Chapter Text
There is a house on the end of Bloomers Street. It is bigger than all the other houses. It’s a lot nicer too. It’s the house that all the neighborhood kids go to first on Halloween, because it gives out the best candy. It’s the house that everybody wishes they lived in, because living in this house made you automatically more important than everyone else on the street. It’s the house that Harry Styles has lived in all his life, and it’s the place he hates most.
“No! You listen to me!” Harry can hear his uncle shout into the phone. He grumbles and rolls onto his back. Even though their rooms are on separate floors, Harry can hear his uncle making his late night work calls almost every night. They are loud and hard to ignore, but Harry is always thankful when his uncle’s lurid screams are directed at someone other than him, so he never complains.
He stares at the cracks in the ceiling until his vision becomes blurry. He closes his eyes and throws his pillow over his head, hoping to block out as much sound as possible. Seconds after he has fallen asleep, a clap of thunder shakes him awake. He sits up, pushes his blanket off his legs, and hops out of bed. He runs up to the window just in time to see the first raindrops fall from the sky. He watches as they hit the ground, making dark marks on the sidewalk.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something curled up behind the garbage can next to his house. He stands on his toes and leans forward, pressing his nose up against the window, trying to see what it is. The object is curled up under what seems to be a green blanket. Harry pulls away from the window and wipes the fog he made with his breath off it before running over to his closet. He pulls out his yellow rain boots and pulls them on over his footie pajamas.
He walks quietly to the door, and slowly turns the doorknob until he hears a click. The door opens with limited creaking until there is a space wide enough for Harry to slip through. He makes his way quietly down the hallway, until he reaches a flight of stairs. Since his room is on the second floor, he only has to walk down one flight. He waits until he can hear his uncle in the middle of a sentence, and then he begins to walk.
He takes his first step and his rain boot squeaks. He cringes and looks up at the stairs above him. His uncle’s voice stops. He stays perfectly still until he can hear his uncle talking again. He lets out a sigh of relief and takes his boots off. He puts them on his hands and quietly walks down the stairs. When he gets to the bottom, he runs to the door. He drops the boots to ground and slips his feet into them.
During the few minutes that it took him to get downstairs, it had started to pour. Harry opens the door and is immediately hit with wind and rain. He closes his eyes and walks outside, closing the door behind him. He runs to the side of the house, where the garbage cans are kept. The wind is so strong, that he can barely keep his eyes open.
“Hello?” He whispers. “Is anybody out here?” He walks closer until he can see the green blanket that he had seen from his window. “I can see you.” He says. The figure lifts its head up and turn to look at him. It was a boy. He had brown hair that was matted to his forehead because of the rain. It covered his eyes and most of his ears. “What are you doing out here?” Harrys asks. The boy doesn’t answer. A gust of wind blows into Harry, almost knocking him down. He holds onto the side of the house for balance. “Well,” He whispers. “It’s really cold out here and my pajamas are getting wet. I’m going to go inside. Would you like to come?”
The boy doesn’t do anything for a few seconds. Harry is about to turn and leave when the boy speaks. “Can I?” He asks, his voice small and brittle. Harry nods.
“Sure. You just have to be quiet. My uncle doesn’t let me have friends sleepover, and I don’t even know you, so he’d probably kick you out.” He says. The boy gets up from behind the trashcan and walks over to him. “This way.” Harry says, walking around the corner of the house and up to the front door.
“When we get inside, take your shoes off.” He whispers. The boy looks down at his feet. Harry follows and looks down to see that the boy isn’t wearing any shoes. All he has on are a pair of dirty socks with a hole in one of the toes. Harry looks back up at him and knits his eyebrows in confusion. He was about to ask why the boy wasn’t wear any shoes, when a few pieces of hail fell onto the ground. He quickly opens the door and runs in, pulling the boy behind him. He shuts the door quietly and pulls off his boots. “Follow me.” He whispers, walking over to the stairs.
He takes the stairs two steps at a time. Every couple of steps, he looks behind him to see if the boy is still following. When they finally get to the second floor, Harry tiptoes down the hallway. He stops at his door and waits for the other boy to catch up. He doesn’t bother being quiet this time, and quickly opens the door. He runs inside and jumps onto his bed, kicking his boots off on the way over.
“Can you close the door?” He asks. The boy nods and shuts the door quietly. Harry shoves his body under his comforter and snuggles his face into the pillow. “I’m so cold.” He says.
The boy stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Thanks for letting me in.” He says. Harry lifts his head from his pillow and smiles.
“You’re welcome! You can come over here if you want. My blanket is pretty big. We’ll both fit under it.” He says, moving over so that there is enough room on his bed for the both of them. “But take your socks off please. They’re pretty gross and the cleaning lady doesn’t come to wash my sheets until Tuesday.”
The boy looks down at his feet. He reaches down, pulls his socks off, and sets them by the door. He shuffles over to the bed, but hesitates before getting in. “You sure?” He asks. Harry nods.
“Of course! You’re probably colder than I am.” He laughs, lifting up the blanket. The boy slips under the covers and turns to face Harry.
“Thanks.” He whispers. Harry smiles.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
“Louis, what’s yours?” The boy answers.
“I’m Harry.” Harry says. “I live here with my uncle.” Louis nods his head.
“Yeah I know. I see you guys sometimes.” He ducks his head under his arm and sneezes.
“Bless you.” Harry says. “So does that mean you live on my street?” He asks. Louis sneezes again. “Did you just move here, because I haven’t seen you before?”
Louis looks down at Harrys blanket and traces the patterns with his finger. “No, I don’t live here.” He says. “I don’t live anywhere.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asks. Louis sneezes again. “Wow, you sure are sneezing a lot.” He puts his hand up to Louis’ forehead. “And your face is warm. You must be sick.” He says, moving away from Louis.
“I’m sorry.” Louis whispers. He starts to get out of bed, when Harry stops him.
“No, no.” He insists, pushing Louis back down. “You stay here and rest. I’m going to go get you some orange juice. That’s what my mummy always gave me when I was sick.” He crawls off his bed and pads over to the closets. He pulls out his warmest pair of footie pajamas and tosses them onto his bed. “Put these on while I’m gone.” He whispers, opening the door. “I think you’re sick cause you’ve been out in the cold. These will keep you warm.” Louis smiles and Harry walks out of his room, closing the door behind him. He glances at the grandfather clock in the middle of the hallway. 12:56. His uncle had gone to bed about 20 minutes ago.
Since he didn’t have to worry about his uncle hearing him, getting Louis orange juice didn’t take long at all. “Here you go.” He says, handing Louis the glass. Louis puts the glass up to his lips and takes a long sip. He drinks until he makes a disgusted face, and pulls the glass away. “Is there something wrong?” Harry asks, jumping back onto his bed. He lifts up the covers and slides in next to Louis.
“No it’s fine.” Louis says, setting the glass on Harry’s bedside table. “Just kinda pulpy.”
Harry crinkles his nose in disgust. “Oh yeah I forgot.” He whispers. “My uncle likes it with pulp. I think it’s gross.”
“It’s definitely not my favorite.” Louis laughs. “But thank you anyway. It was really nice of you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Louis.” He yawns. “I’m getting pretty tired, so I think I’m going to sleep. If you need to go to the bathroom, wake me up first so I can see if my uncle is awake.” Louis nods and pulls Harry’s blanket up to his chin.
“Goodnight, Harry.” He whispers.
“Goodnight, Louis” Harry whispers back.