Tell Me I'm Pretty || L.S. (Complete) ✔️

Beautiful

He wasn't expecting the kid to come to so soon, but felt albeit better to see Harry stirring awake, the poor boy.

"Where am I?" Harry asks lifting his head up and looking around. Louis didn't think of the fact that he'd have to explain his action in picking the boy up. He didn't even ask for permission, not that he could.

"You're in my flat. You passed out in the streets earlier, ice cold, so I took you in and I rid you of your damp clothes and now - well, here you are," Louis smiles sitting next to the boy. He didn't expect tears to start flowing from Harry's eyes.

"Are you here to tell me how much of an ugly whore I am too? Or did you want me to let you fuck me? It's all I'm good for," he chokes out, full on sobbing now. Well that was unexpected.

"That's awful for you to say, Harry. I'll do neither of those. What are you even going on about-"

"You know damn well what I'm going on about!" he cried, pulling the covers up so he could cry into the curve of blanket. Louis reached out at rubbed his back to comfort him, but Harry only shrugged away.

"Who thinks you're an ugly whore?"

"Everyone! I am, too. I was born a whore and I'll die one. Don't you see? I'm not worth anything. I sleep around with other people's men and look what it's gotten me," he showed the bruise on his forehead from the impact of the remote, a reminder of what people think of him.

"Harry, I would never use you like that. Whoever did that to you and said those things to you are far from right." Harry was now sniffling softly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The boy caught onto the fact that he never denied he was ugly, but he was a whore.

"All men use me. Even my own father. No one will ever truly care about me." Harry sat up, looking for his clothes that lay by the firebed in the far corner of the room, but Louis stops him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Louis asked frantically.

"I gotta go apologize to Liam and beg him to let me back inside," he admitted hesitantly. Louis bit his lip, the words already in his throat and bursting through his vocal box with a newfound depth to it.

"No you don't, because you're staying here."

"But Liam-"

"Fuck Liam! I don't care what you say or what you think, I care about you, stupid. You have to stop, Harry. You have to stop sleeping around. You're better than that.. Look at you," Louis insisted, making him look at himself in the mirror on the closet door.

Harry took note of his smeared makeup, velvet red nose, and the obvious baggage under his eyes. 

"You look sick and tired but....but you've survived. Don't throw your life away just to get people to see something in you that you can't see for yourself."

If there was a god, Harry was sure he was mocking him. There was no way this was real. Louis Tomlinson wasn't offering him a place to stay and looking at him with everything but repugnance. He also thinks he's worth something, and his voice held nothing but honesty to it.

"I look like shit, don't I?"

Louis snapped his neck to stare at him as if he had said something appaling. "Quite the contrary, Harry. You- you,"

The sound of the the blaring of the smoke detector in the kitchen, seeming to smell the anticipating words instead of the burning soup in the kitchen.

"How do you burn soup?" Harry had asked, muffling a laugh.

"You'd be surprised," Louis mumbles, blowing on the smoke detector and preparing another batch of soup that he can further keep an eye on. "Why don't you rest a bit? We can talk later. Until then, I'll make you some more soup."