larry stylinson: gold - coming soon

❝“I’ll be there with you.”
“With you.”
Harry’s lips broke into a smile so beautiful, Louis was melting internally. “With you.”❞

© 2013 by 50shadesofdone. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permissions of 50shadesofdone.


1. {prologue}



         He liked watching people.

                                                  He didn’t want to come across as a creep, but fact was that, as weird as it might be, he really liked watching people. Wherever he was, he would always analyse the people surrounding him. He was good at reading people’s emotions, too. He guessed that was because he had been analysing people for a long, long time now, and he always tried to memorise people’s reactions to other people’s actions.

                                                  He liked watching people when they thought they were alone, when they felt unwatched.

                                                  He liked watching people when they went up to the counter and ordered a coffee, when they forced a smile toward the girl behind the counter.

                                                  Or when they stumbled upon somebody they hadn’t seen in some time, and the way the corners of their lips would curl upward when realisation eventually hit them.

                                                  He liked seeing people exchange glances or hugs.

                                                  He liked watching people as they stole chaste kisses or snatched their partner’s hand to lace their fingers together lovingly.

                                                  But, he himself, he wasn’t one to converse much. He felt comfortable in silence, in the distance, watching. Watching with no rude intentions, of course.

                                                  He didn’t like having people acting weird around him for whatever reason.

                                                  He didn’t like them shooting odd looks around the room when he came out of his corner.

                                                   He didn’t like them judging him.

                                                  So, he stayed in the background, unseen, unnoticed.

                                                  That was how he liked it; being one of those players who weren’t even given a name to because no one would ever speak to them or interact with them in that all too well known play that is called “Life.”

                                                  And, here he was again, sitting on a couch in the most popular coffee shop in this area—Starbucks. He had just ordered a Yorkshire Tea and was now waiting for his order to be finished so that he could go back to studying people without any interruptions.

                                                   “Louis!” one of the girls behind the wooden counter called out.

                                                  He rose from his seat, blasting out a smile as he turned to look at the blonde girl who was scanning the room for a said Louis.

                                                  Walking toward her, he said, “Thank you.”

                                                  She returned the smile, and told him to enjoy his coffee, before she bid him a nice day.

                                                  He went back to the couch, making himself comfortable, the warm cardboard cup in his hands sending a fuzzy, nice feeling throughout his body. He almost smiled.

                                                  He scanned the room, eyes running across people, skipping them, stopping on some for mere seconds, before they settled upon a couple.

                                                  The two were holding hands under the table, he could tell. They were constantly glancing at each other, and it made him feel this disappointed feeling in his chest, the one that made him feel really, really uncomfortable. Yet, he kept his eyes on the two, lips pressed into a fine line.

                                                  Why was he so different from all the other people? Why was he so different from what society called ‘normal’ nowadays?

                                                  Frowning, he turned his head, eyes scanning the area to his left, before staying on a girl.

                                                  She was sitting on her own, a book in her hands. He watched as she read, her eyes scanning the letters as her brain processed the words.

                                                  Suddenly, her lips broke into a smile, and he found himself wanting to know what caused her to smile—the book, yes. But what was it, what was written down there?

                                                  He wanted to smile, too. But he didn’t allow himself to; that wasn’t something to smile over.

                                                  He was the type of person who only smiled when it—whatever it was—was worth smiling for.

                                                  He also only cried when something was worth shedding tears.

                                                  He wanted smiling, crying, emotions to be special.

                                                  People were always being so reckless, so selfish, somewhat focused on their own lives only, yet they minded other peoples’ business, too.

                                                  They threw the word Love around like nothing. They threw the word Hate around like nothing. Maybe it was nothing. To him, it wasn’t.

                                                  He was convinced that people had become numb to what they were saying, and he strongly disliked it.

                                                  Maybe that was the bad part of watching people; he got to analyse people’s flaws, too.

                                                  They all had flaws—every single one. But they all had something beautiful to them. At least he thought so.

                                                  He was sure that every single person was born as someone beautiful, and things that happened to them made them build up an ugly façade, when deep down, they were the same, beautiful—maybe now lonely—people.

                                                   “Why did you lie to me?” someone near him exclaimed, their voice raising.

