Stories we already told | Larry Stylinson

Chapter Twelve

January 14th 1978, Gillmoor Woods, Greentown (UK)

The walk from Greentown to Gillmoor Woods usually took more than half an hour. The day I found out I was in the past it took me around twenty minutes, but that day, after Harry's umpteenth missed answer, I was even faster. After only fifteen minutes since leaving my house, I could already see the cottage.

I knocked at the door. Nothing happened. I knocked again. I heard movement inside, he was there. I felt like I was finally able to breathe again, after days of holding my breath. He was there, he didn't disappear. I hadn't lost him.

The door unlocked and opened slowly. Harry was even paler than I was, his hair was ruffled and his eyes were tired and shiny.

"Where have you been?" I asked.

He stepped aside so that I could enter. "I've been sick."

"How do you feel now?"

"Still sick," he replied.

I could see that, he definitely had a temperature. But he was alive and still there. Rage suddenly grew into me. Why couldn't he pick up the phone? Even just once.

"Were you avoiding me?"

He shook his head. "What?"

We were still in the entrance and he was leaning against the wall.

"Why did you stop coming to the restaurant, then?"

He opened his mouth, but then he shut it again, biting his lip.

"Why did you stop coming to the restaurant? Are you trying to avoid me?" I repeated.

He shook his head. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, why the hell didn't you pick up the bloody phone?" At this point, I was yelling.

"What the fuck Louis?"

He wasn't mad, he looked hurt and confused, like he didn't understand why I was angry with him. Of course he didn't, he didn't have all the information I had, but in that moment I didn't care.

"Do you have any idea about how worried I was?" I continued.

"I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself, what were you worried about?" his voice was firm and sharp. Now he was getting mad too.

"You don't understand, you can't understand."

You don't know what happened in the past. It almost slipped out of my lips.

"I was scared of losing you," I added, answering his question.

Something inside him seemed to soften. A small smile peeped out behind his frown, but he quickly suffocated it.

"You can't come here and yell at me because of a phone call, Louis. If I unplugged it maybe I didn't want to talk to you, maybe I didn't want to see you. Have you thought about this?"

So he was avoiding me.

"Why don't you go home?"

He brought a hand to his head. He was shivering. I had almost forgotten he was sick.

"Please, Louis," he whispered. There was no anger in his voice anymore, just sadness.

I didn't want to go, I didn't want to leave things like that. I didn't want to, but I nodded and turned around.

I had almost reached the end of Harry's street when I stopped walking. Our relationship was already off recently, what had just happened would just crack things even more. I needed to fix it.