Letters to Lou *Larry Stylinson*

Age 17

When Harry wakes up, the other side of the bed is cold. In fact, the sheets were crisply folded in place, save for a few wrinkles Harry probably made himself. Harry feels the corners of his lips fold into a smile. Today was one of those days when Louis actually beat Harry out of bed, not to mention he actually took the time to arrange the sheets.

Harry stretches his limbs, his toes brushing the cold post of the bed, before peeling off the sheets. The red digits of the clock read eight-thirty, and slivers of sunlight had already began to slip through the window blinds. The bright strips of light fell on Harry's skin, warming up his legs and brushing away the goosebumps. With a yawn, he hopped off the bed and tugged on the pair of sweats and t-shirt lying on the small armchair in the corner, before padding softly to the kitchen.

"Lou?" Harry chimed quietly, swinging through the kitchen doorway, expecting to see Louis snuggled criss cross on a breakfast table chair, a warm mug of yorkshire wrapped between his hands. Instead, Darcy sat cross legged at the table, her brown hair swept up in a lazy bun, still lounging in her pajamas.

"Mornin' Papa." she greeted, looking up from her sloppily buttered toast. The waft of sweet butter made Harry's stomach stir with hunger, leading him straight to the bread bin to pull out two slices of bread.

"Mornin. Did you sleep well?" Harry asks, sliding the two slices of bread into the toaster. Darcy nods, taking a sip of her juice. "Had a good dream. Don't really remember what, but I woke happy."

Harry chuckles. "I know what you mean." Harry agrees, thinking back to when he was five, and couldn't make a single friend that first day of school. That night, he dreamed of moving with his mother and sister to a town in the mountain side, clusters of trees sculpted along the road and flowing streams carved out in the woods. He had walked down the street, looking down, before bumping into a grinning freckled girl his age. He made a friend that night, and woke up with a smile curved on his lips. Then he frowned, knowing he lost a friend too. But, as they say, it is better to have loved and lost than to have never have loved at all.

Harry's toast springs out of the toaster, causing Harry to jump the slightest in surprise. Darcy snickers quietly. Harry pouts at her, as he rummages the fridge for butter.

"Have you seen your Dad this morning? If he's out for groceries, we need more butter, cause someone used it all." Harry accuses, peeking his head from behind the fridge door. Darcy gives him a funny look, and Harry cocks an eyebrow back. "What?" Harry laughs, but Darcy presses her lips together into a thin line.

"Have I... seen Dad? This morning?" Darcy questions slowly, not meeting Harry's eyes. Harry fights the uneasy curling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah. He usually doesn't wake up this early." Harry simply states, shutting the fridge door slowly. Fear slowly clouds up his mind, as he stared at Darcy. "Is there anything wrong.?"

Darcy remains quiet. The kitchen is silent except for the hum of the dishwasher from last night's dinner. Harry watches carefully as Darcy bites her lip, hesitating. Harry shifts his weight onto his left foot, his palms starting to sweat with no reason. The kitchen has never felt so desolate as this moment. The warm colored wood of the breakfast table that always reminded Harry of the sunrise now looked overly glossy and too bright. The floral drapes that hung over the window always brought a bit of spring into the room, but now they looked out of place in the otherwise solid colored kitchen, which Harry guesses they've always had. Even the sunlight dripping through the windows and onto the cherrywood floor seemed suffocatingly bright. Everything felt wrong. Even the blank expression on Darcy's face seemed wrong.

Darcy cleared her throat, her spare slice of toast completely ignored. She still kept her eyes away from Harry, staring ahead. "Papa. You know how you have Alzheimer's?" she starts. Harry's heart drops, not liking where this was going, but nods nonetheless. "Well, uh," she says casually, but her voice trembles, and both of them notice. She pauses for a moment, before continuing. "Dad... left. A while ago. You," she says, inhaling deeply, "you just forgot. Because of the Alzheimer's."