For the third round of the Quidditch League.

Team: Chudley Cannons

Position: Chaser 3

Pairing: HugoLouis

prompts:

blue

naked

open book

Words: 1338 (without AN)

.,.,.,.,.

The air still smells of Christmas and the bars are still full with people, covered in an abundance of lights and decorations. Hugo cares little, walking past without even looking at them.

The wind tosses the dark brown curls about and bites at the already rosy skin until it turns a raw pink. It helps Hugo little to wrap his arms around himself. The warmth produced by his body temperature just isn't enough to combat the merciless cold. The urge to slap himself becomes almost inviting at the reality of having stormed out of the house in loose jeans and a thin, short-sleeved shirt.

In this moment, Hugo's biggest regret is never having taken the time to listen to Ellie while she jabbered on about the importance of warming charms.

He remembers the row with his parents vividly. It had been just after dinner, and everyone was full of wonderful food and overwhelmed with sleepiness. Some of the adults held glasses of coarse red liquid and spoke with the others with a slightly slurred accent to their words.

Then their expressions after his announcement. Some were filled with disgust and others with shock, but he focused on only his father, who turned slowly pink, then red, then purple.

The words still reverberate through his mind like cymbals clashing together in a cave.

"You're not one of us."

They repeat themselves again and again, each word like a hit to the gut.

"You were never one of us!"

"I'll be damned if my son is sleeping around with... with men!"

"Dirty..." the voice screams. "Disgusting!" it burns into his mind like a hot iron rod and almost brings him to pain. "Vile!" it spits like a curse.

In the midst of his father's rage, his mother attempted to detain him, talk him down. He only answered with another nasty lash at his son.

"You will never be one of us! You are not my son!"

"Ronald!" she cried while desperately clutching at his sleeve.

Finally, Hugo squeezes his eyes shut and banishes the thoughts. While enveloped in the thoughts, he hadn't noticed his own nails digging into the skin of his forearm. With a hesitant slowness, Hugo retracts them from his flesh and feels no relief. The numbness still remains along with the angry red divots.

The wind becomes steadily harder to walk against. Hugo nearly grabs on to a car mirror when a sudden blast of icy cold wind almost knocks him off his feet. He stumbles out onto the road. A loud horn blasts and his sight is consumed by a blinding white light. The horn gets increasingly louder, and Hugo is convinced that he is going to die on this cold stretch of road until something slams into his side. As soon as he hits the ground he rolls and stops against the worn wheel of a parked car. A pain shoots through his shoulder and twists his gut and he groans.

The sound of tires squealing against the wet pavement is unmistakable. It rings through the air until fading, and Hugo can tell that the car that nearly killed him has gone.

Another voice chimes in with a small groan. Then there's the sound of scuffling feet and a squelch of snow being crushed underfoot.

The person who must've barreled into him asks, "Hugo? Are you all right? Do you need help?"

He groans again, but this time in recognition of the voice. "What're you doing here Louis?"

Louis only snorts before muttering, "Saving your life apparently."

Hugo can see him rolling his blue eyes, though his own are squeezed firmly shut from the pain.

"It wasn't worth it," he manages hoarsely.

Louis blatantly ignores him. "You must be freezing. Why the hell did you come here of all places, you prat," he sounds as though he is trying to be upset with him, but can't manage it.

The pain dissipates somewhat so Hugo is able to lift himself up off the ground. But when he tries to get onto his feet, he is left breathless.

Louis drapes one of his arms across his shoulder and says, "Here, let me help."

If Hugo wasn't in such pain, he would protest, but all he says is, "How hard did you hit me?"

"Hard enough, you twat," he snaps and pulls him to his feet.

Hugo winces but doesn't utter another word.

"You know Aunt 'Mione was really upset after you left. Nearly took off in the middle of the blizzard after you, but you clearly Apparated."

Still he says nothing.

"What he said..." Louis sounds hurt but still kind. "He didn't mean it. You're his son... he just didn't expect it."

Hugo scoffs. "I'm a disappointment to the family already, he just couldn't take the fact that I'm gay on top of it, is that what you mean?"

This time Louis didn't say anything.

Hugo stops and takes back his arm, backing away from Louis slowly. His dark brown irises glint with a strange kind of madness.

"People say I read like a book, I've got my heart on my sleeve and terrible liar written across my forehead, but they never figured that one out, did they? They never suspect the ones like me, the ones with seemingly nothing to hide. And when they find out, they're all upset like they think it's their goddamn business they had to know in the first place!" he laughs. "I never had to tell them! They would have never of had to of been pulled out of their little fairytale if I hadn't."

"Hugo, please—"

Hugo cuts across him without hesitation, sounding almost on the edge of hysteria. "No, I'm done. They can all whinge and cry about how much they don't care that I'm gone, good riddance, but at the end of the day it's their own faults."

Louis draws his lips into a frown. "They do love you, Hugo. Even your father. It might not seem like it, but if you had actually paid attention and stopped being alone and bitter with the world you would have seen it. Roxanne was always there and Molly never let a day go by without talking to you. Hell, before Dominique left she did everything she could to help you see," he pleads with his eyes and squeezes Hugo's shoulders as though trying to get him to understand. "And I... I tried to love you. But you never saw anything. Not even me."

Hugo feels his legs, like gelatin, tremble under him. The world collapsing under his feet. No words come to his lips. So he lets his legs go out and collapses to the icy cold ground. The salty tears stain his jeans, the snow soaking through his clothes and into his skin.

After a moment, he lifts his head and finds himself eye to eye with Louis's soft blue irises. In that second, Hugo feels naked, as though every though he has ever had is scrawled across his skin like the divots in his arm and Louis could see every one.

"You are perfect," he whispers softly.

Hugo knows he looks to contradict his father's harsh words.

"I never knew," Hugo whispers back. "You loved me... and I never even knew."

Louis nods slowly, eyes still locked onto his.

"You were the reason I knew, why I knew everything. I—I loved you... and never saw you felt the same. I never saw anything."

Louis gains a soft smile that puts a twinkle in his eyes. "I love you, present tense."

Then his smile crashes on to Hugo's and it tastes of bitter salt and an unfamiliar but welcome sweetness. His heart soars in his chest and as if trying to break through it. The sensation almost makes him feel weightless. And in that moment, he promises that every motion, every word, every breath down to his very last would say, I love you, present tense.

The wind still bites at his skin, but he doesn't feel cold.