Timeless - A Larry Stylinson FanFiction

Chapter 21

Footsteps were never-ending. The wooden floors magnified each stocking-footed ped of Harry’s too-big-for-his-gangly-body feet and they were never ending. Tracing all of the exposed wooden floorboards, Harry could feel his skin turn cool yet glaze over with perspiration that wasn’t enough to be wet but caused discomfort when his half-unbuttoned shirt touched him.

He had been thinking so much he had stopped thinking and had begun to feel every notion that crossed his mind. With each blink he saw the blackness of his eyelids, but felt the force of lips not his own. All over again, the force of lips that weren’t even there would startle Harry out of his skin. He would sigh, following the fright, realizing he was alone with no lips but his two, no one but himself.

Harry felt it when he blinked.

And he knew from his sciences class that the human eye blinks on average ten times per minute. Being in his room an hour and twenty minutes after dinner, Harry paused his footsteps for a brief moment. Eight hundred times had he been consumed by it, repeatedly.  

The supernatural pressure of the lips belonging to Louis Tomlinson’s, thin and peach-pink, light as air and quick as wind. Why had it happened?

Harry fumbled with his few buttons before removing his shirt completely and allowing it to drape unevenly on the footboard of his bed.

His mind was a war zone, thoughts in battle for superiority. To overpower others and convince Harry of one thing or another. A slow breath passed through his lips. What ever had he done? And what was it doing to him? His head ached, his heart ached, his throat even ached now. It was a never-ending ache, like his footsteps once were. All emotions seemed to be present at that time.

Fear was first. Fear brought along astonishment. How ever in the name of the Lord could he have allowed himself to succomb to such ungodly temptation? It wasn’t right. He was perplexed to what had come over his right mind at that moment. What had made it so unlike any other moment he was with any other male of decent looks and personality?

But this... this wasn’t any other male with decent looks and personality.

Fear was at head of his emotions, but fear of what exactly, he tried asking himself between riptides of regret and shame. Surely it was the fear of this unholy doing being exposed to the public. The fear of him unable to halt his ever-flowing thoughts of the elder veteran. Those fears felt real, surely they did, but what felt more real was the true fear that was stuck between Harry’s gut. Deep and heavy, eating away at any other emotion to slowly make itself present to the ever-shaken boy.

That was the fear of the fondness he was holding. Dancing in his hand, it seemed, pressed deeply between his palm and closed fingers, in his fist so nobody saw and nobody suspected it, it was held. The fear he held in his sweaty palm was beyond terrifying and there was nothing to do with it but continue to hold on. Where would he put it? Where would it go? This affinity toward this one second, out of the hundreds of millions of seconds Harry had experienced in his lifetime, this one stuck and it stuck hard. The affinity toward this one person, this one person who-

“No.” His voice broke in, croaky and misplaced in this trainwreck. The plea rang out in his mind, but was lost in his battle.

The emotions were livid. The next was a mix of anger and disappointment. Bright red, flame-colored anger at Louis Tomlinson for stealing his dignity, followed by a purple as deep as the sea to which his shame sunk to the bottom.

In the mix of flame almost searing his very flesh to ice so bitter it could just as well do the same, Harry was next brimming with the shame. Shame which had trickled in early before, but had worn at the barriers. He now felt the shame running more like rivers. Around his bones, his muscles. In his veins, it stung him. The very shame of even allowing himself to falter in the eyes of the Lord and approach the thoughts of affection toward one of his same gender.