better than that [larry stylinson] ✔️

" i found what i've been looking for "

There seems to be a considerable amount of reporters at Harry's funeral, which is, expectantly taking place in a public gravesite. There are more people that belong to the media than of his actual family, and Harry supposes he should feel sad as he watches from a high branch nearby, but he feels nothing, just like he had been feeling for two weeks now.

The sounds of cameras flashing beats through the silence as the pastor speaks, his tone solemn and fake, but raw enough for Harry's parents, who sit in the front row dressed in all black, to bypass it. Desmond's expression is blank and dull as he stares at the casket several feet in front of him, and Harry notices how much paler he has gotten since he'd last seen him.

On the other hand, Harry's mother looks sick to her stomach and without reading her mind, Harry can tell that it is from the amount of guilt she is carrying on her fragile shoulders. Her cheeks are tear stained just like her husband's, but Harry couldn't care any less. If they really cared for him, they would have showed him while he was living.

He wants to kill his mother. He wants her to suffer just like he had when he was still a walking human being on this earth, and he can do it, but he wants to watch her get weaker by the day. He wants to make sure that she hears his voice echo from down the hall of her study until she is driven to the point of insanity. Until it is she who is in the asylum.

The others from his family whom he hadn't had a conversation with in years look bored, and they watch on while at the same time flipping their hair whenever they hear the sound of a click. The only other family member who is watching Harry sadly is a girl with brown and blue hair standing next to his mother and father; she looks at them with disdain before her face moves back to sympathy.

Harry isn't sure who she is, though she does look familiar. He decides not to dwell on it as he moves off of the branch and lands on the ground with the help of his black wings. Instead of standing in front of his mother and maybe whispering a few words, he walks up to his own casket and observes his own unmoving, cold body.

Cracked lips, curled dingy hair, and the same pale skin from lack of iron deficiency and death.

"I always thought you looked pretty." Louis says as he walks up from behind Harry with his hands swinging at his sides. "Like a proper model."

Harry snorts and crosses his arms. "Yeah, right. I was a walking corpse." When Louis doesn't respond, Harry props himself on top of  the closed part of the casket, and Louis does the same. "It's kind of peaceful. Being dead, I mean. It's nice selling your soul to the devil."

"Yeah," says Louis quietly as he looks out at the reporters, then at Harry's parents. "Zayn told me that he saw my parents. In Heaven. He said that they're upset about what I chose, but know that sometimes anger can get the best of us all. If I would have known that they'd be waiting for me on the other side, then . . . I don't know. I don't really know what I'd do."

"Can you . . . see them, maybe? Like how you see Zayn?"

Louis begins to laugh lightly. "I could, but they don't want to see me. Not like this." he pauses. "I mean, what the fuck do they want me to do? Repent my sins? Once you're in hell, you're in hell. God, they're being such assholes. They wanted me to be this good kid all of my life, and I was. Now that I'm not, it's like their love has suddenly evaporated."

Choosing to stay silent for a few seconds, Harry sets his hand on top of Louis' and kicks his casket with the back of his foot, causing it to shift. "At least we have each other, yeah? There is no sin that is bigger than the other, so we're equally as bad."