pretty please (with sugar on top) - larry stylinson

53

Two days later, Harry was at the gym, on the phone with Niall. His hot yoga class started in a few minutes and he was going to be late.

"So you're just not gonna return his calls?"

"No, for the millionth time. I don't want to talk to him right now. Just thinking about him makes me angry."

After dinner that night, Niall picked Harry up at the restaurant and listened to his endless rant the whole ride to his brownstone. Harry had been shaky and distraught, too confused to come to any conclusions. Niall drew a bath for him and they shared a bottle of wine while Harry soaked up to his shoulders in bubbles and spilled all of his feelings, everything that was on his mind, to Niall who sat on the closed lid of the toilet and tried his best to follow along with Harry's wandering logic. Niall was such a good friend.

"I don't understand you two. One minute you're crying about how he won't call you, and the next you're refusing to answer him. And with Louis it's the reverse."

"Well, good. Let him long for me. Serves him right. I think I'm gonna block his number, actually," Harry said while shoving his bag into a locker, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder.

"You're ridiculous. Both of you. I can't I have to deal with this."

"It's your fault, you know. You're the one who set us up."

Niall groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Yeah, well. I'm gonna be late for hot yoga."

"Will you call him when you finish? Please?"

"No," Harry repeated stubbornly.

"I'm literally begging you, Harry."

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. He thinks I'm a gold digger who has no morals!"

Niall said dryly, "You are."

"Niall!" Harry gasped. "What is wrong with you. I don't lie to alphas about being in love with them. They know exactly how committed I am and they buy me gifts of their own volition, no manipulation required. And it was different with Louis, it was always different with Louis, from the very start! For one we never slept together, and also I would want to be with him even if he were the poorest alpha in the world!"

Niall was quiet for a moment. Harry jammed his bag in the locker with more force this time, and slammed it shut.

"You should tell him that," Niall suggested as gently as he could, voice soft on the other end of the line.

"I don't want to talk to him."

"Please think about it at least."

"I have to go. Goodbye."

Niall sighed. "Bye, pet."

Hot yoga was the perfect thing for Harry right now, even though he was late and frazzled. The instructor glared at him when he shuffled in and knocked over someone's water bottle, the clanking sound resonating through the quiet room and disturbing the concentration. He unraveled his mat and hurried to catch up, moving into position. Fifteen minutes in and he was dripping sweat, letting the ambient music roll through him, his thighs shaking as he held goddess squat with his hands pressed together at heart-center. They did some forward folds and Harry's spine cracked on each one, releasing tension in a satisfying pop.

Afterward, he picked up a kale and kiwi smoothie from his favorite juice bar on his way home. It was snowing heavily outside, the wind blowing the snowflakes right into his eyes, so he tugged the hood of his favorite sweatshirt over his head and ducked down to protect his face. Moments like this made him miss Florida more than anything.

Back at his apartment, he was half undressed and on his way to a lengthy shower to destroy his water bill when there was a knock at the door. His immediate reaction was that it was takeout, but he hadn't ordered any food, so that didn't make sense. He slipped his sweaty t-shirt back on and peered through the peephole. A beta woman stood outside holding a large garment bag.

Harry swung the door open. "Hi."

"Harry Styles?"

"That's me."

"I have a delivery for you."

Harry accepted the bag. "Um, thanks. I don't know what this is."

"Have a nice day." She started to walk away.

"Wait, is there a note? I didn't order this."

"No. Sorry. It's a gift."

"Oh. Okay. Well, thanks."

He let the door swing shut, bringing the garment bag inside with him. It was heavier than any clothing had any right to be. He set it down at the table and carefully tugged the zipper down, shrugging the bag off until he could see what it was.

Whatever it was, it was very furry. Like a bear. He smoothed his hand over the material in shock. It was a brown shearling coat. He checked the tag, running his fingers over the signature Yves Saint Laurent stitching.

There were few people who could have sent him this. Obviously. He wasn't stupid.

He slipped it on in front of the mirror. It was heavy. Warm. It smelled like a five thousand dollar coat. Which was to say, it smelled good.

He wore it around the house a little bit, let the sleeves cover his hands. Glanced at himself every time he passed the mirror. Drank some water, ran his fingers over his lips. Debated picking up the phone.

He was still annoyed with Louis. He wanted him to grovel. He wanted him to be sorry for assuming the worst of Harry.

His phone was right there, though. It would be so easy to call. To tell him they were soulmates. He had the doctor's note to back it up and everything, all the paperwork waiting for him, pinned to the fridge with a cat magnet.

Harry pouted at himself in the mirror. He should probably go do that. Louis deserved to know.

He slipped the coat off, setting it gently on his bed, and took a shower instead.