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1dkinkmeme
Kink Meme - Round 2
Round 2
IS CLOSED
ALL NEW PROMPTS MUST BE MADE IN
ROUND 3
delicious / flat view
READ THE RULES BEFORE POSTING
!!! if there is another scare like this recent one the meme will be closed again. we ask that you not openly link the meme on twitter or tumblr in order to contain the meme to livejournal. anyone seen posting links to it will be asked to take ( Read more... )
Louis refused to acknowledge the selfish afterthought that if he never saw the boy again, part of him would always wonder what had happened to him.
He was halfway through service when he looked up into a familiar pair of eyes. Louis smiled in recognition, and the boy, surprised, smiled back instinctively.
"Hey," said Louis, and then stared at him, temporarily at a loss for something to say. This was ridiculous, he thought. He never ran out of things to say, talking was the one thing he was good at.
"Hey," the boy replied, and his smile turned slightly enquiring. "Um. I don't know if you care, but that spoon's dripping on your shoes?"
"What? Oh, shit." Louis dropped the serving spoon back into the tureen and sighed at the brown splats all over his white deck shoes.
"Well, they're still cleaner than mine," the boy sympathised, and Louis had a sudden pang of guilt at his lapse in tact. The boy didn't seem to notice though, was laughing quietly at him. "So, what's on the menu tonight chef?" he asked.
Louis beamed. "Well, it's stew a' la' Salvation Army, or stew served on a bed of stew, or stewed stew. What would sir fancy?"
"Hmmn. I think I'll have the stew, please," the boy laughed, and carried his steaming bowl over to a table.
As Louis carried on with the rest of his duty, he found he was thinking about him a lot. The boy had been smiling, but Louis noticed there'd been dark shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there the week before. Sleeping rough was clearly starting to take its toll on him.
When the line finally petered out, Louis was pleased to see the boy was still there. He poured out two mugs of tea and carried them over.
"Thought you might like a refill?" Louis offered, sitting opposite him and sliding the less chipped mug across the melamine surface.
The boy looked up, startled, then smiled hesitantly. "Thank you," he murmured, wrapping his hands around its warmth. Louis found himself staring at his fingers. Despite the dirt under the nails they were long, slim, and elegant.
"So, I'm Louis," he said cheerfully. The boy just looked at him, and Louis' smile slipped a little. "What's your name?"
For a moment he thought the boy wasn't going to answer. But then he appeared to decide that Louis was trustworthy enough, and shrugged.
"Harry."
"Hey Harry. Come here often?" Louis smiled.
Harry flicked him an amused glance. "Be asking me to dance, next," he muttered.
Louis laughed out loud, and Harry looked down, blushing, but not before Louis had caught his pleased little smile.
"So - part of my job here is to listen," Louis offered quietly, after they'd sipped their tea in silence for a while. "A lot of people here - like to talk."
"What about?"
"Oh, stuff. Themselves. Their lives." Louis laughed. "Sometimes their fantasy lives. You know we have two Elvises and a Lord Lucan that frequent this place?"
"Who's Lord Lucan?" Harry asked and Louis sighed.
"Never mind. I just meant - some people want to talk, you know? About - what's happened to them?" Louis suggested carefully.
"Not me." Harry's face closed down into a blank mask, and Louis winced.
"Okay. That's fine too."
But Harry was getting to his feet, and Louis mentally kicked himself. "You don’t have to go."
"Yeah. I do. Thanks for the tea and all." Harry pulled his coat on and hurried out. Louis watched him go, and sighed.
--
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Sure enough, at about eight o'clock, the boy came in the door, and Louis' stomach gave a funny little lurch.
Harry didn't notice Louis until he was right in front of him, then blinked in startled recognition. "Oh, hey Louis. Didn't think you'd be here tonight."
"Oh, well, I got asked to cover for someone," Louis said, quashing the odd feeling of elation that Harry had remembered his name.
"That's good of you," Harry smiled, and Louis felt a stab of guilt that he'd lied.
--
The next night, Louis was back again, and this time Harry laughed when he saw him.
"You can't keep away!"
"I think I've developed an addiction to overly stewed tea," said Louis seriously, and was pleased when Harry laughed again. "Seriously, do you think I need help?" Louis called after him.
"I think you need a life!" Harry called back, but he was smiling.
--
Saturday night, and Louis turned down an offer of going to the pub with his mates in favour of kitchen duty again. He realised that his days were starting to revolve around a few words exchanged with the otherwise anonymous Harry, and decided he didn’t care.
Tonight, Harry gave him a bit of an odd look, but other than exchanging greetings, said nothing else. When his shift was over, Louis wandered over to join him.
