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Petals don’t break (But they tear)

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Rose petals. Ruby red, illuminating rose petals, oval, neat and rounded and perfect in every single way.

That’s the first thing Louis’ notices. He can’t help but stare at the precious things that lay so gently on the fluffiness of the pickle-green bushes that circle the building he is walking towards.

He can’t help but wonder how it must be to own this beautiful peice of property, to be able to freely run your hands through the silky softness of the lively petals, 

But he also can’t help but wonder why it feels so...wrong. Like the wrong kind of beauty, the wrong kind of perfect. Maybe it’s the mistiness in the air, the almost undetectable bitterness that stays lurking in the shadows, 

or maybe he’s just being a paranoid fuck, like always, and he mentally slaps himself, he really needs to stop being so poetic about big situations all damn time, because today is the first day of his work.

He has no idea what-so-ever how the hell he bagged it, how the hell he, a normal citizen of Doncaster, out of all applicants of professional servants from every single colour and edge of the world, from people who know almost every language that the Earth has to offer, from people that are trained for years to be a servant, how he bagged it. 

He can’t help but wonder if it’s all a trick, maybe one of the eyes, an illusion, or a stupid dream which ends in him waking up in a old mattress in his dark and pale room, sighing and contemplating if he should probably start doing something with his life. 

He can’t help but wonder, why me? Why normal, tax-paying, earthly and stupid 20 year old boy me? But regardless he keeps walking to lump of clay. The centre of attention and the beautifully carved mansion that lays so blissfully before him. The glue that keeps all the tragic omens that litter and poison the air in a neat and cleaned tact,

he gulps, and brings up his soft hands to knock on the harsh white-painted and splintered wood of the front door, this could be a very long day.


A pretty brunette with her soul gleaming through her eyes but a dark demeanour  settled in the corners ended up opening the door, slightly taller than Louis. She was wearing black jeans that clutched onto her thighs and a satin blue crop top that hung on her shoulders. Louis came to learn that her name was Eleanor,

she demanded from him his name and his address, then when she seemed content that this was indeed ‘Louis Tomlinson’ she made him sign a contract that consisted of too many words for Louis’ mind to even begin to process.

She was quite silent and collected for the most part, but when she spoke, Louis could make out the thick London accent that drenched and dripped off of each of her words. 

She shows him around the mansion, and it’s...stunning to say the least. 

It gorgeous really, 

it’s spacious and large and consists of almost-cracked vases and other antique and £1000 looking things around ever corner, 

there are large glazed windows that are bigger than Louis himself and reveal the acres of green land that are filled and filled with tons of bright and lit roses, white canapés filling up some parts of the garden, 

the foyer itself is the size of Louis’ entire house, and it’s so hollow and reflective that Louis could hear his slight and rugged breaths echoeing and chanting off the walls, the slightest noise too delicate for it’s precious and vulnerable surface, 

the entire floor is covered in beige marble, and it’s reflective and crystal clean and Louis can honestly see his reflection in them. 

And then there’s...that.

An area to the left of Louis that is slapped with an old sign with almost glowing bold red letters, on the rusty bronze railings of the twisting and winding stairs that says;

‘B section’.

Louis glares at it a little, Eleanor walking slowly in front of him and not regarding him in any way, she clearly didn’t realise that Louis had come to a holt.

She just keeps walking.

He sees that the steps of these stairs are also made of marble yet with a maroon fur carpet blanketing from the bottom, in it’s middle, all the way to the top, it looks like miles and miles.

The sight of it sends shivers down Louis’ spine. It looks...almost abandoned. 

Every single aspect of this carefully looked after building picked with a fine-tooth comb, yet this section, completely oblivious to the care that it deserves. Rejected almost. 

Covered with dust and everything murky and dreadful, neglected from the cleanliness of every other area that Louis has seen.

He let’s it slip though, he’ll ask about it another time, and he quickly goes to rush after Eleanor who’s still in sight, back turned towards him.

The walls are a range of colours, 

the kitchen- Red

the bathroom(s)- Green

the living rooms(s)- Blue

and the bedrooms, well, he hasn’t seen them yet. 

Right now he’s in the kitchens,

It’s a narrow area to say the least,

there’s wooden cupboards on either sides of the shiny walls, ovens all over the place, and it’s almost like a riot, a messy yet agreeable riot of chefs and assistants.

He meets a cluster of rushing and slightly overweight and fatigued looking old ladies, who wear garments that are white and smeared with different spices and herbs and Louis could swear that he’s seen at least 5 new colours on the chef’s clothes that he’d never seen before in his life.

He passes them quick greetings and they all reply to him in a rushed and uncaring manner.


Eleanor remains next to him, she’s close to him yet she’s so far away, her mind is wandering somewhere else yet she’s clearly still paying attention, still...there. But not fully, not completely. Louis can tell this from every time he dares to ask her a question,

she simply passes him a mild glare in response and answers either grumbling yes, muttering no, or finding a way to assemble the shortest sentences possible to avoid any means of conversation.

He finds this extremely weird, who is she anyways? 

She’s definitely not a maid, no maid dresses like that. 

But she doesn’t look super rich either, and he would hate to admit it, but her look doesn’t exactly scream “I own this mansion in the middle of the forests of Holmes Chapel!”.

As new aromas fill up his already over-used nose, so does his mind. 

Each passing second offering another question that he knows he can’t, or rather shouldn’t ask, to this frankly, cyborg pretty girl in front of him.

After five minutes pass of Louis staring at a disturbing scene of ladies running around in front of him, his ear dinging with the sound of light commands being tossed around and the ringing of ovens and the cracklings of a light fire, Louis finally breaks the silence to ask a question, 

“Soooo, when are we meeting the boss?” Louis questions, brows furrowed and his gaze meeting Eleanor’s and his tone oddly chirpy, a contrast to the bizarre and uncomfortable mood that’s settling in stomach.

Eleanor stiffens at that, instantly freezing. Her gaze moves to penetrate Louis’ eyes, her dark and gloomy stare picking into his soul.

”The...boss?” She questions glumly, it’s a weird thing really. Her tone is so calm, so completely normal, yet her eyes are ready to pop out of her sockets and beat Louis to a pulp.

Louis hardly swallows the bile that gathers up in the low pits of his throat, looking down at his fiddling hands and biting his cheeks before replying;

”U-um, th-the person who owns the place?” Louis questions, and it was meant to come out as a statement, yet it came out as anything but, his gaze is fixed on the ground, yet he spares a moment to look up.

Eleanor simply smirks,

like she knows something,

knows something that Louis doesn’t, knows something that is tucked and stored away in a steel box deep inside her brain labelled ‘Dark secrets.’

“Harry Styles. His name is Harry.” She offers, it’s almost condescending, like she’s not content with just labelling his as ‘the boss’ or something similar. 

But that’s good enough for Louis, and his heart starts thumping again, as the blood is rushing back up to his head, 

she’s talking! This is good! Better than silence!

He snaps his head back up, looking back at the bizarre lady with her soul in her eyes, and darkness lined around them.

He lightens up a little, and mentally notes to focus on something else while talking to this weird girl, like listening to background noise.

In this situation, the background noise is the tattering feet of little old ladies, throwing curse words about and laughing ridiculously, the clanging of pots meeting, metal against metal and that’s good enough, good enough distraction from the disturbing glare of the probably part-robot in front of him.

”Great!” He says enthusiastically, his grin spreading across his cheeks, reaching and crinkling his eyes, he runs his right hand through his cotton-soft hair before continueing;

”So when do I meet him?” He says, not breaking that streak of the enthusiastic tone. His hands now dropping to his sides and playing with bottom of his button down blue shirt, 

Eleanor breaks into a small grin, before laughing slightly in the most grim way possible, she turns around, and walks away, 

Louis remembers that her back is faced to him, her figure standing just at the frame of the door that leads to the living room, before she shouted one sentence, not even looking back towards him, one sentence that left Louis in a daze and in confusion, that left him wondering what on Earth was going on, what on Earth he’d gotten himself into,

”You’re a daft boy if you think that Harry wants to see you!” She yelled in little breaths of laughter,  

and just as she was almost out of his sight, just as the last of the little fragment of her shimmery blue shirt was leaving Louis’ vision, she muttered something that he was sure he wasn’t meant to hear, perhaps it was only for her, her and her twisted thoughts, but he did hear it.

”He only sees his whores and his bottles of scotch.” She grumbled.

Chapter Text

Three whole days.

Three long, tiring, inevitably boring and un-ending three days that makes Louis want to lay down on the cool floor and just die a slow and excruciatingly painful death.

While he looks down on his sweat-drenched garments that uncomfortably shifts itself to the bottom of his armpits and little stomach he can’t help but think, 

Yeah, this is hell.

It’s three days of never ending new commands, rushing orders, either from the manic chefs that fumble around everywhere like pest or Eleanor who either looks dumbfounded and lost or like a character from a cheesy chick-flic, filing her perfectly-manicured nails and looking impossibly bitchy, and the orders always come through at the second he catches his breath, the second where his lungs return to their normal functioning state, 

But there’s only one Louis. One servant. 

One weak and feeble and small Louis, sure he has biceps and a nice little body, but there’s no way on earth that he’s strong enough to carry half the shit that they chuck at him,

“Carry the crates of milk and bring them here in five minutes!” 

“There are new boxes of books that go in the library, they’re outside, Louis.” 

“Don’t just sit your lazy arse there boy! There’s pots to clean, shoes to polish, do something!”

And it’s quite darkening that when he goes to his dorms, which is placed at the top of another stairs that are adjacent to the “B section”, (Louis still is curious as fuck about that area), that they are empty and as un-homely as possible.

The area smells very...hygienic,

like someone used bleach and a tooth-pic to clean every little spec in the room, tending to every nook and cranny, every minuscule detail. 

and it’s quite pretty, 

it’s spacious enough and consists of one bed, which is laced with really smooth cotton sheets and pillows that are silky and gentle, and mirrors are on almost all the walls.

One squeezed window on the wall opposite the doors reveals the outside view that Louis both hates and loves and the walls are plastered with a seductive and dangerous red.

But just like the rest of the house, just like the murky atmosphere that doesn’t escape it, it’s wrong. Really, really wrong, and it feels so un-habitable, so bizarre.

Louis wonders if anyone else can sense it, sometimes he’ll see Eleanor cringe slightly when touching the glass panels as she looks outside to the too-clean gardens, a shiver visibly sliding up her spine.

Maybe she feels it, feels the weight that the house carries just like Louis does.

And as he lays down in the bed that feels oh-so-wrong, he waits for another day.




“Fuck you!” A squeaky woman’s voice screams at the top of her lungs, her words slightly muffled by the walls that line Louis’ room.

Louis jolts up awake at that, any of his calming dreams being deeply forgotten and leaving without a trace,


He twists his head around fast to look at the small whizzing electrical clock that has bright bold numbers and lights up on his bedside.

It reads ‘2:40 AM’.


