You've got to be fucking kidding me.
He forgets to even react at first, just staring back at the green eyes studying him. Judging him.
Then his brain kicks into high gear, and he sucks in a sharp breath, running his hands through hair in disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He snaps at Harry.
Without breaking her concentration on the lesson plans, the professor calls out, "Whoever said that, I don't want to hear foul language in this classroom. Please keep it down." In response, the rest of the class glances around for a quick second, but Louis is too distracted to really care. He simply lowers his voice, just loud enough for Harry to hear.
"Are you really that lonely that the only remaining seat in this class was next to you?" Louis hisses, and Harry's eyes flash with something. Anger, maybe.
When Harry speaks, his voice is calm and deep, like the rumble of a train traveling through an echoing tunnel. His words are drawn out and slow, emphasis on each note and each syllable as he speaks. It's infuriating to hear him talk, honestly. His speech is so bloody slow.
Not to mention, words like velvet always seem to pour from his pink lips when he speaks, never failing to disguise all underlying notes of aggression and bitterness with its soft, plush façade.
Louis hates velvet.
It's always been this way, for as long as Louis can remember. He's always spoken in long, thought-out sentences. The only difference from when he was young is the significant drop in pitch, his once high voice now replaced by a low, gravely one.
Puberty really did a number with him.
And as for Harry's physical appearance after puberty, well...
Louis just tries to ignore it.
"Are you really that irresponsible to be the last one to class?" Harry returns smoothly, and Louis (mentally) curses at him.
He sticks a finger out at him, pointing up and down Harry's perfectly pressed and wrinkle-free uniform. He looks artificial. He is artificial. "Well, at least I don't look like a mannequin who just sprouted legs." Not the best insult, Louis admits, but it'll have to do.
Harry's cheeks flush red with what Louis (quite happily, mind you) sees as fury. Getting Harry riled up was just about his favorite pastime, right next to football and absolutely demolishing Zayn and Liam at FIFA.
Harry regains composure less than a second later, a bitchy smirk crossing his face. "Close your mouth, sweetheart. Don't want to catch any flies with that absolute fucking cave you've got there."
"It gets more action than yours does,"
"Are you finally admitting you're a slut?"
"Are you finally admitting you're a bone-dry virgin with asthma and a two-incher?"
"Are you finally admitting you have an outstanding crush on me, and you're just talking about my dick until you can get some?"
"Are you two finally finished?" A very irritated professor interrupts from the front of the room.
Louis and Harry's glaring gazes immediately snap away from one another and to the professor in shock. Louis feels his face burn like red-hot coals. A quick glance over at Harry and he's just the same: pursed lips, trying to fend off the embarrassment with unnecessarily frequent bats of his eyelashes.
So much for first impressions.
To make matters worse, the classroom had gone quiet the second Harry raised his voice about Louis being a slut (which is simply untrue), so they heard the rest of the conversation.
On the plus side, everyone thinks Harry has a two-incher.
On the downside, now everyone thinks Louis has seen said dick, and that he's crushing on Harry to get him into bed.
Great. Fucking great.
The remainder of the class is spent in near-complete silence for Louis and Harry. Only a few brief words between them, along with many angry stares, cut through the stale air between them like ice.
It turns out that Victorian Literature may just be the dullest class Louis has ever been in. It's a surprise he didn't start snoring through it as their professor - Ms. Swift - droned on about the class syllabus and the works of authors such as Charles Dickens and Lewis Caroll.
By the time the bell rings, Louis' mood is sufficiently less delighted than it was before his first block. He begrudgingly grabs his backpack off of the back of his chair, stuffing a few papers that were passed out into it before zipping it up.
He turns around, eagerly trying to get out of the classroom to make it to his second block Spanish class before the bell rings again. In the process, he runs smack into Harry, who turns around wildly, just as ticked off as Louis.
"Hey, watch it!" Harry's voice weighs heavily with annoyance and distaste. He stares at Louis as if he's a mere ant.
"When the bell rings, you can't just stand here waiting for someone to walk right into you,"
"Most people have eyes,"
"Keep talking and I'll pull a John Wick and stab yours out with a pencil."
"Geek."
"Fuckface."
"Boys!" Ms. Swift calls from her desk, looking down at an attendance list to get their names right, "Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, please come over here. I'll send you off with a tardy pass for your second block classes if needed, but this will only take a moment."
Louis internally groans, and thankfully stops himself from rolling his eyes as the two of them put lots of space between each other as they slowly trudge over to her desk. Harry's boots click against the tile floor with each step, in rhythm with Louis' beating heart, which is filled with absolute dread.
