And Now A Piece Of Me Is A Piece Of The Beach || larry stylinson

14

 A week had passed, inner turmoil still very present in Harry’s gut. Randomly, words would shoot to the forefront of his mind. They would be words of possession and meaning. They would be heavy and dank and linger for a frustratingly long time. Harry would try and wash them away with a good dose of salt water, but as soon as they left, they would come crawling back. In the end, Harry had taken to intentionally ignoring them. It seemed to work just fine and the reappearance of said words was mainly in the dead of night or the middle of the sea, both times which Harry could lose himself and have only the sky or the sea to judge him, and neither would.

But, then again, another week had passed of Harry feeling generally content, regardless of that daunting black cloud. He had worked every day and his commission had gone up by at least a hundred quid, meaning everything felt a whole lot more comfortable. It felt especially comfortable when he spent the evening pigging out on Louis’ sofa, finishing off the expensive bottle of wine he bought from Fit Aiden’s stall and exchanging lazy kisses, but that was not the point. Really, it was totally off the point. The point was, was that even though there were a lot of issues left untouched to do with a certain blue eyed boy, Harry was adamant that he could feel such contentedness away from said boy. He had a life away from him.

Okay, so maybe it did not seem that way when he was spending his night having dinner with Zayn and Liam and Louis, but, hey, he was part of the group, so. I mean, it’s not like they intentionally did not ask Niall, or even Lou or Tom, they just knew that they were busy. (The thought of inviting them did not even enter Harry’s mind.)

The four of them were at Rusty’s, an Italian restaurant that served massive portions of average food for a fair price. They were settled in a booth, Zayn and Liam opposite Louis and Harry. The couple opposite him were already in their ZaynAndLiam mode, holding hands on the table top and nuzzling the other’s neck. Harry would have been sickened, but then Louis distracted him by tracing patterns absentmindedly on his thigh.

Zayn teased Louis incessantly until he agreed to order the drinks from the tall, blonde, leggy bartender. The jokes, of course, had consisted of that night in the club where he seemed to snag endless amounts of drinks because of his pretty eyelashes and incredible figure (read: arse).

“This is going to fail miserably, y’know, and then he’ll end up spitting in my drink. Which, by the way, will suddenly become yours if it does happen because I refuse to swallow that.” Louis said as he shuffled out of the seat.

Zayn snorted. “Mate, you spit-swap with Harry, like, every five minutes, don’t try n’act all innocent when you suck his cock in the middle of the beach.”

“Oi!” Louis said in offence. A blush barely lit up his cheeks, it was as if he was not ashamed, and had passed the point of embarrassment. “That’s different! It’s-”

“-Harry, right.” Zayn finished, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, and I’m quite content with Harry’s spit, thank you very much,” Louis said.

“Sure you are. I’m sure you’ll miss it so much when-”

“-I go and flirt my arse off for free drinks, yeah?” Louis’ sharp voice cut into Zayn’s speech like a whip slapping off, well, somewhere that would be incredibly painful, if Zayn’s widened eyes were anything to go by.

“Yeah,” Zayn said, blinking a rapidly in surprise, “yeah, that.”

Harry was utterly confused by the situation. He had lost track of what the actual point of the conversation was a while back, tuning out when they mentioned his and Louis’ escapades. “Uhm, as lovely as this conversation about my spit is, I’m kinda thirsty so...” Harry said, looking confusedly between each of the boys surrounding the table.