Imprisoned In My Heart: A Larry Stylinson Fanfic

11.

Anne looked anxiously at her son from her side of the table between them. He didn’t look right. His sleeves were rolled down over his wrists to hide the bandages, but of course she knew that they were there, and he just looked a little feminine with material covering his hands so that only the tips of his slender fingers were visible. He didn’t seem tired or hungry or anxious, as he had on her last few visits; his hair was immaculate, every smile reached his eyes and touched her with genuine warmth, and he no longer slouched in his chair like he was afraid to be noticed. In fact, she would have been completely satisfied with his behavior if he hadn’t been so ridiculously distracted.

 Focusing on their conversation seemed beyond him; he listened attentively, and yet she would refer to something she had mentioned only minutes ago, and his forehead would crease in confusion. He was apparently incapable of recalling anything they had discussed in the last fifteen minutes, and this worried her immensely – as did his constant glancing around, like there was someone he was expecting to see.

 Liam was walking past for the fourth time when he spotted Harry peering across the room instead of listening to what was being said, and he deliberately veered off course, interrupting his calm pacing up and down to pass Harry’s table. As he walked beside the curly haired boy and his worried mother, he tutted to himself.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering looking for him, Harry; you know it’s his day off.”

Swallowing, Harry nodded and quickly fixed his attention back onto Anne, colour rising in his cheeks as he pretended not to have heard anything. Curiously scrutinizing her son, she examined his uncomfortable expression for a few moments, trying to discern a meaning from his reaction. Harry had always been easy to interpret and Anne prided herself on being an expert at deciphering his emotions from the tiniest of motions. Still, as she took in Harry’s flushed face and awkward air, she had to admit defeat.

“Who’re you looking for, sweetheart?”

“Nobody,” Harry mumbled.

Anne raised an eyebrow. “Nobody, hmm?”

“That’s right,” Harry said firmly. “Nobody.”

“And would ‘nobody’ happen to be an attractive nobody?”

He hurriedly avoided her gaze, and Anne interpreted that as a yes.

“Go on, then. What’s he like?”

Determinedly ignoring her, Harry said loudly “How’s Gemma?”

Usually, Anne would have dived right in at an opportunity to proudly advertise her daughter’s achievements to anyone who would listen – and a good few people who wouldn’t have, if she’d given them the chance to object – but she was intrigued by Harry’s behavior.

“Come on. Who is he?” She grinned. “Would I like him? Is he hot?”

Harry squirmed. “Muuuuuuum.”

“I’m not going to shut up about it. I want to know.”

“We’re not discussing this, Mum.”

“I’ll keep on being embarrassing until you tell me.”

“Go for it.”

Anne wrinkled her nose. “You’re so mean to your old mum.”

“Come off it,” he snorted. “You’re not old.”

As if to prove him right, Zayn wandered past with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets, raised his eyebrows at her and wolf-whistled. Anne rolled her eyes and giggled while Harry turned bright scarlet – just because he knew his mum was attractive didn’t mean he wanted to watch his mates flirt with her. Gesturing violently at Zayn in a way that suggested a painful and early death, Harry shook his head disapprovingly and looked at the floor.