Louis doesn't want the school to call home, because he knows how much his parents have to pay for him to go here. He can't just throw that away. So he shuts his mouth and listens as she lectures them about classroom behaviors.
"And if I need to separate you two, I will," she promises, bouncing her pen against her desk as she speaks. "Are you too immature to sit together?" The question lingers in the air.
Try.
Zayn's single request rings out in Louis' head. Fuck. He's doing this for his friends.
"No, it's fine," Louis says quietly, his voice weak, even though the inside is screaming for a seat change.
Harry's face crosses with confusion, looking at Louis like he sprouted another head. Oh, how Louis wishes he was Medusa, possessing the ability to forever solidify Harry into stone. Then he could smack him with a hammer. He nearly smiles at the mental image of Harry shattering into a million little stone shards. Yay!
"Yeah," Harry echoes Louis' words emptily. "It's fine. Sorry, ma'am."
She stares at them both sternly, looking all but convinced. "Behave yourselves, and take your banter elsewhere. Or, if anything else, at least be a little quieter while blatantly insulting one another so we can't hear you. Maybe try speaking in rhyme and with more tasteful diction, for this is a Victorian Literature class. Sprinkle in some figurative language for brownie points. But you two need to knock it off. I don't want to see this behavior anymore, is that understood?"
They both nod silently, and Louis presses his thin lips together into a forced smile. She dismisses them with a wave of her hand, and they quickly exit the room with the two tardy passes she provided them.
"What the fuck, Harry?" Louis snaps immediately after they're out of earshot. "I mean, why are you in class anyway? Didn't your mummy enrich you in all things fancy literature from the second you came outta the womb?"
"What is that even supposed to mean?" Harry snorts, "And for the record, I passed this class with flying colors in Year 9, no thanks to you."
"Then why are you taking it again?" Louis asks. Based on the selected bit of the lecture he paid attention to today, he can't imagine voluntarily taking this class for a second time.
Harry shrugs. "I like the course. It's intriguing and the era of writing is simply magnificent. Plus, I tutor a multitude of students from our school Victorian Literature because it comes so easily to me."
Nerd.
Louis makes a face of disgust as they continue to wander down the hallway. His Spanish class is on the other side of the school, so it's quite the walk. Harry hasn't specified his block two class, nor any of his other classes, but Louis remembers Niall mentioning he's taking Sign Language this year, not Spanish. Thank god for that. Maybe that'll mean Louis doesn't have to listen to his monotone voice anymore.
"Just for the record," Louis continues, "I would never in a million years let you tutor me in Victorian Literature. I bet you'd like, I don't know, write everything down on fucking parchment with ink and quills and shit. I'd rather jump off a bridge."
"And I never offered to tutor you," Harry returns, voice purring despite his annoyed expression and set jaw. "Nor would I ever entertain the idea of such a thing."
"Good."
"Good."
They fall silent, their footsteps echoing through the empty hallways. After a minute or so, Louis can't stand the silence much longer, and Harry's making no effort to speak. Really, where is this kid's class?
"Are you going to lunch today?" Louis asks, keeping his eyes straight ahead, eyes searching desperately for his Spanish classroom. He has the same teacher as last year - Sr. Alejandro - one of his favorite teachers, and he doesn't want to keep him waiting. El es muy caliente y Louis lo ama.
"Yeah." Harry responds simply. "Niall invited me."
Louis laughs. "Of course he did."
"What?" Harry almost looks hurt, if not a bit offended.
"Nothing," Louis scoffs dismissively. He looks over at Harry, who looks like he wants to say something more, but bites his tongue and holds back.
Finally, Louis reaches his classroom. He doesn't say anything more to the curly-haired boy before entering the classroom and closing the door behind him.
**
To say the least, Louis isn't excited about lunch. He was, but then Victorian Literature happened.
So, yeah.
A short car ride over to the restaurant is smooth sailing, Louis heavily enjoying Zayn's brand new car, decked out to the max with a black leather interior and a killer stereo. Street parking is conveniently empty as they pull up to the curb, for everyone else is either at work or at school.
Walking inside, all five of them are greeted by a kind-looking hostess. Her blue eyes and sunny blonde hair accentuate her youthful face as she smiles at them. "Welcome to Petites Plaques D'eroda. My name is Keeley, and I'll be your hostess this afternoon. Do you have a reservation?"
Louis steps forward to answer, because Zayn seems mildly distracted as Liam shows him something on his phone, the two of them smiling at whatever it is like madmen. "Yes, we do." Louis responds, "It's under the name Zayn Malik. We've booked a private room for a table of five."
