You Put the Sun in Sunday; larry stylinson (bottom!louis) [completed]

11

Winona and Edmund are furious, not because Harry being gay, they accepted everyone, but they were enraged by the fact he forced Louis, a sweet soul, to hide for him and put their baby's life at risk. They didn't need to hear anything else because everything unravelled in Harry and Louis' loud argument.

"You've changed, Harry." Edmund paces before Harry's bed. Harry was sitting on his bed, hands clasped in his lap, clenching the sweater Louis threw at him. The material soft under his fingers, he brought it up to his nose. It still smells like Louis. The faint scent of fresh cherry blossoms and sandalwood, a smell Harry related with peace. "You treated Louis so poorly," Edmund wrinkles his nose, turning to his wife who stood at the door with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Making him bend over backwards for you, only for you to take advantage of him!"

Harry frowns deeply. "I did not take advantage of him." Winona steps inside the room, feeling the tension rising, "Ed," she calls for her husband but he has his eyes set on his son.

"You did. You took advantage of his kindness, he was willing to do anything for you, Harry. He was willing to love you in secrecy. He let himself be tortured for four months." Edmund spits. "four months. He was open with you, he gave himself to you. And you took advantage of those gifts." He shakes his head in disbelief, a furrow appearing on his wrinkled forehead. "Your mother and I had suspicions about the two of you since he arrived here."

Harry looks up, tightening his hold on the sweater. "How?"

They must be lying. Harry was careful, he kept his distance. He didn't touch Louis in front of them, he barely talked to Louis in front of them. Had he slipped up? Did this mean people at school also knew? His mother sighs softly, reaching for her husband and rubbing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You can hide a lot of things, but you can't hide the way you look at each other."

Harry's throat clogs up at that. He hadn't noticed, but now he realizes the longing glances he would catch Louis giving him. Had he been mirroring him? He must've if his parents have seen it. Only now does he feel the wave of despair hit him, he would subconsciously stare at Louis, never catching himself because his mind was just trained on him and only him.

Harry would admire him, his blue eyes that Harry found himself getting lost in, his thin pink lips that were so soft and just the right amount of plump. Louis had such an exquisite side profile, with his long lashes brushing his prominent cheekbones and his button nose, and the tiniest little freckles on his cheeks. Louis' body was a temple, his curvy hips and hourglass waist, he had a perfect portion of muscle and flesh that Harry would sink his teeth into. Goodness, Harry couldn't describe his touch. It was so warm and soft, just pulling Harry deeper into his bottomless pool of blue eyes and high-pitched, honey-like voice.

Harry stops breathing. His thoughts running a mile a minute, he was so dim, and so in love. He loved Louis. He loved him so deeply and he treated him horribly and Louis slipped from his fingertips. Reality hits Harry like a tidal wave. His shoulders shake with his sobs, his mother rushes to comfort him. She pulls him into her arms and Harry's head falls helplessly in her lap.

He was such an asshole to Louis, his first real love, his boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend and the mother of his one and only child. Harry hated himself. How could he treat Louis so cruelly, lock him in the closet with him and hope that Sundays were the perfect way to keep their relationship hidden and, foolishly, healthy. He gave Louis one day from his week, twenty-four hours when Louis gave him everything, his time, his kindness, his sweet words of warmth, his gentle tender touches, his virginity and now, a child. And Harry couldn't get over himself and give Louis more than a day, a sad day where he could love him freely and confidently.

Juno wanders in, cautiously so but still manages to move the attention away from Harry. "Whose book is that?" She points to the floor by Harry's dresser. "I didn't know you read." He tells her younger brother.

Harry begrudgingly moves his face from his mother's lap, only to break down again upon seeing the novel on the ground. It was Louis' book, his favourite and the one Harry saw him reading more time than he can count. He looks at the creased spine and the tattered edges, telling him how much Louis loved that book.