Larry Stylinson / Sweater

The story behind the cable-knit sweater that Louis and Harry share.

Fluff galore. 

This was written for my own selfish reasons, but I hope that you guys will enjoy it as well. :)

And you probably noticed, I completely gave up on trying to find a creative title.

(A sweater is also known as jumper.)

One of Louis’ worst fears was growing up.

Others were terrified of hairy tarantulas or plunging heights, but what this lad feared the most was losing the lighthearted and radiant feeling of being young. And so he always tried to be optimistic and to make stupid jokes in order to feel like that little kid once again.

But as he sat alone in the flat, reading all the birthday cards he was getting, he had never felt older in his life. All the pieces of vibrant paper all had one thing common, the number twenty plastered all over them in bold and ugly fonts.

He had never felt more like crying then. 

It was a weird feeling, knowing that it was something silly to be upset over, but nonetheless knowing that it was something that he was completely defenseless against. Being twenty years old was something almost traumatic to Louis Tomlinson, who felt like it was more like some divine checkpoint in his life, starting the path to adulthood.

It also wasn’t helping that he was completely alone, given that Harry was out with Gemma, who finally had to chance to visit her little brother in London.

The sun was setting low in the sky, its vibrant rays painting a multitude of mesmerizing colors against the azure background. Louis sighed and dramatically thought of how the sunset was a symbol of how his life was slowly disappearing to the end of the sky, never to come back again.

“God, Louis.” he facepalmed, realizing what he had just thought about. “You’re not eighty. You’re just twenty.”

He glanced over at their living room wall, looking at the collage that Harry and he had made of their goofiest moments. The entire space was covered in neatly spaced rows of simple black picture frames, filled with a multitude of their silly faces. He walked closer to the wall as his mood lifted a little bit from looking at the masterpiece on the wall.

They both found an odd interest in framing paparazzi photos in which they looked funny in, which none of the boys really understood. Better said, they were fascinated with their respective “derp” faces.

And Louis was temporarily cured of his gerontophobia, eyes wide at the collection of photos that they had.

Soon, he was in tears realizing just how meaningless and dumb all the pictures were, although he loved them just the same.

He suddenly felt an irrational want to see Harry. He never failed to make him feel better. 

But a glance at the clock mentioned that it would be another hour until he could see the curly haired boy again, so he paced around the flat, not feeling quite as depressed, but surely not as dapper as usual.

He felt a slight shiver run through his spine and he rubbed his hands against his bare arms. The closest article of clothing he saw was one of Harry’s sweaters, thrown over the side of the sofa. To be honest, he didn’t really fancy the thing. It reminded him of something his grandma used to wear, and he was a little suspicious remembering how the thing used to a pristine white before.

But he was cold and far too lazy to go upstairs, so he pulled on the atrocious article of clothing.

The first thing he noticed was how it smelled absolutely and completely like Harry. He brought the sleeves up to his nose, and was filled with the unique combination of aftershave and cologne that immediately calmed his anxious side. And filled with the urge to flop down onto the couch and immerse himself completely in the delicious smell, he followed through.

“Fuck. You really are losing your mind.” he mumbled, as he buried himself deeper into the material.

Even though it was quite ugly, the sweater was honestly great in all other aspects. Louis loved the way the soft sleeves were gently wrapped around his cold arms and how it was just long enough to cover the lower part of his hips. But the best part was feeling like how it was like getting a personal hug from Harry himself, even if the lad was gone.

He continued rolling in the sweater, laughing as he realized that he was probably not that old if he was rolling around like some demented kitten.

There was the characteristic sound of the lock being opened, and he shot up out of his odd position.

The door opened and Harry stepped in, hair windblown and cheeks rosy from the frosty air outside.

He was wide-eyed at the sight upon their sofa, and burst into laughter.

“What are you doing, Lou?” He guffawed, looking at how his hair was sticking up from the static of his sweater. He had retreated his arms inside the whole thing, flopping the empty sleeves around like a broken sprinkler.

“Being special.” he declared, getting up. He ran into the younger boy with all his strength, arms still inside the sweater.

Harry tumbled back a few feet from the impact and stopped both of them from falling over by stepping his left foot back.

“Okay, okay. “He laughed at the bulky fluffball.

Louis stopped and stretched his arms out inside the sleeves and gave him such a genuine smile that Harry felt inclined to stand still and bask in how simply radiant he looked.

“What happened?” He asked, a little hesitant as to what could’ve happened to him.

“Nothing.” He said, drawing back a little bit into himself, not quite wanting to share his odd fear with the younger boy.

Harry looked over at the couch and figured out what was wrong in an instant. From the angry way all the birthday cards that were scattered over the couch, he knew that Louis was dealing with slight angst over growing a little older.

“What?” Lou asked, seeing the pensive look on his face.

“If it makes you feel better, you look just as good as you did when I first met you.” Harry said, pushing all the right buttons. “You don’t seem a day older.”

Louis gave him an unamused look, but the hidden smile broke through eventually.

And Harry couldn’t help but to pull his special snowflake into a tight hug, finding it very amusing how the older boy was getting upset over something that was simply absurd to him. Louis was one of the most exuberant people he knew, and it was obvious that the older boy would never lose touch with his childish side, ever.

 As Louis clung onto the warm chest in from of him, he closed his eyes and made a mental note to himself that Harry’s hugs were possibly one of the best things in the world. They were even better now that the curly haired boy had grown a few inches, amidst the fact that his little Harry was now taller than him. The way his arms pulled him in so deeply lulled him into a calmness that no sweater could ever achieve.

And he realized then that among everyone he knew, Harry always gave him a feeling of experiencing something new and exciting. There were always little quirks that he showed every day, and the laughs and smiles that the younger boy emitted seemed to always lift his mood. He felt young around him.

“Thank you, Harry.” Louis said quietly, pulling himself back from the embrace to look up at emerald eyes that held more emotions that he could count.

Harry stared down at surprise at the cerulean depths that were becoming a little watery around the edges. And he bit his lip as he thought that the older boy was still feeling down.

“I’m not upset.” Lou laughed, hastily wiping away the moisture in his eyes.

It was the new appreciation that he had for Harry that was making him a little emotional.

“Don’t cry, Lou.” Harry mumbled, feeling a little unsteady himself. “If it makes you feel any better, you can have my sweater if you want.”

Louis laughed as he raised the sleeve up to glance at the peculiar stitching, finding that it wasn’t really so ugly after all. The style was still a little old for his tastes, but it would always remind him of someone who held a special place in his heart.


Thank you for reading!

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