In A Twinkling (Larry Stylinson)

December 18 - Saturday

Chapter 17 recap...

Louis and Harry had 'the talk' the morning after their third date, which hadn't gone as Louis had hoped, and Harry had headed off to the city for his fashion show.

Louis had been grumpy over dinner when he'd had to explain to his Nan what had happened between him and Harry—albeit it a slightly abridged version.

He'd been grumpy when gone to bed and lain awake for hours on end, finally giving up just after four in the morning and coming downstairs to sit in the back garden, in the snow, to wait for the sunrise.

He'd been grumpy when he'd sat at the kitchen table before his Nan had risen, in silence, glaring at the framed photoshopped pictures of him and Harry which he'd dug out of his Nan's desk drawers for reasons defying any logic he can fathom.

And he's still grumpy now, out in the back garden, in the freezing cold, pruning the trees while the Crochet Circle is inside chattering away and generally enjoying themselves.

Harry's absence from the Circle, whilst expected, had hit him harder than he'd thought it would. It's absurd, as he keeps telling himself with varying degrees of convincibility. He's known Harry for little more than a week and yet he's managed to effectively invade almost every aspect of Louis' life. The snow reminds him of their ice skating date and their first kiss, the sitting room reminds him of their first fateful meeting when Louis had wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole, the kitchen reminds him of the start to their third date when he'd tucked himself into Harry's side so comfortably, his bedroom reminds him of Harry standing there mostly naked when he'd gotten changed out of his wet clothes and into Louis' borrowed sweats and t-shirt, the Christmas tree reminds him of- God, he can't keep thinking about this or he'll go out of his fucking mind.

He's also been replaying their conversation from yesterday morning over and over in his head. This is perhaps better than the alternative, which is to think about the night prior, before things had unravelled, but it's unsettling nonetheless. The thing is he doesn't even know why he's so put out by it all. Louis had said his piece and Harry had said his. They're not on the same page about what they want from their lives right now, or from each other, so the only resolution was to move on. Louis has done this before, numerous times, in fact; dated someone, had some fun, had 'the talk', and then agreed to go their separate ways. It's no big deal and certainly shouldn't be any different to the other times he's ended up in this same situation.

Which begs the question: why does this feel so different?

"Louis! Please come inside. You'll catch your death out there," his Nan calls from the back door, derailing Louis' train of thought.

"I'm fine, Nan."

"Don't make me come out there, young man," she scolds and Louis rolls his eyes.

He snips another small branch off the poor tree that's on the receiving end of his shears (and his bad mood). "I'll come in when I'm done."

"You'll do no such thing! Come inside this instant or I'll send the girls out to haul you in by your ears."

Louis turns and glares, but he isn't mad at her, not really. He softens his expression, sighing as he trudges across the snow covered grass to the door. "Here I am," he says as he closes the door behind him.

"Now go and wash up, get changed, and come and join us in the sitting room to warm up by the fire. We're having scones with jam and cream, and I know they're your favourite. Marjorie made them especially."

"Nan," Louis whines like a petulant child. It's one thing to come in out of the cold, but he doesn't want to sit around with all the ladies and be told how foolish he's being to let Harry get away, just like his Nan has repeated to him multiple times since yesterday. Although hers was a slightly more harsh, and a slightly more direct, version of 'get your head out of your arse'. She's surely shared at least some of what had happened with the Circle and he doesn't need their probing questions about the state of his love life, of lack thereof. "I don't want to. I'll just stay in my room until they're gone."