Paint Me A Story ➳ Larry & Zouis

project ii.

project ii.  ❝sculpt something that represents you out of clay❞

The next day, after turning in his first assignment, Harry didn’t come to class.  Louis was absolutely puzzled by this.  He was such a good student— the only one who actually seemed to care and take the course seriously.  It wasn’t like him to just ditch class.

Mr. Tomlinson tried to make the best of the day, but to be honest it was pretty boring without Harry there.  He was the one person who actually kept his days interesting.  Call Louis nosy, but he wanted to know all of Harry’s darkest secrets.  He had such an intriguing personality.  It was almost addicting. 

Louis’s classes were rather monotonous that day.  He was sat at his desk the entire time, texting his fiancé, snacking on crisps, and drinking coffee to stay awake.  He propped his legs up on his desk and hardly ever looked up at his students unless spoken to. 

Everything was just torturously uneventful.

He was hoping to talk to Harry about his drawing, even if it meant not getting an answer.  He simply enjoyed talking to him, watching his wordless reactions.  Perhaps Louis should’ve been a psychiatrist rather than a teacher, because he wanted nothing more than to get inside Harry’s brain and search through it, walk around in his shoes. 

And Harry’s sketch was only intensifying Mr. Tomlinson’s obsession.  It was so beautiful yet so tragic.  He could practically feel the pain etched into every pencil stroke.  There was something about that image of young Harry and his mother walking through the park that tugged at his heartstrings.  He couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

So over all, it was boring without Harry there.

~

Later that night, Louis stepped into his small suburban home.  He was rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.  The keys jingled loosely in his hand as he walked, dragging his feet like a chained prisoner.  It’d been a long exhausting day at the university.  He set his messenger bag down on the floor and slowly began to unbutton his trench coat.  He tossed it carelessly on the back of the dark leather couch.

“You’ve been home for thirty seconds and you’re already creating a mess,” a distinctive voice spoke up.  Louis looked up to see Zayn standing there in the kitchen archway, arms crossed over his chest.  He had a smug loving smile on his lips.  His eyes flickered to his bag on the ground and his coat sprawled across their furniture. 

“You’re home already,” Louis noted with a hint of surprise in his voice.

His fiancé nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I took the afternoon off.  I thought we should have a romantic evening together so we can start planning the wedding.”

Louis’s face immediately lit up, for what seemed like the first time in ages.  “Really?” he said excitedly.  “But I thought you said you wanted to wait— until we had the money to properly do it?”

Zayn shrugged.  “Well, I was thinking— we have enough money as it is, I suppose.  It’ll be a stretch, and we’ll have to make a budget for ourselves, but I think we can make it happen.”

Louis squealed in excitement and rushed over to Zayn.  He wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him in close, breathing in his smoky comforting scent.  He pressed a kiss to the inside of his neck.

“Thank you so much.  I really needed this,” he said softly, lips close to his ear.

“Of course,” Zayn assured him, pecking his lips.  “Anything for you.”