“Harry!!!” I shout. “Harry, we’re home!!!”

He doesn’t answer. Maybe he’s asleep. I climb up the stairs and open the door to his bedroom. No Harry. I am mystified. I check the other boys’ rooms, calling out Harry’s name. Then, it hits me-what if management has beat me to him?

I clench my hand into a fist as I notice the picture atop the fireplace-we’re sitting together at a café. He actually seems happy. I haven’t seen him smile like that since forever. I am Harry’s protector. It’s only natural that I hate management for hurting Harry.

I run to the kitchen and see the pile of hair on the floor. I touch it. It’s soft, like Harry’s hair.

“Stupid narcissists,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I’m not usually emotional, but the pile of hair and the bloodstained kitchen is enough to stimulate my fury. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to murder those stupid madmen who hurt Harry. But there’s nothing I can do as of now, except look for Harry and hope he’s okay. My eyes wander to the bathroom door. I listen closely for any signs of Harry. The atmosphere is silent. Then, I look down at the doorknob and see the blood. There is also blood on the rug I am standing on.

I can’t take it anymore. I open the door and come face to face with darkness. I open the lights and look around. Suddenly, I see an emerald eye peeking out of the shower curtain.

“Harry!” I gasp, opening the shower curtain. His face is covered with blood and pieces of his curly mane that management has apparently shorn off. I smell salt. He’s crying. I hold out my hand, which he takes. I support his weight with my other arm and lift him out of the bathtub. I have him sit on the floor, so I can have a better look at him. His eyes flicker with an emotion that I have rarely seen whenever I am with him-sadness.

“What did management do this time?”

“They broke my arm and… “ Harry breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Ah, crap,” I say, gently taking his broken arm. “It must hurt a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

“You’re right. I don’t know your pain.”

I help Harry up and lead him to the kitchen. I try to lead him to the bedroom, but he refuses to go further.

“They’re here,” he whispers.

“What’s wrong with the boys?”

“M-my hair…”

His voice trembles. I lead him to the dining room and have him take a seat.

“Harry,” I tell him. “There’s nothing wrong with having a shaved head.”

“Shaved heads mean something.”

He looks up, his eyes penetrating my soul. I shake my head.

“They know I love my hair,” he says softly.

“They also know you’d shave your head for charity.”

“Who the hell cuts their head while shaving?”

I examine his head and sure enough, there are small depressions where management’s lash may have hit Harry. I sigh.

“Harry, you still need a doctor.”

“No I don’t!” His voice rises a little. “I have you! That’s more than I could ever ask for! I don’t need some clumsy surgeon fumbling about and asking questions!”

“Harry, number one, I don’t have a medical license and number two, your arm is broken!”

“I couldn’t care less! This is a secret! Nobody’s supposed to know about this!”

Harry starts crying again. I sigh, shaking my head.

“Good God, Harry Edward Styles. You’re bleeding, your arm is broken and the first thing you think about is bloody management.”

“Let me die, Lou, it’s better for both of us.”

“It won’t be good for the world, though.”

That’s the difference between me and Harry Styles. He’s too depressed to consider the world while I’m too caught up in the world to consider Harry’s privacy. For me, it’s just a shaved head, a broken arm and a bunch of scrapes that may need a doctor to fix them. For Harry, it’s a cross between an incomplete murder and not-so-public humiliation. He’d rather die than have the world see him like this.

I sigh again, standing up.

“Harry, they’re all in the living room. I’m going to take you to your room so you can lie down. If you won’t let me call an ambulance or take you to the hospital, at least allow me to help you.”

Harry sighs submissively and stands up. He follows me up the stairs and to his room. Once we’re inside, he sits down on the bed.

“I can’t really lie down, you know.”

“I know,” I tell him. “I’m looking for a bandage.”

I search around Harry’s room, knowing that there are bandages here, somewhere. I finally find some stuffed in Harry’s drawer. I get out the piece of cloth called a triangular bandage and fashion a sling for Harry. Once the sling is on Harry, I get the betadine, some cotton, bandages, tape and gauze for his legs and feet. Once all of that is gone, I bid Harry farewell.

“The boys and Taylor might be looking for me,” I tell him.

“Taylor?” Harry inquires, suddenly tense.

“You know that redhead? Geek-chic girl?”

“Oh, that Taylor.”

“Yes, that Taylor.”

”I was scared for a while,” Harry admits, looking down for a while. When he looks up again, his eyes sparkle with happiness.

“Thanks, Lou.”

“Anytime, Harry. Rest easy, ya hear?”

I smile at him as I leave to tend to the people waiting in the living room.

Notes

Sorry to keep you all waiting, requirements call and of course, I have lousy internet. Here's one out of many dramatic parts of this story. Hope you like it and all that, in spite of the bloody hell that happens to Harry and all that.

BTW, Louis' POV next chapter. Woo~

Read on <3