Tease [Larry]

Two

"The carnival is tomorrow." Niall, ever the self righteous idiot, muses two hands through his dip dyed platinum locks. Harry stares a little too hard, quickly losing interest in his annotated, battered copy of Great Exceptions. His book report's due tomorrow and he's barely brushed the surface on chapter five.

Harry kicks his legs up onto his desk, chucking the book behind him. He probably loses his place, but he doesn't think he'd be able to recall where he'd left off anyway. His sunglasses feel heavy on the bridge of his nose, weighing on the bruises surrounding the eye tissue, so he chucks those too, unperturbed at the sound of one of the lenses popping from its mold. "I don't care, Niall."

"You're coming with me," he says with a tone of finality. "It's not healthy to stay cooped up in this place all day."

"I wish I could," Harry rephrases, lies at that. He'd rather give himself another black eye then show his face at another fundraising event. It's too hot outside, Harry's got a book report due, his face doesn't hesitate to throb at the most inconvenient of moments, and he simply doesn't want to hang around his schoolmates if it isn't absolutely mandatory. "But I can't. Because I've got a book report due tomorrow."

"Bullshit." Niall chucks the hard copy of Great Expectations, not even flinching when Harry barely refrains from getting his head knocked off. "That book report's due before the carnival."

The delectable stench of chicken and mac wafts into Harry's nostrils, a tell tale sign of his mother whipping up dinner downstairs, but all it does is make him feel nauseated. For the past three days, he's only been able to stomach soft foods and watered down juices. He thinks it might have something to do with getting kneed in the fucking face—perhaps the impact had caused more damage than initially anticipated—but if Harry despises anything more than extracurriculars, it's hospitals.

He shakes out of his revere, picks up his pencil, and pretends to not hear Niall murmuring expletives beneath his breath. "I don't think you understand. You're coming to this carnival with me. No ifs, ands, or buts."

Harry snorts, mildly amused. "What's in it for me?" He spins in his desk chair, resting his neck across the headrest.

Niall toes out a foot, slowing Harry to a gradual stop. He grins devilishly. "Louis will be there."

And to be fair, he should've seen that coming. It's in the simple fact that Harry doesn't have many options as to who he confides in when he's got something important on his mind and his brain refuses to let go unless he gets his second opinion. Naturally, Harry told Niall about Louis, hadn't been able to keep the jig up. And maybe he'd crossed a line, blabbing on about the extent of good hair, tan skin, random tattoos, and the deepest, bluest pair of eyes he's ever seen. It's just that Louis makes him feel things he hasn't really ever felt before, makes him fidgety even though he keeps his discussions with Harry to an antagonizing minimum.

Who could blame him? Harry's a nobody.

"Don't make me regret saying anything to you in the first place."

"Don't make me use him as leverage." Niall stares at Harry hard, trapped in a stalemate competition.

Harry blinks first. "Fine," he relents. "I'll go to the fùcking carnival."

"Good." The Irishman goes back to primping his hair in the full body mirror. "I wish I had more to do with it, but I'll take what I can get."

Harry kicks Niall's foot out of the way, resuming his aimless spinning.

"I mean, can we just talk about it?" The boy takes a wad of mousse in his hands and slicks his hair to one side before changing his mind and slicking it towards the other. "I know you told me the story, but we haven't really got the chance to talk about what any of this means."