You Belong With Me > Larry Stylinson

You Belong With Me

          It's a typical Tuesday night and Louis is trying to pay attention to the book sitting in his lap at the moment. Keyword: trying. The title of the book slips his mind and the letters on the page are blurring together but it's not his fault. The culprit that has stolen his attention is standing right outside his window, pacing in his own bedroom. 

          His mother always taught him not to ease drop but it's so hard not to when Harry is literally yelling into his phone and the walls are thin (or it may be the fact that Louis has incredible hearing when things involve Harry).

          He looks adorable in his long green t-shirt (that probably brings out the green in his eyes) and dark blue and white checkered pajama bottoms. Maybe cute isn't the word to describe him though because every time Louis looks up to see his muscled arms littered with tattoos, he bites his lip a little harder. 

          "Well, I'm not dating Ciara, I'm dating you! So, why does it matter that she sits beside me in Chemistry?"

          Focus on the book, Louis tells himself. His hand is itching to grab his sharpie and write Harry a message but he can't. They're discussing this book in class tomorrow and he needs to be prepared if any question is aimed at him. Or were they discussing it on Thursday? Next week maybe?

          "No, I'm not saying that I wanna date Ciara! You're twisting my words."

          Harry has his curly hair wrapped up in a bun as he paces back and forth. His hand is making wild gestures in the air while he listens to whatever Taylor, his girlfriend, has to say. If Louis were Taylor, he'd just let it go. She has Harry freaking Styles as a boyfriend. What could she possibly complain about?

          "You know what? I'll talk to you later. Have fun with the girls tonight."

          Louis snaps his book shut, not that he was paying any attention to it anyway, and lays it on his bed. He nudges his glasses up farther on his nose before sitting on the bench in front of his window. Harry sits on down on his own bed, burying his face in his hands in distress. Louis makes quick work of writing a simple, "You ok?" on his notepad as he waits for Harry to look up again. 

          Once Harry looks up, Louis holds up his notepad to allow Harry read the message. The way Harry's lips curl up into a smile as he reads it causes Louis' heart to skip a beat. 

          "TiRED of DRAMA," Harry writes back. Louis loves the way his letters are never consistently in upper case or lower case.

          His cheeks burn as he writes back a sympathetic, "Sorry," with a little sad face at the bottom. Harry shouldn't be going through all this trouble. 

          The taller lad shrugs his shoulders, his left dimple peaking from his cheek as he stands up again. Louis looks down at his notepad and bites his lip. Flipping to a new page, he begins to write frantically, glasses slipping lower down his nose as Burn by Ray LaMontagne plays in the background. It's a song Harry once introduced him into, something Taylor definitely wouldn't like. She's more into pop, Harry's more into Indie, and Louis' more into Harry. It's complicated. 

          Once Louis' done writing his message, he takes a deep breathe and closes his eyes. He catches himself off guard as he flips it up and stares out his window for Harry's reaction... But he's met with the navy blue material of Harry's curtains. 

          "Ugh," Louis groans as he falls back onto his bed. "What does she have that I don't? Oh, right. A pair of boobs and a," he shivers, "vag."

          He lays there for a few minutes, listening as a song by Birdy plays and ends. His book, he still doesn't recall the name of it, is pressing uncomfortably into his lower back but he's too lost in his thoughts to notice or care.