Louis Tomlinson spent two long years recovering from the most traumatizing night of his life. But when he receives something from the person responsible for his terror, he’s afraid not only for his life- but for his heart.
WARNING includes smut, rape, murder, and other dark matters that may be disturbing
A/N: oooooh good god
Louis slammed his back up against the door as soon as they made it home, as though he was keeping out some monster. He glanced over at the boy, who had an exhausted look on his face, he glanced over at the man who was pale as a sheet.
"You okay, Louis?" Harry dryly chuckled, Louis shot him a weak glare. He was still trembling.
"What do you think, Harry?" He snapped, shuffling to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. He seriously needed some alcohol. He poured himself a liberal glass, palming it and taking one large gulp, which made his eyes water.
Harry was in front of him, gazing down at him with a glassy stare. A distant smile was on his lips, “Alcohol won’t help, trust me.” Although he tried to sound arrogant, Louis could pick out the uncomfortable feeling that alcohol brought the boy.
That sparked an idea; a gruesome idea that not many psychiatrists or therapists used anymore, but it could give quite the substantial results.
Although they hadn’t found the “bodies” Harry was so positive he had placed in the forest behind his old home, Louis had a gut feeling there was something much more tied to that incredibly intelligent brain of his.
With the slight buzz of alcohol in his system, he set the glass on the counter and pushed past the boy. In his room, he ripped open his sock drawer, rummaging his hand around in its depths before he found the other little cartridge at the back that Harry hadn’t found earlier.
He palmed it and stepped back out into the living area, Harry, who was staring at him with keen curiosity. When his eyes settled on what was in the man’s hands, his brows furrowed and a dark expression consumed his face.
Louis recalled just that morning- and mentally he almost collapsed- today had been so incredibly long. That morning, when Harry had smelt the smoke, he had an immense emotional reaction, which even for Harry was unusual.
Little triggers like that were good at bringing out past memories.
"Harry," Louis said in a wavering, but fairly determined tone, "Come here."
The boy snickered darkly, “What the fuck are you going to do to me, Louis?”
He winced, “Come here.” He tried to make himself more bold, but felt his heart race slightly faster. Harry rolled his eyes, but finally obeyed and sauntered over to the man.
With much coaxing and frustration, Louis had the boy restrained in a chair in his room. The boy writhed before him, making frustrated noises and twisting his wrists against the ropes. Harry threw an absolute death glare at the man who closed the door, glancing brokenly at him. A pang of guilt chilled his veins as he sat in the chair opposite to the boy.
"Fuck you." Harry spat, his muscles tense and eyes wide with loathing. Louis gulped.
"Harry, please, calm down." He somehow captured his even voice, the one he used when talking to patients. Harry didn’t, he just let out a low groan, banging his feet against the floor in frustration.
"Harry," he chastised quietly, "I need you to be calm for this." He stood up from his chair, placing his hands on either sides of the boy’s chair, leering over him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. From his forehead, he lightly placed kisses down his temples, to his jaw and to the base of his ear. "Shhh."
Harry finally relaxed, closing his eyes and let out a long, broken sigh. “Breathe in, breathe out.” Louis chanted quietly, soothingly, tracing his fingers along the boy’s cheeks before stepping back and sitting down in his chair.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Louis listening to his slowly steadying breath, and Harry sat, finally perfectly relaxed, eyes closed, and almost asleep, when Louis drew a cigarette from the pack.
He placed it limply between his lips and lit up, the zip of the lighter enough to grab Harry’s attention. Louis inhaled the smoke deeply, before blowing it out wistfully.
If Harry hadn’t been relaxed as he was, he would have torn from his binding in rage, but he just stared blearily at the smoke curling around the man’s face. He made a low, whining noise.
Louis ignored the pliant, pitiful moans coming from the boy, who looked as though he were about to cry. A muscle in his jaw twitched and lips trembled as he inhaled deeply through his nose. Louis stared at him, leaning forth on his thighs and rolling the cigarette between his teeth, ashing it on the leg of the chair carelessly.
He cleared his throat, wrinkling his nose quickly, as he was not used to smoking more than one a day. The smoke now ran gray wrinkles in the room, slowly drifting and swirling in elaborate patterns.
Louis shifted again, “So, Harry,” he sighed, “tell me why it is you hate the smell of smoke so much?” His voice didn’t falter, was easy and as caring as a question of that matter could be formatted.
A crease in Harry’s brow formed, and he absently yanked on his wrist constraints, clenching his jaw shut. Louis waited patiently, holding a fiery stare with the boy, but when it was apparent Harry had no intentions of telling- or couldn’t remember- he leaned down, plucked another cigarette from it’s pack and lit up.
This caused much distress to the boy, and he tensed even more. Louis made more of a point to blow the smoke harshly in his direction. Harry coughed, his eyes alighting with something beyond Louis’ knowledge.
"Fucking quit it.” Harry hellishly growled, his fingers clawing at the armrests he was bound to. The tendons in his neck tensed and sweat began to grab a hold of the back of his shirt.
Louis ignored him, “Is it what you paired with alcohol, Harry, smoked yourself out after you killed someone?”
"No." Harry barked out between gritted teeth, a helpless fury overtaking his features in a trembling rage.
