Good Morals [Larry Stylinson]

Ch. Nineteen | His Script

[E:✔️]

River was a quiet boy, always liked to be alone, at peace. Alone with Fay. At peace with Fay. Fay, his greatest friend, his only friend. Her presence in itself was enough to make him smile. He always thought to himself, "how did I get so lucky" when he looked at her. Her voice was kind, teasing, almost. He liked the way her eyes lit up whenever they hung out. The way her eyes looked when in the sunlight. Her smile, her everything. Her care, how whenever River got upset she would hold him, comfort him, running her delicate hands through his hair which was best described as a mop. She teased him about it, he didn't mind. His favourite moments with her would always be sitting outside, anywhere, really, and just talking. It could be seven in the morning or ten at night, he would do anything for her. He could say the same for her for the most part. The only thing he knew she couldn't do is return the love he felt for her. She wasn't aware of the fact he liked her. He loved her, so madly, so truly, so deeply. It was not infatuation, not a crush.

"Fay," he would say. "Yes, Ri," she would answer. "I like spending time with you. Greatest friend I've had in a long time," he would confess, although it was no news to Fay. She felt just the same. River was her best friend, her only true friend she could lean on. "I know, Ri. You say this all the time. And I always tell you you're an incredible friend as well.

River would smile at her, and Fay would return it with a grin of her own.

This would go on for days. Spending time. Weeks, months, years had gone by before-

"Harry! Dinner's ready," Harry jumped before coming back into reality from his thoughts. He closed and set his notebook down along with his pencil on top of his bed as he slid his feet into the ground, shoving his hands into his pockets. He shuffles downstairs, meeting his mum in the kitchen. "Love, you're awfully quiet today. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it," she asked earnestly. Harry nodded, "I'm over it. Kinda, I mean. I'm just in thought, trying to think of what to write for the year final. It's already March and I've got at least the middle and the end of the script to finish. I'm not that creative," he lightly chuckled as he tonged his mum's salad onto his plate. He started eating, and he was quite hungry. "Honey, honey! Slow down, my lord," Anne laughed. She laced her hand with Harry's free hand, running her thumb over his knuckles. "Honey, you're creative. School, especially year twelve is stressful. I get it. Maybe ask for help from your teacher? Is this for English class?"

Harry looked down, swallowing the bite of food he had in his mouth. He blushed, "Drama," he huffed. He heard his mum hum, "Right. That's the one you apologized to, isn't it? I'd hope you listened to me on that," she let go of her son's hand, taking a couple bites of her own salad. "Yes, mum, I was planning on apologizing anyway. He doesn't deserve the shit I give him. Feel guilty 'bout it, honest," his mind flashes to the moment he stood up, face inches from Mr. Tomlinson's. He shook his head, "He said it was fine."

"Did he? Well, I'm glad. Hopefully tomorrow you will show him."

"He's out 'till next week if I remember right. Mum's funeral, that's all we know," Harry said while chewing. "Oh, Harry, why didn't you say anything beforehand? We could've gotten him something!"

"Din't know 'til today," he swallows his last bite of his food. "Oh, that's horrible!"

"I know."

The was a tragic amount of silent tension filling up around Harry, and he knew his mum could tell. Finally, he spoke, "Mum," he paused, picking his nails. "Yes, love," she questions, standing up and starting to clean up the dishes. "Is it wrong to like someone older? Like, I know I'm eighteen, but," he trailed off, before clearing his throat and continuing, "He may or may not be in his really early twenties," he finished quietly and anxiously. "Well," his mum started, "You can't help who you love, Harry. As long as this person isn't a creep."

"He isn't."

"Then I don't judge. Now, thirties may be stretching it a bit," she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't really work. "Thanks," the curly-haired boy whispered, not thinking it was wrong (and relieved his mum didn't think liking a slightly older man was wrong either). Harry was sure it was in his head, though, the way his teacher looked into his eyes. It almost felt like there was a line between the two; reeling them in, cutting the line, tying it again. This time it felt like he baited life's hook and his brain clicked that it wasn't on-and-off infatuation or anything like that. The question of why he acted so rudely and harshly became oh-so clear now. It had been denial.

Harry was in denial. In denial he was falling in love.

With Mr. Tomlinson, his teacher.

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Sorry for another short chapter:(

What do you think will happen when Gemma comes home? Do you think Harry will be rude again now that he knows he likes Mr. Tomlinson, or will he warm up? Love you all! <3

Published on a Monday haha I'm writing this right before publishing

x

BenzoClownLarry