better than that [larry stylinson] ✔️

" i left myself in the alleyway "

"The first step is to throw away your blades. How will you get better if you have the things that kill you the most around you?"

"They aren't what kill me the most." said Harry candidly, looking down and staring at the box of blades peeking out from underneath the bed. It was half open from the last time Harry had pulled it out, which felt like a long time ago since he had an angel watching over him every second of the day. "But I don't think I'm ready to throw them out yet. Can we try something else? I feel like we're moving too fast."

There was silence and Harry expected the angel to grow impatient with him and just snap his fingers so that the box disappeared, but Louis nodded and used his heel to push it under the bed. "So you cut to relieve stress? Or to get yourself to stop thinking?"

"I mean– yes." admitted Harry quietly, trying not to rub at his covered arm. He tended to itch everywhere when he felt nervous, so of course he would end up bloody in the places he had harmed himself in afterwards. "I try to ignore it sometimes, but it's hard. It's like they're beckoning for me every fucking time. I hate it so much."

"Music!" exclaimed Louis excitedly, earning only uncertain blinking eyes from Harry back.

"Music?"

Suddenly, Louis walked over to Harry's dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling out a frayed brown notebook with doodles penciled on the front. The book has SONGS & POETRY written on the front in red pen, the letters swirled and sloppily written, and Harry can't even recall the last time he picked up that book. As he moved throughout high school, he gave up on writing stuff like that– he lacked motivation.

"It's a great distraction, and writing helps stimulate the brain! When you're ever sad or upset, pick up a pen or a pencil and then–"

Harry shook his head and sat down at the edge of his bed, sticking his hands in between his thighs while avoiding eye contact with the angel. "I suck at writing though. I just jot down words and hope for the best."

Then Louis huffs and opens the book, flipping through a couple of pages before stopping at one; the corners of his mouth lifting to form a lopsided smile, his teeth glowing from how shiny they were like always. "This looks good! Your rhyme schemes are very unique, and you use such vivid detail, Harry. You don't suck at writing."

"You sound like my English teacher. She was the only one who liked me in that school. She believed that I had so much potential; me, a suicidal teenager." explained Harry, wishing that the angel would simply give up on helping him because everything that came out of his mouth was negative, but it only made Louis more encouraged. "Do you remember anything about writing when you were alive?"

"Not...Well, now that I think about it, I remember this one book. Stolen, I think it was called– sorry, memories come in flashes for me now."

"No need to apologize. I think I've heard of that actually. My dad has this gigantic library in the basement, but he doesn't really let anyone go down when he's home. How about we go look for it when he leaves out for the night?" He may sound genuine, but he just needed Louis to get off of his back about this writing bullshit. Talking about it anymore was just going to make his head burst.

Louis, who already look enthusiastic, nodded his head and grinned at Harry, setting down the brown notebook. As he did so, Harry began to wonder how it must feel to have barely any remembrance of what he once was or did. He figured that his life would probably be better like that being that he didn't have to know himself too well. He thought about the life that Louis probably use to live; a rich kid would absolutely no problems in the world.

"I appear that way, don't I?" inquired Louis, now standing in front of Harry with his hands behind his back. "I think about my life before all of this too. It's a bummer not being able to know the whole story, but I suppose it gets better."

"How does it get any better after dying? Aren't you suppose to be unhappy?"

Louis doesn't say anything, instead taking a seat next to Harry in bed while looking at the palm of his hands. It was awkward for Harry, and even more awkward when Louis picked up his hand and pushed them together, looking like he had just solved a puzzle. "Unhappy? No. I get to help people like you and that makes me happy. In no way am I saying people like you to bring shame, but only to remind you that there are people going through the same thing right now. You aren't alone."

"It sure as hell feels like it." replied Harry, chuckling dryly.

"In a small town like this I wouldn't blame you for thinking that, but that's not true."

—

"It's so dusty down here." complained Harry as they walked down the basement stairs; Louis in the back because he happened to be deathly afraid of the dark. There were cobwebs in every corner of the room and the stairs were creaky for good measure, which reminded Harry of a horror movie. "Relax, Louis. Satan isn't going to jump out from hell and scare you."

"You do not know what he's capable of." whispered Louis fearfully, his eyes bolting from left to right just in case it actually happened. When Harry was a younger kid, he use to be afraid of coming down here too until his father officially banned him from it. This was like the man's personal office, the first one being the living room. "Which section do we have to look in?"

"Well, since the one I think you're talking about is non-fiction; that is what we will look for." said Harry, allowing the feathered hair boy follow him down an aisle where the book could possibly be. They both looked on different shelves carefully, making sure to be as quiet as possible so that Harry's mother wouldn't hear him and come investigate. "I think I found it."

Immediately appearing by Harry's side, Louis stared at the book sitting in his hands in awe, his blue eyes twinkling with interest. The cover was pitch black, the title Stolen written on it with red font, and it got an instant reaction from the angel. "This is it!"

"A little girl ends up at the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up being abducted. She must find a way to escape before– This book is pretty dark. But since it helps with your memory a bit, we'll take it with us upstairs." said Harry with a shrug of his shoulders as Louis took the book from his hands and pressed it up against his chest.

When they were done in the basement, they began walking up the cracked wooden stairs in silence, but it was broken once Louis opened his mouth. He looked uneasy, as if he didn't know if he should say what he had to say or just keep it to himself. "Can you read some of it to me...tonight? You don't have to, but I can't really— I'm rusty on reading."

"Sure, Louis. I'll read it to you tonight."

NOTE: ITS BEEN SUCH A LONG TIME HOW HAVE YOU ANGELS BEEN I LOVE YOU IM REALLY SLEEPY SINCE I STAYED UP TOO LATE SO NIGHT ❤️