Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 5- POV Louis: It's Always Harry

I am sitting on my bed working on my essay on the Roman empire when my phone buzzes from my desk. The name shows up as Harry Styles. Merely seeing his name speeds up my heartbeat. Why would Harry be calling me right now? I take a deep breath to try and compose myself before picking up the phone. Just as I am about to say 'hello' I hear... crying?

"Harry?" I hear him sniffle. "Are you okay, lad?" I ask fearfully.

"Um-" He says with a shaky voice. "Yeah, sorry. I- I should just go." I protest and demand that he tells me what's wrong. "Um, I wouldn't have- have called you but I don't have any other friends, so... I just thought... this is stupid." He says, in between sobs.

"No! It's okay, Harry. Stop crying. Do you want me to come over?" I feel horrible for him.

"Yeah, actually, that- that would be nice. I live over on- on Scarlett Creek Drive. The first house." I get off my bed, and knowing that my mum would not allow me to go to a friend's house (If that's what we even are) this late at night, I climb out my window and speed off in my truck.

When I arrive, I hop out of my truck and knock at the door. Harry opens it quickly. 

I glance up at his sweet face and notice that his ocean blue-green eyes are red and puffy, proof that he has been crying. Even though he is dressed in pajamas, he is still ridiculously hot. I have to remind myself that he needs me right now- and not in that way. His curls are frizzy and messed up, but not in the cute way they usually are, and he looks really tired. 

I hate seeing him like this: so delicate and broken.

He looks awful, and I decide he needs a hug. I pull him in close, and instantly get butterflies again. I rub his back in a small circular motion, and he sinks a little deeper into the hug. 

I feel my shoulder begin to get damp, and realize he is crying again, silently this time. He doesn't seem to want to let go of the hug, but the door is open and the cool air, along with the realization that I am hugging Harry Styles, is making me shiver, so I pull away. 

He leads me up to his bedroom, which is a surprisingly far walk. We go through a dining room, a living room, past a kitchen and a study, past three other bedrooms and three bathrooms before we reach his bedroom. His family is definitely wealthy. They aren't necessarily rich, but Harry will probably never have to worry about money in his future. 

I sit next to him on his bed, fidgeting with my jeans, nervous to be alone in a room with my crush. 

"Harry?" I ask cautiously. "What's wrong?" I don't want to pressure him to talk, but he seems like he needs to vent.

"It- It's my Dad. My parents always fight, which is nothing new, and my Dad is always drunk and mean nowadays. But that's been happening for a while now too. I mean, it's always bothered me, but I have coped with it since there's nothing I can do about it. But tonight, they- they were fighting again, and he left drunk and apparently went to a bar and got in a bad bar fight, and now- now he's in the hospital and he might die and I don't know what to do!" Harry lets out the story in one long breath.

"Wow, Harry. I had no idea. I'm so sorry." No wonder he was crying. I feel horrible. 

"No, I- I really shouldn't have made you come over here." I can tell he feels guilty.

"It's fine, Harry. Really. I offered. You look like you need someone to talk to. So, let's talk. How is your Dad doing?" I try to be of assistance, but really, I am nowhere near mentally stable enough to be coaching someone else. 

"They said he is stable but... what if this happens again? He is always drunk."

"Well, maybe you and your Mom need to help him. What about... rehab?" I suggest.

"No!" Harry yells in protest and stands up quickly. "My Dad is not going to rehab! He is not an alcoholic! We'll be fine! Why are you even here? You should just leave- you're not helping anything!" I'm taken aback, but not hurt. Harry doesn't seem like the type to get mad easily. His family seems like a sensitive issue to him. 

I can see a wave of shock ,and later, guilt, wash over him and he slowly sits back down. After a few minutes of awkwardly staring at the ground, debating whether or not I should leave, and then back up at Harry, he speaks. 

"Please don't leave." He whispers. "I'm sorry, Lou, I- it's just-"

"Lou?" I interrupt him, curious about the nickname he just gave me, but liking it too.

"Oh, sorry, do you not want to be called Lou? I shouldn't have even-"

"No. I like it." My stomach flutters. He just made a nickname for me.

"Good. Well, anyways, I'm really sorry. I- I just feel really lonely right now. My family isn't doing too great, as you could probably tell." He scoffs. "I'm not sure what to do."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Just know that whenever you need me, I'll be here."

"Okay. Thanks. Oh, and also, could you please not tell anybody about this?" I nod in response.

"You're sure you are okay?" I ask once more. He says he is, and I hug him again. This hug is lengthy as well, and makes me get butterflies yet again. Each day, I like Harry more and more. I wonder if he will ever feel the same about me. 

"Do you want to come over to my house tomorrow? You know, just to hang out?" I offer, prepared for him to decline.

"Yeah sure." He replies, and I can't wait to see him again, even though I haven't even left yet. 

I tell him I am not supposed to be here and should probably leave. He lets me out the door with a sad, but very charming, smile. I wave goodbye and drive home, thinking about him all the while.

Laying in bed later that night, I can't sleep. All I can think about is Harry, and how nice it must feel to plant my lips on his. 

I just want to stare into his never-ending green eyes and never look away. 

I want to stroke his curly hair and pinch his adorable dimples. 

I end up falling asleep for a few hours, but wake up in a sweat after dreaming about Harry. I get up and splash my face with cold water, which somehow reminds me of the many bathrooms his house has. I stare at the navy blue rug beneath my feet, and it takes me back to sitting on his navy quilt next to him. Everything I look at reminds me of him. 

He is all that occupies my mind. 

Am I all that occupies his?

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