Louis waits for a bit, sat up and rubbing his tired and aching eyes with the back of his palms, silence. Then a bit more yelling.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” The same woman resumes, livid and her voice drenched with anger on every syllable. 

Louis wonders if she’s talking to the walls, no one is replying, perhaps she’s on the phone, gripping it tightly and listening to curses on the other end,

his hands are shaking a little, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, demanding to be heard. 

He really doesn’t like to hear people shout, it’s like he can feel the radiation and heat of every curse word, every broken letter. He hates it.

He considers getting up, because...nothing is happening. 

He can’t hear anyone rushing to attend to whoever is screaming, or whoever’s being screamed at. 

Can’t hear the curious whispers of the staff wondering what’s going on, almost like this is a normal occurrence, like they’re used to girls almost losing their voices from screaming so much,

Can’t hear a trace of Eleanor telling this anonymous girl to quieten down, he can’t even hear the echoing of her annoying-ass heels, and normally he thanks god for that, but now it leaves him feeling vulnerable and confused.

There’s another slight pause, before a loud thump!

Louis flinches slightly, it’s sounded really loud. Like, really, really. 

He can’t help but feel like someone’s been pushed down the stairs...and, fuck this.

Maybe everybody in this house has lost any sense of basic morality but he hasn’t, refuses to.

He rushes towards his door and turns the brass bronze handle, when he does he runs down the short narrow hallways and he quickly makes to rush down the sickeningly cold marble stairs, hard and cool against the bare soles of his feet.

When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he looks up to see a woman, standing upright at the bottom of the stairs of the ‘B section’, only a few metres away from him.

She’s hardly wearing anything, just a bra and some thin panties, and she’s clutching tightly to her chest a few pieces of clothing while staring up with glazed eyes, a bright red face and veins popping out her neck at a man who’s stood at the top of the stairs of this...’B section.’

He’s almost on top of them, so above that Louis’ feels like he’s looking at a higher power. 

Louis doesn’t know what to do, so, like the unknown girl at the bottom of the stairs, he just glares at the man who looks down upon her.

The man is lying hidden in the depths of the shadows, his lanky body only shining from the creeks of moonlight that steal their way into the broken building, 

His body upright and straight, looking down upon her, Louis can’t make out his expression, or his face, he’s looking almost frozen at the girl at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes not leaving her.

And then they do, and Louis makes out his olive face perfectly.

His dark-chocolate curls are stretched and up to his shoulders, hiding some of his features, yet his face is still pretty clear.

As the set of his eyes settle on Louis, Louis gulps. Because his eyes are wrong.

So, so, so, very, extremely, badly and wrongly wrong.

Yes, they’re magnificent. Like two pieces of precious emerald, bright and green and priceless. They do well to light up the dark building like it’s the first time that the mansion had ever even seen a hint of light, yet just like the building, it’s empty.

Hollow, and unreadable. 

They’re dead, like a lively corpse. Like something that has seen so much that it snaps, but not really. 

His eyes pinch Louis’ soul, because he can’t tell if there’s too much emotion there, or none at all.

Louis’ wonders what the man is thinking, he’s so still that if not for a few casual blinks, Louis would think he’s a mannequin, something assembled with metal, plastic and wood.

They both just stand like that, some weird silence, in a weird building, looking at a weirdly empty man.

“Excuse me.” 

Louis almost jumps at that, but the man stays calm and still, completely unfazed.

Louis snaps his attention back to the half-naked woman and can’t help but notice the unimpressed and annoyed look that’s washed over her small face.

“Me and Hazza here are kind of in the middle of something-“ she starts but is interrupted by a deep and slow voice.

“Don’t call me Hazza.” The man grumbles demandingly, and Louis looks back up at the hollow doll, 

His voice is low and emotionless but there’s a humanly undertone and annoyance to it, good. Very good. He’s a human.

Louis was starting to wonder if everyone in this fucking building was a robot. 

She sniggers and flips one off on him, before mumbling a not-so-quiet;

 “Fuck you!” One last time before slamming the front door closed, 

Louis sighs, looks down at his hands and starts fiddling with his fingers, what kind of Reality t.v shit is this?

“What’s your name?” A voice questions dominantly, breaking Louis’ streak of ongoing thoughts

and Louis almost falls back in a flinch, because yeah he forgot this ‘Hazza’ guy was still in the local vicinity. 

Louis stumbles, his knees shaking a little before standing back up to his normal stance,

“Um, i-i’m-“ 

“It’s a simple question.” 


“Your name is Sorry?” Harry questions rudely, a bullish smirk twisting at the corners of his lips.

Louis hears patters, feet coming down the stairs, and looks up to see the same lanky figure walking slowly down, his heart starts thumping that much louder.

Why is he so damn nervous?

Oddly enough, the mans steps are irregular and weird, not like two normal feet, 

It goes like 





Louis is quickly caught staring at his legs and the man who (was making his way down the stairs.) freezes in realisation, he grumbles something that sounds careless and unbothered, his face turning downwards in what looks like shame, and then he returns to his movements, until he’s face to face with Louis.

They’re about one metre apart and Louis can almost feel the mans breath tickling his front area of neck, his chocolatey curls beaming and shiny.

“Name.” He demands, no questioning or intrigued tone evident, no emotion on his blank canvas of a face.

Louis looks down at his fumbling and shaking fingers again, the mans stare is scolding hot.

“L-Louis.” He mumbles back.

“Louis.” The man repeats, but in a tone that makes it sound like he’s reassuring himself and not Louis.

Louis looks up at him and tries to analyse every small detail on his face within a time range of 5 seconds to avoid any means of soul-scarring.

His nose is shiny and diamond shaped and fits in with his gem eyes and his hot pink lips,

Beautiful...but tragic.

“Nobody tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop before?” The lanky man questions rhetorically and seriously, but also like he’s looking for an answer to confirm his self-ego.

Louis takes in a deep breath and glances up at the man before replying;

“I-I’m Sorry sir, I heard a bang, I was afraid someone had hurt themselves.” 

The man chuckles darkly, raising his brows, his ringed fingers going up to lace quickly through his shining curls, shifting the loose strands to the back of his head, Louis squirms uncomfortably at the response.

“Well, Louis, there’s a two things you need to learn about this house-“ He puts his index finger and middle finger up to sign the number two, “-Firstly you mind your own business-“ he puts his middle finger back down leaving the index “-And secondly never walk out your dorms at night.” He finishes, completely lowering his pale hand, 

Louis’ hands shake a little at his sides and his knees are about to give out, his heart is thumping uncontrollably and he really doesn’t know how the hell to react to this situation.

“Got it chumps?” He questions condescendingly and sarcastically.

Louis is still lost for words, and his brain is whizzing and stirring yet no words are coming out of his mouth, his eyes blurry from the lack of sleep and waking up at such an ungodly hour, Louis reckons that he looks like a 5-year Old that’s just lost his parents.

Harry chuckles one last time before slowly plodding up the marble and dusty stairs of the ‘B section’





While he’s going up the stairs he shouts, his deep voice repeating off the walls,

“And tell that bitch Eleanor that I, Harry Edward Styles, say to take you through the rules properly next time!” 

And Louis almost passes out from all the confusion then and there.

Chapter Text

He needs to set a bunch of rules.

Louis needs to set a bunch of rules for himself in this mansion of inescapable doom and gloom is he’s to live through whatever the fuck is going on in this weird ass compound.

  1. Never ask Eleanor anything about her personal life
  2. Never ask Eleanor about Harry Styles.
  3. Somehow try following 1 & 2 while trying to make Harry as happy as possible.

He grabs the thin pale sheet of paper and scribbles his rules down with a black pen in the messiest handwriting possible, then scrunches it up slightly before stuffing it into the pockets of his jeans, this mansion was more fucked up than he expected.


5 hours earlier, 6PM-


Louis scrambled down the thick stairs of the mansion, one hand assembling his feathery hair together to form a bundle instead of all the strands just loosely laying against his heated forehead, and another wiping the beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand.

His breath was heaving heavily in his lungs because yet again, his day consisted of nothing but him running around like a headless chicken, receiving orders left, right and centre and trying his hardest not to malfunction. 

Even though his head was rushing with all the chores that he had to be through with so he could return to his dodgy dorm, he couldn’t help but leave space in his thought process to think about 3 long nights ago, when he encountered this ‘Harry Styles’ man for the first time.

The man with the empty eyes.

The beautiful boy without (or a very hidden) soul.

Fuck! He was thinking about it again. He really had to stop, 

not only was it like an irratable seed that was constantly and violently growing at a top-fast pace in his brain, it was also using up most of his thought energy, 

he would catch himself dozing off in the middle of a conversation with a very sassy chef, or with the gardener or Eleanor who looked extremely dis impressed with his weak work ethic. But honestly, who could blame her, Louis’ was practically thanking the bleak and expensive walls of the mansion every night for bagging this job that, yes was exhausting, but paid the bills like you wouldn’t believe.

Louis plodded lazily around the marble floors of the mansion in black vans, black jeans, and a black tank top. Yes, extremely depressing, but, this mansion brought out the emo stylist in him. 

Even though his sight was turning to black dots, there was still a light skip in his step, he wasn’t a complete goth (yet), if there was one fact that remained it was this mansion couldn’t take away Louis’ happiness, Louis’ always assumed that that task would always be assigned to someone, instead of something perhaps.

Just as he turned the handle of the front door, he heard some pattering steps gradually getting closer from behind him, but it wasn’t coming from the murky kitchens, or the stairs leading to his sadistic dorms, no.

It was coming from down the B-section.




Louis instantly let the grip on the handle fall and jolted steadily and extremely quickly around, 

his gaze focused on...a woman?

Not ‘Harry Styles’ but someone noticeable, and Louis would know that face anywhere, 


She wore a dark frown, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes were lined in the blackest shades of emptiness and upset.

She, like her mood, wore a depressing sheer black top with a white vest underneath, and some ripped black jeans accompanied with white leather boots that caused clicking noises to echo around the hall.




She thumped down when finally reaching the floor, and Louis’ glared at the burning depression that was practically surrounding her, burrowing itself in her skin. She turned around to fully face Louis, and scowled at him when she saw him staring at her, weird, and sort of scary as fuck.

He gulped, because this felt a lot like déjà-vu, only three nights ago, he could’ve sworn he was on the exact same spot, staring at a heartless person, although now maybe he was staring at someone who carried too much of a heart, but liked to hide it.

She glared at him back, and when his focus never left her, she growled a;

“What the fuck are you staring at?” 


Louis found himself lost and scared, but all it took was a few seconds of staring deep into Eleanor’s shining brown eyes for those emotions to turn into something more...curious.

“Are you alright?” He replied sympathetically, rolling his head to a side like a puppy.

She frowned even lower at that,

“Go do your job.” She stated blankly and frankly, but Louis asked a question, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get his answer, and just as she turned his back at him to turn towards the kitchens he quickly spoke again,

“Has this anything to do with the boss?” He blurted out, his face conforming into an unknown and patient expression, as if god mixed confusion, dauntlessness, curiosity and sympathy into a bowl.

