Larry Stylinson One Shots II

Don't Let Me Go

Summary: Always tell your partner you love them before they leave the house, it may be the last time you have the chance to. Louis learned that the hard way.

-

The air is hot, even for the evening. Leaving the windows open during the day is pleasant when a nice breeze freshens the house, but not after 12 hours when it is muggy outside.

"Babe, can you please–"

"Louis, no. I already said no." For the past hour, Louis has been nagging Harry to go to the store to get popsicles. Harry has politely declined each time, offering reasonable excuses as well.

"They're just stupid popsicles, Harry. It's not that difficult. It'll take you ten minutes," Louis counters with a sharp edge to his voice, now sitting next to Harry on the sand colored couch.

"If they're just stupid popsicles then why don't you go and get them yourself? It'll take you ten minutes," Harry sarcastically replies, then returns to his book.

"You're the one who kept the windows open all day, and now it's bloody hot in here. The least you can do is help me cool off." Harry raises an eyebrow and pauses for a minute, then shuts his book. There is no way Louis is blaming him for leaving the windows open when Louis is perfectly capable of closing them himself.

"You're so lazy sometimes, I'm shocked anything gets done around here." Harry leaves his book on the coffee table and heads to the front door, leaving a breeze of frustration in his path.

"Are you actually getting them?" Louis looks over the back of the couch and watches Harry tie his shoes. He looks curious and refreshed, like he just spent an hour begging for popsicles without expecting to actually get them.

"Yes. Because you're the only person in the world who can manage to piss me off over popsicles. Because you're the laziest fucking person I know. But unfortunately for me, I love you," he sighs, pushing off his knees with his hands to stand from the small bench by the stairs.

"You didn't have to insult me," Louis grumbles, "twat."

"Whatever," Harry rolls his eyes. He looks at Louis for a moment, his shirtless boy peering over the back of the couch and resting his tattooed arms on the top cushions while he looks at Harry.

Harry then grabs his keys and leaves the house without saying goodbye to Louis or giving him a kiss and exchanging I love you's as they have habitually and intrinsically done for as long as they have been dating. Neither of them think anything of it and instead let their contempt for the other fester. They'll have plenty of other times to kiss and say "I love you", right?

-

"Popsicles, popsicles. What kind of popsicles does Louis want?" Harry sings to himself under his breath. He saunters down the frozen food section and sees a random array of ice cream, popsicles, and mini frozen meals. There are four different popsicle box themes to choose from: tropical, berry, classic, and Spiderman. Harry is completely lost as to what "classic" popsicles are, so he chooses the Spiderman ones, since Louis is a child and would probably like them the most.

He takes his time going to the cash register. The aisles of miscellaneous snacks range from somewhat healthy to greasy and extensively sweet. Harry grabs a granola bar for himself, as well as a small sleeve of cookies. When he reaches the end of the aisle, he sees a man in a worn-out, oversized, zip-up hoodie and all black. He seems to be eyeing the gas station, and his hands are shoved into his pockets, a detail Harry only notices because when he pulls them out, he is holding a gun.

"Put your hands up," he says in a demanding voice to the cashier. The cashier, who looks as pale as a ghost, complies immediately. Harry's eyes go wide and he swears he can hear his heart beating. He slowly steps backwards, trying to take cover around the corner of the snack aisle. "Oi! I fucking see you over there! Get back over here." It takes everything in Harry not to hyperventilate. With trembling legs, he turns the corner once again and makes himself visible to the robber and the cashier. "Get on your knees and put your fucking hands up," he growls at Harry, the gun still pointed at the man behind the counter. Harry sets his items on the floor before kneeling behind them and raising his hands over his head, exchanging helpless looks with the cashier.