Larry Stylinson ~ Poor Little Rich Boy AU

3.

“Well, you do now,” Louis said cheerfully. “I don’t blame you for waiting for things to calm down a bit. It was mad down here earlier. It’s so much nicer when it’s quiet, isn’t it?” Where the hell were these words coming from? Since when had Louis Tomlinson ever associated quietness with being a good thing? But he found that strangely, he was sincere – he was actually enjoying the stillness. He didn’t often get any.

“I should go.” Harry looked anxious, like he was uncomfortable being around people, or even just oneperson, and it was Louis’ instinct to instantly attempt to put him at ease. He was that kind of person.

“You don’t have to. It’s lovely out here. Look at the sky, isn’t it beautiful?” He cast out a hand to indicate the pinky-orange hue that had been painted above them. “We don’t tend to get sunsets like this back home. The streetlights usually outshine them a bit.” He sighed wistfully.

Curiosity had Harry’s head tilting to one side in spite of himself. “Where’s home?”

“Doncaster. You ever been?” Harry shook his head. “You probably wouldn’t want to. It’s not the most sensitive of areas. They’re not a fan of sunsets and quiet evenings back there. That’s why it’s nice to get some peace.” Louis patted the ground beside him. “You want to come and sit here for a while? I’m kind of getting lonely over here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry slowly crossed the room and sat down a few inches away from him, careful to avoid any sort of physical contact. He kept his feet away from the water, and Louis wondered what he must look like, dabbling in the pool with his bare toes. Not that he really cared.

“So is there any reason you felt it was necessary to make sure that everyone had left before you ventured out of your room?” questioned Louis, and it only occurred to him that perhaps that was somewhat of a personal and rather bluntly phrased question after it had left his lips.

There was a pause, and Harry’s forehead wrinkled in concentration as he valiantly attempted to summon an accurate explanation of the feelings that he often struggled to comprehend himself, and which were almost impossible to put into words which would make any kind of sense at all.

After a while, he admitted “People make me uncomfortable. I always feel kind of like they’re judging me. I guess I’m paranoid.” He shrugged self-consciously. “My mother thinks I have some kind of social anxiety or something.”

Louis found himself feeling sympathetic despite his difficulty to empathize with the feelings, seeing as he’d always been bold, confident and reasonably careless when it came to first impressions or people’s opinions of him in general, aside from when they sought him out to tell him what they thought. He wasn’t so keen on that. Maybe he didn’t completely understand Harry’s feelings, but he knew it must feel pretty awful to be afraid of people just because they could have a negative opinion of you.

“What about you?” Harry asked. “You don’t really strike me as the lonely type.”

Snorting, Louis agreed, “Definitely not. No, I just sat down on the poolside and had a couple of glasses of this stuff –” he gestured at the bottle that sat beside him “ – and I guess I just… lost track of time. Specifically a couple of hours. Happens sometimes, if you get drunk. Hours slip by like minutes.” He toyed morosely with his wineglass, gloomily tracing the rim with one fingertip.

“Excellent. I’m sure that’ll do your liver the world of good,” said the younger boy dryly, and Louis was surprised to hear a humorous edge to his sarcasm. The corners of his mouth had lifted into a slight smile.

“Spare me the lecture,” he responded lightly, and Harry smirked at him. Louis decided to see how far he could push things with Harry, how much banter he was willing to put up with; he began tentatively, just a little tease. “Well, our relationship is progressing rather quickly, isn’t it? We’ve known each other all of five minutes, and in that time you’ve lectured me on my alcohol intake, told me all about your social anxiety issues and had a little rant about your problems, and I’m still a complete stranger. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be treating me like some kind of counsellor.” He grinned cheekily. “You haven’t even introduced yourself. Rude.”