Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

five

Harry is in his room when Louis gets back home.

Louis knows this because for once he can hear him, instead of the typical vacant silence aside from the hum of the refrigerator. He enters the apartment and is surprised to be greeted by the sound of a deep, lovely voice singing. Louis doesn't recognize the song.

In a split second decision he decides not to bother Harry for fear that he might stop singing. Instead he makes himself a cup of tea and pretends he isn't listening in. Clearly Harry hasn't heard the door open, or otherwise he would've stopped by now. That makes it feel like Louis is eavesdropping on something he shouldn't, but the guilt of it all is offset by the fact that Harry has a really lovely voice and Louis wants to listen to it for a while longer.

So he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and tries to get busy reading the next chapter for his class tomorrow morning, but he ends up staring out the window and letting the sound of Harry's voice soothe him into a deep pensiveness. For someone who rarely speaks, he has a lovely singing voice, and Louis feels remorseful knowing he's missed out on it for so long now.

"My love took me down to the river to silence me, and when he left I could not speak..."

The lyrics are macabre. It ignites some part of him, somewhere in the deep dark marrow of his bones. Louis shivers involuntarily, goosebumps rising on his skin.

"I lay on the ground, I tried to scream," Harry sighs, his voice flowing through the air like water from a stream. Smooth, chilly, and deep "But no sound did come out. I could only bleed blue..."

Louis is so lost in thought, he doesn't notice when Harry stops singing. Nor does he notice when the door to his bedroom opens. Nor does he notice the sound of bare feet padding against the wood floor to the kitchen.

There's a small gasp and Louis turns around to see Harry standing in the entryway of the kitchen, eyes wide in surprise. His hands are by his sides, trembling as always, and his eyes are pale and shiny, glistening with tears. His skin is a colorful palette that would be beautiful if it hadn't any meaning; violet and indigo for the bruises, rosy red splotches on his cheeks from crying, the rest of his skin snowy pale and translucent. So he was crying as he was singing, then.

"How long have you been here?" Harry asks, voice weak but accusing. He looks frightened, embarrassed, and all-around distraught. He's barefoot but wearing bubblegum-pink pajama shorts with the strings tied in a loopy bow, and a Rolling Stones shirt which looks like it's about ready to fall to a pile of thread it's been worn so many times. It's a bit of a juxtaposition, but isn't that just Harry? There are splotches of forest green paint marring his hands and a particularly bright shade of deep red in a streak down his thigh.

"Not long," Louis rushes to assure, standing up so abruptly he knocks his knee on the table, causing a bit of tea to slosh out of the mug. Hastily, he wipes it up with a napkin before it can stain the table. He can pretend to not have heard anything, but then he'll have a guilty conscience and he really doesn't feel like lying to Harry, even though he looks so worried. "Just- I heard the last bit of your song. You have a lovely voice."

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tight, wincing like he's feeling physical pain at Louis' admission. In a moment he whips around quickly, facing away from Louis, and covers his face in his hands. He sniffles, reaching towards the fridge and opening it wide. The glow of the fluorescent lights illuminates him in silhouette and Louis watches nervously as he pulls out a bottle of cherry wine.

"Harry..." Louis whispers, voice gentle. He watches, concerned, as his roommate grasps the bottle tight around its neck and retreats back to his room. The sound of the door shutting softly resonates through the otherwise silent flat.

So he's going to lock himself away in his room again, to paint and cry and get drunk on cherry wine? Instead of facing his problems or at least telling his roommate what the fuck is going on? Fine, whatever. Louis will just use the newfound quiet as an opportunity to get his work done.

All the while he can't stop thinking of Harry's voice, deep and lovely. Singing, this love's killing me but I want it to .

He can't shake that worried feeling from the pit of his gut either, even hours later, when Harry finally emerges from his room again.

Luckily he no longer looks like he has been crying, but his eyes are now glassy in a new way. As Harry stumbles towards the recycling bin and nearly misses tossing the empty bottle of wine inside, Louis realizes he's drunk. Or tipsy, at the very least.

He grabs a water bottle from the fridge before disappearing back down the hall, bumping clumsily against the table on the way there.

Louis glares after him but doesn't say a word about it.

So much for getting him to open up.