Burn [Larry Stylinson AU]

Chapter Ten

author's note: this chapter was basically a filler (ew, yuck, I know) the next few chapters are going to be a lot more fun to write, but this chapter is vital to the story as the others. thank you (x 100000) for being so patient. the next update is going to come out much sooner and the reason I didn't update for so long was because the last month of school was hectic. i love you all so much for being supportive, it means a lot. the song that i linked is siiiickkk and has helped with the backbone of this story. its beautiful. as always, i'll look back at this to determine if there's any editing to be done :)

vote, comment, fan, whatever! i just hope you enjoy the chapter.

 

“I mean no joke, you could literally hear a pin drop in that place,” Ed recalled animatedly. Rain water beat steadily on the window over the ginger's shoulder, creating a gentle patter in the background. Behind the checked curtains, the sky was loomy and gray. The three mates sat crowded around Ed's coffee table, cold tea and pens and papers strewn across its surface.

                       

            The task of writing a couple of songs had been long forgotten when Ed had begun to tell Harry and Louis about his recent distaste for stand-up comedy, particularly after paying fifteen quid to watch some bloke flounder on stage. “The bloke's face literally fell when no one laughed. Just turned and walked off with his tail in between his legs.”

            Harry chuckled whilst Louis piped up from beside him, “Seriously, it was that quiet?” The smaller boy squirmed in the worn and tattered armchair the two friends shared, his left thigh overlapping Harry's thinner right. Louis leaned forward in the seat; completely oblivious to the way his touch seemed to falter the cogs in the angel's brain.

            “The joke was that bad, mate. Seriously, the fucking crickets couldn't be bothered with his shit,” the ginger chuckled, tweaking the strings to his acoustic. “Last time I ever went back to that place.”

            “Aw, don't tell me it has ruined how you perceive stand-up comedy completely, mate,” Louis said, taking a sip of his tea and cursing at the taste of the bitter, cold liquid. “That's rank,” he muttered under his breath, setting the cup back down and forcing himself to not spit out the bad aftertaste.

           

            “Afraid so,” Ed sighed, confirming Louis' statement. He ran fingers smoothly over the strings, caressing the guitar's vintage wood with rough, gentle palms. “I don't think I could handle another bad joke after that experience.”

           

            “Well you're in luck,” Louis said, a smirk gracing his lips, “Harry here is a born comedian, aren't you Haz?” His small hand patted the angel's slim, jean-clad thigh. It momentarily rested there for a second longer, before he slipped it back into his own lap.

            Harry clasped his hands together in a vain attempt to keep from touching Louis. He always wanted to touch him – reach out to fix the beanie pulled down over his fringe or brush the skin stretched over his bicep. He would restrain himself, though, fearing he would seem clingy to the 22 year old.

           

            Thankfully, if his hands weren't on Louis, Louis would seek him out and find a clever way to initiate physical contact. Whether it be playing with his curls when he was bored or feeling affectionate, poking his dimples whenever he was being cheeky, or bumping his shoulder with Harry's whenever they sat side-by-side, each touch always seared Harry's skin and quickened his heart.