Larry Stylinson Oneshots

There's always a second chance

T/W - this story contains mentions of suicidal thoughts/attempts and depression. Please read safely!

Louis hasn't been in a great place lately, but Harry makes everything worth while

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It's sunrise. Harry isn't one to get out of bed so early, but he has the strange motivation to wake up at 4 and go watch the sunrise. His sister had been persuading him to come out of the little cave he called an apartment for weeks. See, Harry just hadn't been feeling it the past month. He's felt all this pressure, and he doesn't even know where it's coming from. All these emotions that are too overwhelming to bare and it frustrates him how he can't pin point why exactly he's feeling this way. But he's doing better. He's proud he has finally been getting fresh air as he stops at the top of the cliff.

He's just about made it. The sky is a dusty orange colour. Musky mixes of pink and yellow decorating the line of the horizon. It's so peacefully silent, it's almost like time has completely stopped. Harry averts his eyes down to a small ledge, getting the fright of his life at a figure sat on the ground, legs dangling back and forth as if he's not about to fall to his death. It takes Harry a couple seconds, then he clocks it; ironically. Inhaling sharply, he calls out.

"Hey?"

There's no response. Harry frowns, taking a couple cautious steps forwards.

"Are you alright?"

The boy looks up slowly and turns his head round. Green meets blue, and the two just stare at each other for a few seconds too long, until the boy is back to looking down. Harry takes another few steps before sitting down on the ground a couple feet away. This is so dangerous, yet Harry's phobia of heights is suddenly gone.

"Are you alright?" He asks again, voice a gentle whisper. The short hum of the boy over the breeze can barely be heard, yet Harry takes that as a confirmation to shuffle a little closer. There's a silence between the pair.

"Don't do it."

"Why."

The boy replies quickly, not even bothering to turn and look Harry in the eye. Despite his own troubles, Harry doesn't know how to reply. He doesn't even know this boy—

"Why."

The boy is looking at Harry now. It's like he's begging. Begging for an answer. Begging for someone, anyone. Harry doesn't say anything as they both hold strong eye contact, though he quietly pats the ground beside him. It doesn't take much encouraging, the boy is shuffling back from the edge to sit next to Harry.

"Because I know you don't want to do it."

Harry sighs out, slowly opening his hand and holding it out for the stranger. "You don't know that." His tone is bitter, yet he accepts Harry's gesture anyways. Hands clasped together, Harry begins a thumb stroking movement. "You need an escape, you want to end the pain. And you think that this is the only way to rid you of your troubles, but ask yourself... is it really?" Harry speaks so gently. There's no answer, so he continues.

"What's your name?"

"Why should that matter. So you can send me to a mental asylum, get this brain checked out-." The boy snaps, using his free hand to point to his head, going wide-eyed. "So they can lock me up, hide me away, just to prove to me I've no importance in this world." Harry's heart is beating rapidly with sympathy, sadness and fear. He just looks at the boy, with almost pleading eyes.

"Louis Tomlinson." The stranger replies anyways. "Harry Styles." Louis looks down at their hands, then back up to meet Harry's eyes. There's a long pause of silence hung in the air. And Louis chokes out then sighs, utterly defeated. "Talk to me." Harry furrows his brows in a look of confusion. "Please." The voice is so hoarse, so broken that it pains Harry. So Harry fulfils that wish.