For a moment they just stared at each other across the table. Louis saw a tired, hollow-eyed young man with hair that needed washing and clothes that had largely stopped smelling and started exuding a sense of biohazard, but who, despite everything, still had an occasionally wicked glint in his eye and a smile on his lips that, when it could be coaxed out could light up the room.
Harry looked back at him, and frowned.
"So, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, finally.
Louis blinked. "How do you mean? Other than my tea fixation?"
"Yeah. Other than that," Harry smiled. "I mean - them, I get," he said, nodding towards the matronly elders currently washing out the food encrusted trays with arms like something out of a robot movie and bosoms that could stop a truck. "And I get them - " He nodded to the two earnest young men in pullovers sitting at the next table trying to convince a snoozing bag lady that her life would become infinitely better if she accepted Jesus into it. "But you? You I don’t get. Why are you here, Louis?"
Louis fiddled with his mug for a second before answering. "My parents are rich. Like, really rich," he said hesitantly.
"Poor you," said Harry, although without too much venom.
Louis shook his head. "I'm at uni. All my friends are struggling with fees, and rent, and I'm - I'm sitting there in a flat on my own that they bought for me, and - I suppose I just felt that I should give something back. Something more than just money."
Harry pursed his lips. "You know money goes a lot further than warm fuzzies when you're cold and hungry and there's rats trying to chew your shoelaces."
Louis winced. "I didn't mean - shit Harry, I'm sorry." He looked round, furtively. "Look, I'm not supposed to do this, but - if you need money, I could - ?"
"No!" Harry pushed his chair back and stood up. "I didn't mean - oh, forget it." He grabbed his duffle coat and was gone before Louis could get another word out.
"Fuck," he muttered, and stared miserably into his tea.
--
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Eventually he pulled on his raincoat and wandered through the town, staring at every beggar crouched in a doorway, trying to see if he could spot Harry. After the fourth mouthful of abuse, he realised guiltily that what he'd basically been doing was unconsciously deciding Harry was the only one worthy of a handout, and retraced his steps giving some money to each one he'd passed. A couple of times he asked if they knew a boy called Harry, but only got a funny look and a shake of the head for his pains.
That evening, he was on tenterhooks hoping Harry would show, and when he finally walked in Louis experienced an almost physical sense of relief.
The boy looked exhausted, his hair was hanging in wet rat tails from the rain and his fingers were white with cold. As soon as he could, Louis hurried over to his table.
Harry glanced at him, then carried on eating without a word. When he'd finished Louis took something out of his pocket and slid it across the table. "You wouldn’t take money. But I thought you might accept this?" he said quietly.
Harry looked at the chocolate bar and chewed his lip. Then his hand snaked out and it disappeared into his pocket quickly, as if Louis might change his mind.
"Thanks," Harry muttered.
"No worries."
The atmosphere between them thawed a little.
"Harry - can I ask how old you are?" Louis said after a while.
Harry looked at him, clearly wondering if there was a motive behind the question. Louis shrugged. "I'm just being nosy really, tell me to shut up if you like."
Harry relented with a shrug. "I'm sixteen," he said. "So, how old are you?" he added after a pause.
"Eighteen. Nearly nineteen."
"Guess that makes us the youngest people in this place, huh."
"Yeah." Louis smiled at him, working up the courage to ask him something else. "Harry - do you have anywhere to stay? I mean - like a hostel or something?"
Harry shook his head awkwardly. "Nah. I'm just - I've got a corner, you know? Round the back of the supermarket. They chuck a lot of cardboard, and sometimes you can get food."
"Oh, they hand it out?" Louis asked, and then realised with a dawning sense of awfulness as Harry just stared at him that Harry had meant from the bins. "Shit. Sorry."
Harry just shrugged. "It's not so bad," he lied.
"Sure." Louis made up his mind. "Look - Harry - it's pouring out there, and - well, I've got plenty of room, and - can I offer you a bed for the night?"
"Okay," said Harry, and Louis' heart lifted, until the miserable shrug and the words that followed as Harry scrambled to his feet dashed his hopes again. "So, I like, thought you were different, but it turns out you're just like the other creeps out there. See you." Harry almost ran out of the hall, and Louis was left with a slow burning embarrassment as he realised how his offer had come across.
--
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As soon as the queue had died away Louis went over, sitting down even though Harry was still pointedly ignoring him.
He sat opposite, watching Harry eat, noticing for the first time how rapidly he was stuffing it in. It wasn’t eagerness to get away he realised, it was genuine hunger, and he wondered if Harry had eaten at all since yesterday.
