Timeless - A Larry Stylinson FanFiction

Chapter 15

As Gemma had said, the Styles’ grand Christmas dinner was served at precisely six o’clock that evening, or as Warren would say it, “o-eighteen-hundred hours”. Harry thought that was just the cat’s pajamas, making a mental note to start using military time as he did.

The table was filled bountiful with hot food and aged wine and good spirits, prayer being said prior to the beginning of the meal. Lighthearted chit-chat filled the air, creating such a warm, cheerful environment Harry couldn’t help but think back to Louis Tomlinson.

He steadied his gaze on the half-cleared plate before him, trying to create an image of what Louis was up to right then and there.

He saw him at the long, dusty dining room table with his family, who Harry saw unclearly for he did not know exactly what they looked like.

He saw Louis take hands with his young sisters and say a prayer before digging into a nice, hot meal. A distant smile crept onto his lips as he pictured Louis laughing, smiling, indulging in a rich and filling Christmas dinner with his loved ones.

Was the table filled? Would there be a young woman seated beside Louis that night, hands folded and placed ever so delicately in her lap? Would she laugh politely at the jokes he’d make, lighthearted smile on her lips? Did she gaze fondly at him, watching the brilliant lakes of pure blue that were his eyes sparkle under the foggy yellow illumination of the grand chandelier? Would they share a long kiss under the mistletoe following dinner that night?

It was more of a hope than a vision, that Louis was having a happily eventful Christmas dinner full of love and cheer. The last part was... well that was merely a pondering question that wracked Harry’s brain, a confused yet spiteful trick his subconscious was playing.

By the time Harry had come to from his momentary dream land, a swirl of eerily vivid images of what could be, Warren had called for him three times before finally calling him Harold to maybe catch the daydreaming adolescent’s attention.

With a jerky tilt of his head nearly faster than the speed of light, realizing he was staring at an untouched mountain of wrinkly peas, Harry blinked rapidly and ran his tongue precisely through his pursed lips as the shining image of Louis faded, now more realistically a daydream rather than a vision.

“Yes?” Harry replied distantly, eyes glowing with the slight reflection of their own chandelier.

“Well good grief, Harry, I’ve been on you for just about five minutes. Where’ve you been off to?” he said with a soft chuckle.

Harry drew a small piece of his lip farther into his mouth with his front teeth, chewing down anxiously as he lifted his glass, gently giving his warming wine a delicate swirl to distract himself from the reality of Warren’s inquiry. With no answer but a mere raise of his broadening adolescent shoulders, all Harry could do was focus another far-flung gaze on his cooling plate and pick up the pieces of his shattered fantasy. But before he could do so, Gemma’s voice rung in his left ear.

“Your pin.”

“My pin?” he repeated, changing voice becoming deeper and just barely monotone.

“Where’s it gone? Have you taken it off?” she commented, tapping the collar of Harry’s jacket a few times to emphasize the new lack of his daily accessory. Harry’s blood ran cold in an instant as he ran his faintly calloused thumb over where the clearly aged metal swallow had been fastened what seemed like moments ago.

“I...” The pronoun was all Harry could manage, his thumb continuing the prolonged swiping motion across his collar. Taking another slow breath in, he caught his train of thought. “Must have left it upstairs, it had come undone today.” The faint lie wouldn’t hurt, and in the spur of the moment it was all Harry could summon at the time.

That night, when the joyous commemoration of Christmas had faded to a dull after party-like feeling, that once-a-year feeling that caused everyone to reconcile about how another 365 days would pass before another grand holiday as this, the celebration of the birth of Christ himself, Harry’s body had grown weary, weary of the day, longing for another soon to come.

Wishing his family a good night and a very merry Christmas, he had skipped steps two-by-two up to the sleepy bliss the second floor of his house seemed to bring, with dimly lit hallway and matching mahogany side table pressed against the wall. For decoration, his mother described when he asked why it was there.

Gripping the doorway with his large hand, Harry tilted himself to the side, letting his one stocking foot swivel on the cool wood floor, causing him to swing into his bedroom.

Harry was desperate for his pin. His pin from Louis Tomlinson.

Another sequence played through his mind, one more hazy than before.

He listed all the places he had been to that day. The only conclusion Harry came to was that his pin may have come loose in the chilling weather and fallen into the endless snowy terrain. And that was a frightening thought.

The emotional attachment to the pin Harry had so quickly developed had slid right under his own nose. That pin brought to him a certain pride provided by the mysterious and dashing soldier himself, a feeling that had more overcome him than absorbed him. Harry had never found himself to be as attached to the pin as he really was.

Clawing restlessly at his neatly woven winter quilt, the growing boy flipped himself onto his stomach, letting his heated face rest in the cool abyss of his pillow.

Giving up on finding serene comfort, Harry yanked his blanket over his head, bringing his long, skinny legs up to nearly touch his broadening chest.

Swaddled in an accumulating warmth of the intimate space, Harry then felt comfort.

Surely spiced with an odd discomfort to the loss of his pin, he had managed to find contentment in his positioning. And in just a brief moment’s time, Harry’s ambled eyes fell closed and his breathing fell soft, succumbing to slumber.