(no subject)
Title: More than this - Chapter Three
Pairing: Harry/Louis (Larry Stylinson)
Summary: Fate is a complicated thing, it can bring two people together just as quickly as it can tear them apart. You can't mess with fate. When you do, bad things happen.
“Harry Edward Styles, if you are not down these stairs in two seconds, I swear to God I will come up there and-”
“Woah, calm down mother! I'm ready” the curly haired lad chuckled as he bounded downstairs, joining Anne at the bottom, who just rolled her eyes.
“Niall and Liam are going to be here any minute, kiddo. You sure do take your time.”
“As a matter of fact, I was cleaning my room out.”
Anne looked at him for a moment, before asking “Why? I thought you'd all be staying in the bungalow.”
Harry merely shrugged, and leaned against the banister.
“We have to be down in London by 10am tomorrow, which means we'll probably have to leave here at around 6:30 to get us there in plenty of time. If we stay in the bungalow, there's no way we'll get a decent nights sleep.”
Of course, he wasn't going to tell her the real reason that he didn't want to stay in the bungalow with the other lads. How could he? It seemed as though he was the only one who remembered it, so why even bother to bring it up?
He shook his head. No, he thought. I can't be thinking of it now.
Anne seemed to believe his reasoning, or if she didn't, she didn't question him about it, and the two stood in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before there was a knock on the door, followed by Niall sticking his head around the wood.
“Can we come in?”
Harry grinned. It had only been a few days since he had seen the boys, but he had still missed them.
“Of course, you idiots!” after he had pulled both him and Liam into a quick hug, he helped them bring in their bags.
“Smells like it's going to rain.” he murmured to himself, once he had closed the door behind him. “Any idea when Zayn and Louis get here?”
“Zayn text me when they set off, around an hour or so ago. Haven't heard from them since, so it just depends on traffic, really.”
“And how fast Louis' willing to drive.” snorted Niall, heading down the corridor and into the kitchen. “Don't mind do you, Anne?”
The older woman chuckled, “Of course not, Niall. Don't eat too much though, I'm going to start on dinner when the other boys get here.”
It was almost funny how much of a second mother Anne had become to the boys in the little time that she had known them. They were all such genuinely nice boys, and she was just glad that Harry had managed to make friends after everything that had happened during his last school year.
“Mum, nothing can spoil Niall's appetite, you know that.” Harry laughed, making his way upstairs to dump his band mates bags in his room.
Five minutes later, the three boys were sat around the kitchen table sipping cups of tea as they caught each other up on the events they had missed while they had been apart while Anne had popped out to the shops to get some food in for dinner.
“-and that's the end of that!” laughed Niall, now red in the face after reliving such an apparently hilarious 'had to be there' moment.
Liam chuckled into his hand, trying not to let the fact that Niall's reaction was far more funny than the actual story show.
“Sounds like you had a right laugh, Nialler.” grinned Harry, downing the last of his drink and walking over to the sink. As he placed the mug in the soapy water, something in the garden caught his eye. A splash of red spray paint on the bark of the tree beside the garage. He only faintly acknowledged the fact that the mug had slipped from his grasp and fell to the bottom of the sink, as he zoned out, remembering.
-
“Harry, love, take the recycling box down, will you? It's getting emptied tomorrow morning.” Anne called out, putting odd pieces of cutlery away.
The young boy sighed, standing up from where he had been seated on the couch. He was thankful that he had the chance to procrastinate doing his maths homework a little longer, but wasn't really looking forward to going outside now that it was already dark. Holmes Chapel may look terribly picturesque in the daylight, but at night it transformed into something out of a horror film, only worse.
“On it.” he said as he passed through the kitchen, slipping on his trainers at the door.
The air was cold and bit into his skin as he trudged over the grass, picking up their recycling box and taking it out front to the end of their pathway. On his way back through the garden to return through the back door, he froze.
He was nearly one hundred per cent sure he could hear whispering. Not the far off hum of a private conversation, but a close 'keep your voice low or we'll get caught' kind of whispering.
Great, he thought. I'm going to get murdered in my own back garden.
It was with that thought that he realised that he actually recognised the voices. “Tony? Luke?”
After he called out, a very audible 'shit!' was heard, followed by a 'run' and the sound of feet rapidly moving over pebbles. To say Harry was freaked out, was an understatement. Two of the most ignorant and rude people in the entire school had been in his garden, and god knows why. Without thinking too much about it, Harry moved quickly inside, ignoring the worried looks he received from his mother at how fast he locked the door behind him.
“Done.” he smiled, in what he hoped was a convincing way, before returning to the living room.
For the rest of the evening he tried to put the events out of his mind, and by the time he went to bed he had been somewhat successful, however it was hard to forget when, in the morning, he came down and saw the words “Harry's a bender.” spray painted on the garage door.
He had tried not to show how deeply the words effected him and made his blood run cold when he explained the situation to his mum. He wasn't ready to deal with that yet. He didn't think he'd ever be ready to deal with that.
-
“Harry? Are you okay?” the curly haired lad was shaken out of his revere by the concerned voice of Liam. He flashed him a smile, picking up the mug that had thankfully not smashed, and continued to clean it.
“Fine.”
No, he still wasn't ready to deal with what those words suggested.