Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hey, Lou, get a load of this,” Zayn says, snapping Louis out of a daydream. He looks up to where Zayn is pointing, only to see some kid getting pushed around by a bunch of their friends. His friends have got the poor kid cornered, and Louis feels kind of bad. That feeling goes away instantly, though, when he sees how many laughs they’re getting out of the situation. “What a fag,” Zayn mutters, going to back to his shit cafeteria food. The word rings in Lou’s head for a moment before he mentally smacks himself and averts his attention back to the mystery meat. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the boy hugging his books to his chest, trying to walk away from his tormentors. The tormentors, Louis’s friends Liam and Niall, won’t seem to leave the boy alone. They push him, and shove him, and call him awful, demeaning, dehumanizing names.

Louis hates his friends sometimes, but he’d never admit it.

His friends really are nice guys, they’ve just been exposed to the wrong people for so long that they’re really no longer themselves anymore, they’re just a product. A product of popularity, you might say.

Louis’ thoughts are interrupted by a loud smack! and, bam, the boy’s books hit the floor. The boy rushes to pick his books up, but is interrupted when Liam smacks a big foot on top of what looks like a psychology textbook, and the boy looks up at him with confused, terrified eyes. Louis hears Liam growl, “Now, what do you need those for? ‘S not like you’re getting to class today.”

His words course through Louis’ veins and just make him angrier and angrier. He wants to say something so badly, but his reputation would be absolutely obliterated. He dares to look up again, observing the poor boy. He’s quite tall actually, much taller than Liam and Niall, but a bit lanky and skinny. He’s got curly, brown hair that sits like a mop on top of his head, and piercing green eyes that could outshine the sun. Louis has never seen the boy before, and doesn’t even know his name.

Just then, Louis sees a large textbook fly across the room and land near him and Zayn’s lunch table. He sees Liam point to the book, and the boy begin to rush over to it. The book lands right in front of Louis’ feet, and the boy bends down to grab it. Louis’s eyes meet the boy’s green ones, and all he sees is a combination of anxiety and fear.

“S-sorry,” the boy whispers, “was just gettin’ my textbook. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

And Louis wants to reach out, take the boy’s face in his hands, and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

But he can’t. So he does the next best thing.

“‘S alright mate! Say, how about you come to a party of ours tonight? At Zayn’s house, I’m sure you know where that is,” Louis says, beaming. Fuck, he thinks, why did I just say that?

“Uh, me? Are y-you, are you sure? What about your friends?” the boy stutters.

“They won’t mind, believe me. So, whaddya say? Tonight, 9pm sharp?”

“Erm, sure. I’ll be there.” the boy whispers, grabbing the book to his chest and rushing out of the cafeteria while Liam and Niall are too confused to notice.

“Mate, what the hell was that for?” Niall asks, grabbing the seat next to Louis.

“Yeah, what the fuck? Are you trying to make this party lame?” Liam snarls, obviously unamused.

“Don’t worry lads, ‘ve got a plan. We get him proper drunk, he embarrasses the shit out of ‘imself, and we can all have a good laugh.” Louis says, proud of himself for coming up with a last minute excuse, but internally ashamed of himself for dragging this poor boy into one of Zayn’s wild house parties.

“Proper genius, you are. This’ll be all over the internet in the morning.” Zayn beams, clapping Louis on the back.

“Yeah, I’m buzzing for this party, mates,” Louis lies, “but I’ve really got to go, have to finish some, uh, homework.”

“Are you okay? You never do homework,” Niall questions.

“Yeah, I’m totally fine! ‘m trying to get my grades up,” Louis lies, again. “See you tonight, lads.”

Louis rushes out of the cafeteria without letting his friends bid him farewell. Honestly, he couldn’t even stand to look at those assholes anymore, much less have a conversation with them. Hey, the kid probably won’t even show up, Louis thinks, nerds don’t go to parties.

. . .

Wrong.

Louis is sitting on a couch in Zayn’s living room when he sees him.

He’s dressed in a white shirt and black skinny jeans with some weird brown boots that look like they came from a consignment shop. His hair is curly as ever, and held back with a dark brown bandana.

Louis tries so hard to hate the boy so what he’s about to do will be easier, but he just can’t.

“Hey, mate!” Louis says, approaching the boy and clapping him loudly on the back. “Glad you came!”

“Erm, h-hi.” The boy stutters, looking uncomfortable.

“I never did get your name, mate. I’m Louis.”

