i sleep naked ➸ larry stylinson

twenty eight

the rest of the summer went by slow.

the boys never noticed the tension between louis and harry, either that or they didn't say anything. that was perfectly fine with harry, and when they dropped him off at his house a week later, he went inside without so much as wave.

and since then, harry spent his days going out. every morning he would eat his bowl of cheerios and put on his black high tops and shorts, along with a random shirt he pulled from his drawers. then, he would quietly tiptoe into his mum' room and kiss her cheek, watching her sleep for a few seconds, at the worry lines between her forehead and the soft curve of her lips. he missed her terribly.

and after he did that, he would run a comb through his curls and put on some sunglasses to cover the bags under his eyes. he looked into his smeared mirror, standing in his bathroom that was cluttered for the first time since he could remember anything. as the days passed on, everything around him grew messier, as he didn't have the energy to pick up after himself anymore.

and today, the second day before summer ended, harry was out on his driveway, feeling the warm sun seep into his tan skin. after going outside every day, he went from being a pale ghost to an extremely tan surfer who spent their days on the beach.

which was partly true. although there was an ocean for miles away from where harry lived, there was a lake with light sand and partially clean water. today, he decided, he was going to sit out at least one more time before he entered through those awful double doors that were school.

he was wearing the swimsuit that louis had never gotten back from him, the green one he wore when they went to the pool his mum owned. he actually liked how it looked on him, although a bit small. his light almost-blonde hair was longer now, curling down to his neck, although whenever his mum saw it she begged him to cut it. he liked it though, it was different.

he never thought he would like different. never. but ever since his life took an unexpected turn and he found himself crying every night, he knew he needed a change. he was already slowly trying to forget louis. not altogether, slowly.

one way he did that was throwing his pillow in the trash can outside and buying himself a new one. and ever time he ever had a thought about louis, he would write it down and then burn the paper he wrote it on. he deleted every picture except for the one he took two years ago, because he could never change his lock screen, no matter what happened.

and here he was, his shoes echoing off the hot sidewalk and into the humid air. there was sweat forming under harry's eyes as he walked, looking straight ahead and swinging his arms slightly. he could hear kids laughing somewhere near him, probably riding their bikes or playing tag or something. he wished he was like them; carefree, young, normal.

but instead, he was seventeen years old and he was too messed up to even handle emotional situations correctly. it seemed as if his friends had forgotten about him, but he knew deep down that was his fault. they texted and called him all the time, asking what was wrong and if he wanted to hang out. but he always declined. he even pretended he wasn't home when they came knocking on his door and yelling for him to open up. it took at lot of self control, but he did it, and when they left he distracted himself by watching cartoons and trying not to cry.

as all the depressing thoughts of this summer flooded his mind, he could feel his wrist itching behind the rubber bracelets that were sliding up and down as he moved his arms. the urge was still there, even though he had only done it once. it hurt, it really did, but it was the best way to distract himself, and also he was just doing what he told louis. louis was still cutting, he saw it himself.

harry could feel the wind starting to pick it up, blowing a few stray leaves around him and it felt nice on his sweaty face. he stopped and closed his eyes, letting the breeze tickle his face and wrap around strands of his hair before releasing it.