Burn [Larry Stylinson AU]

Chapter Sixteen

 author's note: this will definitely be edited. please tell me what you think? vote, comment, fan, whatever, as long as you each enjoy this chapter :-)

 

            January 10, 1992

 

            The snow came down heavily, blundering down over the concrete pavement. It swam in the air like white static, the flurries encompassing the window and darkening the interior of the nursery, throwing everything in it in a blue light. Harry squinted through the storm outside and saw the snow banks that had built themselves along the boulevard, brightening the sidewalks with ice.

            Harry didn’t watch the news often, never had any reason to, but he could tell early on that day that the snow was coming. The English sky had been too bright, too quiet, and he had tasted something nearly indiscernible hanging in the air; something that made him recollect his November afternoons in Wales two centuries ago, when he’d sit by the frozen docks and watch a little brown-haired boy fritter in and out of the nearby woods in an oversized coat and bright red scarf.

            Come noon and wham the first snow storm of the year had hit.

            The Yorkshire houses lining the edges of the street were lit only by the small, yellow squares of light streaming from their windows, stretching their silhouettes lazily across the snow piled on the front lawns.

            Everything looked silent outside; the heavy pressure of the snow and swollen sky muffled out any noise that dare cried out in winter’s tyrannous grasp, crushing the vibrant stars that usually peeked through the curtains and bringing with it a subdued stillness. It was as if at any moment angels would come tumbling out of the sky, bringing with them camaraderie of gilded chariots and trumpets. But the only things falling from the dark, heavy clouds were the snowflakes that were catching and sticking to the glass; the only angel milling about was there in that nursery, staring out the window with his arms crossed and hands tucked underneath his armpits.

            A soft, snuffling noise tore Harry’s attention away from the window. He smiled. Apparently, it was that time again.

            Quickly, he bent down to crank up the thermostat, hoping to outdo the bitter cold leeching in through the windowsill. The snuffles morphed into low-pitched whines, the noises weak and soft against the dark interior of the nursery. By the time Harry crossed the room and leaned in to stick his head over the crib, the baby wrapped in pale blue was beginning to cry.

            Cooing, Harry reached into the crib and gingerly lifted it into his arms. He reached over and switched off the baby monitor so its mother wouldn’t be deterred to get up and check on it. Its last feeding was just little under two hours ago and its nappy wasn’t soiled, so it likely was just fussing for attention.

            With the baby still bleating softly in his ear, he patted its onesie clad bottom and walked over to take his place back in the musty armchair crammed by the window. He sunk down into its cushions and shifted the baby into the cradle of his arms before rocking it gently. Instantly, its whimpers began to die down.

            “There you are,” Harry whispered. “You just wanted attention, didn’t you?”

            The baby only stared back up at him, blinking slowly whenever Harry passed his thumb along the round arch of its brow or whenever he morphed his features into a funny face, earning him another wide-eyed stare. Eventually, it became more interested in Harry’s long, slender appendages, sufficed with sticking his fingers in its gummy mouth.