After the End: Book 4

59. The Start of Cresendo

Louis POV

My phone was ringing again. It had been ringing on an off for the entirety of two days, and I thought there was probably a good chance I was going to go mad over it.

Becca gave me a sympathetic look and held out her arms to take Oliver again. Bringing him the work at the tower wasn't the same as the fun g taking him to an event. It was never ideal, but it helped to at least have Becca as a second set of arms. She always seemed willing.

I handed him over, checked the name on the screen to confirm it was who I thought it was, and then started for the door.

We were in Harry's rehearsal room, but we were on a pretty seriously prolonged break. Harry was sitting at Sarah's drumset, and Mitch and her were pretending to teach him the art of hitting things for "music" purposes, but it was very obviously an exercise in stress relief. Harry's edge had been obvious for the duration of the rehearsal, prompting Sarah to shock us all by offering him her seat.

I was content to let them waste time as long as they wanted. After the previous night, I'd half hoped Harry would wake up and quit altogether. The prolonged break was the best I could hope for.

Harry had come home from therapy with an obvious edge. He'd bypassed coming to my flat entirely. He'd skipped dinner, and according to Naomi he'd showered for no less than an hour and a half. He was on the sofa set on going to bed by 5pm. I'd thought I wouldn't see him for the rest of the night, and after checking on him quickly, I'd decided to let him ride it out.

Then he'd walked into my room at 2 am. He was lucky that Becca had been staying at her own house for the first time in several nights. He was also lucky I was still awake. He'd stood in my doorway for several long seconds in his pajamas. His hands had trembled. His face was pale and his eyes were dark. I'd thought maybe he was going to burst into tears, but I couldn't really tell in the semi darkness afforded by my dimming lamp.

I'd been sitting on my piano bench pretending I'd planned on playing. Oliver hadn't woken up yet. I thought maybe he was actually going to sleep through the night in his own room.

"I don't know what to say," Harry had admitted shakily after a bit. "I don't know when I stopped knowing what to say to you, but I've noticed it a lot lately and I really hate it."

"I know the feeling," I'd assured him.

He'd nodded. Then he'd stepped into the room fully, and he'd moved to sit on the floor beside the piano. Up close, the haunting misery he was trying to hide in his face became obvious.

"Is everything okay?" I'd asked.

"No."

"Is there something I can—"

"It's nothing you can help," he assured me. "I'm just... can you just play something nice for me?"

So I played piano for a long time and he sat on the floor. He oscillated between watching me play with a look of intense scrutiny, and laying his forhead into his knees while he pulled his own hair in a very stressed manner.

The guy in front of me half smiling at the drumset wasn't the same person.

I just barely missed my dads call, but it was fine because he'd called back immediately after. Impatient bastard.

"I'm working," I said before he could even say a greeting. I tried to muster something emotionless and uninterested, which was both petty and successful.

"All the time apparently," Mark mused.

He wasn't wrong. I'd been ignoring him for a solid 24 hours. I'd spent the previous day trying to get school figured out for the girls (successfully by the way). They were to start the following day. I'd also jointly attended Olivers yearly check up with Naomi. Totally healthy. I'd used those tasks as an excuse to ignore when my father called. I also ignored when Melvin called me too.