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"Your 'gift'... It forces people to fall in love with you? Do your bidding... Get their hands dirty so you don't have to... Huh, Curly?"

Harry's eyes remain planted on the floor, seemingly lost in counting every molecular grain of dust. Body contorted into itself; frighteningly still. If it weren't for the fingers fidgeting... Shaking, really, Louis would have assumed the body before him was unconscious.

Louis couldn't even make out a single subtle intake of breath...Definitely lifeless...

Maybe he is.

"Look at me, Curly,"

Green eyes snapped up to meet blue.

"What happens when your touch wears off?"

"...They leave,"

The slow monotone drawl coming from the boy put Louis on edge. 

"Do they?"

"Everyone leaves, Louis. They just walk away."

"What about in that curly little head of yours? Do they leave there too?"

The room was quiet. It was quiet for a long, treacherous moment.  The only noise heard was Louis own breathing. 

Harry made no noise.

"Doesn't everyone who leaves you leave a piece of themselves behind?" 

Harry had yet to break eye contact. Louis was becoming more and more freaked out at the prospect of keeping contact with the living corpse, but much too afraid to be the one to turn away first.

Louis had no choice but to bottle up his fear and stand his ground. 

Louis moved from the safety of the wall across the room and came to a stop in front of the seemingly lifeless boy.

"They don't usually leave bits of themselves embedded within my mind, Harold," Louis spoke softly. 

While Louis was afraid of this being, he was more afraid for his best friend locked inside. Whatever this was, it wasn't his Harry. 

 And he'll be damned if he doesn't get him back.

Louis kneels in front of Harry, shaking hand coming to a rest on the other boy's jean clad knee, giving a gentle squeeze. 

Never once breaking eye contact.

Heart still screaming at him to run.

"It's just Harry."

"It's really not though, is it?"