"I don’t know what you thought I meant, but I promise it was a genuine offer," Louis said finally.” I just wanted to help."
Harry looked up at him briefly, didn’t speak until his bowl was empty, the last crumbs of bread had been picked off the plate, and his urgency had lessened. He wrapped cold fingers round his mug of tea, and sighed.
"Okay," he said after a long silence. "I believe you. Sorry if I over-reacted. But you don’t know what it's like. Usually men offering you a bed for the night means smething else, yeah?"
"Well - not me, okay?"
Harry nodded, and managed a small smile. "Okay."
"Friends?" Louis asked, hopefully.
Harry stared at him for a long time before answering. "Yeah. Okay."
Louis nodded, and gave him a smile. "Look - if you ever do want to talk? Or I can help in any way? Let me know, yeah?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Louis." Harry's smile was genuine this time, and Louis got to his feet.
"Better go. On the dreaded washing up duty tonight. See you tomorrow, yeah?"
Harry nodded, and got up to leave. "Yeah. Sure. Not like I can resist the charms of this place, is it?" He turned away, and Louis was left trying to work out if his eyes were playing tricks on him, or if Harry had genuinely just winked at him.
--
Louis spent the next day in a much more cheerful mood, while trying fruitlessly to pretend he wasn't thinking up ways he could talk Harry into coming to stay in his spare room. He was fairly sure he'd convinced Harry that he wasn’t some random pervert, but Harry seemed just as antagonistic to any offer of charity.
Louis sighed. He could help Harry, he knew he could. If he had somewhere warm and dry to stay he'd surely lose that haunted look he'd had the past few days. And if he had an address, he could apply for jobs.
Buoyed up by a new positivity, Louis went down to the soup kitchen that night with a spring in his step. No matter what it took, he’d decided he was going to convince Harry to swallow his pride and come home with him.
However, the time ticked past, and Harry didn’t appear. Louis found himself glancing at the clock above the door more and more often, but still the boy didn’t put in an appearance.
Louis started feeling sick. He knew Harry didn’t necessarily come here every night, but he'd practically told Louis he would be here. What if something had happened to him?
The final person in the queue was served and still no Harry. Louis scrubbed the pots slowly in the hall's kitchenette, hoping against hope he'd turn up late.
Finally, everyone had filtered out again and the lights were turned off, and the doors were locked. Louis turned down the offer of a lift home and stood on the step, feeling ill. Something had happened to Harry, he knew it. Something bad.
Louis turned his collar up against the rain that was starting to come down again, and strode into the night. He didn’t believe in premonitions, but something just told him that he had to find Harry. And fast.
--(tbc)--
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(I have to sleeeeep! and then work. but more tomorrow hopefully!)
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Anyway. Amazing work, obviously.
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in the best way possible of course :)
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Five minutes later he was stepping into the service alley that ran up the side of the shop. Tall brick walls seemed to close in on him from either side, and the light from the street was blocked by his own body. Louis experienced a shiver of fear. His sense of self-preservation was screaming at him to get out of there, to go back, but he forced himself to walk on regardless. If Harry could sleep in such an awful place, Louis could at least walk through it.
The alley widened out onto a service yard for the store, lit by a single bulkhead light over the door. Gradually, Louis became aware of shufflings and mutterings all around him, and realised with a shock that what he'd taken for piles of cardboard actually concealed several people, muffled in ragged, mismatched clothes and greasy looking sleeping bags.
A dog growled from the shadows, and was hushed by an unseen hand. Louis' back itched, feeling eyes on him all around. He realised that their wariness might mean they'd taken him for the police, or security. The silent sleepers were technically trespassing, after all.
"I'm looking for someone," he said loudly, hoping to take advantage of the fact. "A boy, sixteen years old, called Harry?" He wished, not for the first time, that he knew Harry's surname. "About this tall. Dark hair?" Louis looked round hopefully, but no-one answered. "He's not in trouble," Louis added, hoping fervently this was true. "I just need to find him."
The dog growled again, picking up on its owner's unease, and Louis broke out in a cold sweat. "Please?" he appealed.
"Fuck off, pig," muttered one surly voice, braver than the others.
"I'm not - " Louis started, then gave up, as his nerve failed him. Harry obviously wasn’t here, and he wasn’t going to learn anything, he was just wasting time. He turned and forced himself to walk rather than run back down the passage.
It took another five minutes' jog through the damp streets to reach the second likely shop. Blank plate glass windows, dark and unwelcoming, reflected back his desperate stare as Louis realised in frustration that there was no service entrance here, the shops just continued on either side. He ran to the left, along the row, eventually hitting a side street. He turned right, following the block down, and there, finally, was a narrow lane running back parallel to the main street.
