Strawberry Milk L.S.

strawberry milk

He’s awoken again by the feeling of Harry scrambling from his arms. Then he hears the choking sound of puking.

(He almost forgets.)

He looks at the clock, four fifteen flashing brightly against his tired eyes. He gets up, though, feeling his body trembling against his will, and he quickly follows Harry into the bathroom. He finds him on his knees, tears dripping against the side of the toilet as he empties his stomach. Louis pauses, before carefully stepping closer. He wants to make sure Harry is okay with this, okay with him being in the room with him.

Once he feels it is okay, he sits on the edge of the bathtub that is beside the toilet, and gently runs his fingers through Harry’s curls, holding them back from his forehead. He feels sick himself, but for entirely different reasons.

Harry looks up to Louis after a moment, sniffling and making sure he can talk proper enough, before asking, “What’re you doing here, Lou?”

Louis bites his lip, running his thumb across the corners of Harry's mouth to wipe away a little bit of puke. Harry makes a funny face, like he is trying to decide if what Louis is doing is disgusting or sweet.

“Well, Harry,” Louis finally speaks, wiping his fingers on his sweats, “last night you texted me and asked me to come over," Harry nods to what Louis is saying to him, and leans his head against the toilet seat, "and when I got here, you were drunk,” he stops himself for a moment, “and… you said... something.”

Harry turns red all the way up to his ears. “What did I say?”

Louis bites his lip, trying to keep his breathing steady. “You said,” he starts softly, “that your ex-boyfriend use to hit you.”

Harry is puking again. He is vomiting tears and screams, clawing at his arms. He trembles, eyes squeezed closed, mouth open as sobs spill into the air; he’s caving in on himself, trying to disappear, trying to make himself smaller as he curls around himself, trembling, he is fucking trembling.

Louis bites his lip, feeling the tears well in his own eyes as he kneels down and wraps his arms around Harry. He holds him close to his chest, one hand holding his head, the other running up and down the shaking boy’s spine.

Harry pukes again, he pukes on the both of them, and is sobbing out incoherent apologies. Louis tells him it’s okay, ‘it’s okay, Harry, it’s okay, shh, you’re okay.’

Louis sees them, the fingertips of someone who wasn’t supposed to leave them there.

"M'sorry, m'sorry," Harry murmurs, shaking like telephone wires, the fault lines of an aftershock. Louis is breaking under the weight, but he holds on.

"It's alright Harry, it's alright- it's not your fault, it was never your fault,” he pauses, he tells himself to be strong, be strong for Harry because he needs it, “C'mon," Louis stands up, not knowing what to do, pulling Harry up with him gently. "Gonna take a bath, okay? And then I'm going to take you out for breakfast, anywhere you want, and you're going to talk to me, okay?" he smooths Harry's hair back. "Okay, Harry?" he repeats, "I need you to talk to me," and Harry nods, balling his fists into Louis’ shirt and rubbing his nose into it.

"Okay now, come on. We're covered in puke, love." Louis tries to sound playful but it comes out a little more like a small sob. He sits down in the tub, pulling Harry down on top of him. Harry tries taking his shirt off, but Louis stops him. "We're gonna leave clothes on, alright? Now's not the best time to be naked."

Louis uses his toes to twist the faucet, turning it so that it will come out nice and warm as Harry lays scrunched up against his chest in the small tub, crying softly with muffled words and stinky breath, but Louis pulls him closer. He runs his fingers through his hair, hushing him quietly as he looks around all of the body washes, and it's finally making sense why he has them all. He wants to feel clean - he wants to feel clean again. All they are are bruises and punches and blood disguised in body washes that are supposed to make it better, he just wants it to get better.