Seventh Heaven (Larry Stylinson FanFiction).

part nine

three weeks pass and anne doesn’t walk in on harry and louis once, which harry takes as a massive success.

the routine they’d fallen into doesn’t change and harry likes it, has been absently finding (and trying not to focus on or over-think) that he’s kind of ridiculously happy. like, all the time. he hasn’t said anything to louis about what his mum said and louis still seems to - like him.

or like kissing him, but he doesn’t seem all that opposed to the human being attached to the mouth, so.

and he’s not entirely sure why the prospect of them even being friends, of louis actually not minding his company, makes him so excited. it’s not like - it’s not like he’s head over heels in love with him or anything; really, he doesn’t even know him that well. it’s just that louis is so vibrant and colourful and fun and everything else amazing and exciting that harry’s never been able to allow himself to be, yet the older boy’s taken some kind of interest in him of all people. and it just - it’s nice, that’s all. the thought of being friends with him is nice.

it’s a saturday, now, which means no tutoring and no louis, and harry stumbles down the stairs blindly, looking down the length of his body blearily before he enters the kitchen to ensure he’s not totally naked - yep, boxers are in place - before pushing open the door and plopping heavily onto one of the stools surrounding the kitchen island.

“morning, love,” a voice says from somewhere to his right, and harry grunts in response. he’s not a morning person, and he’d been up late texting louis, who apparently never sleeps. anne snorts at his greeting. “did you sleep well?” another grunt. his mother shakes her head and places a cup in front of him before filling it with tea, and harry’s morning mood dissipates slightly just at the sight of the steaming liquid.

“thanks,” he mutters, grabbing for the mug with needy fingers and taking a sip without waiting for it to cool. his mum nods, taking the seat beside him and just - looking at him. harry squirms under the gaze. “what?” he asks, looking down at his body self-consciously, hoping louis hadn’t left any questionable marks in any questionable places. anne shrugs in response.

“karen and i have to go to london tonight for work and we won’t be home until monday morning,” she says, resting her chin in her hands and narrowing her eyes. “i know it’s abrupt, but i can’t get out of it. can we trust you and liam in the house alone?”

harry’s eyes light up and he suddenly feels wide awake, because - yeah, okay, cool. “yeah!” he says immediately, sitting up a bit straighter at the prospect of having the house to himself for the weekend. “i mean —” he clears his throat, nods solemnly. “yeah, sure. definitely, mum.” anne cocks an eyebrow at his reaction, skeptical. “what?” he asks, defensively shrinking back a bit at the assuredly completely unwarranted look. “when have i ever misbehaved when you’ve left me alone?”

“never,” his mother answers unflinchingly. “but before last month you’d never went to a party and come back drunk or skipped a class or —”

oh, right. “okay okay, i get it!” harry interrupts, holding a hand up in surrender. “but don’t worry about it, mum. you can trust me,” he assures her. and then when she doesn’t look convinced, he sighs and tries, “okay, well. you can trust liam.”

harry tries to act offended when she grins and nods at those words, relaxing, but he finds himself biting back a laugh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  

“we could play scrabble.”

harry grins, not looking at his friend as he continues counting the ceiling tiles from his spot on the living room floor. “when have you ever beat me at scrabble, liam?”