Little Things // A Larry Stylinson Faniction

Nine

It seems as if I am always crying. As we stand up to go home, tears start unexpectedly streaming down my cheeks. Gemma holds me close to her, me breathing in her sweet scent.

"Harry, you gotta promise not to cry. You're making me tear up." Gemma grins, trying to brighten my mood. It doesn't work, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wrapping my arms around my cold self. Gemma looks at me, surprised.

"Hey, no, I was joking. Don't be sorry." She rubs my back consolingly, pushing another sisterly kiss into my temple. I smile sadly at her effort, hugging her tightly. I hear a clock tower chime 4 o'clock in the distance, and sigh.

"I better get going," Gem exclaims softly into my ear, and I nod.

"It's been nice seeing you, Haz. Please don't forget to call me." I look at her solemnly, swearing I will with my eyes.

"Love you, Gem."

"Love you too, Lil' Bro." I watch as her long legs carry her away, her hair swaying to and fro in the Winter breeze. I smile, grateful for the time she wasted to listen to me rant about Louis.

And then it hits me.

I'm alone. I have no one to talk to, no one to trust with my words, and most scarily, no one to face Louis with. The sudden realisation leaves knots in my stomach, unwanting pooling in my gut. I decide to avoid the flat until I truly need to go home, so I wander through the streets of downtown London, eyes flickering through the multiple lights in shop windows. It's getting into christmastime, red and white window displays shining a cherry light onto the dimly lit pavement. I stop in front of a particular one, a mechanical Santa Claus ho-ho-hoing while waving a stiff arm. I've never gotten the point of Christmas- it's always too jolly and bright, and it's an excuse to get drunk every night. But this year is different. I have no one to spend the snowy days in with, and it hurts my ego a little. Normally I'm surrounded by family and friends, but with my mother in another continent and friends who probably despise me by now, I'm alone. All I have is Louis. And Eleanor.

It's as I'm walking down the streets as it dawns on me. I'm lost. Unknown buildings loom over me, the lights not as cherry and inviting anymore. I've wandered into the Dumps: the dank, desolate, dirty areas of London that are nestled behind the big cities. It's an uneasy feeling, knowing I'm stuck in the hellholes. People get murdered here, and often. I begin to shake. It's as I start to fasten my pace when an unknown person places a hand on my shoulder. He's short and stout, a pot belly hanging over his baggy sweats.

"Whatcha doin' out here, pretty lad?" He says, cracking me a toothy grin.

"I-I'm lost," I reply quietly, hoping he doesn't do anything.

"London's quite big, laddie, you don't just get lost." He laughs, an ugly gruff thing. His grip on my shoulder tightens, and I shudder.

"I need to get going," I say, trying to shrug his claws off me.

"There's still time; stay with me a bit," The man says, his hand artfully snaking down to my waist. His rough clench makes my eyes water, and I'm unsure of what to do. It's scary: there's this old man clinging to my waist, and I don't know how to get him off. I want to scream, but no one would hear me, or no one would care enough to check. I go to grab my phone from my pocket, but the man's hand is there before I can diall anyone's number.

"Not so fast, laddie. We're going to have some fun." He starts leading me towards one of the more run-down apartments, the overhead lights flickering. I shake my head, pushing myself away from him, which just causes his grip on my waist to become tighter.

"Don't resist me; it's gonna be fun." It's all lies. We walk into the apartment, and it smells of cigarettes and decaying bodies.

"Please," I struggle, trying to get free of his grip. Instead, he moves his hand onto my bum, squeezing tightly.

"It'll be quick, don't panic." He shoves me onto a mouldy couch, unzipping my fly. I'm paralysed, watching the scene unfold from someone else's eyes. He starts to snake a hand into my boxers, feeling my member.

"Baby boy, how beautiful you are," He coos, and I wish Gemma was here. She'd be able to tell me it's alright. I wouldn't even be in this place if she were with me.

"Stop, please," I whine, his lips starting to press against my jaw.

"No, baby, just a little more." My eyes flicker. Not again, as the tears stream down my face.

"Please, get off me," I whimper, pushing the man's chest. He grabs my jaw in one hand, the other hand still tight around my member. I'm too weak. My muscles are tensing, my nerves getting the best of me.

"Fuck, boy, you're an angel," and he pushes his tongue inside my mouth. I've had enough.

"Get off," I scream finally, shoving him as hard as I can. I hear his head make contact with the hard, wood floor.

"Boy, come back," He mumbles, a slight daze setting over his body. I rush out, my legs hardly carrying me, but still sprinting as fast as I can. I don't know what to do, or who to call. It's too late to call Gemma, she's probably already in Cheshire by now. I can't call Louis, he'd never pick up.

I decide to call Niall. He picks up on the third call.

"Harry," He huffs, and I can tell he didn't want to talk to me.

"Ca-can you pick me up please?" I blubber, my voice cracking, and fresh tears reappearing in my eyes.

"Harry, are you alright? Where are you? What's wrong?" His tone has softened a bit, and I can hear the worried tone in his voice.

"I'm in the Dumps. Please hurry."

"Don't worry, mate. I'll be there soon."

"Thank you," I whisper as he hangs up, wishing he was here already. The cold is unbearable, and I left my jumper in the man's apartment. I can't go back, so I just sit in the cold, shivering.