The Liberosist

Part Six

Part Six: "The first to help you up are the ones who know what it's like to be down."

Louis Tomlinson did the only thing he was able to do: he let Harry stay. He was unable to walk away when Harry was there, but when he wasn't there he did all he could to avoid him. He didn't need this. He couldn't take this. So he waited for Harry to finally leave, because that's what they all did.

But Harry didn't. His arms remained clean, so that meant he chose to stay. Louis was puzzled- who would choose this? Choose to be chained down? Choose him?

He didn't mind that Harry was clean. He was jealous. He would give anything to be pure like that, to never feel this pain. Harry was untainted good that was searching for trouble, and Louis refused to let him find it. Maybe it was an instinct, like an older brother type of thing. Harry had no idea what he was getting into. He would let him stay, but Louis wouldn't.

So Louis let Harry stay, but focused on being winter. He had to be winter. He had to forget how beautiful Harry was. Long, curly chocolate hair, strong jaw, pink full lips, and green eyes like spring time. Spring. He couldn't let Harry's spring melt him. 

It had been a week since the two seasons met, and they were oddly inseparable. Truthfully, there was a lot more effort on Harry's part than Louis', but that was Louis' plan all along. Harry didn't seem to mind, even though he hadn't even told Harry his name. It seemed as if nothing could bring the kid down.

They were in the park once again, a usual hang out of Louis' (and now Harry's). Harry was lying in the grass, contentedly humming softly as he played with bits of grass, almost as if he was painting the sky with the strands. Louis of course was not watching Harry, he was completely absorbed in his book. He was not caught up with the wonderful way that his long curls splayed around his head like a halo, or the fact that his soothing low voice was humming a tune that reminded him of a lullaby his mother used to sing to him, or the fact that spots of light danced on his smooth, clear arms.

Suddenly, a football rolled up to them, and Louis lit up, placing his book to the side and standing up. He loved football, and used to be really good at it, too. He couldn't play for his team anymore once they discovered his arms, though... but he still missed the sport.

"Pass it here, mate!" Louis looked up at the owner of the football, and expertly swung his leg back and passed it to him.

"You're pretty good. Wanna join? We could use another player." The guy said, dribbling the ball a bit. Louis was ecstatic, but remembered that he couldn't. He was winter.

"I-I can't." Louis sat back down. He was winter. The rest of the guy's team soon joined the man.

"Come on, just a round! Guys, convince him to join, he's good!" The man said to his buddies, but they shook their heads.

"C'mon, mate, look who he's with." One of them muttered to the guy, and everyone looked at Harry. Louis saw the glares and frowned, confused as to what was wrong.

"That's the guy?" The man said, not bothering to be quiet about it. "The one with no scars?"

"Yeah, so..." One of his mate flicked his head to the side, the universal sign to let's get out of here. Without hesitation, they all hustled away with the football.

Louis shrugged, deciding not to care. He was winter. Louis picked up his book to resume reading- but then he saw Harry. For the first time since he met Harry, his head was down and he wasn't smiling...

Louis cleared his throat, and Harry remembered that he wasn't alone. Harry sighed, brushing his hair back off of his face. "Sorry...that happens a lot."

Louis scowled, angered that Harry had to put up with that... he assumed that Harry didn't have any troubles, because he was so happy, and pure, and untainted... But here Harry was, trying his best not to cry. And even though he was so different, they were the same.

"My name is Louis Tomlinson."

Harry beams brighter than the sun, and Louis had to pick up his book and leave. He was winter.