Louis has been stuck in an insane asylum for a year. His parents put him there, believing he was, well, mental. But truth was, he kind of was. Depression is considered a mental disease. He told people the voices in his head were telling him he should die, and people then believed he was insane. When he escapes the asylum after a year of being there, he finds a city near by, where he finds a tall young man roaming around.


2. Harry

I walk around the little city. People push past me, being incredibly rude. I forgot how rude people really are. Everyone in the asylum were normally nice, I just pushed them away a lot. Because I don't need their assistance. I don't need someone telling me what to do.

Someone bumps into me, making me fall over. I frantically try to get up, scared that I might get stepped on. A hand grabs onto my arm, pulling me up.

"I'm so sorry," a deep voice says. I look up and see a boy staring down at me. Gosh, is he tall. And pretty damn hot.

"It's fine," I say softly. I haven't talked to anyone that isn't an asylum nurse in a year; this is strange for me. I flash him a small smile and start to walk off.

His hand snatches my arm again, pulling me back to him. "Are you alright?" he asks me, sounding concerned. "Do you have a place to stay?" He looks me up and down, obviously examining my dirty attire. He probably thinks I'm homeless; great. That's a nice way to pick up guys, Louis.

"Actually," I say quietly. "I don't." I have to be honest to the guy. What if he leaves and I now have no place to stay for the night. I mean, he doesn't look like a rapist or anything. He looks innocent enough and very sweet.

"I know this sounds very strange," he chuckles. "But would you like to stay at my place for a while? I can't let a guy like you walking around these streets alone, stuff happens here."

A guy like you? What does that even mean? Is that good or bad? I'm not sure and I'll just take that as a compliment. "Sure," I say, smiling up at him. He's taller than me and I swear, he looks younger than me. How the hell does that work?


He opens the door to his flat and opens the door for me. I smile and walk inside. His flat is pretty nice. Better than the room I had in the asylum.

"Why were you alone in the streets anyways?" he asks me, closing the door behind him. He hangs his coat on the rack and walks into the flat fully.

"No reason," I lie, smiling at him slightly. I walk around, trying my best to avoid telling him I escaped an insane asylum. He'll think I'm mental and might kill him, possibly send me back to the asylum. I don't want that to happen. He seems like a nice guy.

I feel him staring at me. "Do you need any clothes?" he asks me. "I can lend you some."

I turn around and smile. "That would be lovely," I say. "I would fancy a shower as well."

He smiles at me. "Of course," he says softly. "The bathroom is over there and I'll go grab you some clothes." He points to the hallway and nods.

I nod also and head toward the hallway. I take a deep breath and shake my head. Why did I take his offer? What if he is going to hurt me? What if he finds out I'm from an asylum and takes me back? God, I'm a fucking idiot. I get inside the bathroom and close the door. I grab a towel and hang it somewhere near the shower. I slowly undress, taking off the disgusting clothes that were filled with dirt and mud. I throw them somewhere on the floor and jump in the shower. When the water comes on, it burns my skin, a small scream leaves my mouth as I quickly turn the handle, making it colder. I sigh in relief.

After a while of taking a shower, I hear the door open. I hide some of my body and look out. The boy is in the bathroom with me; that's nice. He has some clothes in his arms. He puts them down near the towel I hung. He glances over at me, not realizing that I'm there looking at him. As he leaves, I see him smile softly. That was either a good smile or I'm going to fucking rape you later smile.

I finally get out of the shower and dry myself off. I put on the shirt he gave me and the pajama bottoms. The shirt was a normal black t-shirt, but it had his smell on it still.

I went outside of the bathroom and slowly walked back to where we came in earlier. I heard a television playing as I get closer. I turn the corner and see him sitting on the couch, watching TV.

He looks at me and smiles. "That shirt looks good on you," he says. "It's a bit big, but it looks good."

I smile at him and walk up to him. He pats the seat next to him and I gladly sit down there. I look at him and bite my lip slightly. "What's your name anyways?" I ask him. "You never told me."

"Harry," he tells me, staring at the TV. "And yours?"

"Louis," I tell him, looking down at my hands. I'm still shaking from the cold, even if I did take a warm shower. I blow hot air on my hands.

He looks at me and smiles. "Cold?"

"Yeah," I say, chuckling softly. I feel him move and I look over at him. He gets up from the couch and grabs a blanket. He walks back to me and wraps the blanket around me. I smile up at him and he smiles back. He sits back next to me and puts the blanket on him as well. He's pretty comfortable with me already when we just met.

I yawn softly and turn to him. "Do you have a place that I can sleep?" I ask him. "Like an extra room?"

He looks at me and makes a contorted face. "I don't, but you can sleep in my room and I'll sleep on the couch," he suggests.

I shake my head. "No, I can't make you sleep on the couch," I tell him. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"No-no-no," he says, shaking his head. "It's fine, I promise. I want you comfortable."

"And I want you comfortable as well," I tell him.

"Well," he says, sighing afterwards.

"Let's sleep in the same bed?" I say, sounding unsure. "I know we just met, but it's the only way we can stay comfortable together."

He nods. "That's a good idea," he says, getting up. He towers over me, sort of scaring me a bit, considering the last person I was with was as tall as him. My last boyfriend was an abusive person, causing my depression. I was scarred for life, remembering every bad thing that he's done to me. Being beaten brutally and being hurt emotionally isn't something you can forget.

He looks at me strangely, probably seeing my scared expression. "Are you okay?" he asks me.

I nod quickly and get up, not saying a word. He leads me to the bedroom and tells me he'll be right back, grabbing some clothes and heading to the bathroom to change.

I sit on the bed and look around. I sigh and lay back, feeling how soft the sheets were. The bed didn't feel rock solid like the ones at the asylum. Thank God. I pull the sheets over me and lay on my side, closing my eyes.

After a while, I feel the bed dip slightly. I feel the covers being picked up again, and then it being put back down. Harry's in the bed. I open my eyes and see him looking at me. I jump slightly, not expecting his face to be so close. "Shit, you scared me," I say softly.

He chuckles. "Sorry," he says. He just looks at me, examining my face. He pokes my cheek and chuckles. "It moves." He keeps poking it, laughing afterwards.

"Are you calling me fat?" I ask, chuckling afterward. He looks at me and shakes his head, laughing softly.

"No, I'm not," he tells me. "You're the complete opposite of fat."

I shake my head. "Stop lying," I say quietly, the voices in my head coming back. He frowns, but I quickly turn around. "Goodnight."



I wake up in the middle of the night. I get up from the bed slowly, trying not to wake up Harry. I sigh and walk to the bathroom in his room. I look into the mirror. A few tears fall from my face. My depression is slowly coming back. Memories fill my mind again and my brain tells me it's my fault all of that shit happened to me. The voices in my head are taking over once again.

I look around and see a shaver for a guy's face. I grab it and do this trick I found out how to do. I grab the razor out in some way that I learned how to do. I take it out and sigh. Should I really do this at some guy's house? Yes.

I take the blade and right as I put the blade against my skin, I hear the door open.

I turn around and Harry's standing a the doorway. He sees the razor against my wrist and quickly gets up to me, grabbing the the razor from my hand. I try to fight back, but give up, tears slowly falling out of my eyes.

"Shh," he says softly. "It's okay." He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. He just holds me there, whispering things in my ear, telling me that it's okay.

Even if we just met, he makes me feel safer.

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