Read the summary first, as always. Hehe.
“Happy birthday, dude!”
Harry thinks he’s never hated anything more than the word ‘dude’. It’s his birthday. They could’ve at least given him a ‘babe’ or ‘brother’.
But no. ‘Dude’.
He’s crying—sobbing—shaking—breaking—where’s Louis?—slamming—crashing—distant noises from within the flat—who’s there?—he doesn’t care—robbers?—he has money to spare—Louis—who?
Tanned arms pick him up and pull them into Louis’ lap, where he cradles Harry as much as he can and rocks him gently. “Shh, darling, it’s okay.”
“Dude,” is all Harry can manage to choke out between sobs. He realizes that he had fallen on the floor, which explains the bruises on his shins.
“I know, baby, I know. I didn’t want to; they made me.” Harry's still cryi