Untouchable

Chapter 7

A/N
Sorry this took a while. It's a long chapter so I needed more time.
Love you!!
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Harry's POV

I stood in the kitchen for a while after Louis left. Seeing him cry had killed me. Not being able to reach out and wipe his tears away was a special kind of torture.
I sat down in our living room.
I was genuinely curious as to what had happened during the interview. He had been his normal self, as normal as Louis could get, and then suddenly it was like he had watched his family get murdered.
It was strange, the way that the boys seemed to automatically know what to do afterwards, like it was a kind of routine. We'd hung around, all worrying about Louis, but not checking to make sure that he was okay.
I'd carefully asked Zayn why that was and he had shrugged.
"We've learned that he just needs space," he had replied, giving no further detail.
Louis had looked pale and shaken up when he had come back inside and I wanted to grab him and make him tell me what had happened. I was painfully curious, but I couldn't bring myself to ask.
I'd tried to listen when Niall and Liam had spoken to him afterwards, but I hadn't been able to hear anything. I had a feeling that they were speaking quietly with the intention of me not hearing.
His nightmare had been terrifying for me. I didn't even know what it was about. I just couldn't get him to wake up. It was obvious that he was terrified in his dream and I wanted to bring him out of it, but I couldn't.
The look on his face when he had finally woken up had made me feel sick. He looked like he thought I was going to hurt him. But I wouldn't. I would never lay a hand on him. Just the thought of it was unfathomable.
I snapped the rubber band that I wore on my wrist. I had taken to wearing them again, much to Felix's distaste. The pain didn't feel like it was enough.
For a brief moment, my eyes strayed to the kitchen. Louis was in his room. He wouldn't know. I'd seen a pretty decently sharp steak knife when I had been searching for a fork.
I gritted my teeth and snapped the rubber band so hard that it broke.
I wasn't going to do it. The mental image of the look of sheer disappointment on Louis's face if I did it was enough to make me get up and go to my room.
I didn't hear anything as I walked past Louis's room, so I didn't hesitate to keep walking.
I shut my door behind me, like he had.
It was a habit that we had both picked up when we had lived together the first time.
As two teenaged boys full of hormones, we naturally needed privacy sometimes. Sure, we'd walked in on each other doing...questionable things, but enough times that it became a bit of a joke between us.
Now, we were used to closing our doors, even if we really didn't need to.
I really needed to think of something else other than Louis wanking or I was going to have a problem.
I sat down on my bed and sighed. I was restless. I hated not being allowed to go out in public. I had all of this pent-up energy and I needed to let it out.
I knew that Louis had a treadmill and probably a few weights. I hadn't really gone anywhere in his house-our house, other than my room, the kitchen, and the living room, so I'd never used them. I knew my way around, of course; I'd been in his house hundreds of times before.
I got up, changed my clothes, and left my room. I went downstairs and into what he had always liked to call his workout room. He rarely ever used it. It was mostly to convince himself that he wasn't as lazy as he really was. I found it hilarious and adorable.
Within minutes, I was running, the slapping of my shoes against the treadmill drowned out by the roaring in my ears.
It felt good, the burn in my muscles. I had missed it. I ran at a near-sprint for almost forty-five minutes. Louis' treadmill had an approximate calorie loss counter on it and I had to stop when it got too high. I didn't want to have to eat a lot to make up for it. I slowed to a jog and then a walk. The sweat dripping down my body was almost purifying.
I got off and turned around. I jumped in surprise. Louis was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
I tried not to think about his tear-stained face as he regarded me cautiously.
"Can we talk?" he asked quietly, shifting his gaze to my feet.
"Why?" I asked.
He shrugged, shifting so that he could wrap his arms around himself.
"I just thought...maybe you might want to know what happened. At the interview," he mumbled.
As much as I did want to know, I shook my head.
"I don't care," I replied.
Louis sighed, tightening his arms.
"Sometimes I think that you do," he said softly, daring to look up from the ground and make eye contact with me.
"You're wrong. I don't care about you. Not anymore. I don't care about what happened to you or what happens to you in the future. I don't care what it seems like and I don't care about you," I spat.
Each word felt like barbed wire being ripped out of my throat. I shifted slightly and Louis flinched in reaction.
I did want to know, I wanted to know so badly why he was scared of me. I wanted to know how I could fix it.
I waited to see the hurt on his face or the anger that I knew would come.
But there wasn't any.
Only sadness.
Louis nodded.
"Kinda sucks that I care about you then," he said, the edge of his mouth quirking up into a tiny half-smile.
"You shouldn't," I said.
He shrugged.
"I don't know about you, but I can't just choose whether or not to care about someone, especially when they were my best friend for years and tried to kill themselves because of me," he spat, but there was no venom behind it.
"Well that didn't happen to me, so," I said, "Now can you move? I'd like to shower and go to sleep."
Don't move, I thought, keep fighting for me.
He moved.
Later, when I was coming out of the shower, I found a stack of paper on my bed.
I rifled through it. Some were actual sheets of paper, some were just scraps.
They all began with my name and ended with Louis'.
I swallowed hard. He'd written to me while I was gone and now he'd left the letters for me to read.
I didn't know if I could do it. I didn't know what I would see. But I had to. It was easier than talking to him face to face and I was so desperate for answers but I couldn't find the nerve to ask the questions.
Knowing Louis, they probably weren't in chronological order, but I decided to trust it.
I picked up the first one. Some of the words were blurred. Tear stains. I sighed shakily.