Tease [Larry]

One

This story contains all of the following: graphic language, explicit uses of homophobic slurs,
descriptive sexual content, a slight age gap, and many other mature themes not suitable for all audiences. Please read at your own risk!

Thank you all for giving me and my writing a chance. Welcome or welcome back. Expect updates every week, or as often as possible. Votes and comments are highly, highly appreciated.

Enjoy. X

1997

It's days like these, when the sun's so hot his face burns red, that he likes to sit there in silence, bask in the heat, and jot down a few of the thoughts dying to be put to paper.

He enjoys the thought of not needing a therapist to vent to anymore. It makes him feel normal, as if his father hadn't tried sending him away to be fixed. Harry doesn't like to think that he'd been broken in the first place, but then he remembers the way his mother's face had contorted the night he'd admitted to liking both boys and girls, and things start to turn grey.

She hadn't even been disgusted, was the thing. She simply squinted her eyes, laughed, then backed out of the room, slipping the door shut behind her. Somehow the denial hurt more then the rejection would have, because then, at least he would've had his answers. Now, he just floats through the house like a ghost. His parents don't bother asking him about his day. His mother doesn't invite him down for dinner. They simply walk straight through him, as if his mere existence is invalid. Harry thinks it's all bullshit.

You're only fifteen. That had been his mother's excuse, the one time she'd recognized her son for who he was. Harry didn't say a word. He simply slipped on his coat, picked his backpack off the floor, then went on his way to school with his nails embedded into his palms and his face tight with rage. Never in his life had he wanted to lash out the way he did that day.

The anger was so crippling, he could hardly stomach doing anything apart from listening to Beethoven, writing in his journal, and forcing Niall to tell him about the time he accidentally walked in on his dad jerking off to playboy.

Things change, though.

For the past week, he's been telling Niall to bugger off when all the lad wanted was a mate to eat with at lunch. He sat alone at pep rally's and football matches. He couldn't focus during any of his classes, and his grades were starting to struggle profoundly.

Harry had reached an all time low. Of course, life in general wasn't his strong suit, but at least he could manage a day without wanting to throw himself of a cliff. Now, he'd resulted in morbid fantasy's of hurting himself. Not because he particularly wanted to die, but because he wanted to know. Would anyone care? If Harry was gone tomorrow, would his parents feel anything, apart from the relief of a burden?

Because that's all Harry was in their eyes. They hadn't actually said it aloud before, but they didn't need to. He knew.

At least it wasn't all bad. He had an older sister, who had Harry's back despite the fact that Harry was her younger brother, a nuisance, and fifty percent of the reason as to why their mother and father were splitting up.

They spent a lot of time pointing fingers, reflecting the blame as to how they ended up with a gay kid. Harry didn't understand. He hadn't done anything to 'make him gay' because he just so happened to be. It might've taken him a few years to realize, but now that it's dawned on him, nothing's ever felt more real.

Maybe if his father hadn't bagged a woman half his age, he'd feel a little more guilty for their split. Right now, he's on cruise control, rolling the cuffs of his jeans, smoothing away the dampness at the nape of his neck. He should probably be in class, but he knows how slow his history course drags when it's over ninety degrees out, and he doesn't want to have to deal with Niall's puppy dog eyes shooting curious daggers at him from across the room.