camboy // l.s.

✧ four ~ harry ✧

i arrive at mr. tomlinson's classroom dressed in my typical attire, my navy blue uniform. it's not required, but it's cute and no hassle to hike up, making it an opportunity for me to show off my milky thighs to, well, handsome professors. you see, i'm not dumb. i don't bend over for just anyone. do i enjoy sex? of course! that doesn't make me a slut though. i'm young and single and there's nothing wrong with having a little bit of fun. professor tomlinson is different though. he's quite....peculiar than the rest. yes, he obtains the qualities that i adore such as wealth and good looks, but never have i come across a straight man who doesn't flash me dirty looks because of what i wear or snap at me for doing the slightest of things. he's a nice man, and i respect that.

anyway, as i bound into the classroom and slide into my assigned seat, i outstretch a lanky arm and wiggle my delicate fingers at the older man. they're painted a sleek ivory, unblemished as i had perfected the art of nail painting at age twelve. mr. tomlinson, however, cocks his head in the opposite direction, stubble covered cheeks flushing a deep crimson. i furrow my plucked brows, but ignore it and shuffle through my pastel bag for the assignment due today. it's nothing much, just a packet of signatures, so i wait patiently for the students to file in and the shrill bell to ring throughout the immense building before calling louis' name to remind him.

"professor tomlinson!" i say, meager feet crossed as they dangle under the table i'm perched at, waving the paper wildly in the air. "don't forget to collect the packets from yesterday." i finish my sentence with a dimple poking out of my rosy cheek, flashing my pearly whites.

louis heaves a sigh, avoiding eye contact with his cerulean orbs and my emerald ones. i pout my cherry stained lips, huffing and folding my thin arms across my flat chest. what is his problem?

mr. tomlinson receives the stapled pack of paper and drops them in the marble basket, then continues to make a dumbfounded speech about how we should treat people and boring stuff like that. it drags on for almost the entire period, only ten minutes left before he passes blank sheets of paper down the rows and explains why.

"today we will be beginning our first lesson," he announces, stretching his chapped lips into a forced, close-mouthed smile. "it will be about someone you love, whether it be your parents, your pet, or someone close to you. your assignment will be to write a haiku poem at the top about the person without naming them, then write a five hundred word essay about who they are and why they're important to you. begin." he trudges back to his desk, taking a seat at the frayed spinning chair. i jut my bottom lip out, turning the paper over. in all honesty, i have no clue what to write about. the realization hits me swiftly, like a blow to the head. it's not painful, but deadly.

i don't love anyone.

here's the story: i was born on february first, two thousand in cheshire to a nurse and an unemployed man. we lived in a meager home for a while, the only money coming in from my mother's work. she didn't make much, considering she had barely gotten through her first year at a community college. the thing was, we were a strict christian household. there were paintings outlining the wall of god, we prayed every night, and thanked him for pretty much every good thing that occurred to us. we also believed everything that was written in the bible. we didn't eat meat, my parents were never allowed to get divorced, and the worst of all, i was raised to believe that homosexuality was a sin. of course now i'm openly gay, but that was after i moved out. i had to keep my feelings hidden in fear that i would be rejected by my own family. when i first told them they were astonished. my mother looked into anti-gay camps for help. my father curled his calloused fingers into a fist and made contact harshly with my soft skin. this continued for a while, until i ran away and applied for college. luckily, i was offered scholarship, meaning that my most of my funds were paid off and i had a place to stay, but i desperately needed money to for rent. my roommate, thankfully, turned out to not be a wealthy prick, but rather a kind one, and agreed to pay it off as long as i got a job by the end of the year. i already have one, working daily for four hours at the local animal shelter. i suppose i could write about my roommate, but wouldn't that be embarrassing? i don't love him.

by this time there is only five minutes of class left. i frown at the empty sheet of paper in front of me and grasp it in my fragile hand as i saunter up to mr. tomlinson, tapping him on the shoulder roughly. he spins around, azure eyes widening as he catches a glimpse of me.

"what is it?" he ponders, clearing his throat and snatching the blank paper from my gentle hands. "there's nothing written on this. harry, it's been five minutes, you should at least have your name on it."

"can you teach me?" i blurt out, plush lips curling into a frown as the bell rings, signaling for first period to end abruptly.

"what?" louis scoffs, chuckling slightly, but pauses as he recognizes the seriousness plastered on my face.

"i want you to teach me how to love," i say quietly, glassy eyes studying the tile beneath my small body. "i've never loved someone before. how can i write an essay about doing something i've never done?" the brim of my eyes sting with salty tears at this point, bad memories lingering in the darkness of my mind. the screams, the pleads, the hits, oh my god i'm crying now.

i suddenly begin to choke on quiet tears as the second bell rings. luckily, louis doesn't have a class this period, so i continue to let them fall, ignoring the fact that i'm tardy.

"hey," mr. tomlinson says, reaching out to place a tattooed hand on my shoulder and caress it lightly. "don't cry, love. what's wrong?"

i heave a shaky sigh, immediately plopping down on the man's lap without thinking. he coughs at this, but doesn't push me off.

"i - i don't know how to love," i stutter, stumbling over my words. "i was never shown how. w - will you teach me?"

louis blinks rapidly, chest rising swiftly. "yeah, yeah, i'll show you. i can write you a pass? let me write you a pass." he scribbles something unreadable down on a yellow card and gives it to me.

"visit my classroom after school," he says. "and we'll begin our lessons."