Bound by Pages | larry

thirty-one

"Is Louis here?" Harry asked.

She tilted her head a little, looking confused. "I thought he was with you."

"Huh?" It was Harry's turn to be confused. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the lady, presumably Louis' mother, with a puzzled look.

"You're Harry right?" She smiled warmly.

"Uh, yea. Yea I'm Harry."

"I figured. Come in, it must be cold out there." She opened the door all the way and gestured for him to come inside.

Harry stepped into the home, taking his shows off at the door. The warm air hit, and surrounded him like a safety blanket. The house wasn't big and grand like his own. Instead, it actually felt homey. Harry always thought that his house looked like a stock photo. This house actually looked like people lived in it.

As big and luxurious his own house was, it didn't feel like a home. He almost felt jealous of the families in these homes, even if a light bulb or two were blown. Harry looked around. the first thing he noticed was a wooden desk next to the door. On top of it were piles of mail so high that some of them were toppling over. Harry smiled at the imperfection of it.

"Why did you come here looking for Louis?" A soft voice broke apart his thoughts.

Harry held up the journal that was still in his hand. "Found this just outside. Thought he might've dropped it."

"I thought he was bound to that thing by the hip." She smiled. "You can go put it in his room for him, I doubt he'd mind."

"So how do you know about me?" Harry asked curiously.

"Are you kidding? He never shuts up about you. Half my life has turned into listening to stories about the elusive Harry Styles" She laughed when Harry blushed a deep red. "I don't mind though. I haven't seen that kind of light in his eyes for a long time."

Harry smiled sadly at the comment. Louis never talked about his mother. He never really talked about family in general. Harry always assumed it was because he had a rocky relationship with them. It was nice to learn that his mom was a really kind woman, wonderful really. In the ten minutes since he's met her, Harry could conclude that she was quite pleasant to be around.

"So why isn't Louis with you?" His mother walked to the dining table, picking up a cup of warm tea. She checked her watch. "I thought he was meeting you at seven tonight."

"That's what I thought too, ma'am." Harry sighed, following her into the dining room. "He never showed. Then I found the notebook, and now I'm here."

"Call me Jay, please. It makes me feel younger," she let out another laugh, but Harry could tell it wasn't nearly as cheery as her last few.

"I'm going to drop off the journal." Harry held up the small book in his hand. "Which one is his room?"

Jay took a quick sip of tea, then pointed across the house to a long hallway. "Down there. Trust me, you'll know which one is his."

Harry smiled at her quickly and headed towards the hallway. He walked past a couple closed doors before reaching one that was intensely different. The door was covered in snippets of old newspapers, fusing sentences together in a way that screamed 'Louis'.

He opened the door slowly, half-expecting Louis to be sitting on the bed, reading a book. Instead, it was an empty room. Walking into it, Harry noticed that it was colder than the rest of the house. Perhaps Louis liked to sleep in colder air.

A folder on his bed caught Harry's eye. It was one of those beige folders you would find in a filing cabinet. Harry walked towards the bed, picking the folder up from the blue fitted sheet. It was labelled 'English 11'. He assumed that meant eleventh-grade English, the class he was currently in.

Harry's jaw dropped when he opened the folder. He flipped through the papers, barely believing his eyes. Here was every English assignment they ever got during the year. Printed out, completed, rubric attached. All in the original words of Louis Tomlinson. Yet the boy was still failing English.

Harry tried to understand. He really did, but he just couldn't. Why would Louis go through all the effort, doing all of the assignments if he was never going to hand any of them in? Harry read through the first page.

Their first assignment in the class was to write about the effectiveness of some kind of advertising. Harry had chosen controversial advertisement, and wrote his paper on the way PETA styled their ads. He had gotten a great mark on that if he remembered correctly.

Louis had written a paper on negative advertisement. He had given an excruciating amount of detail, even sourcing mayoral elections from fifty years ago as an example. Harry couldn't even imagine how much effort that must have taken him, let alone time. Even without the intention to hand it in, Louis had made his assignment better than the majority of the class.

Harry spent almost a full hour reading through the rest of the work. He just couldn't understand how this could happen. It was like these papers only existed to cause Louis grief, but he had created that grief himself.

How painful must it have been for the younger boy when Mr Wikards complained that no one had done a specific thing he wanted correctly, but Louis knew he had a paper that had it done exceptionally at home?

Harry couldn't understand any of it but in a way, it felt like he understood the processes in Louis' head a little better.

Only one of the year's assignments wasn't there. The debate. Harry couldn't help but smile, knowing he was the reason Louis handed that one in.

Harry closed the folder, sighing. He placed the brown notebook next to the beige paper. He didn't dare to read it. For some reason, he knew reading the journal would be the ultimate betrayal to Louis, but he was sure the boy would show him when he was ready. If Harry would be ready for that, that's a whole different story.

Harry looked up and immediately saw a guitar. It was worn, but the layer of dust coating it implied that it hadn't been used for quite some time. Harry took the sticky-note pad from Louis' desk and wrote 'you play?' on one of the yellow papers. He stuck it on the wall next to the stringed instrument.

Next, he wrote 'I like them too' and stuck it to the Coldplay tour poster on Louis' wall.

He went around the room, commenting on the various item around the small room. Admittedly, he got a little carried away, even writing 'ooh clothes!' on his closet door.

Harry checked his phone, seeing that it was quarter to nine. He looked around the room. Satisfied with his work, he left the house, waving goodbye and goodnight to Jay on the way out.

When he got home, it was almost ten. He had stopped by the isolated park on the way home, wondering if Louis was there. The boy wasn't. Harry had planned to stay there for a little bit and try to clear his head by watching the stars.

He couldn't help the empty feeling that filled his body, and the voice that told him he had never been there without Louis. The voice was right, and the park without Louis felt so wrong.

Harry sighed, and plopped onto the bed. He had had a single pink lemonade cupcake for dinner. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered to no one where Louis was.

Then his phone went off.

'I need to talk to you tomorrow.'

And then Harry had another thing to think about for the night. What could Jaqueline possibly want from him this time?

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