It's just a spark but it's enough || ENG version

Chapter Seven

"Henry," said Zayn, tapping his fist lightly but firmly on the blue-tinted table of the canteen. Hearing that name, so similar to his own, Harry looked up at him, confused, but the boy immediately silenced him with a gesture of his hand before he could speak. "Henry Wriothesley. That's who the real lover of Shakespeare was, not the Dark Lady or the wifey with the name of the actress from The Devil Wears Prada."

Louis huffed as he poured a few drops of oil onto his potato salad with little conviction. "I don't know, mate. I'm pretty sure Shakespeare's wife wasn't called Meryl Streep," he muttered, turning sharply to the substitute teacher beside him when he heard him stifle a laugh, even though he was pretending to rummage through his phone while listlessly eating a rather dry chicken breast.

"What are you laughing at?" the older boy asked, offended, giving him a light knee jab under the table. "Zayn was referring to Anne Hathaway, baby," he whispered the nickname, fearing someone might overhear them, but the only one nearby was the science teacher, who hid a proud smile behind two fingers as if to induce himself to vomit. (As happy as he was for his two friends, in those moments—strange but true—he missed Niall. Terribly.)

"Oh," Louis stammered, as if processing that news more than the entire discussion about the mysterious and ambiguous sexuality of a playwright who lived so many years ago it was almost frightening. "That wasn't the point, though. To me, those sonnets are dedicated to William Herbert, not to Henry Wri—something." He waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss any opposing opinion, but while the dark-haired boy raised his hands in surrender, Harry, as a scholar and lover not only of literature but also—and above all—of Shakespeare, spoke up. "Actually, both are historically very valid hypotheses," he commented, stopping his phone and leaving it on the table as he skewered a piece of that poor chicken on the ceramic plate, surrounded only by some roasted potatoes and a few boiled carrots.

"Which side are you on, for goodness' sake?" Louis asked, offended, this time delivering a proper kick—far less gentle—to his best friend, who laughed loudly sitting opposite him and immediately doubled over, rubbing his sore leg with one hand while showing the middle finger to the boy with the other. "Always on yours, Lou, but..." he paused to chuckle slightly, gesturing and then snickering with his head lowered. "But it's not certain at all, and it's Shakespeare, for heaven's sake. It doesn't matter who his poems were about; it's the content that counts," he explained, before taking his water bottle from the tray and drinking under the astonished gazes of the two diners.

It was extraordinary how everyone hung on Harry's words even when he talked about literature, even if he wasn't saying anything concrete or profoundly deep. He had the power and natural ability to captivate without even realising it.

"You're making me feel embarrassed," Zayn muttered at one point, seeing how Harry had directed a smile at the other, still with cheeks full of water and wet lips. "You're just jealous, Malik," Louis retorted with the tip of his tongue between his teeth and a cheeky grin, without even turning to his colleague, instead watching how the curly-haired boy swallowed the water and smiled even more.

"No, really, you're everywhere. Even in Shakespeare! Your second name is William, and he's named after Henry Wriothesl—" gestured the dark-haired boy, running a tattooed hand through his hair.

"I told you those bloody sonnets aren't about him, Zayn. Listen to me when I'm speaking, thanks," he interrupted dramatically, making both his interlocutor and his boyfriend next to him chuckle.

"I don't know why you're laughing, but I'm sure you won't be once I tell you what I've heard," Niall's voice silenced all three teachers at the table, and when the nurse slammed his full tray in front of Harry, he nearly spilled a drop of cherry syrup on his white t-shirt. He certainly wouldn't be laughing if that happened.