"Malik," she repeats, looking at her computer screen before nodding and gathering five menus in her arms. Then she takes a second look at Louis, her expression becoming puzzled.
"Sir, have you dined with us before? I could've sworn you checked in for a reservation just an hour or so ago."
What?
"No," Louis shakes his head, " 's my first time here."
"I must've mistaken you for someone else, my apologies. If you gentlemen will kindly follow me this way." She hides a slight tint of blush on her face before she turns on her heel and leads us to the back of the restaurant.
A quick glance around and Louis sees that the restaurant isn't too busy yet, meaning they must've either missed the lunch rush or beat the crowds. An older couple at one table is eating what looks like gelato in fancy cocktail glasses, the one woman twirling a blue drink umbrella between her fingers as she talks happily with her partner.
A series of booths line the far wall, one of them currently being occupied by a couple around the same age as Louis and his friends. They're drinking champagne, so they must be celebrating something. The one boy looks unbelievably jittery, though, while the other has a smirk on his face.
The two boys are too far away for Louis' semi-shitty eyesight (sometimes he has to wear glasses to see properly, but it makes him feel old so, unlike Zayn, who wears glasses on a nearly daily basis, Louis likes to just wing it day-by-day), but they look oddly familiar. Louis wonders if they go to his school too, but Liam sees them and doesn't indicate any forms of recognition, so Louis keeps walking.
Regardless, whatever they're eating looks delicious and Louis plans to look for it on the menu. Some sort of chicken dish, he's pretty sure. Maybe he'll split it with Niall.
They reach the private rooms, which sounds like something out of a strip club if Louis is going to be completely honest. There's a fogged glass window that lets the light inside the closed room but doesn't allow for anyone in the main part of the restaurant to look in. In the center of the room stands a circular table, surrounded by cushioned chairs.
And if an attractive male stripper happens to waltz into this private room mid-lunch, then so be it. That's what the fogged window is for. Apologies in advance to Louis' dearest friend, Niall, the only straight member of the group. He's really missing out.
All of them quickly take their seats and Keeley hands out the menus. She takes their drink orders and promises to be back soon with them, allotting them time to look over their menus.
"What're you lads having?" Niall asks eagerly, shifting on his seat to get comfortable as he opens up his menu.
Louis glances at the menu a moment, failing to identify whatever the one couple in the booth was eating. On the other hand, a mouth-watering description of croque madame served with a poached egg snags Louis' attention and he makes up his mind. A fancy toasted ham and cheese sandwich it is.
"The menu looks exquisite," Zayn comments, flipping through the pages. "The boeuf bourguignon sounds amazing, made with that famous Burgundian pinot noir that everyone talks about in Food & Wine magazine. If Anthony Bourdain praises it, I shouldn't pass up the opportunity to try it."
Liam nods, immediately reassuring Zayn and flashing him a smile. "Excellent! I reckon the cassoulet will be delightful, so I'll order that. Harry?"
"A simple quiche Lorraine will be more than satisfactory. I haven't had a slice in ages," Harry's empty green eyes pass right over Louis, landing on Niall instead, which prompts him to share his own order.
Niall spits out a few more fancy French dishes that Louis has never heard of, and he's pretty sure one of them was the dish that the young couple was eating. Louis plans to snag a bite or three.
In the meantime, Louis wonders if Zayn and Liam have had the same dressing down with Harry as they did with him. He doesn't want to be alone in the whole getting-lectured-by-your-best-friends-about-your-ex-best-friend thing. So, yeah. He hopes Harry got lectured too.
He doesn't even realize he's staring - hate staring - at Harry until it's much too late; Harry's eyes harden and his lips curl up into a sneer at Louis' gaze. Louis frowns back in return, looking away before any of the other boys could notice the unwelcomed interaction.
The brief silence is broken by the waiter returning with their drinks and writing down their respective orders on a notepad. She exits the room with a polite nod, closing the door behind her.
Liam glances around at the five of them, before landing on Harry. "Harry, we were just discussing our schedules earlier today," Liam prompts, his words light and conversational. They all haven't seen Harry for a month or so, because of his vacation, and Louis is sure they have lots to catch up on.
"We were wondering, what does your schedule look like for this year?" Zayn finishes his sentence.
Harry plasters on a smile to match Zayn's, and Louis wants to fucking vomit. "Well, I thought you'd never ask. First block I have my personal favorite class, Victorian Literature, as always."
"Your second year, correct?"
"For tutoring purposes, yes," He smiles sweetly. Too sweet. "Why, I even have it with Louis. We're fortunate enough to be sitting right next to each other. Yay."
