Slayed || Sequel to Homicidal

XVIII

C H A P T E R    E I G H T E E N:

It's Saturday night, two days after SATs. Louis is sure he's failed. Zinnia is sure she passed with a high score. He's sure of it.

The telly is airing a random show about prisons. Louis is sure it's Lockup, but he isn't quite sure and he doesn't care enough to find out. Zinnia's up in her room, probably reading for on her laptop, and Johanna's in the kitchen doing the dishes from dinner earlier on. Not much is going on, and Louis can say it's the most boring Saturday ever.

That is, until there's someone pouding on the front door and Harry's screaming, “Louis, please! I need you.”

He switches off the telly and stands from the couch, shooting his mum a look before opening the door. He braces himself for the worst as Harry comes into view. He needs it, for Harry is crying and shaking, looking more terrified than Louis has ever seen him in his life. He grabs Harry by the waist and pulls him close while shutting the door, holding him tightly until until Johanna starts to come closer.

“Please?” Louis mouths, pointing upstairs with the hand that isn't keeping Harry pressed close to his body.

Johanna sighs, but she nods, though she does refrain from saying, “I'll check on you in a few hours.”

Louis tucks Harry under his arm and guides him up the stairs, one arm aorund his back and one on the banister for balance. Harry's still crying, just not as hard, and he allows Louis to spread him out on his bed and curl himself around him.

“What's going on?” Louis asks. He sits up a bit and rests his head on his fist, stroking Harry's hair with his other hand, his fingers gentle.

Harry curls up and tucks his face into Louis neck, clinging to him tightly as he trembles. Louis drops back against the pillows and pulls Harry on top of him, sliding a hand up under his shirt to rub wide cirlces on Harry's back with his palm. Louis doesn't want to push it, but he doesn't know how else to soothe him.

“Baby,” he attempts next, using sweet words to try and calm Harry down. “What's wrong, sweetheart?”

Harry shakes his head and burrows into Louis' neck, hiding. “Don't talk, just hold me,” he instructs.

“When you're ready,” Louis argues. He wraps his arms around Harry tighter, keeping up the motions with his hand on his back. He even risks this whole moment to kiss Harry's forehead and nose at his temple.

Harry shakes, tears springing to his eyes again and wetting Louis' shirt even more than it already is. He turns his head so his cheek is smushed against Louis' chest and closes his eyes.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, sitting up. Louis locks his hands around Harry's lower back as Harry sits on his thighs, staring down at his arms. “Can you...” he begins, but stops.

“Do you want me to roll this up?” Louis asks, moving one hand to the sleeve of Harry's jumper. It's too hot for jackets. He's nervous to see what lies underneath it.