Butterflies & Hurricanes || l.s

Chapter 3

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

He forgets to even react at first, just staring back at the green eyes studying him. Judging him.

Then his brain kicks into high gear, and he sucks in a sharp breath, running his hands through hair in disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He snaps at Harry.

Without breaking her concentration on the lesson plans, the professor calls out, "Whoever said that, I don't want to hear foul language in this classroom. Please keep it down." In response, the rest of the class glances around for a quick second, but Louis is too distracted to really care. He simply lowers his voice, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

"Are you really that lonely that the only remaining seat in this class was next to you?" Louis hisses, and Harry's eyes flash with something. Anger, maybe.

When Harry speaks, his voice is calm and deep, like the rumble of a train traveling through an echoing tunnel. His words are drawn out and slow, emphasis on each note and each syllable as he speaks. It's infuriating to hear him talk, honestly. His speech is so bloody slow.

Not to mention, words like velvet always seem to pour from his pink lips when he speaks, never failing to disguise all underlying notes of aggression and bitterness with its soft, plush façade.

Louis hates velvet.

It's always been this way, for as long as Louis can remember. He's always spoken in long, thought-out sentences. The only difference from when he was young is the significant drop in pitch, his once high voice now replaced by a low, gravely one.

Puberty really did a number with him.

And as for Harry's physical appearance after puberty, well...

Louis just tries to ignore it.

"Are you really that irresponsible to be the last one to class?" Harry returns smoothly, and Louis (mentally) curses at him.

He sticks a finger out at him, pointing up and down Harry's perfectly pressed and wrinkle-free uniform. He looks artificial. He is artificial. "Well, at least I don't look like a mannequin who just sprouted legs." Not the best insult, Louis admits, but it'll have to do.

Harry's cheeks flush red with what Louis (quite happily, mind you) sees as fury. Getting Harry riled up was just about his favorite pastime, right next to football and absolutely demolishing Zayn and Liam at FIFA.

Harry regains composure less than a second later, a bitchy smirk crossing his face. "Close your mouth, sweetheart. Don't want to catch any flies with that absolute fucking cave you've got there."

"It gets more action than yours does,"

"Are you finally admitting you're a slut?"

"Are you finally admitting you're a bone-dry virgin with asthma and a two-incher?"

"Are you finally admitting you have an outstanding crush on me, and you're just talking about my dick until you can get some?"

"Are you two finally finished?" A very irritated professor interrupts from the front of the room.

Louis and Harry's glaring gazes immediately snap away from one another and to the professor in shock. Louis feels his face burn like red-hot coals. A quick glance over at Harry and he's just the same: pursed lips, trying to fend off the embarrassment with unnecessarily frequent bats of his eyelashes.

So much for first impressions.

To make matters worse, the classroom had gone quiet the second Harry raised his voice about Louis being a slut (which is simply untrue), so they heard the rest of the conversation.