Untouchable Face {NEW- Larry Stylinson AU Fan Fiction}

AN: okay i'm terrible and haven't updated in forever. I'm soooo sorry and I hope that this chapter makes up for it kind of? anyway let me know what you think!!!!!! :D
just a warning: totally unedited xx
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HARRY’S P.O.V.


Monday passes so slowly that I feel as if time has stopped. I don’t pay attention to any of my classes, and my friends are beginning to notice my indifference and disassociation from reality.

“Haz, bro. Are you sleeping or something?” Niall’s voice rings through my head and I have to physically force myself to respond. My mouth feels numb and heavy.

“No, I- I’m just tired,” I flatly state, forcing a yawn soon after.

“Yeah, okay. I don’t know how long you expect that excuse to work,” Liam adds before taking a bite from his sandwich, “We’re your friends, Harry. You can tell us what’s going on with you.”
Abrielle quickly butts in, laying her head on Niall’s shoulder, “Leave him alone, guys. He told you; he’s just tired.”

Niall turns to face her, draping an arm over her shoulder and speaking matter-of-factly, “You’re in on this, aren’t you? You know exactly what’s going on.”

I quickly interrupt, smacking the side of his head playfully, “I told you I’m tired. If you think she has something to do with that, then you’ve got bigger problems than me.”

Niall turns without falter, “So, you’re admitting that something’s wrong then, yeah?”

I sigh in aggravation and stand abruptly, “I’m going to the library or summat. I’ll see you in Chemistry, Li.”

I throw away my barely-eaten lunch and gather my backpack before exiting the cafeteria and making my way toward the music room instead. I knock on the door once before opening it to find Mr. Malik’s room dark. He has lunch at the same time as us and must have gone to the teacher’s lounge. I turn one of the dimmer lights on and make my way back to the piano, tossing my bag on the floor behind me. I sit at the bench and stretch my arms, cracking my fingers individually. I sit up straight, gently placing my fingers on the middle keys to warm up.
I close my eyes as I begin to do my scales, breathing in and out slowly, focusing on the sound and my breathing. Playing piano has always been therapeutic for me. Every therapy session I’ve ever had, involved me playing a song that described my mood. Right now, though, I can’t play my mood. My mood is contemplative and anxious. It’s sad and excited. It’s completely confusing.

So, instead of playing a song from memory, I let my body do as it pleases and after I complete my warm-up scales, my fingers start a soft, slow melody filled with eerie, deep tones. The melody progresses, keeping the deep notes littered here and there with much higher ones. I smile to myself because it sounds a lot like the differences in mine and Louis’ voices. I fade out the melody controlled by the low notes, and begin a more mature, complicated melody with the higher notes, simply complimented by the low notes. I get carried away easily, completely adoring the sounds mixed together. The highs and the lows, the sophisticated melody and underdeveloped harmony.

I want Louis to be there tomorrow more than almost anything. The only thing I want more is for him to be happy; and if that isn’t with me, then I’ll have to deal with it.

Only that’s a lie. I can’t deal with it and perhaps that’s what makes me so unsuitable for him. Maybe that’s why he needs someone more mature. I’m selfish and young; I can’t put him first if it hurts me, and that’s so self-centered and narcissistic.

I soften the tune, slow it down even more, until I play the final notes, which fade out, almost as if the song isn’t finished. Maybe it isn’t. I decide that I need to write down what I have thus far, just in case I’m inspired.

Clapping startles my eyes open, just as my fingers lift off of the keys entirely.

“Bravo,” says the all too familiar voice. I chuckle to myself once I’ve recovered from the shock.
Abby walks over and sits on the bench next to me, “That was beautiful, Harry. Who’s song is it?”

I blush a bit and fiddle my thumbs in my lap, “Um, mine. I just started playing to calm down and it happened.”

“You’ve got a gift, my friend,” she pauses, grinning thoughtfully, “You know, I always wished I were talented like you. With something; anything.”

“Abs,” I close the cover over the keys, “I’ve always been jealous of you. You’re an incredible writer. Whenever we’ve had papers to write, you put no effort into it and always gotten A’s. I’m a shit writer, Abby. Like, really bad.”

She laughs and plays with the hem of her shirt, “I know; I edited all of you guys’ report on Hamlet last semester. It was right shit. To be fair, though, Niall’s was worse.”

We laugh together and reminisce. The mood quickly turns solemn, though, when she asks, “What’s wrong, H?”

I open my mouth to speak and she stops me, “I don’t want the bullshit answer either. There’s more going on here than just Louis and all that. There’s something deeper.”

“Well, yes and no. Like, it all stems from him; but, I’m just thinking more long-term. Yeah, there’s the stress of, ‘Will he show up tomorrow?’ but then, after that there are so many new, bigger issues to consider: What will we tell my mum? Like obviously nothing straight-away. But, think about after I graduate and like what if we considered getting married; his daughter would know, my mum and sister would know. Fuck, I’d have to tell Niall and Liam I’m gay! Abby, I can’t handle it all; I can’t!”