                                                  He looked over to where he assumed the voice had come from, and sure enough, there was a girl hissing at a boy, words now hushed as their focuses were right on one another. He watched as the boy looked down in what could have been labelled as guilt; the girl threw her arms around in the air, her face coloured in a bright shade of red.

                                                  He watched for some seconds, before coming to the conclusion that this was not making him feel any better, so his eyes darted to the boy who was just entering the store.

                                                  Louis watched as the boy’s lips broke into a lopsided smile, and he watched as a dimple came into view. He saw him brushing his curly hair out of his face, his hand ruffling it a bit, before it sunk back deep into the pocket of his trousers, while the other one was by his side, motionless. He had long legs that allowed him to take big steps, which led him to stand before the counter in almost no time.

                                                   “Good morning,” he could hear him saying, voice deep and raspy.

                                                   “Good morning,” the girl behind the counter responded, voice high and squeaky.

                                                  He instantly liked the boy’s one, while the girl’s one annoyed him.

                                                   “I’d like a cappuccino, please,” he said, the corners of his mouth curled upward.


                                                  He watched as the boy put his elbows on the counter, leaning against it, legs crossed. His head turned to look around, and his eyes scanned the area.

                                                  To his own surprise, Louis looked somewhere else before the boy could make eye contact with him. Instead, he watched the couple that argued only moments prior, kiss.

                                                  The boy crossed the room, before he sat down on a couch opposite of Louis, but on the other side of the room.

                                                  He had his eyesight glued to the ground, but he smiled widely. That was odd, Louis thought.

                                                  He wanted to look over to the couple again, but something stopped him from doing so, something that told him to watch this boy instead.

                                                   So he did.

                                                  He watched as the boy shook his bowed head, one of his hands running through the ringlets, before he swept them to the left. And he watched as the tip of the boy’s tongue poked out just a little, lips pressed down onto it, as he was typing away on his phone quickly, eyes glued to the screen of his—if Louis wasn’t mistaken—iPhone 5.

                                                  The curly-haired boy was wearing a Ramones shirt that clung to his torso just perfectly. The black trousers he was sporting were really tight—Louis guessed, they made the boy’s legs seem even longer than they probably were anyway—and unlike on most teenage boys, they didn’t hang all too low. His feet were covered in converse that seemed to be in need of washing, but still looked nice on the boy, finishing up the pretty cool—Louis had to admit that—outfit.

                                                  As if sensing the eyes on him, the boy lifted his eyesight from his phone, and before Louis had the chance to look away, the boy’s eyes had already met his.

                                                  Louis felt a rush of disappointment and excitement rush through his system simultaneously—disappointment, because he was sure the boy thought he was really creepy, and that was something Louis really did not want him to do; excitement, because the colour of the boy’s eyes was just so very pretty and Louis felt like he could look into these eyes forever, and he would never get tired of it—so he ended up staring straight back.

                                                  To his great dismay, the boy did not shoot him a disgusted look, nor did he avert his gaze from Louis whatsoever.

                                                  He just simply grinned, causing Louis to feel an all-too-well-known warmth spread through his cheeks and his heartbeat to speed up a little.

                                                  And that was when it was too late; a smile had already appeared on Louis’ face before he could stop himself. Then again, this boy was worth smiling at.

                                                  So he allowed himself to.

                                                  That was until it got to the point where Louis started feeling slightly awkward because he was actually just smiling at a stranger for no apparent reason, and that was something he definitely was not used to, so he dropped his gaze, letting it land on the cardboard cup in his hands, the silly smile still slightly evident, before it disappeared gradually—not because he felt weird, but more because his cheeks hurt a little; he was so not used to smiling.

                                                  Wow, he thought, that sounded quite pathetic.

                                                   “Harry,” the girl with the squeaky voice said loudly, and the boy got to his feet, before he made his way over to the till, where he grabbed his cappuccino from the girl, a cheeky grin plastered across his face as he dropped his left eye to a wink.

                                                  The girl broke into a fit of giggles in response.

                                                  Louis grunted silently, rolling his eyes at how immature she was. He hated that kind of girl—the ones that played innocent and maybe even stupid because they thought it was cute, when in reality, boys hated dumb girls and preferred the smart ones, at least that was what Louis thought. Not that he meant ‘liking’ a girl in that way—he had come out of the closet when he was fifteen, and people had started treating him a little differently ever since.

