Good Morals [Larry Stylinson]

Ch. Twenty-Four | Glad to Have You Back

[E:✔️]

"Harry, pick up my calls."

"Harry, where have you been?"

"Harry, your mum said you're sick. What happened?"

"Hey mate, where ya been? It's Liam, hope you remember my voice, haha."

"Haz pick up your fucking phone."

These and about ten more were the voicemails Harry received.

He was depressed. Long story short. He hasn't talked to anyone since a little less than a week ago. Hasn't been on his socials, hasn't checked his school assignments or e-mails. All he's done is sleep and cry. Occasionally get a snack and a drink of water. In the past four days he's taken two showers. His hair was greasy at the moment.

He told his mum he's depressed and needs to stay home but he knows he'll have to go back tomorrow on Monday. He has school until May twenty-first. It was only the eleventh of April. He stuffs his face in his pillow, wishing it would instantly suffocate him.

His eyes hurt, his head hurt, everything hurt. Everything in him was filled to the brim with sick regret. It was revolting, thinking about what he had done. How awkward, how uncomfortable it would be. What was he supposed to do, ignore his still-strong feelings for Mr. Tomlinson? Ignore the feeling of being torn apart he knew he'd feel just by looking at him? No way in hell. It was inevitable, though, and it was already almost time to get up. Along with not showering, or eating or drinking a sufficient amount of water, he hasn't slept. Fuck this.

He trudged out of bed and forced himself to pick out some clothes. An oversized, dark blue jumper, liking how the material was soft. He grabbed a pair of black jeans and trudged into the bathroom. He turned on the water, not bothering to wait for it to warm up. He had fifteen minutes until he had to leave, so he washed his hair thoroughly along with the rest of his body. After rinsing, turning off the shower and drying off, he hears his phone start to ring. He doesn't pay any mind to it, just gets dressed, finishes drying his hair as much as he could and and walks out right when it stops. He walks over to see who called. It was Niall. He groans, reading that he had seven minutes left before he had to leave. That shower was more relaxing than he'd expected. He picked up his phone, hesitating before calling his blonde friend back. He picked up instantly.

It was silent.

"...Harry? You there," Niall asked quietly. "Yeah, Ni. I've just-" Harry croaks, "it's my depression. Something happened. I did something stupid and got someone mad," he sighed, and started walking around his room and picking up his things. The only somewhat productive thing he's done was work on his drama final. Once, and it was ten minutes. Nothing really got done.

"Was it Mr-"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll see you at school, we can talk more there, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay."

———————

"Well?"

"Please don't overreact."

"Just tell me," Niall place a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyes went glossy and he fell into Niall, whose arms wrapped tightly around the slightly taller boy. "I'm here, I'm here, lad. Did you...hurt yourself," he trailed off, hoping Harry would understand why he wanted to ask. Harry shook his head after his cries died down, "No," he whispered. Niall just nodded his head, "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you."

"C'mon, first is about to start, and I know you hate maths, but get over it. You'll make it through today," the blonde took Harry's forearm and dragged him into the school, ignoring the curly-haired boy's resistance and small protests. They split up when they got inside and went to their separate lockers, Harry shoving his things in and taking out his maths books and closing his locker harshly. He looked around, noticing the stares. He didn't want to be here, but then again did anyone truly want to be at school? The grade twelves still had around five weeks, he wasn't sure if he could handle any more of this for that long.