Damaged Goods. (A Harry Styles Fanic)

Chapter Twenty-Two

"You ready?" John asked as Harry came down the staircase, Lola hoverring aimlessly in the doorframe. Harrys face was full of different feelings. A frown set as he battled with nerves and sorrow that this day had arrived.

He stood infront of the small mirror in the hallway, adjusting the black tie around his neck. He wore a smart black suit, a crisp white shirt and black tie and his hair was messily ruffled into a mane of chocolate brown curls around his head. He'd been tossing and turning all night, trying to stop the morning arriving too soon.

It was the day of Andys funeral. And Harry just didn't want to believe that this was it; saying goodbye.

John opened the front door for him, seeing a relatives car arriving to pick Harry up. The hazy glow of the morning daylight brightened Harrys complexion as his eyes narrowed, adjusting to the brightness. John gave him a firm pat on the back for encouragement, and Harrys cheeks puffed out as he released a deep inhalation.

"Stay strong" Lola chirped quietly, as she leant into the doorframe, watching the boy step outside. Harry briefly turned his head and looked over his shoulder to her, giving her a quick look of acknowledgement however he couldn't quite force a change of expression. Only a weak twitch at the edges of his mouth.

Harry dropped his head slightly as he walked down the garden path towards the shiny black car, ruffling his hands through his curls. John shut the front door, closing off any light escaping through the gaps.

Jake tiptoed lightly down the stairs dressed in his pyjamas. "Is Harry okay?" he asked innocently.

"He'll be alright. He's a trooper" John said, crouching down to Jakes height. 

Around 7pm that day, Harry returned from the funeral, having spent some time with family and friends of Andy at the wake. It was a hard day, hearing all the stories and fond memories that people spoke of from their time with him. But it was also nice to know people admired him so much and that he wouldn't be forgotten in a hurry.

There was something so final about the coffin passing through the deep red curtains, a queasy feeling arising in Harrys stomach. He clenched his jaw, not taking his eyes off the wooden box as it passed through, until the very last corner of it was in sight. He could feel his throat tightening and hear his Mum's heavy sobs beside him, his hand reaching out and tucking his fingers into hers.

But the hard part seemed to be over as everyone began cheering up and having a drink to celebrate Andys life and how blessed they all were to have known him. Harry had been making the usual small talk with distant relatives and acquaintances all afternoon, the same "Haven't you grown?" and "Oh I bet all the girls are chasing after you aren't they?" with the always unpleasant sloppy kiss from a great aunt.

He felt better now knowing that it was over, and that he'd gotten the chance to say his final farewell. But he was well and truly worn out too. He shut the door behind him as he traipsed into his Dads house, not wanting to spend the night in his Mums house because everywhere he turned there were flowers that made him sneeze, pictures and cards of condolence that made him mad and vegetable stews neighbours had cooked for the family that made him sick.

Lola heard the door shut and walked into the front room cautiously, seeing a very tired looking Harry sitting forward on the sofa, his forearms resting on his thighs. He looked up as he sensed someone enter the room and Lolas manner suggested that she didn't want to disturb him.

"Hey" was all he could manage. He wasn't really in the mood to speak to anyone, and wanted to go upstairs on his own for a bit. 

He felt almost a little bit awkward around Lola when they were alone now, because he didn't know what to say. He'd come to realise the error of his ways and vowed to stop making threats and punishing her over nothing, so what actual conversation were they supposed to have? He'd apologised, and then realised, they really didn't know each other at all. Every encounter was an argument or feud, they'd never gotten to know each other after all this time.