Sinister - Larry Stylinson

Part Ten

--

It had been a 3 weeks, 3 weeks since they had obliterated Louis' coffee table, and things were steadying. Things were as normal as Louis thought they'd ever really be with Harry; he'd go to work, return home, Harry and he would prepare dinner together, and maybe afterwards Harry would fuck Louis against the wall or on the piano.

Louis tried not to think too hard on Harry, even sufficed himself a lot of confusion and pain to just finalize his diagnosis of schizophrenia and gave him antipsychotic pills in the mornings before he went off to work.

Things were going fine.

Things were finally going to be normal.

Louis chanted this in his thoughts every night before he fell asleep.

Things are finally going to be normal.

--

"Good morning."

It's so soft, pressed warmly against his ear that Louis almost doesn't hear it. But when his subconscious awakens, he smiles gently, wearily, and slowly rolls over to face the boy who's long arms were wrapped around him.

"Good morning," he croaked out, yawning drowsily as he opened his eyes to be face to face with Harry. His green eyes heavily lidded and curls a mess, pillow lines traced across his milky cheek.

Louis smiles fondly, reaching up to tousle his curls and lean forward for a chaste kiss on the lips. "What are you making me for breakfast, curly?"

Harry grins, shifting a bit so he's leaning on his elbows before he takes a deep breath with the grin leaving his lips, "Can I ask you a favor, Louis?" He questions, completely ignoring the breakfast plea, and when Louis distantly nods, he continues, "Will you take me out to mum's? There's one last place I want to look."

His voice is calm, thoughtful even, for how serious a question that was, and Louis instantly stiffens at the thought of returning to those woods. Facing old Harry, facing a fear that could potentially ruin things finally being normal.

Louis opens his mouth to tell him no, that he couldn't risk the boy's finally stabilizing mental health for a maybe.

But then he thinks, saying no will do nothing in favor to the boy, he needed closure. Harry couldn't have murdered more people at such a young age.

"Okay." He nods idly, his voice breaking in the subconscious fear of finding a mass burial. His stomach twists at that thought as he slowly pulls himself from the silk sheets and Harry's arms.

The boy follows in suit, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, and Louis watches from the corner of his eye, wondering exactly he'd do without him. Light from the window filters in through the blinds, painting him in orange lines.

He looks up at the man as he's buttoning his jeans, and soft shadows play across his cheeks as he smiles reassuringly and Louis feels his stomach clench, "Harry," he starts, and the boy pricks a brow.

He inhales deeply, staring at him, before shaking his head with a short smile, "Never mind," he waves idly, "never mind. Let's go."

--

The sun is shining and the sky is blue, the temperature is fair and the snow is only hiding in the darkest shadows now. Louis tries to enjoy this as they're walking across the open field beside Harry's old home, but the reality of the day is too heavy on his shoulders.

Harry is a few paces ahead of him, and the looming trees are growing closer and he hopes, hopes and prays that there's nothing.

"Harry," he calls, "We're not going to find anything, right?" The boy turns to look over his shoulder, but he only solemnly smiles, a confusion in those green eyes of his.