Setting his shoulders, Louis stepped into the alley. His shoes slipped on the cobblestones, and he was briefly glad it was too dark to see what he was treading in. It stank of piss and rotting rubbish.
As he moved further in, Louis became aware of a glimmer of light in the darkness. Getting closer it resolved into a fire, burning in what looked like a sawn-open cooking oil barrel. He walked cautiously up to the figures gathered round the meagre flames, aware of their hostile stares.
Louis bit his lip uncomfortably, the atmosphere here was somehow a lot more unwelcoming and aggressive than the first group.
He asked the same questions, repeated Harry's description, but was met only with the same blank stares and muttered curses. He moved on past them, peering at the huddled figures in the doorways, whole body tensed and expecting any minute to feel a knife in the ribs or a bottle round the head.
He'd almost reached the end of the alley when a figure materialised out of the gloom behind him, making him jump.
--
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Louis relaxed fractionally upon realising it was a woman, although so swaddled in layers of clothes and what looked like newspaper as to appear sexless.
"I'm looking for a boy called Harry," he said quickly. "Sixteen, curly dark hair, probably been around for about a month or so? It's very important that I find him, have you seen him at all?"
"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," she hedged. "Spare some change? My memory might improve."
Louis sighed and dug a tenner out of his pocket. As she reached out for it, he twitched it briefly out of her grasp again. "Have you?" he repeated.
"Money first," she said flatly, and helplessly, Louis let her take it.
"He's not here," she declared, and Louis' heart sank, assuming that was all he was likely to get for his money. She was still looking at him though, assessingly. Under the rather shapeless hat, Louis could make out blotchy skin and dead looking hair. "Next road down," she said finally, and in that moment Louis could have kissed her.
"Thank you!" he blurted gratefully, and turned to go.
"Mister?"
He turned, desperate to be off. "Yes?"
"You come to take 'im 'ome?"
Louis nodded. "If he'll let me."
She sniffed, sucking her teeth. "He don't belong 'ere. Too soft. You take 'im, yeah?"
"Is he - alright?" Louis asked, suddenly afraid, but she was already shuffling back into the shadows.
"Said too much already, I 'ave."
Louis groaned, and raced back the way he’d come, past the makeshift brazier and its circle of foul-mouthed heat-seekers, out into the street and down, running frantically until he came to the next turning, another narrow road with no pavements, all broken tarmac and bins, fire escapes and graffiti.
It was eerily deserted, its doorways empty, and as Louis picked his way along the uneven surface he wondered if he'd been set up, if he was walking into a mugging. Flashing his money had probably been a bad idea, he realised. But if it had been a trap, would his informant have bothered with the note of what had clearly passed for concern?
Louis carried on until with a sinking heart he realised he'd reached a dead end. She'd lied, for his money, or else Harry had gone.
"Harry?" he called quietly. "Harry, are you there?"
There was no reply, but what he'd assumed was a pile of rubbish gave a sudden rustle. Louis' mind immediately replaced visions of muggers with images of rats, and he shuddered. He edged nearer for a closer look, and as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he realised that it was in fact a huddled person.
"Harry?" he said, voice shaking. Louis reached out and touched what he hoped was a shoulder.
The figure jerked convulsively, and Louis jumped in fright. Wide, terrified eyes peered up at him from a white face under a dark bush of hair, and Louis sucked in horrified breath.
"Harry!" The boy shrank away from him, and Louis crouched down, reaching out gently. "Harry, it's me, it's Louis." Harry lifted his head warily to take a proper look and Louis caught his breath. One of Harry's eyes was purple and half shut, and there was dried blood on his mouth and chin.
--
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Harry swallowed painfully. "Louis?" he croaked.
"Yes. Yes, it's me. Harry, are you alright?"
"What are you doing here Louis? It's - not safe."
"Looking for you. And yeah, so I gathered. Harry - are you hurt? I mean - badly? do you need an ambulance?"
"No!" Harry gasped, trying to shake off Louis' hand and curl back in on himself.
"Harry? Harry! Come on, you can’t stay here."
"Nowhere else to go, is there?" Harry muttered from the depths of his coat.
"Yes. Come home with me Harry. You can’t stay here like this. Please."
"I'm not your problem Louis."
Louis stared at him miserably, and shook his head even though Harry couldn’t see.
"I'm not leaving you here like this," he said. "I'm just not."
Harry slowly looked up again, and Louis held out his hand. "Come back with me Harry? Please? You need help. You must know that. And if you won’t come, then - then I will call an ambulance. I'll have to."