"Then what was it?" Louis pressed in an even tone, something extremely unnerving to people like Harry.
The boy glared up at him as he stood from his chair, stepping closer to him. His breath was labored, chest rising and falling erratically.
Louis so much as dared to lean down face level with him, take one long drag and blow the smoke directly in his face. Harry recoiled as much as he could, spluttering out curses, shaking his head desperately.
He felt bad, but at the same time, he really didn’t. Harry had put him through absolute hell- for god’s sake he was helping him by doing this.
Louis crouched on his haunches in front of the boy, balancing himself by resting his hands on the boy’s trembling knees, flicking the ash absently.
He stared at him, studying his twisted features as he trembled, before a wicked smile- not a real one- played up on the man’s lips, “It’s your daddy isn’t it?” His voice took on one of teasing, one that would cause more of a reaction
Something changed in Harry’s face, it was as though his face dropped of all emotion but his eyes now turned to Louis’ glassy and wide, he was gasping for breath still.
He certainly hit a nerve there, and he had to play off of that.
"Don’t call him that." Harry said tensely, twisting his hands again.
He ignored him again, “Did your Daddy love you, Harry?”
Harry flinched, a confused look crossing his face, “He left when I was 10, of course not.” His voice was rough from trying to withhold tears.
"Then who took you to therapy?"
It grew dead silent, Harry’s expression changed and his mouth hung open, eyes swimming and bottom lip trembling.
He suddenly leaned forth, writhing and waling loudly, “I don’t know, Louis I don’t know!” He spluttered, jerking in the chair so wildly, the man shrunk back in his chair. “It’s like there’s a cloud in there, I try to remember things but it’s gone!”
His lips were wet and red, his nose was running and cheeks were stained with the constant tears from this serious emotional dam. Louis had to keep this gate open, he leaped up from his chair, leaning down until his nose was almost brushing against Harry’s.
"What was your therapist’s name, Harry?" He questioned urgently, his voice raised to be heard of the boy’s waling.
Harry jerked one final time against his constraints, giving out a pathetic and gut wrenching moan, shaking his head over and over, “Miranda,” he spluttered out forcefully, as though he was hesitant on that- unsure.
"Miranda, Miranda. What’s her last name?" He pressured as Harry continually shook his head, as though that would help him remember.
"Miranda.. Miranda?" He repeated helplessly, his weary frustration had his legs trembling and fingers twisting, "Miranda Smith?” And just by saying her full name, Harry’s back straightened as though the devil had possessed him and he let out horrid caw.
"Miranda Smith, the cunt that.. that smoked in that stupid fucking shit hole.. I’d.. I’d pass out because I couldn’t breathe…” he seethed, his eyes squeezing shut with a wretched sob.
Being one of the head Psychiatrists in London, Louis would usually recognize other Therapist’s names from meetings and clinics, but that name rang no bells. But that was all he had the heart to do to Harry today, and just sat slowly back down on his chair.
Harry was collapsed back against his seat crying, sobbing now. No matter how much Louis’ wanted to console him, he had to let that emotional baggage sift off.
So he sat and silently waited for Harry to at least slightly gather himself. But after 30 minutes of his crying not seizing, and his anxiety becoming present as he would let out horrified cries and try to wrench his hands up, Louis stood up, and undid the ropes around his wrists.
"Come here." He cooed quietly, biting back tears himself as the boy reached up like a little kid and wrapped his arms around his neck, his face beat red from his extensive sobbing. Louis helped him up out of his chair, and probably would have carried him if the boy wasn’t so much taller than he was.
Instead, he lead him out into the hall where a waft of fresh air greeted them, and down into the living area. Louis sat on the couch and guided Harry to lay down with his head in his lap.
The boy continued to sob into his lap, and Louis couldn’t help but cry too. Even though this boy had made his life a living hell, he hated to see him like this.
He soothingly rubbed his back with his right hand and ran his other through his curls, humming sweetly and quietly until his sobs quieted to little whimpering cries.
Louis leaned down and pressed a long kiss to the side of his head, lifting up slowly and quietly breathing a sigh when Harry finally fell silent besides subtle sniffles.
He continued to rub his back and wiped away his tears, studying his features that were so youthful when swollen from crying.
He didn’t know how long they sat there together, he even felt sleep trying to pull his eyes closed. Harry had fallen asleep, as he was making sweet little breathy snores.
Louis felt something in his stomach clench as he once again looked over his face that now looked peaceful as he slept.
He didn’t know what it was, the unusual fluttering sensation that suddenly engulfed him and made his toes curl, but he knew it was something substantial.
He stared at the boy so long he probably could have painted it in perfect clarity just from memory, and when he felt his legs falling asleep, he shifted to put his feet up on the coffee table.
Harry stirred in his sleep, his eyes blearily opening, blinking away sleep. His eyes were puffy and red, but he rolled onto his back slowly, staring at the man.
They didn’t say anything, just stared at one another for what felt like a long time- conveying things just through this long look that made Louis’ toes curl again and he wasn’t sure if that was a good reaction or not.
When he looked as though he were about to drift off again, his swollen lips parted with a little breath and his heavily lidded eyes turned back up to Louis’. He croaked out something, barely audible, but Louis heard them as though they were screamed into his ear before the boy closed his eyes.
“I love you.”