not talk to our daughter that way!" Anne chides, using her strength to pull at Des' shoulders until the man is stumbling back in the direction of Harry's room. Both his parents disappear behind the sturdy walls of the house, and the sounds of smacking and mumbles of an argument continue onward. Harry watches through the hot tears streaming down his cheeks as Gemma shoots up from her bed, and darts out into the hallway with a look of anger.
"Get the fuck off of her!" Gemma shouts, her eyes glassy with tears as well. Harry hears the grunts from both his parents as they struggle to get away from each other, as his mind buzzes about how the math doesn't make sense. He must have started the problem wrong, because the answer just won't come to him. He's advanced in Maths and this should come easy to him, but he forgets what number comes after eleven and wonders if that's where the cosmos end. He shoved his hair away from his face again and again, finally stomping his feet into the ground and sprinting away from the screaming and crying and reverberated slaps of skin and toward the downstairs bathroom.
He stared at the disgusting red of his eyes and nose, and the tears stains making linear stripes along his skin. He reached under the sink, grabbing the scissors and putting on the most determined face he could. He grabbed a fistful of his long hair, hating how dry and broken his curls felt against his skin. He listened as the scissors open and closed with their signature click, several chunks of his hair falling to his feet and scratching at his ankles. When he finally glanced through clear, tearless eyes, he saw the short strands chopped just above his neck, different lengths and heaving in various directions. The strands stuck up with their new buoyancy and were practically straightened except for the ends that gently curled into the shape of a 'u'.
It looked like shit.
He stepped out of the bathroom, remembering that twelve comes after eleven, but it didn't get him any closer to an answer. He could hear shouting ringing out from upstairs, Gemma included this time with her voice in a broken yell. He ran his fingers through his new, short hair, and felt like he just might vomit at their soft touch. His inner organs lurched forward, sending his feet tumbling toward the door and onto the pavement of the sidewalk. He could hear the familiar sound of snow crunching beneath his shoes, and the call of his sister trying to lure him back inside- all faded together with the high pitched ringing and blood pumping in his ears. Harry just skidded around the curve of the driveway that led to the greater expanse of white coated concrete and continued his stumbled sprinting. His skin was being pricked with cold air and droplets melting against the heat, cheeks growing flushed with the night air. Every sucked in breath stung like needled against his throat, and his whole face felt sticky and grotesque. New found freedom wasn't nearly as gorgeous as it was described to be: it was disgusting. It was gross to be covered in your own sweat and tears, and it was scary to be turning corners at your own will until you felt the lead block up your veins and acid burn every inch of your muscles. It wasn't until he managed to trip over his own foot and nearly slam into the ground that he noticed he was kneeling in front of Louis' house, the lights burning the silhouettes of Fizzy and Louis waiting flicking through channels. One of the figures turned to face Harry, jumping off the sofa immediately and sprinting toward the front door.
"Harry?" Louis gasped, hopping on one leg as his index finger was stuck between his heel and his shoe. He ran down to Harry and threw a blanket around him quickly, ushering him to stand, "What are you doing?" he asked with wide eyes, hands placed firmly on Harry's scrawny shoulders.
"I'm running away," Harry muttered, sucking in a breath and wiping his eyes until he began seeing stars. He felt less disgusting as Louis wrapped an arm around him, straightening the jumper that was one size too large, "Everything is horse shit," he whimpered.
"Then," Louis started, glancing toward his house before looking back at Harry with soft eyes, "I'm running away too," Harry clutched the hemmed edges of the blanket to his chest, enjoying the way it made his bare arms feel a warm caress. Both boys began a stroll down the sidewalk, Louis keeping a tender arm around Harry for no real reason, but it made Harry feel like the sky wasn't falling around him, and the snow wasn't eating him alive, "You cut your hair," the older boy announced, the fingers of his right hand reaching from around Harry's waist to the nape of his neck, extending out the length of the trimmed hair without a single knot or tangle. The younger only nodded, staring down at his feet as they made patterns in the fresh snow, leaning into Louis as much as he could, "Are we headed to LA already?" Louis finally asked, moving his arm away from Harry's shoulders and taking his hand instead.
"No, we can't get there, Louis," Harry gave a dry sob, shuttering as he gripped the hand grasping his own as tight as he could. Louis' skin felt burning cold against him, so freezing it made everything flutter like it was warm, "We'll never get there, nothing's going to work out. The world is such shit,"
"I don't know about you, but I can get there whenever I want," Louis chirped, a smile extending across his cheeks, so wide and bright Harry thought he mistook himself for the sun. Harry opened his mouth like he was planning to say something, to which Louis began talking over, eyes up toward the separating clouds overhead, "When I close my eyes on a night like this, or when I doze off in class because I'm locked up all day, I go to LA. It's lovely there," he giggled.
"It's all in your head," Harry deadpanned.
"Isn't that amazing?" Blue eyes met green, causing a cosmic reaction of particles until an entire universe began spreading, "If I want to, I can travel the entire world. I can travel the entire galaxy without even leaving my bed. And I see it the way I think it should be...kind of perfectly," Harry watched the galaxy between them spread and spread until they were covered in stardust that couldn't float away from their bubble of personal oxygen, "The world is horse shit, yeah. But, it's also full of lovely possibilities, Haz. Good things are happening all the time," Harry liked watching Louis' lips move, and the breath scuttle into the air and drift off all in one moment. They walked in silence for a few moments, Harry fixing their hands so their fingers were filling the spaces between each other, rather than just touching palms. The crunch of snow was like a metronome in the silent night, and only when everything fell silent did either boy realize the perfect circle of white had stopped falling.