His 'yay' has about as much enthusiasm as Louis did when Lottie accidentally smacked him in the face with a metal baseball bat and his nose bled all over the kitchen floor.
In other words, zero enthusiasm.
It's mutual.
"Second block is my English Sign Language class, which is quite enriching. Then, my second favorite class, is Myths and Mythology II. This year we're studying a lot of different gods and mythical creatures like fairies and such."
"Give it a rest," Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes and provoking an eyebrow raise from Zayn. Harry pauses, listening. "We all know there's no such thing as fairies and centaurs or whatever shit they'll be teaching you."
"It's mythology, Louis. As in myths. Legends. Fantasy. And just for the record, they're just as real as your-"
"Harry," Zayn's voice warns, in just the same tone as when he lectured Louis. "Let's move on, shall we? What's your fourth period?" He directs the conversation away from unfriendly bickering, and Harry shifts in his chair and coughs awkwardly. Neither he nor Louis are used to being confronted about their enemy-like tendencies, so... this is new. It's not very enjoyable either.
Maybe Louis really will have to try.
Ugh.
"Sorry, lads. Back to my schedule, fourth is my lunch block, which I'm fortunate enough to have with you lot. Fifth is anatomy, sixth is advanced ceramics, and seventh is a study hall block."
No fucking way. Harry did not just say ceramics. Louis will NOT let Mr. Curly McStupidface ruin the class he's most excited for.
But regardless, he bites his tongue and stays quiet about it.
"That means we've all got anatomy together!" Niall cheers, holding up his drink to clink with the others, oblivious to Louis' internal groaning. "Ya cunts ready to dissect some nasty shit? Zaynie, I bet you're gonna be the first one to pass out."
"Why is that?"
"Please, I saw how you reacted when our little LouLou had that footie injury that left his finger nearly dangling off his hand. It was swinging around like there was no tomorrow. Really a miracle it didn't fall right off, don't ya think? I mean, the blood was spraying around like a fucking sprinkler system and-"
Zayn, his beautifully olive skin now a noticeable shade whiter, holds up his hand to half Niall's rambling. Liam passes him a glass of water, the poor boy. He's always been a squeamish one, Zayn. Niall just smirks in triumph, clearly having proven his point, before launching himself into a conversation with Harry about last night's football match.
Niall and Harry have been friends for as long as Louis can remember. Their mums used to work together before Anne - Harry's mum - married rich and retired from being an accomplished lawyer. Niall's mum followed suit a few years after, landing them both in the position to be able to afford and attend such a posh private school.
Within their friend group, if you will, it's always been unspokenly divided. Niall and Harry were the duo, and Louis, Liam, and Zayn were the trio. Never divided in a bad way, just divided. But they hung out together so often the average onlooker wouldn't have the slightest idea anything besides a bit of conflict was going on between Louis and Harry, and Louis was alright with that.
Similar to Niall and Harry, Louis and his disgustingly love-struck best friends have been inseparable since primary school. Whether it be the playground every afternoon, one another's houses, or even the local park, they hung out nonstop.
And with age, nothing much changed between all five of them. (Well, with the exception of the time Zayn and Liam offered for Louis to have a threesome with them, but Louis doesn't want to dwell on that. He said no, by the way. Not that it matters.)
The only difference was the separation of Louis and Harry, who, at one point, also used to be attached at the hip. Louis would be lying through gritted teeth if he said he missed being friends with Harry, but it was so long ago and so much had happened since that there was more harm than good that would come out of any sort of relationship with Harry.
It was one measly kiss.
One.
And look where that got them. 'Yay.'
So yeah. One stupid playground kiss snowballed into a blizzard of bullying, rumors, drama, and bitterness. Louis is too stubborn to let any of it go, and Harry is too stubborn to even discuss it. They both know it, and they hate each other for it.
Enough about Harry, and back to the restaurant. They chat with one another for a bit more before the food arrives. It's delicious and worlds better than whatever half-decent pizza slices or inadequate hot lunch their school is serving today in the cafeteria.
The rest of the lunch goes smoothly, without another word being exchanged between Louis and Harry. Liam looks relieved at the lack of fighting, and that'll have to do because he shouldn't expect any more than that.
Louis wonders if he can be too bitter. Maybe.
Watching the clock, their lunch wraps up around 30 minutes later, Zayn graciously picking up the tab with a chivalrous 'Don't worry about it, my friends'. They reach the school parking lot less than 15 minutes later, taming their erratic laughter about something Niall said as they walk through the front doors, all of them smiling and content.