“Harry, please. Just- think about this for a sec. Talk it out with me. What is your greatest fear of all? With all of this; what are you most afraid of?”

I take a deep breath and she grabs my hand comfortingly, “I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid of what everyone else will think.”

She nods, “And would that be any different if it were another guy? Someone your age?”
I shake my head after considering it, “Not really, no. Sure, he’s older, but that’d be the least of
everyone’s worries.”

“Worries. What does that mean? What do you think is going to happen when you come out,” she asks harshly, “Which, you know, you can’t avoid altogether. You’re going to tell your mum one day that you prefer men and whether Louis is there by your side for that or not is really irrelevant.”

I feel my throat tighten at her words. I know she’s right, and that’s what’s so difficult, “What if she hates me? What if my best mates hate me?”

“Oh Harry,” she wraps her arms around me and I collapse onto her shoulder in soft sobs, “No one will hate you for being gay, love. Liam and Niall love you so much. They’re just dumb boys and show it in different ways; but, do you know what Niall said to me the other day?”
I shake my head and sniffle, “What?”

“He told me that he’s really worried about you because you seem distant, and he said that you’re the best mate he’s ever had and that he’s scared because it feels like he’s losing you. He literally just randomly brought that up because he was thinking about you. Don’t even think he could hate you, because I’m pretty sure it’s impossible. He’d choose you over me any day.”

I laugh through my tears, squeezing her waist gently, “That’s not true, Abs.”

“It is,” she giggles, “but, that’s alright because I never want you guys to stop being friends anyway. Just- Please, just try and give them a chance. Niall and Liam- they care about you, not your sexuality or who you choose to date. When you’re ready, of course, you should tell them. In whichever way you please. It doesn’t need to be some huge ordeal, or some serious conversation. Just tell them.”

I nod slowly, considering her words carefully, “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” she pats my back and pulls away, wiping under my eyes with her thumb, “Now, on a different note.”

I look up and raise my eyebrows, noting the severity in her voice, “What is it?”

She clears her throat and lets out a breath, “I don’t want to assume things, because that would just make me a busy-body, and you know I hate being the stereotypical dramatic girl; but, I think that- that something is going on between Emma and Mr. Malik.”

It doesn’t register right away, but when it does, I’m simply confused, “Wait. Like Louis’ daughter and his best friend?”

“Yeah, I just- I saw them this morning and I got that vibe. It definitely seems like there’s some major sexual tension. He had her sweater. Like, they came to school together and she left it in his car. That’s weird, innit?”

It really, really is, “Well, can I really judge when I’m fucking her dad?”

We both laugh dryly as I brush off the notion, but I really can’t stop thinking about the possibility. Louis would be devastated; absolutely gutted.

“Hey, let’s get out of here, alright? We can’t be late for class again,” Abby is always the voice of reason.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree as she starts to stand up. I stop her, though, and give her a heart-felt hug, “Thank you for everything. I’m so glad I have you.”

She kisses my cheek and hugs me back, “I’m always here. The lads are too, though. Don’t forget what I said.”

I grin, “Of course, Abs.”

We exit the room together, my arm draped over her shoulders, and I feel so much better, and much more prepared for tomorrow.


EMMA’S P.O.V.


I lean against the wall in the stuffy closet of Zayn’s classroom. After much protesting, I had agreed to meet him in his room to talk. Only we were interrupted when someone decided to waltz in and play the piano. I’m still pissed at Zayn on top of it all, so being trapped in a tiny storage room with him isn’t my idea of a good time right now.

“Are they gone yet?” I whisper and Zayn immediately shushes me.

“No,” he states gruffly.

“What are they saying?” He simply shushes me again.

He’s been standing by the door the entire time, his ear pressed against it, ordering me to stay farther back. I’ve been listening simply because I don’t want to argue and that’s all we’ve done today.

Minutes pass and I swear hear some crying, but finally Zayn cracks the door open very slightly. He peeks through and stretches his arm behind him, motioning for me to stay put. I simply nod, rolling my eyes as he tip-toes into his own classroom. I hear a door open and then he comes back, turning the closet light on.

“They’re gone. Come on, you’d better get to class,” his attitude is much different than before when he was begging me to forgive him.

“Did you see who was in here?”

“Uh- no,” he fidgets with his tie like he does when he’s itching for a smoke.

“What were they saying?” I urge.

“I-I actually couldn’t hear anything. Just go, Em. Please, we’ll talk later or something,” he ushers me out of the closet.

“Whatever, Zayn,” I grab my bag from one of the seats and make my way toward the door.

“Emma- we can talk after school; I promise. Now’s just a bad time, I’m sor-,” his last words are cut short by the slam of the door behind me. I make my way to English in a rage, still upset by this morning and confused by the last ten minutes.

I just don’t know how to feel anymore.

Notes

once again, please don't hate me :/ I started at a new school and it's like super intense, but I'm trying to schedule some time to write!!! xx Please comment and let me know what you thought about that twist at the end ;)