                                                   He could tell because he watched.

                                                  Only the strangers didn’t, obviously, but they were most likely a little scared off because Louis was almost always scowling at whoever was talking to him, which was because he had started building up a wall around him since people started treating him differently. He didn’t want to be rude or anything—he just couldn’t help it.

                                                   “Is this seat taken?”

                                                   Louis looked up, slightly baffled.

                                                  The boy—Harry—was pointing a long finger at the empty spot on the sofa next to Louis.

                                                    “Uhm, n-no?”

                                                   “Can I join you then or are you waiting for your girlfriend or anything?” Harry asked, and now that he was so close to Louis, he could see that the boy’s eyes were a pretty shade of green. Like an emerald, he thought.

                                                  Louis was still slightly confused as to why the boy hadn’t gone back to his sofa on the other side of the room, why he wanted to sit next to someone as awkward as Louis, but honestly, Louis really didn’t mind it. He didn’t want to tell Harry that he wasn’t straight, which meant that he definitely did not have a girlfriend, though. And he didn’t want to tell him that he actually only had one real friend, so he said, “No, I—I’m not, so, uhm, yeah, you, uh, can.”

                                                   “Thank you,” Harry said, before the couch dipped with his weight as he sat down next to Louis, only mere inches separating the two.

                                                  That was something Louis shouldn’t have paid attention to because, now that he knew that, he felt an unknown nervousness overcome him within a second—he felt the palms of his hands get sweaty; his heartbeat had accelerated to the point where it was beating twice as fast as usually; he had shifted unintentionally, so that he was more turned to the boy than away from him; his throat felt dry, but not necessarily uncomfortable, no, it was somewhat exciting.

                                                  But, Louis really didn’t know what to say, so he just took a sip of his tea, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye, discovering that the curly-haired boy was doing the same.

                                                   “So,” Louis found himself saying, and he panicked because, (1) why did he say that? (2) he knew he had to continue now; (3) what was he supposed to say? “I, uhm, I’m Louis from, uh, Doncaster.” He let out a breath of relief; that sounded quite good to him.

                                                   “Hi Louis from, uh, Doncaster, I’m Harry, nice to meet you,” Harry responded smoothly, seeming not the slightest uncomfortable.

                                                   Louis nodded his head awkwardly. “Yeah, I heard that.”

                                                  Harry let out a small laugh, before he sobered up and said, “How come you were sitting alone here?”

                                                  Louis swallowed sickly. What was he supposed to tell a stranger? That he was a gay outcast? No, hell, no, not in a thousand years would he tell a stranger—in this case, a very pretty stranger—that he was gay or anything. “I just, uhm, I guess I—I wanted to be on my own for a bit.”

                                                   “Oh,” Harry spoke, “oh, do you want me to go then?”

                                                   “No, no, no, no,” Louis exclaimed, shaking his head violently. “Don’t!” He sunk into the couch for a second, before straightening again and saying, “I mean, you, eh, you know, well, like, if you, uhm, if you want.”

                                                   God, he thought, that was embarrassing.

                                                   “Oh, sure.” Harry smiled. “You seem nice.”

                                                  Louis gaped, baffled. Why would someone like Harry think someone like Louis seemed nice? That couldn’t be, so Louis let out a humourless laugh. “Well, I guess that’s just in the beginning, before you actually get to know my awkward self,” he said, before slumping back into the cushions; no one ever wanted to meet him again, which meant that they would never get to see the actual Louis.

                                                   “I like awkward. Awkward is different, you know,” Harry said, a smile settled upon his rosy lips.

                                                   Oh, God, his lips were perfect.

                                                   “Different,” Louis murmured absentmindedly. “Different isn’t always, you know, good.” He stared at the cup in his hands, his fingers ghosting over the cardboard. “I don’t think it is. If it was, I wouldn’t be wanting to be, like, own my own; I’d be out with friends or so.” He felt Harry’s eyes on him, but oddly enough, these boy’s eyes weren’t making him feel uncomfortable. “Which leads me to the question, why are you here alone?” His eyes met green ones as they locked gazes.

                                                   “I don’t know, to be honest. I just kind of... ended up here.” Harry smiled at Louis in a way that let the latter’s heart flatter. He felt the curly-haired boy’s body shift next to him and watched as Harry sunk into the cushions, almost as if lying down, and Louis imagined how it would be to lie in a bed next to someone as beautiful as Harry.