“I know.”

As soon as the words leave the boy’s mouth, he turns a shade of bright pink that almost matches the pink lights that have been strung around Zayn’s flat for the party.

“Erm, I mean, I’ve h-heard of you. I’m, uh, Harry.”

“Well, lovely to meet you, lad. How ‘bout we get you a drink?”

“Uh, no thanks, I’m not really a big drinker--”

“Nonsense! Everyone’s a drinker. Just have to get them the right drink, is all,” Louis says coolly, before dragging Harry off to the bar.

That’s right, there’s a bar. At Zayn’s house. He’s, like, stupid rich.

“Hello lad,” Louis begins, addressing the bartender, “my friend here’ll have three shots of your finest vodka.” The bartender nods immediately, and appears seconds later with three tiny glasses of a clear liquid.

“Erm, I don’t really like vodka,” Harry says, nervously eyeing the small glasses.

“Nonsense, mate. Don’t pussy out,” Louis says, knowing his words will hit the boy hard.

“Uhm, alright. I guess three can’t hurt,” Harry says, downing the first shot, and then the second, and then the third. And soon, three turns into three more, and then another three more, and soon Harry’s practically bouncing around the party from person to person, having loud conversations about absolutely nothing.

“Mate, he’s a fuckin’ animal,” Niall says, standing next to Louis. “How many shots did he have?”

“Around ten, I think. I lost count after number six.” Louis feels sick to his stomach, and it’s not because of the alcohol. It’s because people are laughing at Harry, but they’re not laughing with him. “I’m going to head to the toilets really quickly if you don’t mind, I’ll be right back.”

“No problem, Lou. That brunette in the corner keeps eyeing me,” Niall smirks, heading off to the girl in the corner.

Louis shoves his way through dozens of people to get to the bathroom, (which, by the way, is one of those bathrooms you’d find in a restaurant or something. -- not a house.) and pushes through a dozen more throwing up to get to a stall. He hides himself in the stall and runs his hands through his hair, nervously eyeing his watch when he hears it.

“No, please, I d-don’t want this.”

“C’mon baby, yes you do. You know you do.”

“N-no, I don’t. Please g-get away.”

The two male voices seem to be pushing themselves into the stall next to Louis’s, but Louis can’t seem to make out the two voices just yet.

“You’re so pretty, baby. So slutty for me.”

“No, please d-don’t--”

Louis hears the sound of a zipper and sees a pair of black skinny jeans drop to the ground in the stall next to him. And under those skinny jeans, he sees a pair of ratty brown boots.

Fuck.

All Louis can hear is an extremely drunk Harry quietly whimpering and stumbling backwards, desperately trying to get away from whoever is holding him there.

“C’mon, baby, don’t struggle. This won’t hurt a bit.”

Those words set Louis’ mind into action, and he shoves his way out of his stall and brings himself to stand in front of the one next to his. -- And, he sees some guy with one hand down Harry’s pants and the other hand pinning Harry’s hands to the wall above his head. And he sees Harry, looking terrified as ever, with his eyes squeezed shut and silent tears rushing down his face.

“Excuse me, faggots, but Zayn’s got a strict ‘no-gays’ rule, so if you’re finished, you should probably be leaving.”

The boy pressed against Harry whips his head around to look straight into Louis’s eyes.

“Zach, is that you? No way, you’re a fag?” Louis says, addressing a boy he used to go to school with.

“Louis, oh my god, -- please, you can’t tell anyone, please,” Zach begs, letting go of Harry and turning around to fully face Louis. Harry seems to fall into himself, cornered into the bathroom stall.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of this house right now, I swear to God everyone’ll know by morning. Fuck off,” Louis spits, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course, yeah mate. I’m leaving now,” Zach says, pushing past Louis and out of the bathroom. Harry just stands there now, eyes open wide and staring at Louis, waiting for whatever names he’s about to be called. But, what he gets is unexpected.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, “are you okay?” Louis steps closer into the stall, only to have Harry shrink back even closer to the wall, if that was possible. He massages his own arms, and Louis sees the red imprints that Zach left on Harry’s wrists from pinning him to the wall.

“Please, d-don’t hurt m-me,” Harry whispers, just loud enough to be heard.

“Harry, I’m not going to-- nevermind. How drunk are you?”

“I dunno, had a bunch of shots. Everything is blurry. Thought that guy was in my imagination until I couldn’t move my hands,” Harry states, confused. He seems to have transferred back into his ‘happy-drunk’ state, but Louis was still nervous.