She halted in her step, and before Louis knew it she was taking large strides towards him while huffing curses, he leaned back out of flinch and then,





Louis woke up in a unknown room, everything spinning in a blur and his sight slowly going into focus, sitting on a small wooden chair next to him was Marge (One of the kitchen chefs) she dabbed a napkin in a cold bucket of water and placed it then continued to swipe and dab under Louis’ nose, he winced at the pain, completely oblivious to what happened to cause him to feel like a feeble hospital patient,

Marge was a slightly overweight chef, and still beautiful as ever, even Louis could admit that. Her ginger hair looked golden when the small and fluttering light shone against it, and her facial features were assembled in an angelic and godly way, but her smile shone through the most, that glimmering and hearty smile

She smiled sadly but relieved at Louis as she continued to tend to him, focusing on under his nose,

“What happened?” He groaned while pressing his small palm against his forehead.

Marge sighed and then threw the bloody napkin in the bin next to her,

“She’s got a temper, that one.” She replied annoyed, staring at Louis and furrowing her brows, her accent was Irish and proud, loud and comfortable.

The realisation of what happened dawned on Louis, and he jolted upwards,

“That bitch!” He shouted while sitting upright in the bed, Marge quickly shushed him with her index finger,

“Shut up!” She whisper-yelled, and then moved back away from Louis and dropped her finger, before sighing again, and looking down at her feet which were swinging slightly off the wooden chair next to the bed.

“She knocked me out, didn’t she?” Louis questioned, and Marge just replied with looking at him with a sympathetic smirk twisting at the corner of her lips, she guessed that Louis probably already know the answer to that stupid question.

“Can I ask, what ya did to set ‘er off like that?” She said looking at him in curiosity, now fumbling with her fingers.

Louis thought that he did fuck all, didn’t deserve that in any way, shape or form. But he was also sort of impressed at the amount of power that a tiny girl like Eleanor possesses,

“I don’t know-“ Louis sighed and looked back up at Marge,

“-I just mentioned the boss, I guess.” He continued, and Marge furrowed her brows further at that,

“The boss...?” She asked, taken a little aback for god knows what reason.

“Yeah, Harry Styles.” He stated bluntly, and Marge completely froze at that, shock doing its wonders at painting her face, not leaving an inch of her facial features, she even flinched slightly, and now Louis was beyond curious, this was full on mystery-drama at its finest.

“Ummm, Marge-“

“-Fuck! Ya mentioned Sir!” She screamed, and then cupped her mouth in shock of the loud noise and inappropriate words that fumbled out her lips.

She slowly removed her hands,

“Louis, if there’s one thing a lad like ya should ought to know, it’s that no one-“ she got closer to Louis to whisper the words she was going to say next, “-and I mean no one does that here.” She said secretively.

“But why?” Louis whispered back, now playing the full on spy game.

“We ‘avent been allowed to mention a word of Sir since...since the incident.” She said with her pupils blown and voice almost trembling.

“The incident...” Louis pushed further. 

“All I know, is that, something happened a long time when I was workin’ a long time ago to Sir that caused him a lot’a grief-“ she sighed “-it turned him to a very nasty man indeed.” She finished.

Louis thought and thought, the cogs of his brain working and spinning, 

“What has this got to do with Eleanor?” He asked dumbly and plainly.

She snapped her head up at him,

“M’not sure how Eleanor is involved in this all, she used ta visit the house sometimes before the incident, with one of Sirs friends-“ she looked back down at her fumbling fingers “-but now she’s takin’ care of the house and I’m guessing Sir aswell, he seems to be the cause of her sadness though.” 

“ was he like?-“ Louis gulped at the question he was about to ask “-I mean before you know, ‘the incident’”. He said, and instantly Marge looked up at him with a memorable fonding smirk on her face, but also with a hint of confusion, 

“He used to be absolutely lovely, lively chap, never used to let anyone work for too long, would always help out with me dishes-“ she smiled at the remembrance of memories, and then it instantly fell as soon as it came “-then the incident happened, I’m not too sure bout the details but he loses his right leg and-“ she’s cut off by a shocked Louis,

“-What?!” He questioned abruptly, the words choking out his throat, because, wow. He did not expect that.

Suddenly it all makes sense, and he remembers the weird thumping of his steps, the broken pieces of his soul in his eyes, and even though he doesn’t know Harry, his heart broke for him there and then, and he could’ve cried, he gulped and Marge stared at him in confusion,

“You didn’t know?-“ she questioned and Louis shook his head violently “-he used to be a professional footballer and all.” She finished off broken.

Louis couldn’t believe it, a footballer. Professional, a kind heart and pure soul and then bam! An ‘incident’ that no one knows absolutely anything about hits him, and he’s cooped up in his little hut of a room, spreading his doom and gloom vibes to Eleanor, while fucking girls on a daily.

And that’s when he decided, yeah he doesn’t know Harry, and yeah god knows what the fuck ‘the incident’ is, but although the incessant voices in his head commanded him to dig further, he decided then and there, that this was the moment he was gonna try making Harry as happy as possible.

Even if it would prove to be a challenge, it didn’t matter.

Louis loved challenges after all.

Chapter Text

The first batch of flowers came through the Monday morning.

About 5000 ruby-red and dirty-white roses all collected in 100 small see-through and rectangular plastic boxes filled to the rim with water, all lying merrily on the cold slack of concrete that laced the outside porch.

Louis was close to fainting, he had just woken up to the Eleanor splashing a glass of water in his face which resulted in him hyperventilating and her watching with an unimpressed and bored expression, until he collected himself. She briefly explained to him that he had to go outside and collect all the boxes that had just arrived, 

And what the fuck? 

He left his dorms to the expectation that it would just be another batch of posh caviar, or some turkey or poor goose that was butchered fresh earlier on that day, but instead his eyes were both blessed and damned with the sight of heavy and odd-looking boxes filled with fresh flowers that looked significantly weighty.

He pinched the outside of his hip to collect himself, there’s no way this was reality, probably just a beautiful nightmare. It wasn’t.

He quirked an eyebrow upward, and then went around and through all the boxes of roses, analysing each one, slightly tapping the rims of each one, he wasn’t sure why he did, maybe he was admiring them, maybe expecting one of the roses to have a life of it’s own and offer him an explanation to what in the bloody hell was going on, he wasn’t sure.

He sighed as he came to the realisation that he had to bring 100 boxes of roses into the building, and then find Eleanor and cross his fingers that she doesn’t look like she wants to kill him for asking basic questions, 

Is this what his life was coming to?




He was literally drenched with sweat, the bottoms of his armpits soaked and uncomfortably sticky, he wiped the beads of water of his forehead and sighed contently as he brought the last box of flowers in, he smiled to himself, he did it. He really fucking did it.

And-he turned to look at his wrist that had a Micheal Kors watch on it, -it only took him 45 minutes, what a relief.

He makes his way to the kitchens and when he stands by the door frame, glancing into the heated and almost rioting kitchen, he realises that nobody spares him a look but the ginger headed Marge, who smiles at him with pity and sympathy, 

She seems to be doing that a lot.

She slowly plods towards him, wiping whatever remains of vegetables that were freshly on her fingers on the front of her dirty-white chef jacket.

When she stands at hearing-distance in front of him, she stops.

“You look...tired.” She states, and Louis felt like he could roll his eyes.

“Yeah, had to bring in 100 literal boxes of white and red roses, it was disgraceful.” He replies, and he almost lets out a disappointed sound when she doesn’t react in any way, shape or form to him, she simply nods.

“-Do you know anything about that?” He asks again, and she looks back up at him with knowing eyes, any trace of a smile quickly wiped off of her lips.

Louis furrows his brows in a curious way, and she sighs.

“Sir does a dinner for his family every year, Louis.” She replies deadly.

“Who, Harry?” He asks and Marge throws him a threatening glare.

“Yup, Sir.” She grumbles and she walks away, and as if on que, Eleanor seems to be walking towards him as soon as Marge leaves, with a binder in her left hand and the right one occupying an expensive iPhone which seems to have her undivided attention, she finally lifts her head up to look at a pale and almost-dead looking Louis,

And she smiles at him, and Louis almost passes out. He should be angry at her, but now all he feels is relief, he’s just glad she doesn’t want to knock him out again.

“Helllloooo Louis.” She sing songs, and yes, Louis might just be the most confused he’s ever been.

He lets out a distraught sound because he has no idea what to say and she just giggles at that, giggles. Like full on, teenagers snickering and bickering giggle.

“-today, there’s a little banquet thing going on, as you may know from the dozens of flowers you saw in the morning-“ Dozens?? He thinks, there were at least 5000, “-The chief chef usually stands at the table just out of pure respect, but she seems to be ill, and the supply for the chief chef is always-“ No, don’t say it, don’t fucking say it. “-you.” She smiles as she says the last word, and yeah, she said it.




Louis taps his feet nervously while fiddling with his silky tie endlessly. 

Eleanor gave him a Gucci tie and suit and some really expensive shoes (and if he later on replaced them with black vans because they were too uncomfortable then no one needed to know.) He’s been watching out the window from the empty section of the kitchens like a wuss for long enough, and he’s pretty sure he’d just seen the end of the long list of rich and snobby guests that crunched down on the gravel leading to the mansion, 

he’s really nervous now.

There’s so much damn people, and he know he needs to make it to the banquet hall as soon as he can, he’s actually never ever seen the inside of the banquet hall, just the wooden doors that led to it. He’d been humiliated publicly a few hours ago when he thought he’d had to design the inside and Eleanor just laughed in his face, telling him that of course they’d hired an interior designer for that task (duh.).

He gulped and whispered to himself to stop being such a pussy, before making his way to the hall,

He pauses outside the hall for a second, his hand lightly brushing against the wooden door, and then squints his eyes as he pushes it open.

He’s shocked as suddenly, just as the doors open, so do all of the keys to liveliness and life.

The room oozes out a sense of vibrancy, everyone in it chattering and laughing, clanging bubbly champagne glasses together and chuckling. 

Nobody seems to realise Louis, which is great.

It’s only when he goes to walk to the other end of the hall, next to the windows where Eleanor had promised him they would be, that he realised that the hall was decorated in its finest.

His eyes widen and glimmer at the sight of it, a large golden chandelier still and hanging from the ceiling, and a large black table centred in the room, at least 50 metres long, with wooden chairs laced with velvet surrounding it.

It reminds him a bit of the darkened mansion he’s in, and the beautiful but abused roses that circle it,

He pinches himself, stop being so damn poetic.

And then it’s broken, it’s all broken, because the mood completely evaporates into thin air as the doors to the hall snap open on the other end, revealing a slim and beautiful figure with long chocolatey curls and broken eyes that are visible from the other end of the room.


Harry Styles.

Everybody stops talking and stares at Harry, and Harry lets a sickly smirk stretch on his face,

Louis couldn’t tell if he liked the silence or hated it.

