Glitch [Larry Stylinson AU]

Part VI: Baby doll

"FORGIVE US NOW FOR WHAT WE'VE DONE; IT STARTED OUT AS A BIT OF FUN"

Harry sat in his window when Louis came home. He didn't poise a joint as much as he clutched one, his bare legs icicles from the windowsill. When Louis appeared in the opposite bedroom, he reached back to flick the blinds, once, then took another drag. His eyes didn't leave Louis.

Come.

One week without contact. A single word.

Another text rolled in and Harry, swaying out over the lawn, stepped back inside. The blinds flickered one time. Smoke plumed from an ashtray.

Mum is drunk. Go through the back. I'll let you in.

The kitchen didn't sport towers of liquor when Harry let him in. They treaded upstairs, and Louis snuck a view of the blaring telly, Mrs Styles bathing in the light of it. Whatever liquor hadn't been used for the party, it had been emptied at her hand.

The ambience darkened without the adolescent presence the party had bestowed. Laughter a pitch too high no longer rang out in the broad hallways. The lack of photographs on walls or atop chiffoniers shone blunter than ever.

Had Louis been here at all, other than to attend parties or clean them up?

Harry's bedroom amplified his sweetly stale smell, bordering an aroma and a stench depending on where you sat. Louis took the bed, on crimped duvets and ignored homework.

A crash harrowed from downstairs, glass and glass, a thump.

Whereas Louis flinched, Harry sealed his hands over the window nooks, then leaned out. Face and neck curved to the starless skies, head dangling, he tipped his feet up some. The rest of his body slid an inch. Coming back down, he fumbled next to him, eyes closed while the blood ran from his brain. He was out of joints.

Louis hadn't ever seen him so bleak.

For a while, it seemed Harry pondered his decision to call Louis over. Louis hadn't imagined their reunion like this, hadn't reckoned they would need a reunion to start with. His muscle memory attempted to jerk him off the bed, press Harry to him, reconcile whatever mounted between them, between Harry and the rest of the world.

Louis batted away his small voice for a casual tone, which only ended up a dimmed version of its usual cadence.

"I think Liam did it," he said. The thought had yet to settle with him. He had believed solving part of the mystery would ease his mind, but solutions didn't taste fresh. They tasted of defeat.

"At least," he continued, "He must have knowledge about it. There's too much suggesting it. When I've talked to Zayn we might... It might help Gemma?"

All he knew about her was the similar streaks she shared with Harry. Nothing about his current state reflected her.

Harry didn't process. His eyes scorched Louis.

"Gemma died."

Louis' heartbeat careened, and exploded. That's when he realised he reacted to all the wrong things the statement suggested. He loathed himself for it.

His brain revved from the night's discoveries. The pieces slid together without thought.

Had Doniya slipped to Liam about the break-in? The plywood slab had been pushed back into place, but somewhere on the floor in the closet was still a box of bolts, knocked from the shelf. Someone might have watched them while they ransacked the house. They might have gotten too close to the truth and had to be parried.