larry stylinson oneshots

all too well

With a smile that Harry presses into the palm of his hand, he stumbles into his house with the soft clicking of his boots, melted snow tracking in his wake. The dark brown heels rub rhythmically in place - left, right, left right - until the worn-down mat is dampened. On his right, a pair of black Vans are stomping down on the same mat, pressing the fabric down flat.

Harry's hand moves from his face to his ankles as he tugs the boots off his feet. The Vans, having stopped their torment, remain on the mat before Harry turns to tuck them away - just beside his collection of heeled footwear. He can see Louis' socked feet padding into the kitchen, to, he can only assume, make them some tea.

It was a winter day. Pure white and grey flooded the area, naked trees stood strong, pushing back against the bitter winds. Little kids ran through the snow, bundled up in their warmest gear as they rolled up balls of white and laughed with friends, and parents watched in content. There was the jingle of Christmas and the holiday season floating through the air, painting the brightest bit of joy on the faces of homes with coloured lights and boyfriends making hot cocoa on the stove.

"You mind turning up the heat, Harry?" A soft but focused voice asked, drifting in from the general direction of their kitchen.

Already pushing up his sleeves, Harry shouts back a yes and lets the scent of firewood flood his senses as he kneels in front of the fireplace. Two swish-and-flicks later, his face is illuminated by a rich orange flame.

Louis enters the room with two steaming mugs of cocoa and his phone pressed against his cheek. His fingers unfurl around the handles, and Harry watches as he adjusts his phone into his hand. There's an appreciative smile on his face when they lock eyes. Louis plants himself on the couch, the spot he chose was worn-in and moulded perfectly to his body and gestures to the empty seat next to him. He's nodding to himself and humming just to show he's listening when Harry plops down, his body now pressed alongside Louis'.

Harry likes to admire Louis. He's just got a very admirable thing about him.

"Oh, I'll let him know. Hang on." Louis turns from his phone to face Harry who's leaning against his shoulder, now sipping his drink.

Louis likes to admire Harry too. He's very charming.

"Lottie's said you've left your scarf there."

There's a throaty hum that escapes Harry, and he raps his fingers against the ceramic. "I'll pick it up the next time we see her. Shouldn't be too long, yeah?"

Louis nods and turns to relay the message, his fingers making their way to Harry's thigh. He absentmindedly drums against it, and Harry flushes at the contact. His fingers manage to move in a patterned manner - 1, 1 2, 1 2, 1 2, 1, 1 2, 1 2, 1 2 - and Harry finds himself mimicking it.

"Okay, love you too, yes, okay, bye." Louis hangs up with an exasperated sigh and drops his phone on the coffee table. The screen lights up with a message from his sister, and if Harry squints hard enough, he can see himself behind all the notifications Louis refuses to open.

Harry, drink finished, nudges his elbow against Louis' and hums quietly when Louis extends his arm around him. He feels safe, encompassed by his warmth and the scent of tobacco and vanilla. Fingers are drumming against his arm this time, lightly, softly, reminding Harry that he is home.

***

He's not sure when he fell asleep, but when his eyes flutter open, he's got a tattooed arm draped over his torso, and the moon is peeking past his curtains.

Sometimes when he's awake and alone, well, not really alone because Louis is usually pressed up against him, and he never truly feels alone, he'll study the photos in his room. It's something he enjoys doing - looking back on his fondest memories. His walls - a calming sage green colour - are covered with strung-together polaroids documenting various moments of his life. Each photo is dated with Harry's messy scrawl and vandalized by smiley faces on pictures from when Louis waltzed into his life. He's got photos of himself and Louis, his favourite one being from their first date, and Louis was laughing after missing a high note. Louis' laugh is endearing. He's also got pictures of memorabilia like the tickets from their fifth date - they went to see Grease at this vintage theatre, it was Louis' idea - how could he say no?