i sleep naked ➸ larry stylinson

thirty nine

harry jumped up with a yelp, feeling the hot tea burn his skin painfully. he ripped his shirt off, hopping around a bit as rushed breaths escaped his lips. no, why did he spill it? no, this wouldn't do. now his shirt was all dirty, and he was shirtless and he didn't want to look at his tummy.

he burst into tears, throwing his mug onto the glass coffee table, causing it to shatter loudly. he covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. then he felt glass hit his shin sharply. he let out a scream, all of his stress escaping the way it used to: his mouth.

harry was so scared, he was scared of falling apart and he knew that he was tired of being tied together so loosely and tentatively, as if one wrong move would cause him to break.

but here he was, literally trying not to walk over broken glass and letting out all of his emotions, screaming loudly, but it was quite muffled because of the thunder and rain and wind. he hoped that his mum would never come home, because he would be ashamed for her to see him like this.

"this won't work," harry breathed. "this won't this won't this won't work no no no no."

then his new phone he bought himself was ringing, and he screamed again, because wow this was so hard and why were there so many noises at once?

he felt as if the word 'why' should be his mantra. why was he so disgusting? why did louis want to freaking introduce him to mitchell? why was he bleeding and why was he using the broken glass to open his healing cuts?

harry let out a sob that shook his shoulders, falling roughly on his bum, ignoring the sharp pain that went up his back. his hand was bleeding now; harry didn't realise that he was grabbing a piece of broken glass from his mug. he held it tighter, cringing as the sharp edges sliced into his skin and caused blood to run down his hand. he looked a mess; his wrists were awful bloody and so were his hands and he was crying, there were tear tracks on his cheeks.

he froze when he heard the door open, and it slammed roughly.

he opened his mouth to whisper his mum's name but nothing came out but a broken whimper.

"harry! harry are you here? it's bloody awful out there!"

that voice. it was so... clear. and loud and painful to hear and harry hated the way his heart stopped in his chest at the hoarse tone of that voice and he was going to be in such a predicament when louis saw him.

he dropped the shard of glass he was holding, before running through his house and room until he slid into his bathroom.

"harry?"

his voice echoed through the empty house, and it sent chills through harry's body.

harry perched himself on the toilet after locking the bathroom door. he was shivering, and his wrist was bleeding badly. he grabbed the hand towel hanging nearby and wrapped it around his left wrist, squeezing tightly as tears slipped past his eyes.

"harry, what the heck happened out here?"

louis must've gone into the living room.

harry held his breath, hoping louis wouldn't come into his room and see the light under the bathroom door.

"anne? is anybody here?"

harry let a sob escape his lips. god, he missed that voice so freaking much. his heart ached as he let louis' beautiful voice echo through his ears.

his legs were starting to ache from squatting on the closed toilet seat. his eyes widened when he felt his nose tickle, signaling a sneeze.

harry could hear louis' footsteps coming closer, and he knew louis was wearing his vans.