better than that [larry stylinson] ✔️

" im underwater "

"I didn't mean what I said the other day, Louis." said Harry quietly, sitting completely pliant on top of his bed while looking up at the white peeled ceiling, which was beginning to come off after years of being up there. They have been living inside of this house since Harry was just a little baby, roaming these very halls with his tiny feet padding against the shiny wooden floors, which were now dented from endless amount of heavy things being dropped onto them. This house use to be beautiful until the people inside of it made it rotten from inside out; now it reminded him of a horror house no one would want to step foot in.

"Yes, you did. You meant every part of it, even the rude ones." responded Louis from somewhere around the room, seemingly to have moved to a different spot ever since Harry had waken up from his three hour 'sleep'. Harry couldn't see him, but he still felt his presence around his room because it felt extremely warm when usually it was cold since his father never touched the thermostat. Nobody changed the thermostat because they were so desperately afraid of change, so it stayed like that for every single season. "It hurt me a lot."

"I'm sorry, I'm not use to sparing feelings. I'm not really sure how to deal with feelings neither- though I believe I have none." said Harry throatily, letting out a dry laugh into the silence. He waited for Louis to say something else, wanting to be egged on by the angel just to know that he wasn't alone, just to know that he had someone to speak to. He wondered if Louis knew he was sick in the head like this, using banter and rude remarks as a way to be able to speak with him without making him sound like a complete lame ass. "Louis, please-"

"You have feelings, Harry. They radiate off of you each day and I see it, even if most of it is negative. You have emotions and you have feelings, stop diminishing them as if they aren't in your vocabulary." said Louis harshly, in a tone that Harry didn't think he'd ever hear from the angel, and he was suddenly hovering over Harry with a pinched expression on his face. Frustration. Harry had made the beautiful angel angry and he felt ecstatic about it- maybe he truly was sick. "You can't keep doing that, Harry."

"You think I want to, Louis? You think that I want to be cold and sick in the head? You think that I want to be depressed? I don't want to feel alone all the time, Louis, I want to feel happiness for at least once in my life without making someone else upset with me, but I never get what I want. I can't stop who I am, who I made myself in to." said Harry through gritted teeth, trying to sit up in bed, but he couldn't move any part of his body. "Stop using your freaky powers on me!"

"When was the last time you were happy?"

Harry stopped trying and looked Louis in his eye, squinting while wondering where the question came from. "I don't- I don't remember actually."

"Last year. March 9 at 11:06PM, Zayn told you that you looked really pretty even though you just came back from puking your dinner into the toilet. He told you that you were pretty even though your breath smelled like throw up and you had acid in your throat, while your teeth were stained yellow. That was the last time you were happy." repeated Louis, haven heard Harry think it as soon as he asked the question.

Harry glared and closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose to calm his breathing just like Louis expected him to do. "I don't like talking about that."

"He was right though." said Louis, the red vanishing from his face in a split second, a smile replacing his disgruntled expression. "You did look pretty. Even in your worst moment, you looked pretty."

"You're lying."

"I'm not allowed to lie."

There was silence for a minute before the door burst open, revealing Harry's father, who was staggering into the room with a glass cup filled with alcohol to the brim in hand. The angel, who was still hovering over Harry, stared at the man even though the other couldn't see him, taking in his appearance. Harry was frozen in his spot and flinched when his father began to speak to him, his words slurred and dangerous.

"Why the hell are you always in here?" asked his father loudly, sloppily bringing the cup up to his cracked lips while looking around, picking up a record that was sitting on top of the dresser. Harry knew that his disgusting fingerprints must have stamped onto the sides, and so he mentally told himself to clean them after. "You're wasting your life away in this room. You should be in college!"

"It's the summer and high school doesn't start for two months. I'm a junior."

"I don't like your tone, Harry! I'm your father, show some respect." shouted his father angrily as he tossed the record onto the floor, his clad boots stepping on top of it as he walked even farther. When Harry realized that Louis had disappeared, he sat up in bed and tapped his fingers against his sheets with anticipation; wishing that he could talk back. "Just like your mother, never knowing what to say."

"Because she's living in a constant state of fear." said Harry bluntly, feeling just the right amount of reckless at this point. His father grunted and let out a dry chuckle while nodding his head, using the back of his hand to wipe away some alcohol dribbling off the top of his lip.

"She needs to learn how to get over it."

It's hard to get over abuse, but your drunk ass wouldn't know. "Is there something you need in here?"

"Kicking me out already, son?" asked his father with a grin, downing another mouth full of alcohol while standing at the foot of Harry's bed, looking down at Harry's covered legs. "You doing some manly things in here? Is that why?"

"No, even if I was that would be none of your concern." said Harry, watching as his father's fingers twitched at his side. He knew what the older man was thinking and he wanted to puke at the thought, so he did as soon as the father left the room. His face hovered over the toilet bowl, and he felt tears burn at the corners of his eyes, but they didn't fall.

He should be use to this stuff by now, so he didn't know why he felt so upset, and why he was piercing his nail into his collarbones while waiting for the pain to come. There was a hand that sat at the curve of his back, and the warmth relaxed him slightly, but he was still on edge.

"Do you wanna get better, Harry?"

And Harry didn't know if the question was even tangible.

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