Harry slowly started walking towards Louis’ end of the table, the seat Louis was closest too, and Louis just froze.

Harry’s leg was thumping against the ground heavily, his other lightly patting it.





Louis can see that it’s a metallic leg now, because the bottom of it is shimmering through Harry’s velvet black Gucci suit bottoms, and his left leg is smooth against the ground, whereas the right one is rough and almost violent.

Harry makes his way to the end of the table and leans down sit on the seat, he lightly turns his head around to look back at Louis, but then grumbles a noise that sounds twisted and sits on the wooden seat.

“Sit.” He commands in a murmuring tone to everyone in the room, and quickly they all obey. Taking their seats like it’s assigned to them, like they’d done this a million times.

Harry starts picking at a piece of bread that he finds in a basket, and doesn’t eat any of it, 

Just picks and picks and picks in the most infuriating and emotionless way possible, Louis can’t see his face because Harry’s back is turned to him, but he imagines that if he sees it, it’ll probably something like an annoyed grimace.

“ have you been?” A brave voice pipes up from the other end of the table, and Louis can identify from the tone that it’s a young woman,

“How do you think?” He replies chuckling darkly, Louis’ stomach turns at that. 

Everybody is either attempting to fiddle with something, or looking focused on Harry.

“I think Suzie meant that we just wanna know how you’ve been feeling lately.” Another female voice states harshly, and this one really must not be afraid to talk to Harry in that tone.

Louis catches the woman who just spoke and it’s a brunette who seems to be in her twenties, and oddly enough, she seems to look, almost like Harry’s cousin or something. She’s crossing her arms and furrowing her brows at Harry impatiently.

“Well-“ Harry mutters “-I think that Suzie should mind her own fucking business.” 

A few people gasp and murmur at that but Louis just watches intently,

He hears a fist bang against the table, and Louis’ blue eyes dart to a man at the other end,

“You murder my daughter, invite me to this damn banquet and then act like the victim!” He hisses, and now all traces of loose conversation around the table are instantly gone, Louis is just shocked. His heart has literally stopped pumping any form of blood to his body.

“You and I both know it was an accident-“ Harry mutters “-my leg is living proof.” He mumbles the last part really quietly, and nobody but Louis catches it.

Louis’ breath is stuck in his throat.

Harry pushes his chair back, and slicks his hair to a side, his face is void of emotion but Louis can see his body betraying him, as he can identify the light tremor in his fingers while he pushes the chair into the table.

He calmly stumbles out and only 30 seconds go past before Louis decides to go after him,

He can’t just leave Harry in that state, even if he didn’t know him, Louis is his servant and Harry is his boss.




Chapter Text

Louis stands outside the blistered brown door, the only one that is sitting sickeningly calmly at the end of the twisting corridors of the ‘B-section’.

Just like the gentle pattering of the rain that slides itself against the window, Louis’ heart is thumping at the same fast pace,

Because this is it. He’ll finally talk to Harry, alone, face to face, without disruption, all doubts freshly squeezed out of his mind, like citrus oozing out of a ripe lemon.

And maybe he’s stupid, maybe Harry will shout at him, or ignore him completely and bypass his existence, maybe Louis should play safe, but contrary to normal people, Louis would rather be sorry than safe.

He can hear slight muffling through the door, some ruffling by the bedsheets, and he lifts his hand up,




He gulps as he hears all movement behind the door stop, and then the familiar harsh and irregular pattern of thump! Pat.

His heart now racing at a dangerous rate, and his throat as dry as the Sahara, he waits.

The glimmering golden door handle slowly twists, signalling that someone on the other side is opening the door, and all of a sudden it rushes open, a quick moan of wood escaping it.

Harry stands at the doorframe, brows furrowed, yet at the same time oblivious to any emotions. He’s still wearing the dark suit, his fingers covered with rings. One of his hands lay on the side of the door, the other at his side.

Louis glares back at him, unlike Harry, the emotion evident in his face. He had an idea of what he wanted to say but he couldn’t get it out, it wouldn’t leave his sealed lips.

All he could see was the neverendingness of the depth and sadness of the dark green eyes that he looked straight into, and he felt like he was falling straight through them.

“Yes?” Harry asks slowly, shattering the deafening silence.

“Umm-I, I’” Louis replies like a dumbfounded idiot, realising he has nothing at all to say.

“I...?” Harry lingers on, pressing Louis to say something further.

“Are you alright?” Louis blurts out, and Harry actually lifts his brows and parts his lips in surprise at the question, 

Louis feels bad about that, such a normal question, yet so unknown to Harry’s ears.

Harry brings his ringed fingers up to his lips, tugging at the bottom one with his index and thumb in anticipation, 

“I’m fine.” He replies after thinking, but sadness still laces the outsides of his iris.

Louis thinks a bit, drawing his eyebrows together before asking again;

“Are you alright?” He feels like he’s pushing his luck, but he also feels like he got a dishonest answer at the beginning.

Harry’s lips fall into a slight frown, not in annoyance at Louis’ words, but rather at the fact that he’s so used to people giving up on first try, he quickly latches his tattooed hand onto Louis’ wrist and pulls him into the room,

Louis can hardly process what’s happening, and before he knows it, Harry is gently closing the door behind him. 

Harry has his back towards Louis, and Louis feels like his chest is compressing together, like a vice that keeps tightening and tightening, getting worse and worse by the second.

“Why do you care...?” Harry asks, a slight tone of sincerity and vulnerability in his question, that makes Louis frown slightly, even though Harry can’t see him.

Louis gulps;

“Because I do.” He simply replies, using a confidence that he didn’t even know he held within.

Harry turns back around in a very, very slow pace, his eyes scanning Louis up and down, but not meeting his the endless blue after he finishes analysing him.

Until he does, 

and Louis wanted him to look him in the eyes, wanted Harry to show him a crack of emotion, but the walls are back up now, and anything he thought he saw in Harry, has been covered with thick, black curtains.

Harry chuckles darkly before wiping his palms over his face and then through his hair,

“Okay.” He states blankly, 

And Louis is looking at him, staring. 

Looking right through those emerald eyes, the ones that are laced with something he can’t quite grasp, but there’s nothing, nothing he can hold on to, nothing he can use to tell himself that Harry Styles is a normal, functioning human being.

Harry doesn’t break the eye contact, and it’s piercing, burning through Louis’ soul, it’s heating up and-


Harry launches himself at Louis, his entire body blanketing him and he smashes his soft lips against Louis’,

Louis stands there in shock for a few seconds, his eyes wide open and body still as Harry’s one is fully activated and moving its chapped plump lips against Louis’ unmoving ones,

Both of Harry’s hands covering the cheeks of Louis’ face, the gesture itself is soft but the situation is aggressive and needy,

And Louis must be a different type of idiot because he actually starts kissing him back.

He closes his eyes and falls into the kiss, letting himself be drenched into the blackness of Harry’s soul, Harry now moves him to press against the wall, Louis’ back hitting the black wallpaper that covers it softly, 

Harry’s velvety and ringed hands start sliding down Louis’ chest over his shirt, then down to the back of his spine, and then goes to grab at his bum, and Harry starts softly squeezing the flesh down there, causing Louis to gasp filthily in Harry’s open mouth that moves against his, Harry groans heavily in response.

And that’s when the absurdity of the situation hits him, what the actual fuck is going on??

Louis halts his movements completely, and gets one of his hands and places in between his chest that heaves up and down with heavy gasps of air and Harry’s, he gently pushes Harry so that he can get the gesture,

“Louis?” Harry asks, no sincerity in his voice but a lace of confusion as he stares at Louis’ face,

“Harry.” Louis says in reply, diverting Harry’s eyes and although it’s hardly an answer, the tone itself is enough to put what he was trying to say in his mind into words, 

And it sends Harry scrambling backwards,

“Leave.” Harry commands, blank and void of emotion,

Louis goes to protest against this demand but as he’s just about to say something he’s cut off,

“Leave.” Harry repeats, but a bit more stern and dominant.

Louis sighs before fixing his tie quickly, smoothing his blazer out and walking out in defeat, 

Harry Styles may prove to be the biggest challenge he’s ever faced.

Chapter Text

Why do people call it heart-break?

When something is broken it’s permanent, forever. No matter how much times you try to glue it together, it’ll never return to how it once was.

Therefore, surely that word should be changed, because no one is forever broken, not really.





The dark blue skies shadow over Louis’ room, spreading its gloom to every corner and edge, that’s when he gets the message, a vibration breaking the silence of the bleak night,

Eleanor: Go into town, there’s a local flower store. Buy some red roses.

Louis sighs, rubbing at his eyes, he can’t sleep but he’s really tired and he was just at the edge of dozing off before he received Eleanor’s message, that snapped him back into a sickeningly vibrant conscious state. Louis grabs his phone fully with both hands, sitting up on his bed and typing out a reply:

Louis: Y are you texting me, just tell me in person.

The reply comes in a few seconds,

Eleanor: I cba to come into your room, and I don’t wanna see your face.

Louis sniggers, completely bypassing the rude comment,

Louis: Why do you want red roses anyways? Pick some from the gardens or the front yard.

The brightness of the screen makes his eyes ache, 

Eleanor: You ask so much fucking questions.

Louis sighs and locks his phone, dashing it on the table next to his bed, before lying back into his bed and pulling the covers over himself. Another vibration comes from his phone and he curses at himself, he goes to check the screen but doesn’t touch his phone, why does the bitch even haunt him when he’s trying to sleep?

Eleanor: I was also gonna do it myself but I’ve changed my mind, once you get the flowers, go to the Eastside area of Dearling Cemetary and put them at a grave labelled ‘Taylor Swift’.

Louis doesn’t reply, he just goes back to his original place in his bed while a million questions buzz and fly around in his mind, never ending and constant.

He’s so so confused, who’s Taylor Swift?

Was Eleanor close to her, does she know her?

He can’t help but feel a ting of sadness accompany his curiosity, he hates thinking about death, but now he is thinking about it, 

and he goes to sleep thinking about it too.






Louis drags himself out of his bed with a struggle, he mentally reminds himself that he needs the money for this job and can’t just walk off the premises and never come back,

he squeezes into some tight dark blue jeans that show of his legs and bum beautifully and puts on woolly pink sweater for the cold weather and breeze that he can already feel seeping into the windows of his small room, and he slides on some white Adidas trainers with gold around the edges.

He grips his phone off the table that he left it on yesterday, thumbing the blue silicone case that surrounds it and plods out of his room, today seems like one uneventful day, 

or so he thinks.


30 minutes later-


Louis waltzes through the streets of the small town of Dearling, it’s only one mile away from the main emotionless mansion that he’s learnt to cope with, yet it’s such a contrast and surprising contradiction to the doom and gloom that he’s brought himself to be used to.

He has a bouquet of Red roses in his hand that he brought a few minutes ago at a local flower shop, and walks down the full streets, full of vibrancy and chattering of happy people that dart any toothy smile they can manage at Louis’ way, he can’t help but smile back at them full-heartedly, he’s completely forgotten what normal humans are like, I guess that’s what a month in an isolated area full of people that are like Robots and Harry Styles does to you.