Harry looked like he was fighting back tears, and Louis put his arm round him awkwardly. "Let me help you Harry? Please?"
Finally Harry cracked, and nodded shakily. Louis let go the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and smiled in relief.
"Can you walk?"
"Not sure." Harry let Louis help him up, and then bent over, choking in pain. Louis got an arm round his waist and managed to support most of Harry's weight as they staggered out of the alley.
--
It took Louis three attempts to find a taxi driver who was willing to take Harry in the back of his cab. Even the one that finally agreed stared at him in disgust, and told Louis that if he threw up then Louis was paying for having the seats cleaned.
"For fuck's sake, he's not drunk, he's hurt!" Louis blurted, but the driver just glared and told him the same went if he bled on them. In the end, Louis gave him a twenty and told him that it was on top of the fare if he'd just shut up and drive them home.
In the confined space of the taxi, after a few minutes Louis had to face the unpalatable truth that Harry really stank. The odour of his unwashed body and clothes pervaded the car, and Louis prayed the driver wouldn’t stop and throw them out. The smell made him want to retch and he coughed hard, trying to breath through his mouth. Harry didn’t seem to notice, he was a dead weight lying against Louis' arm, and it was only his painful gasping breaths that told Louis he wasn't actually unconscious. Louis wondered if he had broken ribs, and if he was doing the right thing by taking him home, rather than to hospital. But it was too late now, they'd arrived.
Moving slowly, Louis managed to get Harry up to his flat, and helped him into the spare room, sitting him carefully down on the bed and slumping down exhausted to the floor next to him. In the strong electric light, he could see for the first time just how battered and bruised Harry was, and winced.
--
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"No!" Harry looked alarmed and Louis frowned.
"Harry - you were attacked! We should really call them."
"No, Louis, please. There's no point anyway."
"What do you mean?"
Harry shrugged. "I never saw his face, did I? I - can't tell them who did this Louis, so what's the point?"
"If you're sure. I just think it would be the right thing to do. What if he attacks someone else?"
Harry looked wretched. "Louis? If the police get involved, they - they'll make me go home," he whispered. "Please Louis, please don’t call them?"
Louis sighed, giving in. "Okay Harry. Whatever you want. Look, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
He helped Harry peel off his coat, trying not to wrinkle his nose, then helped him out to the bathroom. He would have followed him in, but Harry stopped him in the doorway, looking unsettled.
"I don’t want you to watch me?" he protested uncomfortably. Louis hesitated, worried about leaving Harry alone in his current state of mind.
Harry seemed to guess his thoughts and sighed. "I'm not going to top myself, if that's what you're worried about. You can take the razorblades out first if that makes you happier?" Then he relented and added in a whisper, "I wouldn’t do that to you."
Louis shook his head with a tight smile. "As long as you're okay, yeah? Look, I'm just outside, shout if you need me okay?" Saying this despite knowing Harry hadn't managed anything above a croak or a whisper since he'd found him.
Harry nodded, and Louis was halfway to the living room when Harry called out.
"Louis?"
He turned and looked back at the pale, thin, lonely figure standing in the doorway.
Harry hesitated. "Thank you."
Louis smiled. "No problem."
--
Harry shut himself in the bathroom and locked the door. Slowly, painfully, he stripped off his clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. His ribs were bruised from where he'd been kicked, and it hurt to breathe.
He leaned into the shower cubicle and turned on the water, before walking slowly over to the basin.
When he'd first started sleeping rough, Harry had tried to stay clean, washing in public lavatories early in the morning. As time had gone by, he'd slipped out of the habit, finding if he got wet it took too long and too much energy to get warm again. After a few weeks, mercifully he'd stopped being able to smell himself, but he knew how filthy he was with a disgust that bordered on self-loathing.
Harry screwed up his courage and looked up into his reflection. If he was honest, that was another reason he'd stopped using the public conveniences to wash. Afraid of what his reflection would show him, the changes in his face, and his body. The heaviness in his eyes.
It had been weeks since he'd seen himself in anything other than the distorted reflection of a window, and he winced. It didn’t help that he was bruised and cut, and he poked at his swollen cheek tentatively. His hair was too long, and matted. His cheekbones were painfully defined where his face had thinned, and he could see his ribs through almost translucent skin.
Sighing, he walked back to the shower, checking to make sure he hadn’t left dirty footprints on Louis' pristine beige carpet, and stepped into the cubicle. He fiddled with the big chrome dial until the water was a bearable temperature, and then just stood there, letting the water hammer down on his shoulders, praying that if he stood there long enough, it would eventually beat all the feeling out of him.
-(tbc)-
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aslkdjaslk :DDDDDDDDDDD
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