Tfios (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 8

Harry’s room was blissfully empty when I entered, just him and his computer on his big blue bed. He looked up when I entered, a tired smile curling across his face.

“You’re starting to look like me.” He remarked, nodding to my sweatpants and beanie with amusement.

I shrugged, sitting down on my chair and letting my feet rest on his bed. “It was not a tight pants kind of day at the Tomlinson-Payne household this morning.”

“I empathize. It’s never a tight pants kind of day for me.” He set his computer to the ground, shutting it with a small click.

“Well isn’t that a damn shame.” I replied, smiling slightly. “I have something for you actually.”

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow, peering into my bag as I opened it and dug around inside. I was really appreciating his complete dismissal of last night. I wanted to talk about it, but at the same time, admitting what I was going through to anyone made it too real for me to handle, and making the appointment had been hard enough. If I was diagnosed, I’d tell him. I would.

I pulled out the picture, presenting it to him. “Courtesy of Olly Murs, my favorite six year old.”

“Excellent shading.” He remarked with a grin, genuine happiness in his eyes. “He’s a patient?”

“Lymphoma. The sweetest freaking kid you’ll ever meet, and really big on coloring.” 

Harry traced the outline of a dolphin with his finger, then placed the picture on his beside table next to the photos. “Well who isn’t big on coloring?” 

“No one I’d like to talk to.” I replied, fighting a yawn for a moment, and losing horribly.

He gave me a knowing glance, evidently not allowing the subject go entirely unreferenced. “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”

I replied with a glare, crossing my arms defiantly over my chest. “You might say that.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I see how it is, you need me at night, and then I’m nothing to you in the morning. Don’t worry, I’m not hurt.”

“Oh sod off.” I poked him in the leg with the toe of my toms. 

He gave a cheeky smile, pulling the covers up around his waist and tucking himself into the nest of pillows he’d amassed at the head of his bed. “Not likely.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, resisting the urge to get in another hit with my foot.

He gave me a tiny little smile, which I returned in kind, our eyes meeting in a way that made my heart flutter up into my throat. 

“I think I like it better when we talk about you.” I said, a chill permeating my skin even as I huddled into my jacket.

He chuckled. “Now you know how I feel.” 

I was starting to, but not quite in the way he thought. “Nah, but talking about you is my job.”

“Really?” He asked. “I thought it was providing me with baked goods.”

“Cheeky.” I replied, giving a small shiver. It was cool in his room, even with my jacket.

He snickered at me, wrapping the blankets tighter around himself. “Getting a bit cold over there, Louis?”

“It’s fucking freezing in here, fuck you.” I replied, rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm up.

“Well I was going to let you climb in my nice warm bed, but if you’re going to swear at me…” He shrugged, curls falling into his face.