He stops in the middle of the rocky pavement and squeezes the bouquet of flowers in between the top of his arm and the side of his chest before using both hands to look around his pockets to get a hold of his phone, when he does he unlocks it and goes to the GPS app, he types in “Dearling Cemetery” in the small search bar and it shows that it’s only 10 minutes walking, so he holds the phone in his hand and skips down the happy streets with a smile stretching over his face.




When he arrives at the cemetery, all traces of a good mood are wiped off of his beautiful tan face, he stands outside a large rusty metal gate, with a small green sign on it that’s tilted onto its side and reads with torn lettering,

‘Dearling Cemetary’ 

Louis gulps, and it’s as if any memory of the full and joyous town centre he’d just been in was nothing but a distant memory,

It’s so weird, because the area is so empty, and he is sure that there’s some sort of forcefield surrounding the graveyard that repels all good and happiness,

He can easily push the gates and enter but he really doesn’t want to, the grass itself is a disgustingly dark green, fresh but saturated with evil and it reminds him of the mansion, Harry Styles’ mansion,

It’s almost like they accompany each other, like they were made to correspond.

He sighs and bitterly tells himself just to get it over and done with, so he slowly pushes the gates that feel rusty and infectious against his velvety fingertips and walks through the muddy and fresh grass.

It’s a large field, filled with nothing but dark grass, bright signs, and gray stones, Louis can’t see the end of the Graveyard but he just hopes that he’ll find the ‘Eastside’ area soon.

He does. 

It takes him no more than 2 minutes to see a fluorescent white sign that has bold yellow letters and reads Eastside, he thanks god or any sort of higher power that may be existant and wanders through it impatiently, avoiding glaring at any gravestones for too long because Louis really, really doesn’t like thinking about death.

He finally finds a black marble gravestone with dirty white gravel surrounding it, it has gold letters encrusted all over it and reads,

‘Taylor Swift, 1989-2017, beloved sister, best friend and wife.’

Right below it there’s more writing,

‘Rest in peace, taken too soon’ 

Louis lets out a whimper, he doesn’t even want to know what happened to the poor girl and he feels tears threaten to prick at the corners of his eyes, so he gently crouches down and places the roses on the gravel, it leans against the bitter coldness of the marble of the gravestone, and Louis finally moves backwards to leave the empty Graveyard.

Oh, well. Maybe, not so empty?

Louis stands up quickly and can see a long, lanky figure staring at him from afar, it’s black from all its dark clothes and looks quite dishevelled, but as Louis squints his eyes, he sees, he thinks he sees, well...

It can’t be.

But he can’t be mistaken.

My god, it’s him,

Harry Styles.

Harry is looking at him, back straight and posture so unbothered, but Louis can see him shaking slightly, like a scarred ghost,

Harry turns his back to Louis and starts walking away from Louis, the unevenness in his steps clear as he stumbles in the opposite direction, into some place that seems to lead into a small forest area at the ends of the Cemetery, 

Don’t go.

He’s crazy, just don’t go after him, just go to the mansion.

Don’t fucking do it!

Fuck. Louis never was one to have much self control anyways.

Louis hastily run-walks after Harry, trying his best to catch up to him but trying not to look desperate at the same time,

He can see Harry’s figure in motion, and then he can see it halting, pausing instantly. He stands still and his back faces Louis completely, 

Louis slowly walks closer and closer to Harry, the small fine details of the back of Harry’s head and his black clothes gradually coming into focus,

Harry doesn’t move this time, it’s like he’s a complete mannequin, and everything feels so off because all Louis can hear is the crunching of leaves beneath his two feet, it’s like Harry’s not even breathing...

He places a soft hand on Harry’s shoulder, tightening his grip slightly,

“Harry...?” Louis asks, his heart beating really hard in his chest because he’s sort of scared.

He can feel Harry sigh, the vibrations of the action whizzing through his hand,

“Have you ever had your heart broken, Louis?” 

Chapter Text

“Have you ever had your heart broken, Louis?” Harry repeats, now turning his entire body to face Louis,

Louis notices that Harry looks so weak, for the first time that’s he’s ever seen Harry, he looks feeble and human.

There’s small dark red bags circling the bottoms of his eyes, his eyes themselves slightly bloodshot, his lids heavy and tired looking; sleep-deprived, 

Louis thought that the first time he’d ever had the pleasure to see Harry looking slightly mundane it would make him more satisfied and happy, this scenario was far off in his mind.

Louis opens and closes his mouth like a fish breathing underwater a few times in anticipation of his words, he has to pick his next few sentences carefully, he is in a graveyard alone with a guy who seems severely traumatised after all.

“Not really, I guess I haven’t given anyone the chance yet...” Louis replies, removing his eyes off of Harry’s dark emerald ones and returning them to fiddle with his fingers, looking down at the ground. 

He hears Harry pause a little in his movements and then let out what sounds like a dark chuckle;

“Good, never give anyone the chance to.” Harry states certainly, like it’s a fact. Like he knows he’s better off without being his heart broken, as if he has experience...

Louis’ heart lurches at that, but he quickly shakes the thought from his mind.

“Why?” Louis asks quickly, blurts it out, he knows he might be testing Harry’s patience, he knows that Harry is like an elastic band being stretched, able to rip at any second, but he wants- no, needs to know what the fuck is even going on here.

After Harry remains impossibly quiet for a few seconds, Louis sighs and looks back up into Harry’s eyes, he’s pulling an evil smirk, or at least he’s attempting to. His quaking bottom lip is a clear sign to Louis that he’s not alright, maybe people wouldn’t see past his cool and collected exterior, but Louis can, and he can’t just let Harry be like this, he refuses too. Like he’s thought on countless occasions, he refuses to lose his basic morals.

Harry sighs deeply, and then pulls his lips down into a confused frown,

“Why do you even care?” Harry asks quietly, intrigued.

“Because I do...” 

“But why?”

“Why not?” 

Harry gazes at him, so deeply interested, so fascinated, and with a lace of what....seems like fond?? 

Whatever, Louis isn’t about to start analysing the facial expressions he’s looking at, even though he has been for the last 5 minutes.

“You shouldn’t care Louis, I don’t deserve care.” Harry mutters, almost through gritted teeth, like he’s almost angry, but it feels like a front.

Louis’ heart does that loopy thing again, where he feels sad for Harry. Not pity, or sympathy, but sadness because Harry thinks he doesn’t deserve care.

“W-why?” Louis stutters, looking down at the ground and kicking the grass with his vans, he’d almost forgotten they were in the graveyard, Louis is shaking a little too, he doesn’t really know why.

Fear, worry, sadness? He doesn’t know.

Harry sighs for a long time and when Louis looks back up at him he can see Harry pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration and can see his pale olive eyelids creased shut. Harry laughs weakly and rubs his palms into his eyes,

“I-I...” Harry brokenly says, and then sighs deeply and laughs shaking his head, Louis is so close, he can feel it, he’s so close to getting to Harry to open up.

“Yes....” Louis says eagerly, and then deep and torn beautiful green eyes are staring into his innocent soul,

“I need to get back to the mansion.” Harry states, dead, and it’s gone.

It’s all gone, the whole emotion, his entire humanly soul, gone, just like that, in an instant. The facade is back up again, the barriers up faster then they were broken down.

Louis huffs in defeat and kicks more grass under his feet, he can’t help but wonder if it’s because he kept pushing an answer from Harry, he looks back up at Harry and sees him smirking cruelly.

“Want a ride?” Harry asks plainly, straightening out his deep blue tie like a total asshole, as if not 10 seconds ago he was about to break in front of Louis.

“I’m alright...” Louis says, smiling weakly and turning around the other way,

He thinks that Harry is both the most beautiful and cruel soul he’s ever had the pleasure to see in his life, he wonders what Harry thinks of him.

While he has his back turned to Harry, he hears him mutter something along the lines of “I’m so sorry...” but he doesn’t turn around, scared of what he might see, scared that he wasn’t meant to hear that, as if it was for the broken green boys thoughts only,

he wonders if he’ll ever get to see the side of Harry that he wants to.

He wonders if the lurching in his stomach whenever he sees Harry’s emerald green eyes and beautiful olive skin and ringed long fingers will ever go away,

He wonders when the dust and darkness that squeezes Harry soul will ever stop squeezing,

And he can’t help but wonder, what- or who, did break Harry’s heart?

Chapter Text

Warning, if you are triggered by panic attacks, do not read this chapter, thank you.

Mentions of sex.




Expecting the unexpected is harder than you’d think.




Louis runs steadily into his room, tugging his hair tightly in confusion and his brown brows knitted together in the utmost surprise, 

He can’t breathe, can’t begin to fathom or comprehend what on Earth had just happened, 

he wonders how he got here, how in the fuck that he was deprived of his normal duties and given...

Well, given a, let’s say, “different” job in the mansion of doom and gloom.

he paces the creaking wooden floors with haste and feels as if his mind could not possibly slow down, he has so much questions,

beginning with, 

Why in the fuck did Harry Styles make him his personal servant or worker, 

Or whatever in the fuck he offered him, 

only a few hours ago?




Earlier on that evening, 3PM;


“Eleanor, I’ve scrubbed the kitchen floor 6 times now.” Louis sighed while looking into Eleanor’s bored and uninterested eyes, crouching down next to her and scrubbing the spotless floors with a wet and tattered sponge that was coloured a murky mustard yellow,

“Great, now do it a seventh time.” She said collectively, rolling her pretty brown eyes the slightest and bunching her hair to a side,

I fucking hate her, Louis thought,

She turned her back to Louis, shoving her clean black leather jacket in his eyes and walked down towards the kitchen doors to leave, all the while swaying her hips in the bitchiest way possible,

she’s a real life mean girl.

Louis clenched his fists tightly while holding the sponge in frustration, causing it to drip some dirty water onto the grounds, 

perfect. More mess to clean.

He sighed a few curse words at himself, ones that he quickly regretted and started scrubbing the floors aggressively.

After a few minutes of repetitive and frankly boring scrubbing, his annoyance quickly morphed into fatigue as his eyes started to feel heavier and heavier, 

the pattern of his sponge rubbing against the marble floors turning blurred and hypnotic, his breathing becoming significantly heavier,

Just...close your eyes for a small second, just for a moment,









Louis was pressed up against someone’s hard and sweet-smelling chest, his eyes were fluttering the slightest bit open as he realised that he was being carried bridal style by somebody, 

Well fuck.

Wait, what?

The scent was similar, comforting, and the persons chest, even through what seemed like silk fabric, was soft, if that even makes sense.

Louis wished that he could say that he jolted upwards at the realisation, wished that he could say he didn’t allow himself to be man-handled by somebody who he didn’t even recognise,

But instead he didn’t do any of that, 

No, like a total idiot, he got both his soft and femininely dainty arms and wrapped it around the carriers shoulders, he sunk his head into the crease of their neck, and sniffed slightly, smelling the delicious cologne that littered the mans neck,

and boy was it good, he groaned internally but smiled externally and let his eyes flutter shut once more.