**
"Louis, honey, how was school?" His mother asks as he walks into her office, where she's looking over an impressively large cookbook, bookmarking pages, and writing notes in the margins for later use. The finished wood floors creak ever so slightly under his footsteps, the ticking of a clock echoing like a metronome in the room.
He inhales the familiar dusty smell of the air, which has always been oddly comforting. Tall bookshelves line the walls, and at her desk sits an eccentric lamp straight out of the 80s, casting a warm glow.
Louis tries his best to put on a huge smile, shrugging his backpack off and dropping it onto a pompous armchair as he watches his mother's hopeful face. "It was great. I loved seeing the lads during lunch, and you were right about the classes. They're all very nice."
She smiles and Louis wants to cry. He hates lying to her, he's just too far in the fantasy to turn back now. It's been nearly a decade of little white lies here and there (mainly involving his friendship with Harry). He's getting better at it with age, but it never makes it easier.
"See, I told you Victorian Literature would be a nice class. And I'm sure that it will look just perfect on your applications. It was my favorite when I was in school too, you know. My professor was just the sweetest!"
"Mines alright." He pauses. "Kinda loud and strict though. Maybe she'll come 'round."
She purses her hips, inquiring for more information that Louis fails to give. Then her phone rings - she refuses to change her ringtone from "Love My Way" by the Psychedelic Furs, bless her - and she ducks out of the view of Louis. "Hold on, honey, I'll get back to you in a minute."
She excuses herself to a back room in the office, taking her phone with her. Louis plops down next to his backpack on the armchair, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. He coughs it away and pulls out his phone, to find new text messages from Zayn awaiting him.
Zayn: Hey, Louis.
Zayn: I just wanted to let you know that Niall, Liam, and I discussed things with Harry just as we did with you. We don't expect an overnight change, because I know it's complicated, but...
Louis: But try
Zayn: Yes, thank you.
Louis: As long as he tries too
Zayn: He will.
Louis: How do you know?
Zayn: Instinct.
A few moments go by, a small three dots indicating Zayn is typing on the other end. Louis waits.
Zayn: And Niall may or may not have threatened to give him a sloppy kiss on the lips every time Niall greeted him if Harry didn't try.
Louis: And he says he's straight
Louis: Straight as my ASS
Zayn: Only time will tell. But really, we're all thankful that you'll make an effort. As you can clearly tell by Niall offering up his kisses and unrequited love.
Louis: I'll work on it. Sorry it had to come to this
Zayn: No worries. I'll see you tomorrow.
Zayn: Have a good night!
Louis: You too. Kiss Liam goodnight for me, will ya?
Zayn: You wish.
Louis sighs and shoves his phone into his pocket. His mother is still talking away in the other room, and if Louis strains his ears he can hear her discussing workplace drama with a coworker. Something about the intern sleeping with the boss, like they're living in a sitcom.
So alas, he's left alone in the room with just his thoughts. Quiet music plays on a record player, the only thing Louis' dad has ever been known to collect. Prince and the Revolution turn into background music as the day's events eat away at Louis' insides, corrosive and irritating.
To put it quite obviously, he's conflicted. Very. In Louis' mind, Harry is just the same person as he was ten years ago. You can change on the outside all you want with clothes, haircuts, and age, but everyone is always the same person on the inside, even if it's lessened.
And that Harry practically ruined his childhood with nasty rumors about Louis being a 'boy-kisser', his family being poorer than everyone else's, and everything that his classmates could and did taunt and tease him about.
(The 'boy-kisser' rumor turned out to be true, but everyone just said 'Harry told us' when Louis tried to come out in secondary school, and it was awful. Unforgivable, really, as well as it being extremely hypocritical on Harry's end.)
After all, Harry was the one who kissed him on that playground, out of the blue. It's not Louis' fault he pushed Harry when Harry pecked his then-best friend on the lips. Albeit he did feel bad for causing Harry to fall off the playground landing and into some mulch. But it was just mulch, and Harry had easily brushed it off.
It was a natural reaction for a 7-year-old, and at the time he didn't mean for Harry to take the fall he did. But it happened. And then more shit happened. Lots of shit. And here they are, with their friends on their asses about not hating one another so much. It's not your ideal situation.
His thoughts are interrupted by his mom walking back into the room, looking as cheerful as ever. He sits up in his chair, plastering a smile onto his own face as he shoves the idea of making up with Harry into the back of his head, trying to forget.
Trying to start again.
Trying.
***
That's a bit to unpack about Harry and Louis' history, but you all don't know the half of it yet..
Thoughts or comments?
VOTE if you hope Louis and Harry try to become something better than enemies!