I'll Be Here - A Larry Stylinson Mpreg

Part 12 - Sign

"one or two sugars Louis?" asked Zayn at the kitchen counter stirring two cups of tea simultaneously.

"make it four" Louis replied cheerfully. Zayns eyebrows raised at his request. "your daring" he said plopping four full tablespoons of sugar in his tea.

"Well I do love me some tooth decay" he chuckled softly quickly turning to me to see if I showed any sort of happiness from his remark. Nothing. Not even a look. He looked back to Zayn in need of something that would get me to talk, to maybe even get my attention somehow.

"uh... you sure you don't want any tea Harry?" he says my name like Louis does, Harreh instead of Harry. I still didn't answer, instead I swallowed down the lump in my throat and kept my eyes on the papers in my hands.

"He means no" Louis answered apologetically. Technically, this was the first time I met Zayn, conscious that is. Him and Louis kept in contact after what happened and was starting to catch up regularly, so much that I un-admittedly developed a jealousy for him. Well, he is pretty gorgeous. He's tall, he's tanned, he's fit, he's inked with tattoos, slick hair, high cheek bones, he's practically perfect. I didn't talk to him, I didn't thank him. I just kept my head low and used my curls as a shield of my veined eyes or my blotched face.

I rushed out my bedroom that morning swearing I was going to sign the papers there and then not even knowing he was sitting on the kitchen bench.

But I still sit here, an hour later, papers still unsigned.

"You don't need to do this Harry" Louis told me reaching out his hand to lock with mine. I flinched away.

"No I have to!" I demanded "I've got to do this Lou!" He breathed a long sigh as my muscles loosened and I eased back into my chair.

"...Harry stop" Louis said softly.

"Stop what?" I answered rudely, and he pointed to my wrist. I was scratching without realizing. I looked down at my irritated wrist, the red scratch marks made the three scars look more dominant. I rubbed my thumb over them but flicked my wrist over when I saw Zayn peering over.

Moments later the pen was clenched between my fingers and the tip was pressing hard on the page.

'You can do this Harry' I thought to myself 'sign it, and it's done'

And then the pen slowly made large rounded marks onto the paper.

Har- 'this isn't a good idea'

ry - 'I want to keep it'

Sty - 'don't be stupid Harry'

les - 'no going back...'

I signed the adoption papers.

***

Look smart, an extremely tight suit and tie with worn out pointy shoes - check

Nice hair, overgrown but still slicked back enough to show my face - check

Face clear of blemishes - hmm... Reasonable

Confidence, smiles, lots and lots of empathy - probable not.

A rule of my conscience - also not present

I watched the happy couple from across the gloss of the wooden table. Mr and Mrs Hartburr. Rich, recently and happily married, no children, a triple threat of adoption advocates. As they flicked through the small file of 'my incredibly brave and saddening story' he would occasionally mindlessly play with the ends of her amber hair whilst she'll giggle under her breath and then give a small cough to cover it. The thought made me sick that I was potentially giving my own child to them.