When he finally woke up, he felt silk sheets beneath him, cold and refreshing and luxurious, cleansing him and making him feel slightly spiritual in the moment,


He bolted upwards, and groaned painfully because it ended up giving him some whiplash and he experienced a slight surge of dizziness and ache,

He really needed to stop doing that when in shock,

he winced his eyes in pain and rubbed at the light throbbing in the middle of his forehead softly,

he was so focused on his little headache that he didn’t even realise the dark figure hidden in the dark corners of the room,

“Ahhum.” The figure coughed deeply,

Louis froze, his heartbeat picking up the pace and suddenly racing up to the feelings his mind was releasing, he turned his head slowly towards the figure that was hidden in the shadows and gulped, 

Who the fuck...?

Louis, all of a sudden, felt a giant surge of restlessness and panic and was breathing harder through his nose, realising short puffs of air, and his mind became useless, hardly emitting any logical reasoning to him,

he forgot how to run, how to speak, how to ask, he even forgot how to breathe, and so he was gasping for air,

he knew that this was hardly a reason to get one, and he was probably over-reacting but, well,

Panic attack.

He hardly ever got them anymore, but, it was only time before this mansion oozed one out of him.

It wasn’t even because he was scared of the figure, it was just because he was so overwhelmed, all. The. Damn. Time.

This whole mansion, Eleanor, the staff, his job of running around constantly and experiencing things that come out of nowhere. 

The unexpected.

His legs felt numb and he couldn’t move them, and he felt like he was falling through the bed, through a spiral of darkness even though he was hardly moving. He could feel this lump in his throat that wouldn’t leave him, like he swallowed a giant circular fish bone that was stuck at his Adam’s apple, 

he stopped moving and closed his eyes for a second,

Breathe, just...breathe.

While his eyes were clasped shut like a vice, he hardly even realised that the figure hidden in the darkness moved towards him...the gentle and familiar, 



Lost to his ears in a daze of panic,

he opened his eyes, only to see that the “figure” was right in front of him, looking at Louis with a glint of worry in his dark eyes and crouching beside the bed, next to Louis,


Louis was crying, he didn’t even realise it, he guessed that was just a side effect to the panicking, 

it only dawned on him when Harry brought his ringed fingers up to his water-patched cheeks and wiped away the bitter tears with a sweet and almost...genuine looking smile on his face. 

Harry’s eyes were so pretty this close to Louis, maybe enhanced by the small beams of golden sunlight that shone through the creaks of the window, refusing to be hidden by the velvet curtains, but his eyes were pretty nonetheless, 

with greens and blues littered in the iris, like a colourful canvas of nature.

Harry waited until Louis had stopped crying and he stopped rubbing his cheeks, moving onto his shoulders and using both of his arms to rub them gently up and down, with a...yes, a genuine smile on his face, 

Harry was muttering sweet things to Louis, reassuring things,

“That’s good, thats so good, just breathe for me Louis.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay.”

“Well done, Louis, breathe, just like that.” 

Louis small huffs slowly turned into puffs, 

and his mind began to recollect again, be pieced together like a small puzzle, with the piecer being Harry, and all of a sudden he could use it again.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, browns furrowed I’m concern, while rubbing soothing circles into Louis’ biceps.

“Y-yeah... I am now, thanks...” He uttered quietly while looking down at the bed, the embarrassment hidden in the laces of tone, his cheeks a light pink.

He looked back up to see Harry dropping his hands back to his sides, giving him a small sympathetic smile.

“Panic attack- right?” Harry asked, quirking his left brow upwards and his lips cast in a frown of confusion.

“Yeah-“ Louis breathed out a small and pathetic huff of air, “-how’d you know?” He continued.

“Used to get them all the time-“ Harry cut himself off as he replied, and Louis realised that he didn’t mean to let that fact slip.

Oh well, Louis heard it anyways and he wasn’t gonna act like he didn’t, he was tired of acting like he didn’t,

“Really? Who helped you get through them?” Louis asked intrigued, glancing down at the prosthetic metal leg Harry was wearing before willing himself to look back up.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably where he was crouched beside Louis, looking like he was being molested by Louis’ gaze, and looking down at the ground,

“No one...” he muttered bitterly and quietly,

Louis felt so sad, so so fucking sad, 

when Louis used to have panic attacks at home, his parents and sisters would help him, soothe him, make him snap out of the daze of anxiety,

Harry had no one. 

No one.

You wouldn’t really know how that felt until you’ve experienced it yourself, and Louis has never, never, experienced a panic attack alone.

Louis felt an urge to make Harry feel better, so he got his dainty left hand, and brought it up to Harry’s chin, lifting Harry’s face up to look at him,

“Well I guess that makes you a strong person then.” Louis said smiling, sitting upright on the bed,

Harry looked at him with so much confusion, so much questions, but then he started smiling, and he giggled slightly,

What the fuck. He giggled.

Louis’ insides started doing acrobats, he did that. He caused the giggling. And it was a genuine giggle too.

Louis smiled fondly and rubbed a small circle into Harry’s soft little rose cheeks,

“What caused it on anyways?” Harry asked, still smiling slightly and leaning in to Louis’ warm touch on his cheek,

Louis thought for a few seconds before answering, 

“Honestly?-“ he asked, Harry nodded. “-I just...t-this job? I guess. It’s a little...stressful, n-not anyone’s fault really, I’m just not used to it...” Louis trailed off slightly, dropping his hands off Harry’s cheeks and giving him a slightly worried smile.

“Would you feel better if you had another job then?” Harry asked, focused and serious, bringing his hand up to roll his chocolate long hair to a side,

“No! I like this job, I-I w-want it, dont worry-“ 

“Louis, chill. I didn’t mean it like that-” Harry laughed slightly, “-I mean do you want another job, in this mansion?”

Louis lifted his brows up, and thought for a bit.

“L-like what?” He stuttered, Harry thought it was adorable when Louis stuttered or stumbled over his words, but Louis didn’t know that.

“ personal worker, like a servant, kind of....” Harry said, although it sounded more like a question, he didn’t specify what kind of servant Louis would be though, 

“Wh-what kind of worker?” Louis gulped, 

“I can specify all the details tomorrow, if you say no I won’t be mad, I promise.” Harry said truthfully.

Louis was so confused, so utterly lost. Worker? What? What does he mean? Oh god. 

He didn’t mean like, sexual things, right? 

Louis wasn’t even worried if Harry wanted to do sexual things with him, he was just worried because he was so inexperienced, an utter virgin. His first kiss had literally been the one with Harry a few nights ago, 

Harry, on the other hand, was not.

“ you mean, l-like, ummmm...sexual th-things?” Louis asked, stuttering, again. He really needed to stop doing that.

Harry smiled guiltily and suddenly it felt like any sentiment and emotions that were whizzing in the air moments ago, just flew out the window. Replaced by some sort of sexual tension? God, it was so embarrassing that Louis didn’t even know what sexual tension was seeing as he’d never experienced it.

“I’ll talk you through the details tomorrow.” Harry repeated, looking dead on serious into Louis’ eyes,

Wow, um, okay?




Expecting the unexpected is, definitely, 100%, always, harder than you’d think.


Chapter Text

Mentions of suicide.




Louis can’t sleep tonight, 

well, he could hardly sleep any of the nights that were dully spent in the mansion of darkness and secrets,

but, tonight, he really, really can’t sleep.

He twists and turns in his bed, his thick thighs sprawled out and his entire body laying on the sheets, the bed seemingly croaking and groaning with every small turn or little movement he makes, causing him to get unjustly irritated for no reason,

it’s about 3am in the morning, the crickets starting to raise their chirps outside and the smallest beam of red and fresh sunlight dominating the cold blueness of the night when he accepts the fact that he’s not going to drift off to a peaceful sleep,

and all because of that fucker.

Harry, fucking, Styles.

Every time he closes his eyes his mind is plagued with an image of dark green eyes and a shattered soul, 

and he really doesn’t want to think about Harry, he really doesn’t, he doesn’t want to see those empty eyes that bring him so much sadness every time his eyelids droop heavily,

but he does, and it’s enough for him to snap back into a concentrated form of bitter consciousness.

He groans a little pathetically and defeated while lying down on his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then finally brings himself to sit up in his bed,

he stretches his cramped limbs out a little and yawns (adorably, even though he doesn’t think so) before getting up and slipping into some angry birds slippers and opening the drawer next to his bed to reach for his favourite book, 

‘Milk and honey by Rupi Kaur’ 

It’s a lovely book, full of poems and meaningful shit, the kind of things Louis loves to read over and over for that nostalgic feeling and frankly, books like these were created for nights like this, he sits upright on the bed and licks the tip of his index finger before opening the book on a random page, the small and dim light of the awakening sun lighting up the page so that he can see what’s written,

he reads over the random page that he’s chosen,

‘What is stronger,

than the human heart,

which shatters over and over,

and still lives 

-Rupi Kaur’

Louis pauses for a second, a little distraught. 

Doesn’t that sound a lot like Har- No!

He doesn’t bring himself to even think about it and quickly flicks to another page before he allows himself to be brought back to the thoughts of a broken soul.

He looks at the other page he’s just landed on, somewhere further down the book, 

‘I thank the universe,

for taking away from me,

everything it has taken, 

and giving to me,

everything it has giving, 

Balance -Rupi Kaur’

Ok no. No no no.

That’s definitely not a coincidence, or is Louis just applying everything to his current life situation? 

The universe has taken Harry’s leg and given him Loui- No! 

He really needs to stop,

like a completely distraught and hysteric person, Louis starts aggressively rifling through the pages, crinkling and scrunching sounds coming out of it, 

ok one more page, Louis thinks, just one more.

Surely the universe isn’t that loud? Surely he’s just being a paranoid fuck, like always.

With almost trembling hands he closes his eyes and opens the book on one last page, 

‘To hate, 

is an easy, lazy thing,

but to love, 

takes strength

everyone has, 

but not all are

willing to practise.

-Rupi Kaur’ 

Ok no. This book is definitely linked to Louis’ life. 100%.

It might as well be labelled ‘Harry Styles’.

Louis lays there in shock for a little, this book, it’s like magic.

The sun slowly but eventually fully goes over the horizon, sounds of birds loudly tweeting in the distance, but it’s all blurred, 

and he allows himself to think about Harry, as the tweeting gets distant, and he quickly falls asleep in an upright and twisted position, the book softly laying in his dainty hands.




“Errrr...Louis.” Is what Louis first hears when his eyelids flutter open, it’s a deep and coated voice, dark and mysterious, very very familiar.

He feels a small poking at his bicep, a light and tiny poke that repeats itself a few times before he’s finally meeting the eyes of the person standing right next to his bed.


