Gods & Monsters

Chapter 7 (Part 2)

"Surely you do," he protests, and this time he knocks Harry's shoulder purposefully, trying to catch his eye. "You say things to me!"

"Yeah, but only in response to the things you say first," Harry points out.

Is that true? Louis can't decide if that's true. It doesn't seem true. Harry talks all the time. He says interesting stuff. He's funny. And Louis pretty much hates people collectively, so if Louis approves of Harry Styles' existence, then he must be a top notch human.

He doesn't know how to say that, though. And he's not sure if he should. Or if he wants to.

"Well. What are you interests?" Louis asks, tone easy. "It's easier to talk to people when you're talking about something you care about."

"Erm. I dunno," Harry shrugs, briefly biting on his pinky nail. He shrugs again. "I don't have many."

Louis sighs.

"Alright. Then what do you want to do with your life? Aside from the doctor spiel," he warns, the minute Harry opens his mouth. He closes it then, a little bashfully. Louis forces back a smile. "What are your personal goals? What does Harry want to do for Harry?"

There's a pause, a moment where Harry seems to consider. Then: "I dunno?"

"Boy, Harry," Louis then laughs, throwing his hands up in the air. This kid is exasperating. "If you're trying to be the most boring person on the planet, then I must say, you're succeeding."

And Harry blushes again at that, skin actually burning at the words. But it's not a good sort of blush. Not the kind that travels across his flesh in plumes, Louis' eyes tracking its descent. Rather...it's harsh. Something instant and sharp. And it's paired with Harry's brow creasing, his head ducking as he breaks eye contact with Louis, taking his smile and sunrise with him, and his steps falter just that much, shoes scuffing the pavement. Harry, clearly, is hurt.

This has a surprising affect on Louis.

It startles him. Full on startles him, alarming him, slapping him a bit in the cheeks and mouth, recoiling him into wishing he could immediately take back the words. Is that shame? Perhaps, yeah, maybe. In any case, he's a piece of shit, isn't he?

That was a shit thing to say. His skin burns with apology. It's unfamiliar and raw and it makes his jean jacket rub uncomfortably against his neck.

Harry's looking down, lips tight in a frown, skin still burnt.

It's awful, to be quiet fucking honest.

"I'm sorry," Louis blurts immediately, stopping dead in his tracks. Harry doesn't immediately stop though, so Louis reaches out, tugs gently at his elbow. It's enough for Harry to pause, though he doesn't lift his head, curls obscuring his face, the drawstrings of his hoodie swaying. The raw feeling inside Louis doesn't go away, only quickens. So he speaks because he doesn't know what else to do, doesn't let go of Harry. "That was a shit thing to say. I apologize. That was—I shouldn't have said that. I-I didn't mean it like that." He's stuttering, fumbling, bumbling, and all the other things he hates but seems to do around Harry consistently. But he's hot with that 'shame' feeling and he's itchy and he wants Harry to look at him again. He's so sweet. He's so sweet and Louis offended him and Louis hates himself a bit for it because Harry doesn't fucking deserve that. The thought burns his throat. "I'm a piece of shit," he says quietly, the words quick. "I'm such an arsehole. The worst kind of human. A gargoyle, really. I'm sorry, Harry. Genuinely. I didn't mean what I said."

But Harry's shaking his head. "No, it's okay, Louis," he says quietly. He still won't look up, though.

And that's all that matters to Louis. The horrible raw feeling persists the longer that Harry won't look at him.