Deafening Silence (Larry Stylinson)

Sixtyseven - We'll be alright

It had been a long day. Lately, most days had seemed to drag on. Repetitive and so mundane. One bad day had him feeling like the whole world was falling apart in the palms of his hands. He knew how to cope, how to deal with it all, but it was just so devastating to have to go through it all again when he thought that things were finally getting better.

He stood, bare feet pressed against the chilly tiles beneath him, breathing slowly. The silver that hung above the sink on the white wall of his bathroom stared back at him mercilessly and Harry couldn't find it in himself to look away. The boy who stood within its four sharp lines was the same person he had been trying so hard to escape. His hair was long- unruly- longer than it had ever been, his curls crept across the line of his broad shoulders and like ivy the locks intertwined, framing his features and darkening the mossy green irises that were normally so bright and alive. The eyes were somewhat sunken, hidden behind heavy lids and long lashes, his under eyes dark, emphasising the vivid scarlet that rimmed his waterline. His cheeks were hollow, exaggerated by the dark shadows of the curls that had fallen into his face. He licked lightly at his muted pink lips, they were dry, bitten from hours of relentless anxiety, but parted ever so slightly that his hot breath was able to fog the mirrored glass. The face was lined by worry, supple but sharp, and had never known the cruel kiss of a razors blade, only the piercing shards of smashed glass. The now faded scars crept across the milky cut of his jaw. Some may have thought it to be a handsome face, but if he was being honest, deep down Harry knew that most would have called him pretty. He used to hate the word, it had always sounded so delicate, so feminine, but as he gazed back at the reflection before him he had to swallow down the fear that had crawled up his throat- he wasn't pretty, some days he hardly even felt human.

A soft knock echoed. So soft he had hardly even felt it. But it was there. Or rather, someone was there. Waiting for him to emerge. He inhaled a shaky breath.

It had been an uneventful couple of hours. He had confined himself to the simple walls of his bedroom and blocked out the rest of the world that had seemed to just carry on racing by without him.

Harry swallowed thickly, hands trembling slightly as they loosened their harsh grip on the sink before falling away completely. Before he knew it he was stood by the wooden door, his entire being tired, almost too exhausted to reach out and grab the handle. But he did, his heavy hand cradled the cold metal before pushing down and unlatching the lock.

The door creaked open, the luminescent lights that lit the entirety of the small bathroom danced their way out of the new opening and into the bleak darkness that engulfed his bedroom, blinds still open to reveal a gloomy nights sky. Harry briefly wondered just how long he had been cooped up with only his chaotic thoughts to keep him company.

A gentle hand touched his elbow and Harry's head turned quickly in the direction of its owner, Louis stood beside him, blue eyes filled with worry and button nose flushed a light red. Harry reached out to trail a finger down its bridge, his eyes focused on the task whilst Louis stood hellishly still.

The taller boy said nothing as his hand slipped away, his green gaze lingering on the smaller boy for a moment too long before he was trailing back over to his bed, curling up onto his side. He felt the floorboards creek behind him after a door closed, and soon enough the mattress dipped and a pair of arms cautiously wrapped themselves around his torso.

Harry let his eyes slip shut at the touch, shuffling back into the tender embrace as a single tear fell- unsure if he even deserved the comfort. If he deserved Louis.

—

When morning came he felt somewhat lighter as he laid there swaddled in his heavy duvet. Even though he could still feel the affects of yesterday he understood that it was a new day, one that wasn't defined by his previous thoughts or actions.