His brows furrow in confusion as he looks at beautiful pink lips and precious eyes, but he’s too tired, too tired to jolt up like he normally would, too tired to actually react. And he thanks whatever higher power there is because he’s so bored of his body reacting in ways that he wish it didn’t.

“Hmm..?” Louis groans fatigued, not actually able to use proper words in his half-unconscious state, 

Harry smiles slightly, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks, and Louis would’ve been able to notice that if he wasn’t so carelessly sprawled out in the bed with half open eyes.

There’s some more silence for about 30 seconds, but not the awkward type, the sweet type, the calm type,

“Louis, you do realise it’s about four pm?” Harry breaks the silence with an amused tone, standing lanky over Louis, next to his bed, playing with his expensive rings.

Louis opens his eyes wide at that, and now his body is catching up.

It took its time.

He gets out of his hypnotic state of carelessness and peace and hastily gets up and off the bed in one swift movement, the book that he didn’t even realise was still open on his lap falling on the ground with an echoing thump.

“F-four pm?” Louis questions nervously, his limbs hurting and his eyesight fuzzy and slightly blackened from the quick action,

and he almost passes out, his face turning a pale paper white as he stumbles clumsily backwards but instead of feeling the cool ground, he feels himself bumping into a sturdy figure, which is Harry, and Harry puts both his ringed hands on Louis’ shoulders and holds him in place, slowly turning him around to face him.

Louis is obviously pale, and he looks so out of it and Harry can’t help but feel a little guilty because he feels like everything is overworking and overwhelming Louis.

“Y’alright?” Harry asks worried, biting his lips in concern, both his hands still on Louis’ shoulders.

Louis breathes heavily and clutches his eyes shut waiting for his sight to return to him, he’s still leaning slightly on Harry and can feel the coolness and stillness of Harry’s prosthetic leg over the black jeans he’s wearing and- oh...

Harry’s wearing jeans, something normal for once,

he actually looks quite good, Louis thinks.

Louis breathes in tightly one more time before replying;

“Y-yeah-“ he opens his eyes to look at Harry and they’re closer than he thought “-I just didn’t realise that I’d slept in, b-but I’m f-fine.” he stutters like an idiot, but for once it’s not because he’s scared but because he’s so close to Harry that he can feel his warm breath that smells like fresh mint and vanilla, nice.

He looks at Harry’s concerned face and his heart shines a little because he realises that Harry is concerned, not looking empty for once, and he’s also concerned for Louis.

He looks at Harry properly for once, and he can see that his olive skin is so silky and pretty and soft, he can also see his pretty pink lips and his diamond shaped nose and his eyes, 

his beautiful eyes,


They’re so much more beautiful up close, he realises that there’s not only green and blue in them, but so much more.

There’s yellows and almost a hint of purple, and a dark black coating around the iris that really makes him look so beautiful,

and Louis really wants to kiss him.

But he doesn’t, because he really hasn’t got the balls to,

but he does get one of Harry’s chocolate curls and brush it behind his ear, smiling fondly while looking at Harry’s stunning face, 

at least he’s somehow worked up the courage to do that.

Harry looks so bewildered by the gesture, confused and shocked, but not in a, ‘Why the fuck is he touching me?’ way, more like in a ‘I haven’t been touched like that in a long time.’ way and that facial expression makes all of Louis’ doubts fly out the window.

“Kiss me...” Louis whispers, leaning in slightly, his eyes glancing from Harry’s shining eyes and his plump pink lips.

Harry doesn’t reply, but he does lean in too, and they’re getting so close, so so close to each other.

They’re almost one mm apart, their warm breaths hotly grazing each other’s lips, 

and Louis gulps and Harry’s breath gets shaky and nervous, and suddenly,

 there’s no house.

There’s no mansion, 

there’s no floor, 

there’s no darkness, 

there’s no ‘bad vibes’, there’s no sadness, 

there’s no labels like ‘Harry with a prosthetic leg’, 

or ‘Louis with the anxiety’,

No. There’s none of that, there’s

The tinging sense of love flying gracefully through the air as their lips collide gently, hardly moving against each other with intention, or a lustful fire behind it,

Their lips are so smooth against each other, a combination of light pecks and long, lingering kisses, Harry’s hand move from Louis’ shoulders to wrap around Louis’ waist and Louis’ hands move to cup Harry’s face gently, as they’re kissing Louis’ rubs small and soft circles into Harry’s rose cheeks and Harry does the same, gasping surprisedly in his mouth.

Louis can’t help but think how different this is from their first kiss, one that was filled with nothing but lust and sexual intentions.

This one feels like Harry’s trying to tell him something, some big secret hidden with small pecks and gentle soothing movements, and he can tell by the way that Harry kisses him that he wants to say something, 

he can tell that Harry’s looking for some sort of answer from Louis but Louis can’t help Harry if he’s not opening up.

They stay like that for a few minutes, or maybe hours, seconds?

Fuck, Louis doesn’t know.

The concept of time is nonexistent at the moment, he honestly doesn’t know how long he’s been kissing him, he just knows that it feels weirdly intimate for a man who was suggesting sexual things to him almost 24 hours ago.

He doesn’t know who pulls away first, doesn’t care, but what he does care about is...that.

And by that he means the small streaks that are running down Harry’s cheeks, the tiny and long dampness that are flowing smoothly and pleadingly down Harry’s smooth face.

Fuck, he’s crying.

Louis panics slightly inside, but doesn’t show it.

Wait, no, what?

Harry’s crying? Empty, supposedly emotionless Harry?

“Harry??” Louis gasps, a tinge of awakening panic prominent in his voice. 

The tip of his nose is light red and his eyes are glimmering, pleading for something and asking for it.

Harry can’t look Louis in the face right now, he’s looking around the room, trying to distract himself, clearly shocked by his own actions and slightly...embarrassed.

Why’s he even embarrassed? Louis was legit in this position the day before.

“Hazza, babe...” Louis says and Harry looks back at him and just loses it.

He digs his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, throws his arms around his shoulders and starts sobbing quietly, 

“Harry!-“ Louis gasps, feeling tears in his own eyes and tightening his grip in Harry’s embrace “-Whats wrong Harry, please tell me, please...” 

he doesn’t reply, obviously. Instead he just cries a little louder into Louis’ neck, his salty tears soaking the front of Louis’ shirt.

Louis holds him tight until he lets go, 

holds him tight hoping that it’ll keep him together and he won’t break completely.

When Harry lets go he stumbles backwards a little and looks so distraught, so lost. He tugs on his long strands of hair slightly,

“I can’t do this Louis.” He gasps, and Louis is so confused, so needy to make Harry better again.

He just wants to make Harry happy,

“Wh-what can’t you do?” Louis questions, pressing further, trying to walk towards Harry but Harry steps back each time until he’s almost pressed up against Louis’ bedroom wall.

“I-I can’t do this anymore, I-I’m sorry.” Harry mutters and completely loses eye contact and almost runs out of the room,

Louis is frozen, because what?


When his haze of confusion is broken he runs out of the room and after Harry, but Harry is nowhere. 


“Harry!” He shouts out, his raspy voice echoing off the walls but there’s no reply, no one at all.

He runs up into the b-section, but no ones there.

He slams Harry’s door open, but no ones there.

By the time he’s checked every room in the house, there’s an audience of maids, cleaners and Eleanor rushing after him when he reaches the foyer,

they’re telling him something, tugging him back, even shouting at him but he can’t hear what they’re saying, can’t feel their touch,

and he’s shaking, crying, breaking and he can’t hear what people around him are saying, what muffled words are coming out their mouths, 

No, the only thing on his mind is, 

“I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry.”

Because he knows what suicide sounds like.

Chapter Text

Mentions of suicide




“Louis!” Eleanor shouts loudly, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him hysterically,

Louis isn’t looking at her. Or any maid, or Eleanor’s minions that are looking at him with a worry that’s burning deep within their bitten lips and confused expressions,

his bright blue and glazed-over eyes are looking around frantically, scanning over and searching every inch and corner of the foyer that he’s in, trying to escape Eleanor’s tight grip so that he can find Harry,

because that’s the only thing he can think about.

His mind is a cluster and messy bunch of thoughts, all consisting of,

Where the fuck is Harry?

I need to find Harry.





“Louis!” Eleanor screams in his face, her face red, flustered and eyes scared, laced with confusion and terror, although she seems to be putting up a front.

Louis contorts his face to a painful wince when he comes to the realisation that he’s just been slapped by Eleanor, the burning and tingling sensation kicking in, 

he cups his cheek which is now developing a red colour and glares at Eleanor with a fire burning in his eyes,

“What the fuck do you want?” Louis snaps, staring at her impatiently and kind of annoyed that this is the second time she’s physically hurt him, although his mind is still mostly occupied with only one person.

“Why are you panicking-“ Eleanor says, shaking his shoulders firmly “-where’s Harry?” She tries asking discreetly and confidently but she fails, the anxiety too dominant in her tone.

“I-“ Louis starts loudly, but stops himself when he realises that he still has a large audience watching him from behind Eleanor, Harry’s business has nothing to do with the entire attire of maids and workers in the building “-I’d tell you but it seems we have an audience...” Louis whispers to Eleanor, lightly gesturing to the bunch of workers staring at him nosily from behind her,

she discreetly nods and drops her hands from Louis’ shoulders, before turning around sassily with her hands on her hips,

“What are you all doing? Go back to work!” She commands as the echoing sweetness of her rough voice drips off the mansion walls,

shivers run up Louis’ spine, 

she can be a bitch sometimes, 

but a good bitch.

There’s a difference, right?

When the workers all scurry off without question, and the doors have closed to every room they’ve quickly entered, Eleanor turns back to Louis and sighs, breathing heavily,

“Okay, what’s going on?” She questions, biting her lips nervously, her brown eyes clearly desperate to understand where on Earth Harry is,

Louis scrambles closer to her, 

“Harry, h-he, he broke down, and then he said something, a-and-“ Louis takes a deep breath when he realises he’s been stuttering, trying to compose himself “-he said something, it made me really worried-“

“Louis. Did he sound suicidal?” Eleanor cut through sharply, her brows furrowed in deep concentration,

Louis flinches at the sudden use of words, he didn’t expect Eleanor to understand what he was trying to say so quickly,

Louis pauses for a second, before giving a light nod, Eleanor quickly grabs his soft and shivering hand and drags him to the front doors, and then outside, a cold breeze suddenly rushing down his spine.

She leads him to an area which seems hidden by a bunch of winding and old-looking sturdy trees, their shadows hiding any small gleam of afternoon sunlight, 

he’s confused for a quick minute, but then sees that she’s leading him to a black Ferrari, clean-looking and extremely expensive, a sleek car shadowed in the outside creeks of this mansion,

she hurriedly climbs into the car, on the drivers side and when she sees Louis hesitate, a thousand questions clearly running through his mind, she rolls the window down quickly and leaves him with a sentence that gets him scrambling into the car within a second;

“Get the fuck in Louis, I know exactly where Harry is.”




