Mute Larry Stylinson Harry!Mute

Wednesday 13

Wednesday 13

Harry wasn’t scared.

No, he definitely wasn’t scared. Being scared is something a child feels when they’ve lost their parents in a crowd, or when they’ve woken up from a nightmare and it’s pitch black. That is being scared. Being scared is not something a 16 year old boy feels when there’s a thunderstorm. No. He was just…merely concerned about his wellbeing; that was all.

Who knew how long the rain would pound onto the ground for, maybe it’d cause a flood. Who knew how far the lightening was from his house, maybe it could strike on his roof and set the housealight. Who knew how loud the thunder would get, maybe it would deafen him and –okay, so maybe the scenarios plaguing Harry’s mind in a race of spiralling thoughts were from fear, but it’s not like he wanted to be scared. He hated it in fact. It wasn’t like he got a thrill out of the adrenaline rush or that afterwards he would always laugh it off and find the hilarity in it; no, Harry most definitely did not.

He hated being scared, mainly because it made him feel stupid. He was a teenager, in the latter end of his youthful years, and he shouldn’t have felt that way. No other teenager would and it just separated Harry from the rest even more. Of course nobody knew about his fear; the only thunderstorm during school being when he was 10 and it was alright to be scared –even though all the boys in the class didn’t think of it like that–, but in his mind, he knew that it wasn’t normal.

His mind: that was the seed of it. His mind thought up horrendous scenarios, some of which were totally unrealistic, which then led on to his insecurities leaking out. He’d think and think and think as the rain splashed against the window that he was pathetic and stupid and anything else similar. Usually there was someone in the house, someone to comfort him and distract him from said thoughts. This time, however, he was alone.

Harry being alone with his thoughts was never good for anyone.

Anne was stuck at work, she said through her texts, and she was going to stay at her colleagues house, which was only five minutes away, until the storm had settled. Harry didn’t want her to go outside, he tried to convince her to just stay in the building and set up camp there for the –he was trying to convince himself that it would be over soon– little amount of time the thunderstorm had left in its system. But Anne was either oblivious to his efforts or shunning them to the side. She was dead set on staying at her friend’s house, mainly because it was more comfortable. She wasn’t listening to Harry.

The rain seemed to get heavier after that.

Gemma was back at Uni too, having returned back there two days prior. It was her who Harry was mainly worried about. But really, when wasn’t Harry worrying about Gem? She was young, pretty, beautiful and bubbly; she was a catch. Harry had always worried that someone would take advantage of that, but that was never really his main worry. Her whole wellbeing was always on his conscience. He always dropped her a text every morning and just before he went to sleep –that was usually hours before her head even hit the pillow– just to make sure that she was okay in her second-story flat.

Maybe that’s what made this storm even more worry-fuelling for him. The fact that she lived off the ground crossed out the problem of a flood, but it did mean that if somehow the electrical equipment below caught on fire from the lightening, then she’d have no way to escape. It was somewhat of a slight chance of it happening, but Harry was Harry and of course it’d be a problem.

He was frantic in his texts, making sure she was alright. He wanted her with him, to cuddle him and rub his head, soothing his nerves. But no, she just had to be hours away. He couldn’t even hear her voice; there was never much point in phone calls when he couldn’t talk back.