Falling For The Bully (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 17 - "That's what friends do."

“Great,” her smile can be heard just from her voice. “Well, you two have a good night. Call me in the morning when you wake up.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

He locks his phone, shoving it back in his pocket clumsily as he continues to tread alongside Michael, just reaching his street now.

“Not scared of the dark, are you?” Michael chuckles, taking in Harry’s nervous demeanor.

“It’s just a bit... unsettling.”

“We’re almost there,” Michael pats Harry’s shoulder, letting him know he’s not alone.

Harry relaxes entirely as Michael’s house comes into view. The two boys walk up the front steps, not caring how loud they are because they know they’ll still be home alone just as they were earlier today. Michael unlocks the door and they enter his empty mansion.

The boys remove their shoes and jackets, then climb the stairs to Michael’s room where it sits exactly as it was before they left.

“You tired?” Michael asks Harry, rifling through his dresser drawers.

“I’m alright,” Harry shrugs. “I could do with a drink, if that’s alright.”

“For sure. Here’s a change of clothes,” Michael tosses Harry a pair of pyjama pants and an old band shirt. “You can change in the washroom. Or change here, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I’ll um...” Harry swallows a lump down his throat. “I’ll change here.”

Michael makes a noise of agreement and turns his back to Harry as he strips his own shirt off, quickly replacing it with a looser one.

Harry turns around, doing the same thing and exchanging his own shirt for Michael’s larger, darker one. He sits on the edge of Michael’s bed with his back still turned to him as he removes his jeans, then stands up and slips Michael’s sleep trousers over his fitted boxer briefs. The trousers are a bit looser than he would like, but Harry ties the drawstring tight and he’s never felt comfier.

“You can turn around now if y’ like,” Michael voices casually, all done changing. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael exits his room, leaving Harry alone to simply look around and fiddle with his phone in the mean time. He returns shortly after with two glasses of water in hand, holding one out to Harry as he nears him.

“Thanks, I almost forgot,” Harry accepts the glass and takes a deep sip from it.

“Of course,” Michael smiles. “You don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed, right?”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry continues to sip on his water just out of nervous habit.

Michael chuckles awkwardly, “Was that a yes or a no?”

Harry smiles at his own idiocy, slowly feeling a hot blush creeping its way up his neck into his cheeks, “I don’t mind sleeping in the same bed.”

“Good, because there’s a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills marathon on all night and I’d love some company,” Michael grins, setting his glass on his bedside table as he climbs into his side of the bed.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Harry smirks at Michael as he crawls into bed next to him, setting his own glass on the table on his side of Michael’s bed.

Without a word, Michael switches on his flatscreen television right in front of the bed. He navigates to a channel as if from memory, and four middle-aged women are displayed on the screen in the middle of a catfight. They all look like they’ve gone through about thirty plastic surgeries each and are clearly filthy rich, what with all of their fancy clothes, high heels and diamonds.