After a both rushed and never ending 15 minutes, Eleanor (illegally and sloppily) stops the car on a narrow bridge, on top of some murky and dirty brown river that gushes through the town, 

she rushes out of the car like a crazy person, leaving Louis still in the car and dazed in the passenger side,

she starts walking down the bridge carefully and then suddenly freezes in her position, like a cold and scary mannequin, not moving and face pale, Louis stares at her bewildered for a little, and quickly makes his way to get out of the small-spaced car he was in, 

he rushes over to Eleanor, staring at her cold and terrified features, he slowly turns his head and brings himself to see what she’s glaring at,

it’s Harry.

He’s standing on the dirty brown brick ledge only a few feet in front, one foot barefoot on the harsh brick, and the other made of metal, plastic, and rubber.

He’s in an almost hypnotic and emotionless state as he looks down towards the polluted waters that are both loud and way too quiet with their gushing sounds, the waters are too low and covered with sharp and brutal rocks, Louis winces as he realises that if Harry falls, there’s no way he’ll make it out alive.

“Go speak to him...” Eleanor whispers to Louis out of nowhere, still not moving and blank like a ghost.

What did she just say?

“What!?” Louis gasps quietly, turning his head to Eleanor, tears brimming his eyes. If anyone knows how to deal with this, it’s Eleanor, who’s probably been with Harry through thick and thin,

whereas Louis has only known him for a few months, 

Louis has horrible anxiety too, he can hardly manage himself. He knows he’ll mess up, and he can’t have this on his conscience, never.

“Louis...listen to me, you have to-“

“-I can’t do this!” Louis gasps, looking at Harry with his heart beating fast and heavy in his chest, Harry must be able to hear them by now, but he’s not making any move to look at or acknowledge them

Eleanor slowly turns her posture towards Louis, throwing a few glances at Harry in her movement, she narrows her soft brown eyes at Louis,

“Louis, please. I-i can’t do this, I can’t tell you why or how, not yet, but I can’t-“ she breathes in through her nose deeply and closes her eyes for a second “-trust me, listen, I did something, a long time ago. Something stupid, Harry hates me for it, but you, you’re kind, sweet, and, if anyone can help Harry, I know it’s you...” she whispers, furrowing her brows at Louis.

Louis gulps, closes his eyes, and braces himself.

He can’t let Harry do this, he can’t.

But he’s scared to make the wrong move too, to think that Harry can be gone, because of the wrong thing Louis says, is absolutely daunting, and cruel, and horrible. 

He thinks he likes Harry. He really, really does.

Harry has this sort of barrier up, hiding himself, but when Louis sees just a creak, a small crack in the barrier, the revelation of his personality and persona is easily humble and beautiful, shining, loud and vibrant. Louis knows, he just knows.

He slowly walks towards Harry, who’s still frozen on the ledge. 

He seems to be shaking a little, but he’s not crying, maybe it’s from the cold,

as Louis goes closer he can see Harry’s eyes are puffy and red, but he’s not crying.

Louis goes up to Harry, standing right behind him, he’s directly in front of the backs of Harry’s knees seeing as Harry is standing on top of the ledge, Louis looks up to the back of his head, the mess and bundle of chocolatey and shining curls littering his scalp.

“Harry, listen. Please...please get down.” Louis says clearly, the shakiness in his voice sharp and obvious.

Harry hesitates a little and Louis jolts, 

“Why are you here?” Harry questions confused, but still with a sturdy voice, 


Louis sighs, but even that comes out broken too.

“B-because..” Louis stutters, seemingly forgetting all his words, he freezes. His mind going blank, this is the one thing he didn’t want happening, and now it is.

He’s panicking.

“Harry, I-I can’t, I cant! P-please don’t! I can’t- I don’t-” Louis stammers, literally lost for words.

For a second it’s quiet, apart from Louis’ shallow, laboured breaths, and then Harry speaks;

“Do you remember when we were at the banquet and the man said that I was responsible for murdering his daughter?” Harry questions, still no emotion present in his voice.

Louis’ mind frantically searches for a reason to why that’s relevant in this situation, 


“Just answer the question, Louis. Yes or no?” Harry sharply cuts through, yet his voice soft and not condescending or demanding per usual.

Louis sighs deeply, wishing that he could be face to face with Harry instead of staring at the back of his knees, uncertain to if he could lose him any second or not.

“Y-yes.” Louis answers, hesitant and sad.

“Do you remember when I asked you if you’d ever had your heart broken?” Harry questions sternly again, his voice almost muffled by the loud and riveting rivers below,

Louis gulps.

“Yes, I remember.” Louis replies, he feels like this is all leading up to some huge revelation, 

“Well-“ Harry takes a moment to let out a strangled, broken and dark chuckle “-this is where I lost her, the love of my life.” 

Louis almost passes out.


Chapter Text

Louis wants to ask Harry, he wants Harry to tell him all about it, but there’s only one thing taking up a large fraction of his mind and that’s the fact that Harry is still standing dangerously on the ledge.

He wants to listen to every single word that comes out of Harry’s mouth, but not in this situation, not while his life is one jump away.

“Harry...tell me about it...I want to—want to hear everything, every single word but I need you to get down.” Louis is almost shocked at his own sudden confidence, anxiety slowly creeping it’s way out of his throat and a prominent feeling of confidence making a home there instead.

Harry closes his eyes like he’s in a trance, but also like he’s thinking, he closes them for 1..2..3 seconds, before nodding and slowly getting down. One metallic foot clinking on the ground.

Louis looks back to Eleanor and can see her sighing heavily in relief, for a second he wonders what she’s done, why she herself couldn’t talk to Harry, yet the thought is quick to leave his mind.

His current mind is just a swirl of Harryharryharry.

He wants Harry to get better, or perhaps, he wants Harry...

Louis touches Harry’s back gently, testing the waters. When Harry only flinches slightly at the contact, Louis gets closer and closer to him before closing the space and embracing him in a raw, passionate hug. 

He really doesn’t know what he’s doing, and judging by Harry’s immediate response which is a stiff posture, the broken man is surprised too.

Sooner than later, Harry slowly softens like pasta being boiled in his hands, and the hug starts to feel natural, just like silk.

Harry closes his eyes tightly and envelopes his arms around Louis’ shoulders, milking this moment for every sweet and beautiful emotion it carries. He hides his head in the crook of Louis neck and can feel the soft skin on his lips.

It feels a bit like home.


As soon as they enter the mansion, which for the first time Louis realises doesn’t really have that dark and cold aura that it usually proudly wears like a cape, Louis grasps Harry’s hand gently and rushes them up to the B-section, Harry’s room, almost sprinting.

Harry tumbles over slightly, and the sound of Harry’s prosthetic metal leg is much more rugged and loud once it’s against the marble ground.

“Jesus—Louis—my leg. Slow down a little-“ he gasps breathily, his palm starting to sweat in the other boys hand. Louis lessens his pace, yet still speed-walks.

Louis, almost like he’s owned Harry’s room for a decade, swiftly opens the door and drags the taller boy in.

He sits down fully on the bed, his back laid on the headboard and taps a space next to him, which Harry contemplates before sitting in. But eventually he does.

They’re rather close now.

Louis turns his head to the side and his sparkly light blue eyes stare into Harry’s, broken? No. Healing, eyes. 

The green is like a field basked in sunlight, yet maybe it’s not so clear because they used to be covered by clouds.

Harry’s breath hitches when he realises that he’s been looking in Louis’ eyes for too long. Louis glances down to Harry’s plump, pink lips. The need to kiss like magnets being pulled together.

But, no. They must talk, the fact remains that Harry almost lost his life today. 

Louis settles with cupping the side of Harry’s jaw and moving his thumb in soft circles there.

“Speak to me?” He asks.

Harry nods slowly, “I don’t want to—I cant say much, I don’t think I’m able to without-“ he looks down and gulps, “-I’ll tell you what happened, but I don’t think I can tell you why. Not today, the only people who know why it happened are me... and Eleanor.” 

Louis feels a horrible feeling of nervousness climb into his throat, so Eleanor is tied into this? “What happened?” 

“I’m just going to say this all at that I don’t get too riled up, okay?” Louis nods understandingly, “2 years ago, when I was 21, I had everything. I was a footballer, I was also really fucking rich...but the money didn’t really matter to me, because I had someone to share that with...Taylor.” He closes his eyes and pauses to compose himself, and then continues, “I’d known her since we were young, teenagers even. I needed her.”

“You loved her.” Louis states sadly, it’s not a question because it’s true and Harry’s nod confirms it.

“I loved her, so fucking much. She was the love of my life, everything was okay-“ Harry starts to have an added vulnerability when he speaks his next line, “-until she did something. We were newly married, and I hadn’t really introduced her to all the staff, on the day where I was going to tell everyone, I found something out. It made me so fucking angry.” 

Louis realises that when Harry speaks, he’s trying to be angry, trying to get mad. But his voice is broken and regretful, a horrible thought sneaks into Louis’ head.

“Oh my god Harry...did you kill her?” 

“What?” Harry’s eyes get wider, “No! I didn’t! That’s the fucked up thing, it was an accident. A stupid, stupid accident.” His voice is too panicky now, Louis realises he may have triggered something.

The shorter boy leans closer to Harry and looks him in the eyes, “Hey...m’sorry. Didn’t mean that.”

Harry visibly relaxes, although still slightly tense. 

“It’s’s okay.” He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the headboard, “Once I found out, and i told her that I knew, she recommended that we go on a car journey, so she got into the drivers seat of her Mercedes, and I got in the passenger side and we spoke. In one part of the trip, I got so riled up and angry that I s-started shouting at her-” he begins choking up and tears squeeze painfully out his eyes, he rubs both his palms into his eyes as if to put the tears back inside, “-she told me to calm down, we were on the motorway—I didn’t—I couldn’t stop. I was so angry, she started looking at me...oh my god. She had this expression, h-her face paled and she—she just passed out. On the steering wheel, her head just fell, with a thump. And I’d realised she fainted. Her feet fell off the brakes and i tried grabbing the wheel—I tried—I tried doing something-“ Harry’s words start slurring, his emerald eyes almost displaying clear flashbacks through the intense memory that they carry and filled with regretful terror. Louis feels how Harry looks.

He grabs Harry and pulls him down on the bed strongly, laying on top of him as he crushes both their chests in a bone-breaking hug, so intense, passionate and so strong that he feels dizzy from just the connection. Harry feels the exact same way, his arms trembling as he hugs Louis back, who’s on top of him.

Louis starts kissing up and down his neck soothingly, peppering kisses all over, not at all lustfully, but respectfully, calmingly, admiringly.

“Hush now...” Louis whispers to him as the night starts to creep in through the window, and blue moonlight pours onto Harry’s face, “you don’t need to tell me anything else, just go to sleep, my beautiful boy...” 

Harry breathes slowly and drifts off to a comfortable, and peaceful sleep. A large weight unknowingly lifted off his shoulders, his chest pressed to Louis’ and his heart and soul slowly entwining with his.