Reason To Be (A Zouis Family AU)

Part Four, Chapter Five

There's a black bruise circling his eye. It's speckled with purple in places; the inner corner, his brow bone, the edges turning a deep shade of green. He traces it with a ghost of a touch, fingertips barely brushing over his skin before he pulls them away with a harsh intake of breath. It doesn't really hurt so much anymore, it's just tender.

Brad didn't mean to. They'd fought over some stupid TV show and Harry had called him a dick; so he'd deserved it or whatever.

(He doesn't, he knows he doesn't. It's easier to let himself believe that it's his own fault because what's the alternative? Break up with Brad, move out and go back home? Leave uni entirely? It would only get more difficult.)

The finger shaped smudges on his neck are something else entirely. Brad wanted to try something different in bed, hand tight around Harry's throat in a way that he'd hated more than anything...but Brad was happy after, Brad had enjoyed it and they'd laid in bed together and laughed about meaningless things like old times. It made up for it.

He's learned that he's pretty good at lying; something he's never really tried before. Verbal lies roll off of his tongue with ease when he tells Leila that there's nothing bad happening because Brad would never hurt him, not really; when he calls home on that cheap flip phone yet again to tell his parents that he won't be able to make it home this weekend, but maybe next week? (Because maybe things will be better by then, maybe Brad will change or maybe he'll forgive him for being so pathetic all the time).

There're the physical lies too. Makeup that covers his bruises, moans in bed when he doesn't want to do the things that they're doing but he wants to make Brad feel better.

"It's not that bad," he whispers to his reflection, hands gripping the sides of the sink so tightly he wonders whether he would be able to shatter it. His eyes are red rimmed and teary. "I can handle it."

He can. Because tonight, Brad will come home with flowers and food and they'll put on some dumb movie and make up. It isn't Brads fault - he's insecure and he thinks Harry doesn't love him. (But he does, he loves him despite all the hurt and that confuses him in a way that nothing else ever has).

There's a light knock on the bathroom door, knuckles soft against the wood. He freezes, holds his breath.

"Haz? You - you okay in there?" Brad asks, voice quiet and apologetic.

If Brad was a bad guy, he wouldn't be sorry.
Brad loves him, he does.

He sniffs, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on his face, hands shaking slightly. "Yeah," he manages, voice slightly hoarse from crying and begging the other boy to forgive him (and he isn't really sure what for anymore). "Yeah, I'm okay. Just - just washing up. Be out in five," he calls.

There's a moment of silence.

"Okay. I'm going to class...I'll bring us some food back later?" He says softly, his own voice cracking from all the yelling.

He nods even though they can't see each other, lump in his throat swelling. Deep down, he knows this is wrong. His head's a mess. He can't think straight.

"Okay. I - I love you," he murmurs.

Brad lets out a breath on the other side of the door. "I love you too, Haz. Really," he whispers in return.

He feels warm at the words. He knows he shouldn't. He isn't sure. Everything's mixed up.

He waits until he hears the footfalls retreat and the front door close quietly before he carefully dries his face on a towel and steps back out into the living room. His laptop is on the floor, knocked off of the arm of the couch in their fight, papers littering the coffee table.