“C’mon Harry, we should go find a bedroom.”

“Why? You’re not gonna touch me, are you?” Harry asks, sounding genuinely nervous. Louis’s heart breaks a little.

“No, Harry of course not. Why the fuck would I touch you?”

“I dunno. Because, your friends hurt me, and that guy touched me, and you knew him too. You have shit friends, Lou.”

“I know, mate, I know,” Louis sighed, grabbing Harry’s wrist. The boy flinches at the contact, but Louis chooses to ignore it. “C’mon mate, we should sober you up before you get back out there.”

“Okay!” Harry giggles, practically skipping up the stairs. And, Louis can’t help but notice how pretty Harry looks with his messed up hair and his glassy eyes and still slightly tear-stained cheeks.

Once they find one of the guest bedrooms, Louis sits Harry down on the bed and begins to apologize.

“I’m really sorry, Harry. I hate that my friends hurt you and that guy touched you and I’m just really fucking sorry,” Louis says, running his hand through his sweaty hair.

“‘S alright, I’m used to it anyway,” Harry says casually, flopping back onto the bed.

“Wait, what do you mean? Why are you used to it?” Louis questions, fear welling in the pit of his stomach.

“Just what I said, I’m used to it. It happens a lot, actually,” Harry says nonchalantly.

“I’m confused Harry, why are you used to it? Has someone hit you before?” Louis asks, almost afraid of the answer.

“Yeah! It’s happened a ton of times before, so it barely even bothers me anymore. My parents died when I was young, I don’t really remember them much. But, they put me into foster care ‘cuz my family didn’t want me, and one of my foster dad’s used to hit me when he was angry, because he didn’t want to hit his wife. Which, that was alright, I guess. It was good for his wife, but it kind of sucked for me,” Harry said. And, at this point, Louis’s heart was broken already. This poor, drunken boy sitting before him, who probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, was telling him that his father used to hit him and is saying it as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

“Harry, what the hell? Did you tell anyone?” Louis asks, getting more anxious by the minute.

“Yeah, the agency found out when they found me unconscious with bruises all over my stomach. They put me in another foster home, but that one was even worse,” Harry shivered, remembering that home.

“What.. what did they do to you, Harry?” Louis asks, cautiously approaching the subject.

“Well, it was just the dad that was mean. The mum was quite lovely, but she worked a lot. The dad was always complaining about never being able to fuck his wife because she was never home, so he fucked me instead.”

Louis’ jaw drops at that. “Did you want it?” Louis asks, just in case it was actually consensual. Which, as weird as it sounds, some people like that kind of thing.

“No, I never did. I used to cry and whine and scream and try to get away from him, but it never worked. It only made him more mad. So, eventually, whenever he came into my room, I just learned to undress and lay on the bed with my face buried into a pillow. It was easier that way, and it hurt less.”

Louis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He honestly couldn’t fathom the fact that this beautiful boy sitting in front of him had been beaten and raped and abused for so much of his life, and still managed to be living and breathing. Louis couldn’t respond to Harry’s statement, so he just nodded and let Harry continue.

“The worst was when he wouldn’t let me bury my face in a pillow, and forced me to look at him as he kept pounding into me for what seemed like hours. It hurt so bad, Louis, it really did. He’d whisper awful things in my ear and just make me feel like I didn’t mean anything, you know? He’d tell me that this was my one purpose in life, and this was all I’d ever be good for.”

Those words kept ringing in Louis’s head for what seemed like eternity.

He’d tell me that this was my one purpose in life, and this was all I’d ever be good for.

He couldn’t even believe that someone had taken this beautiful, quiet boy and spread him apart and abused him until he thought he wasn’t worth anything, and that really was all he’d ever be good for.

“And, did you believe him Harry?” Louis asks quietly, looking at Harry as he searches for his answer.

“Yeah, I did. And, I mean, I still do, I guess. There’s not really anything special about me, is there?”

And Louis wanted to cry. Louis wanted to wrap this beautiful boy up in his arms and tell him that he was beautiful and that he was worth the world and that every person who ever told him he wasn’t good enough was dead wrong.

But, he couldn’t. (He didn’t want to scare the boy off.)

“What kind of foster home are you in now?”

“Eh, the woman’s alright. It’s just her and I. She doesn’t pay much attention to me at all, but she doesn’t hit me or anything. So, it’s alright.” Harry yawns, and leans his head back on the pillow.

