Migraine | Larry Stylinson AU

EIGHT. REUNITED

The space between Harry and Louis lasts for three days. And it isn't as if Harry doesn't want to talk to Louis and let himself be enveloped in the small boys' attention. No, it's not that. Harry just needed these three days to think over some things.

"He thinks yer mad at him." Niall says as they walk home together. "He honestly won't shut up."

Harry's shoulders suddenly feel heavy, his tongue numb. "I— He's— I'm not mad, I— I miss him."

They turn onto their road and immediately see the Murder House, its shadow casting unnervingly onto Harry's house. Harry's gaze falls upon it, his face morphing into a look of distress. The blond picks ip on it in an instant.

"It's just a house. I know what happened in there was scary, but. We were a shower of cunts goin' in there in the first place, mate."

"You're right. That's what I was thinking of for the last three days." Harry replies as they stop at the end of Niall's driveway.

If they never went in, they would of never gotten hurt. Harry emotionally and Zayn physically. The rest of the boys, well, they don't seemed as fazed. Louis cracked a joke, for fuck's sake. And that's what set Harry off in the first place. But he's had his space and he wants Louis to invade it with attention.

"I think yeh should call Louis over. He misses ya, too. And I don't think yeh want to be alone." Niall pats the taller boys' back and gives him a smile.

"Bye, Ni." It's a weak smile, the one Harry returns.

It takes Harry one cup of green tea, two episodes of Supernatural, and three fearful glances at the Murder House for him to finally pick up his phone. It takes him another cycle of that for Harry to actually ring for Louis.

"Hazza." Louis breathes, voice gentle. "How is my favorite boy?"

Harry keens at the soft caress and his plan to be tough and assertive fails. "Louis."

And it's something in his voice that sends out the message that couldn't be physically said by Harry. I need you.

"I'll arrive in ten."

Harry hangs up and sinks into his duvet. Who knew a single word could send a message worth more?

"Harry!"

He scrambles out of his bed, rushing to the hallway to see Louis standing there. "Lou."

Louis' body begins its journey towards Harry and when their bodies meet in an embrace, it doesn't matter that Harry's half naked or that the house is colder than normal. It also doesn't seem to bother them that their fight was minor, but they're acting like they haven't seen each other in years.

"I want to apologize for being a neanderthal." Louis murmurs into Harry's chest.

Harry distances himself from Louis and takes one of his hands in his. "I want cuddles, not apologies."

"Oh." Louis allows himself to be dragged into Harry's room.

They lay together, Louis' head on Harry's chest. Harry's hand finds its role in running through Louis' hair and Louis, in turn, finds itself tracing shapes into Harry's chest.

"The House is nothing but a legend meant to scare children." Harry says. "And I'm a man."

Louis smiles. "That sounds similar to the metaphors I speak with."

"Yeah," Harry sits up, looking down at Louis. "I've had a lot of time to think it through."

Louis sits up in front of Harry, his back to the wall. "The metaphor?"