"There are pills and special classes for dreamers like you...I watched the rest of Grease after you went home the other day, " Harry nearly whispered, thankful the pink tint of cheeks from the nipping air was hiding his true embarrassment. He liked it, sort of. Nothing made sense, and he nearly fell asleep...but, Louis really enjoyed it, and the happy ending lit sparklers against Harry's chest, igniting a fire in his eyes.
Louis eyes Harry up and down, only now remembering their difference in age with the way the blanket drags behind Harry, piling up snow before it grew too heavy and left a small tower behind. He probably understood nothing about Grease and was left utterly bored, but Louis could appreciate the thought behind the action. Harry still looked very boyish while Louis was growing into his own looks, and their difference in height had never been greater than now- Louis having to decrease the speed of his strides to avoid making Harry sprint, "You're cute," Louis sighed, keeping it a secret that he said that to Harry as an equal, not as the younger friend that he could treat like a baby. He watches Harry look back down to his feet, trying to hide his face just in case his blush was showing. It was, and it made Louis light up and smile at his boy fondly, before choosing to look at his own shoes, "What were you talking about before? About your parents,"
"Nothing," Harry shook his head, unconsciously scooting closer to the elder until their knees nearly brushed as they walked.
"Harry,"
He sighs, looking up at Louis, slightly disappointed that the blue eyes weren't already on him, "Do you believe in love? Like...is it real like in Grease?"
"Um...I don't know. I like to think it is..." Louis drifted, thinking back to only a few years ago when he was sitting with a certain Cinderella-dressed boy and thinking about something quite similar in context, "Don't you?" he asked, apprehensive, while looking both ways before crossing onto a new street.
"Sometimes I do," Harry cracked a smile, before thinking back to the reason he had sprinted out into the night to begin with, "And...other times, I don't," he imagined what Gemma might have seen on the second floor, while he could only listen to the slams and smacks and his parent's grumbles of pain, and wondered how anything of the sort could happen, "Sometimes I don't think I should believe in anything," He glanced up to Louis, glad to see he was already receiving the same amount of attention, "My parents don't love each other anymore...and that's the part of the movie they don't show you,"
"Well," Louis shrugged, cracking a lighthearted smile, "I love you, don't I?" Louis brought his feet to a halt, watching Harry swing around to face him while still keeping their hands locked together.
"That's different," the younger boy whispered, about to go on explaining when he felt a pair of lips brush his own. They were hesitant at first, just a ghost of warm breath smacking him in a white cloud of moist air, before finding cupping Harry's own lips in a sweet embrace. His green eyes were wide open, shocked about it at first. He and Louis had kissed thousands of times growing up, but something felt different about this one. Good different. He closed his eyes and pressed up on his toes so he could take it more. Their touching hands was the dormant gunpowder, suddenly lighting up into their private cosmos until fireworks erupted, freezing into microscopic planets. Butterflies formed in Harry's stomach, and he thought apologies to them for giving up their oxygen supply, but everything felt warm and lovely while floating around in space. He could hear anything around him, sound didn't travel. The only thing he knew was that Louis was kissing him, and every numb part of him sprung back to life. And, realizing that everything was waiting for him in this small town, including the boy in front of him, he wanted to go home.
Louis pulled away with their lips making the signature pop sound, winking at Harry with the light smile still plastered to his face, "Yeah...it's different," he cooed.
"Harry?! Oh my god," Harry swung around, blushing completely to see his mother standing in the doorway with glistening tears. He hadn't even realized both boys had been standing in front of his house, "You're back, thank- Oh, thank God!" Anne darted to his side, getting to her knees and cradling her boy in her arms. Harry watched as Gemma sprinted to the frame of the front door, a wide smile showing on her face, and how his father's car was still parked in the driveway, instead of being missing in action after the confrontation. Anne pulled back, taking in the horrid look of her son's hair, before smiling up at a watching Louis, "Thank you, thank you so much for bringing him home, Louis. Thank you," she cried, single droplets of tears leaking from her eyes, "How can I ever thank you for this?" she stood, noticing how Harry's hand still clung back to Louis', even with the awkward positioning.
"How about I stay the night?" Louis asked, voice meek from both the previous kiss and the feel of inviting himself over. Anne looked hesitant, crossing her arms against the cold and glancing back to Gemma in the doorway. Harry inched closer to Louis, readjusting himself so Louis' left arm was slung around his shoulders, and his head could fall into the crook without his hair getting in the way.
"We would love to have you, darling," Anne cooed, placing a kiss to Louis' forehead before leading the boys inside.
That night was the first good night Harry could remember having with his family. His parents ordered pizza while Gemma scuttled around the bathroom to fix the mess that was Harry's mop. They sat around the table watching whatever was on the television, and laughing. The room was still filled with obvious tension at times, but Harry knew they could start working on it, and he could go to LA anytime he needed it. Eventually, it was just the boys left downstairs, glancing through the Styles DVD collection to find a movie to fall asleep to. Eventually, after directly searching through the pile, Harry showed the white cover of Grease in Louis' direction.
"Let's watch this, Lou," Harry laughed, standing up without permission from his big buddy and shoving the disk in. He only skipped back to the couch once the loading screen already started.
"Thought you didn't believe in love?" Louis asked, raising as eyebrow, and the popcorn bowl as Harry threw his weight against the cushions.
Harry reached out and put a gentle kiss to the side of Louis' mouth, wishing he had his Polaroid to take a picture of the bright smile that spread across the older boy's face so he could store it in his memory box. The opening song started up, the familiar beat filling the room before Harry finally leaned his head against Louis' shoulder and let out a satisfied sigh.
"It's growing on me,"