“You tired, Harry?” Louis asks. Harry nods, already drifting off to sleep. Louis takes the chair next to Harry. He knows he won’t be sleeping too much tonight, he’d be much too worried about Harry vomiting in his sleep and choking. He did take around ten shots, after all. Louis watches the small, beautiful boy curl into himself and slowly drift off to sleep, and it’s about half past two.

Harry jolts awake at about half five, and makes a beeline to the bathroom. Louis hears him, of course. (Louis hadn’t slept yet.) Louis slowly walks into the bathroom, but makes his presence known as to not startle Harry.

“You alright, love?” Louis asks, gazing down at Harry, who’s vomiting into the toilet with tears streaming down his face.

“Does it look like I’m fucking alright?” Harry snaps.

Louis draws back, stunned and hurt. “Harry, what’s wro--”

“What the fuck do you think is wrong, you asshole? I can’t even believe how utterly stupid I was. I let you drag me here and get me completely drunk so you can have your fun with me and toss me aside, just like everyone else. I don’t even know why you’re still here.” Harry snarls, sitting up and laying against the base of the toilet, closing his eyes. “If you’re going to mock me or tell me how awful I am in bed or something please just do it, I just want to go home,” Harry says, his eyes looking towards the floor. Even though Louis can’t see his face, he knows Harry’s crying.

“Harry, I-- we, -- we didn’t do anything. I don’t know why you think we did,” Louis whispers, averting his eyes to the ground. “I wouldn’t do that, you weren’t sober.”

Harry looks up at Louis, stunned. “Then, w-why am I h-here? With, with y-you?” Harry stutters, face suddenly turning red and confused.

“I, ugh, found you in the bathroom. Some guy was all over you and had his one hand down your pants and his other hand pinning your hands to the wall. I, ugh, stopped him.”

“Why?” Harry asks, bitterly. “Why do you care what they do to me? You obviously didn’t care earlier today when your friends were calling me a fag and a pussy,” Harry spits.

“I did, Harry, I really did care. I just didn’t want to make a scene, because they would’ve targeted you even more. I just, -- I wanted to protect you.”

Harry’s face softens, searching for some kind of sign that Louis is messing with him, but he can’t find one. “Thank y-you. A lot. It, uh, m-means more that you know.”

“That’s the other thing Harry, I do know. When you were drunk, you said some things..” Louis trails off at the end, hoping that Harry got the picture. He didn’t.

“What, -- what did I say, Lou?” Harry asks, eyes filling with worry.

“You said, uh, that some of your foster dads used to beat you and rape you.”

And, Harry’s vomiting again. Vomiting and coughing and crying and screaming and clawing at himself and trying to make himself smaller, almost invisible. He’s actually fucking trembling.

Louis bends down and sits down across from Harry, taking the younger boy’s hands in his own. “Hey, hey, c’mon now. You’re okay, you’re alright. Everything is going to be fine,” Louis tells him, and Harry crashes forward into him and wraps his arms around Louis’s torso. Louis pulls the shaking boy closer, closer, closer, until there is no more space between them. He kisses the top of the boy’s head and whispers calming words into his ear.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’re alright. Everything is going to be okay. No one is ever going to hurt you like that again, I’ll make sure of it. It’s okay, darling, you’re okay. You’re okay. You’re here, sweetheart.”

And Louis rocks Harry back and forth in his arms until the younger boy has calmed down a bit.

“The floor’s quite cold, yeah? D’you wanna get some more sleep?” Louis asks, pushing the lone strands of hair out of the boy’s eyes. Harry nods, and lets Louis pick him up and bring him to the bed. Harry pulls the covers on top of him, and Louis opts for the chair.

“Lou,” Harry whispers, “can you, uh, s-stay with me? Don’t wanna be alone.”

Louis’s heart flutters at the words. “Of course, sweetheart. ‘S alright, you’re alright.”

Louis climbs into bed and remains a little far away from the boy, not wanting to crowd him or make him feel uncomfortable. Harry doesn’t like that, though, and slides himself closer to Louis. Harry snuggles into Louis’ chest and fists his shirt in his hands. Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s skinny body and pulls him closer, nuzzling his face into Harry’s hair.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll be okay,” Louis whispers.

“‘m okay with you,” Harry whispers into Louis’ chest.

“If that’s what it takes,” Louis whispers.

“If that’s what it takes.”