Stand By Me

Chapter Three

Harry's parents always know when something is going on with him, almost instinctively. He's barely taken two steps into the kitchen one morning a few days later before Papa is looking at him with a frown.

"What's wrong?" He asks immediately, and Harry doesn't see the point in lying.

He shrugs, twisting his hands together in front of him anxiously, throat and chest feeling all tight in the way that it often does when his anxiety gets bad. "Me and Ni have that presentation in business today. I don't want to stand up in front of everyone," he says quietly, stopping behind one of the chairs at the table, picking nervously at a small dip in the wood.

Dad and Papa exchange glances at that, a thud upstairs signalling that Liam is running late. Harry barely hears it over the sound of his blood rushing inside his ears — he knows it's such a stupid and small thing to be so worried about, but it happens almost every time he has to present for one of his classes and he almost always feels better once he's spoken to his parents about it.

"The one about digital marketing, right? I thought you were all set for that one?" Dad says, and Harry swallows, nausea flipping in his stomach, nails digging into that dip in the wooden chair.

"Yeah," he glances down and shrugs. "We worked on the powerpoint together and stuff, but we haven't practised or anything — because Ni was sick last week, remember? And that's okay, it's not his fault, but normally we go over what we're gonna say and stuff and now we haven't and we won't have time to, 'cause it's first period, so that means I'm gonna mess up — and — and then everyone's gonna laugh and then I'll go red 'cause that's what always happens and people laugh even more then and I hate it —"

Hands are on his shoulders then, sliding gently down his arms until their fingers can wrap around his wrist and pry his grip away from the back of the chair. Papa's thumbs rub gently over his knuckles, grounding him, his hazel eyes soft as he peers into Harry's.

"Breathe, Curly," he soothes, and Harry hasn't even realised how out of oxygen he feels until then, inhales coming short and shallow. He sucks in a longer breath and holds it for a moment, only releasing it when Papa nods in encouragement. "There we go. And again," he guides him.

Harry sniffles but obeys nonetheless, relishing in the comfort when the man lets go of one of his hands to brush his hair away from his face gently. With his breathing under control, he looks up at the man with damp eyes. Papa smiles at him, features filled with love.

"Lets think about this rationally, huh?" He says, and Harry swallows, chest still heavy and tight, hands sweating, stomach twisting.

He knows he'll be fine, deep down, that everything will be okay and then afterwards, he'll wonder why he was ever so anxious in the first place — but that doesn't just magically stop the panic that's flowing through him in the current moment.

"Kiddo, it'll be fine. You're the smartest kid I know, and you and Niall together? You boys are top of your class, by a mile and a half. You put too much pressure on yourself," he says gently.

Harry shakes his head, gulping in another mouthful of air. "It's not that, Papa," he whispers, voice tight. "It's — I don't like being in front of everyone. People are mean sometimes, they'll laugh if I stutter or — or what if I trip on my way to the front?"

Papa gives his shoulder a squeeze. "School sucks, buddy, but this is one presentation. Not even, what, ten minutes? And then it's done." Harry tries to feel comforted by the words but finds it difficult and Papa seems to understand that, thankfully. "How about this — you and me leave early, go grab Ni, pick up breakfast on the way to school and that gives the two of you a bit of extra time to go over things?"