Sticks and Stones - A Larry Stylinson fanfiction [boyxboy]

Chapter Seven

Thank you! All of you lovely extrodinharry readers! I love the comments and feedback and it just makes me want to write even more Larry! So, here it is ladies, gents and lovers of tents... Chapter Seven! Read! Vote! Comment! Love Larry Stylinson!

xoxoxoxooxox Hailey

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Louis’s P.O.V

 

           

I knew the exact moment Harry woke up. I didn’t need to hear the bedroom door opening over the raucousness of Niall’s laughter… I just knew. It was crazy how attuned I’d become to him, considering the fact that we hadn’t had a meaningful conversation since before that interview that wasn’t awkward. Everything past that had become painful and confusing and I honestly would rather be able to go back to making my decisions without a second thought.

            But I’m tired of revisiting that interview. I got impatient with the subject and set down my glass of orange juice and surged to my feet. I set my fists down on the small of my back, and twisted my torso from side to side, then arched over my hands to stretch the kink out.

            I didn’t want to think of that interview of him. It was kind of hard not to, though, given that Harry’s strange behaviour had been preying on me ever since I’d watched his dazed long torso disappear through the limo door that day.

            I’d obviously turned to putting my foot in my mouth, because our conversations had gone from meaningful and joking, where Harry was just as engaged as I was, to a phony show of politeness with no eye contact. And yesterday? After his little disappearing act, he practically burned rubber to get away from me on our way back after he apologized.

            His chilly civility on the walk home since then has threatened to give me frostbite. It didn’t take a genius to see that something was up with Harry. It was stupid to assume that there wasn’t anything more going on than a little lack of sleep and an impulsive morning jog… if only I knew what. Hell, if I had more than a bloody two minute memory for these kinds of things, I might have kept in mind his earlier behaviour… and maybe then I could figure things out.

            The very bare minimum I remembered was the wistful-eyed look he splayed as I bit at him angrily for calling me a selfish twat. After that everything he did to ignore me or placate my suspicions seemed to be nothing more than a pain in the ass.

By the time I noticed this, he had already put up barricades. How the hell was I supposed to climb over the wall he put up, when he wouldn’t even let me get near enough to see how high it was?