Tell Me Everything

2

It happened four more times after that. Each time the same thing. Harry comes home late, ices his face, crawls into Louis' bed, and then comes up with excuses, they never get to talk about it.

Two months later, not much has changed. Louis still hates Peter, more now than before. Harry has not said a word about that night, Louis still isn't sure about what exactly happened and he's too scared to push Harry about it. He wears jackets and ridiculous turtleneck shirts and stays in his room mostly until his face and neck heals. He told Louis he fell when he got too drunk to explain his face and told him shyly that he liked rough sex to explain his neck. Louis believed none of it.

He tried to keep him from Peter, making any excuse up that he can think of to keep him away, but Harry is stubborn and he's a twenty-one-year-old adult, he makes his own decisions and there's only so much Louis can do to protect him when he doesn't want to be protected. Still, he tries.

He sits on the couch as Harry shuffles by him toward the kitchen with his shoulders hunched forward like he doesn't want to take up too much space, with his head down slightly like he doesn't want to be seen, with his lip between his teeth like he's waiting for the next hit to come. Louis shivers at his thoughts. He wants to say it, he tries to, but nothing comes out.

I love you and I'm here for you, please get away from him, please Louis begs in his head, trying to telepathically send the message to Harry.

Harry sits down next to Louis with a bowl of crisps that he sets between them to share. Louis opens his mouth to say something, but he freezes just like always, he never does it, never says what he needs to say. It feels like his tongue is tied and the words are trapped in his throat.

"Harry, I think we need to talk," Louis says quietly after at least half an hour of debating what to say.

"What about?" He asks nonchalantly keeping his eyes on the reruns of Friends playing, but Louis can see the way his shoulders tense.

"You know what about, H, come on," Louis says turning towards Harry and putting his feet up on the couch between them with his knees hugged to his chest.

"I really don't, what are you on about?" Harry says facing Louis the same way.

"Seriously?" Louis asks in disbelief. He can see the blue and purple marks fading under the collar of his shirt, he can see the cut healing on his jaw, he can see all of it and Harry is playing dumb.

"Yes, seriously, Louis, what is it?" Harry sets his jaw and gives Louis a fierce look that almost makes him back down. Almost.

"How about you start with this?" Louis says pulling the collar of his shirt down to expose the barely-there imprint of a hand. Harry flinches and Louis' stomach flips.

"I told you what that is, Louis, don't embarrass me about it," Harry mumbles. "I don't ask you about your sex life,"

"You and I both know that's not what that is," Louis says.

"Stop," Harry snaps. "Know your place,"

Louis blinks at him for a moment, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not discussing my relationship with you," Harry says, tone edging on angry. Already the definition of irritated.

"Harry, he puts his hands on you, that's not-"

"What if I ask him to?" Harry snaps. 

"What?" Louis is so lost. Why would he come home crying and hurt and crawling into Louis' bed if he asks Peter to do whatever it is that he does? Why would Harry ask him to hurt him?