all our younger years (l.s.)

5: 2 weeks until the end

It took longer than Harry expected for his mother to finally mention something.

She took a casual forkful of her potatoes. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with Louis, love."

"Mm," Harry replied around his food, "Yeah, I guess."

"Any particular reason?"

He looked at her expectantly for a moment, wondering exactly what she was implying because of course he was with Louis, it was summer and his home life was proper boring and Louis was pretty much his only friend. Of course, he didn't tell her any of this.

"Uhm, I guess we've just been hanging out more. What with...school being out and all."

Harry's mum smiled pleasantly, tensely. "Have you been at his house?"

"Yeah." Harry ignored the coiling of guilt in the pit of his stomach from lying to his own mother.

"Hmm." She didn't speak for a moment, letting silence wash over the near empty table and making Harry even more nervous because he'd been quite worried about getting into trouble with the police and had neglected to think about his family's potential suspicion.

"...what?" Harry asked slowly.

"No, it's just funny. Because I got a call from Jay saying Louis had been sleeping here an awful lot and she was wondering if he was upset." She paused again, rolling the words over her tongue in contemplation. "Has he mentioned being upset to you? Is he upset about all this?"

"Um," Harry said, because. Well. Because was Louis upset about all this? The thought of Louis being upset made his heart hurt. Because Louis being upset would explain the night before last; because Louis being upset would explain lying under a pouring sky in the pitch black of three in the morning, because Louis being upset would explain 'you're too young to be caged.'

You're too young to be caged. It had kept him up. Made him stare at the ceiling and wonder what on earth Louis wasn't telling him, because this wasn't him. This wasn't his Louis.

"Um," he repeated. His mum raised an eyebrow in concern.

"I...he's been okay I think? Coping?" Every word came out as a tentative question and honestly, the truth was he didn't really know which honestly terrified him because Louis was his best friend and he should have known everything.

With a single sigh, his mother leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye.

"You haven't been at Lou's and you haven't been here. Harry, love. What's been going on?"

"I...well..." he stammered, fork suspended in the air mere inches from his mouth.

"Just tell me the truth. Have you been going to parties or something? Because I'd just like to know."

A pit formed in the bottom of his stomach. He hated himself.

He let out a hopefully-convincing deflated breath, sinking back into his chair.

"It's my fault," he stammered out. "I...I'm gonna be 18. There are people I'm..." the word stuck in his throat, "...friends with who have permission from their parents to throw these parties, and I thought it would be fun to go, and I didn't ask you because I knew you'd say no and I'm sorry." His shoulders sunk in humiliation, both at his lie and at the heart-wrenching guilt he felt from not telling his mother about something even though it was actually a fake story. He waited expectantly, anxiously, for her reply.

"H, love," she said gently, "I'm not angry. I just want to know these things, so I can look after you."

He didn't meet her eyes, choosing to stare blankly at the wall and steadfastly ignoring the heat building in his face.