                                                  He was quite surprised that he had thoughts like this running through his mind, but he guessed that he was just really fascinated by Harry, even though he had only just started talking to him, but maybe that made Harry so special and Louis like him, but either way, Louis didn’t want Harry to go.

                                                   “Are you, uhm, like, new here?” Louis asked. “Like, you know, I—I haven’t seen you before,” he said, glancing up at Harry, who was, even when sitting, a lot taller than him. He was sure that he was older than Harry, though.

                                                   “No, no, I’m not new in London; I just don’t come here often.” Harry paused for a heartbeat. “But, maybe that was only because I never had a reason to,” he dropped his eye to a wink, and now that Louis was facing him and Louis knew that the wink was directed at him, he could totally understand the girl’s reaction from earlier, “and, maybe I do have one now.”

                                                  Louis was flushing a shade of red, he could tell by the heat rising to his face, heating up his cheeks, the tips of his ears, and his neck. “If you say so,” he murmured quietly, folding his hands in his lap. “I’ll be there.”

                                                  Harry let out a small laugh. “Okay, Louis from, uh, Doncaster, I’ll be there with you.”

                                                   “With you.”

                                                  Harry’s lips broke into a smile so beautiful, Louis was melting internally. “With you.”

                                                  Silence fell upon the two, but it wasn’t the slightest awkward, not even to Louis. They sat there, leaning against the back of the sofa, taking occasional sips from their beverages, and watching. Louis was watching Harry, and Harry was watching Louis.

                                                  Louis discovered that Harry was running his tongue along his bottom lip quite a lot and that he probably had a bit of a habit of brushing his hair back. He also smiled a lot. That was very nice, Louis thought. And, it made him smile, too.

                                                   “What are you thinking about?” Harry asked all of a sudden, the depth of his voice sending a shiver down Louis’ spine.

                                                   “Habits,” came Louis’ answer after a moment of hesitation.



                                                   “Whose habits?” Harry pushed, but not in a way that annoyed Louis. Though, he was slightly embarrassed and reluctant to tell Harry the truth.

                                                  To Louis’ luck, Harry’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his trousers, and he seemed to forget about the question when he started fishing out his phone, the tip of his tongue poking out as he furrowed his brow when he had difficulties with getting it out of the pocket. “Damn ’dem skinnies,” he murmured under his breath, voice even deeper with the hushed tone he used.

                                                   It was Louis’ turn to let out a laugh.

                                                  Harry looked up to meet Louis’ gaze and a smile spread across his face, dimples becoming prominent. But quickly, the smile disappeared when his eyesight fell upon the screen of his phone, which he had now successfully got out. “Yeah?” he spoke into the device, eyebrows knotted together. “No, I’m not.” He nibbled at his bottom lip while listening to whoever was talking to him. “Starbucks. No, I ca—” He was cut off, Louis could tell. The nibbling got worse. “But Mum!” Louis had to stifle a laugh; he was talking to his mother? “Fine.” He sighed. “Bye.” The phone was lifted off his ear, and he tapped away on it for a moment, before he looked at Louis guiltily. “I need to go,” he said.


                                                   “I’m sorry.” He sighed again, before his face lit up. “Give me your phone.”

                                                  Louis raised his eyebrows, indicating his confusion, before he understood, and let out an “Ah!”

                                                  He got out his own iPhone, unlocking it, before he handed the device to Harry, who handed him his own.

                                                  Quickly, phone numbers were exchanged, and they both got to their feet, taking back their phones in the process of rising from their spots on the sofa.

                                                   “I’m sorry.”

                                                   “It’s alright.”

                                                   “Well,” Harry said, and for the first time, he seemed a bit uncomfortable, but Louis was slightly confused as to why now, “I hope I can meet up with you some time.”

                                                   “With you,” Louis spoke, needing to tilt his head back a little to get to look into Harry’s eyes.

                                                   “With you,” Harry confessed. “Bye, Louis from, uh, Doncaster.” A smile crept upon his plump lips.

                                                   “Bye, Harry,” Louis said, and somehow, a smile stole its way onto his lips, too.

                                                  And Harry left and Louis went back to the couch, still smiling.

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