Tease [Larry]

Five

Irrevocably, Harry realizes that for the next few days, Niall's weird.

There's not nearly as many late night calls or texts, and when Harry asks about it, Niall chalks it up to too many overdue assignments and a newly habited early bird complex. They only hang out around other people; study groups he's forced into by his least favorite professors, or measly, short lived sessions in the library with Liam and Zayn from Art and Design.

Harry also recounts the one time they'd accidentally bumped hands in the hall, and remembers the way Niall had practically levitated a fine three feet away. In retrospect, if they hadn't already had the talk about Harry's sexuality, he thinks he'd have the right to be a little more concerned.

Except Niall had been the first one he'd told.

Niall knew all about Harry and his preferences. He knew that sometimes, Harry preferred a pair of large, hard hands and a strong, flat chest. Other times he enjoyed a soft, smooth face and a curvaceous figure to hold on to. It didn't really matter to him, and he never favored one more than the other. Niall had always been on board with that. Had never had any issues or protests or hard feelings about his best mate being bisexual.

So Harry wonders why Niall's declined his request to come over and eat rubbish food while they lose round after around of their favorite video game. It's Friday; Niall's favorite day of the week, the sun's out, and his mother's snug in bed and blissfully unaware of the party they'd thrown a few weeks prior. Life was finally decent again. Tolerable.

It all goes to shit on an overcast Monday morning.

Harry and Niall are in the school yard, snacking on a plate of deep fried chips. The air's warm, a lovely distraction from the way Niall's refuses to make any sort of direct eye contact whilst Harry blabs on and on about Mrs. Q and her latest English endeavors.

Harry reaches over for a chip the same time Niall does. Their hands accidentally touch. Niall rips his arm away as if he's just been scorched by the rising flames of a fire, and the entire tray tips over before the remains of their shared lunch are splattered across the cold, hard concrete.

Tears instantly spring in Harry's eyes. They're being laughed at by passerby's and side eyed by faculty members, but that's the least of his concerns. Right now, he's more so focused on Niall, running a shaking hand though his box bleached hair, looking as guilty as ever as he bends over to clean up their mess.

When he's finished, Niall reaches out a tentative hand to console Harry. Harry doges him, leaping up from the lunch table. "Don't."

Niall, pale hand frozen in mid air, has the nerve to act surprised. Without a word, Harry packs up his belongings and heads for fifth period. Niall, looking like a dejected puppy, follows closely behind. Good, Harry thinks. Misery loves company.

"Harry," Niall calls out from behind, trying to keep up with his ridiculously long strides. "Harry—for the love of god—would you please slow down?"

"Gonna be late for class," Harry replies. It's petty; Niall knows class doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, and Harry's never not been late to English, but he has to put his foot down at some point. "Talk to you later."

"Will you just let me explain?" Harry continues to snake through the crowd, unimpressed and on the verge of tears. In the moment, he decides he doesn't owe Niall anything. Niall hadn't so much as taken his feelings into consideration, so why should he? Why should he always be the first one to extend the olive branch? "C'mon, man, don't be like that."

There's still people watching, or maybe it's just Harry being paranoid. It's hard to tell the difference, sometimes.

Nevertheless, the lad halts in his tracks. He's tired, is the thing. He's tired of not being able to peacefully go about his school day, because of his sexuality. He's tired of not being able to have a normal relationship with his mother, because of his sexuality. He's tired of getting beaten on, because of his sexuality. And with these thoughts and revelations alone, he wishes he had the ability to change himself.