Tuesday is much like Monday was. The day is still sunny, still frosty and still lonely.
Louis watches as Zayn hurries away, eager to get back to his exam, (apparently one week is just not enough time, or so Zayn had complained the whole way to school).
It’s not like he minds it, being by himself. He’s always been a solitary person, either because of his shyness, or because he’s simply like that naturally, he doesn’t know.
Still, sometimes so much solitude makes him feel lonely, and today is one of those days. Sighing and rubbing his hands together to warm them up, he starts towards the school. He’s got business this morning, and he’s very much aware that he completely screwed up the homework he handed in the day before, (too busy daydreaming about shining green eyes and loud-and-slightly-weird laugh) so he’s not eager to get it back.
Honestly it’s not like he doesn’t try (yesterday being an exception), but the whole subject just goes way over his head. He tries, he really does, but his eyelids feel awfully heavy as Mr Brown goes on and on, and oh my god, on and on.
It’s only towards the end of the lesson that the nagging starts. He complains and complains about how none of them are putting any effort into their work.
“This is your AS year. You can’t just wait a week before your exams to start really putting some work in” he walks around the room handing their work back, never stopping to draw breath, “we’re halfway through the year, and this is still the kind of work you’re handing in. If you really think you can pass at the level you are now, you’re all very much mistaken” he fixes them with his stern gaze before moving towards Louis, the last one to get his homework back, “even you Louis, I expected more from you,” he moves back towards his desk just as the bell goes.
Face hot, Louis blinks away the tears of embarrassment, angry that such simple words can reduce him to such a mess. He hates hearing his name being called out, and the attention it draws. Hates having to answer during the register. Hates it even more when a teacher calls him when not strictly necessary, and in front of his classmates.
Feeling paranoid, he hurries out of the classroom, feeling as if everyone’s eyes are on him, judging him, even though he knows, knows nobody is looking at him, that nobody cares, but it still doesn’t stop him from running away, heart beating unevenly in his chest in expectation, as if he’s being chased by a silent being that’s just waiting to pounce.
He’s such a freak.
He enters the toilet grateful that it’s empty, and rubs a trembling hand down his face, whilst looking at himself in the mirror and absolutely hating what he sees: a pale, scared and pathetic looking boy.
He’s got private study now, but he skips it, escaping away from people and their judging eyes. He locks himself in his car, hating how cold everything in it is.
He reaches out to switch on the heater, breath coming out in cloudy puffs in front of him. He sighs contentedly once the warm air hits his face, and leans his head back on his seat.
Once the bell goes in time for his English lesson, he opens his eyes again, gathers his courage and turns off the heater. It’s only when he feels little white cold dots falling on his face that he notices the change in scenery.
Everything is coated with a light dust of snow that makes him smile, blinking away the snowflakes stuck on his eyelashes.
His footsteps make dark shapes on the ground as he walks, and snow swirls around his face, the cold wind feels biting on his cheeks.
Feeling calmer, he walks back inside, sad to leave when it looks so pretty outside.
He’s one of the first to arrive, the room is still mostly empty, and he sits down in his usual place, immediately getting his books out of his bag. He’s barely read two whole pages when he feels a warm hand setting on his shoulder.
“Lou?”
Startled, he jumps in his seat a bit, blinking at the shock of being pulled out of the story so suddenly.
“Harry” he breathes out when he realises who’s just called him, face flushing a dark red seconds later, as he notices that Harry’s hand is still on his shoulder.
“You okay?” he’s grinning, that toothy smile that almost melts Louis into a puddle.
“Y-yeah” he clears his throat, “you scared me a bit.”
“Sorry” sheepishly, he smiles before taking his place on the desk next Louis, which is usually where Zayn seats.
“Where’s Zayn then?” Harry leans back on his seat, perfect example of confidence while Louis is tense, shoulders stiff and heart doing somersaults inside his chest.
“Art exam” he mumbles, embarrassed by his own reaction.
He eyes the boy from the corner of his eye, the long lean body stretched out on the seat, arms crossed. Gulping, he looks up, face burning as he sees the knowing smile and arched eyebrow on Harry’s face.
“Don’t those last, like, ages?”
Louis hurries to answer, thankful Harry decided not to get into the subject of his staring.
“A week” which is not exactly what Louis would call ages, but then again he thinks his three hours exams are long, so.
Harry grimaces, nose wrinkling, and Louis smiles softly at the sight. “Sounds awful,” he says, “especially with Ms Henley as the teacher”.
Louis nods in agreement and it’s his turn to grimace.
“You don’t like her either?” Harry smiles amused.
“Does anyone?” the words escape him as if on instinct, and he immediately feels a bit guilty. He’s sure there’s someone out there who likes Ms Henley, just not, you know, any of the students.
He’s pulled out from his thoughts by the sound of the familiar laughter, and he blushes, embarrassed but secretly pleased at being the one to make Harry laugh, when before he was the one watching from afar.
“You’ve had her before?” curious, Harry leans in towards Louis, unknowingly making the older boy’s heartbeat pick up. “Erm” he clears his throat, “yeah.. I took GCSE art.”
“Hey, me too!” Harry grins and Louis watches the transformation, from really confident and cool to a really adorable and young looking boy. In his mind’s eye he can almost see himself stumbling as he struggles to keep up with the constant changes.
“Yeah, I know, we were in the same class” as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them, seeing the way Harry’s smiles falters, lips pursing in a frown.
“Oh..how come I didn’t see you?”
Noticing the frustrated tone in Harry’s voice, Louis decides to answer truthfully, “not a lot of people do” he shrugs ashamed, and turning to face the harried looking teacher as she walks in, apologizing for being late and cutting off whatever protest had just started to come out of Harry’s lips.
Once class is finished, they leave the classroom together, walking side by side towards the hall. Their shoulders brush and bump against each other’s as they walk and Louis stares at the ground, wanting to hide his blush from the younger boy.
They both look around at the sound of Harry’s name being called out, eyes falling on a blonde boy standing a few feet away from them and waving his arms over his head to catch Harry’s attention.
“You coming?” he shouts over the loud chatter of the crowded hallway. Harry shakes his head, “I’ll catch up with you later!” he shouts back, his grave voice being easily heard over the noise.
Niall nods, grin still in place, and his eyes fall on Louis’. His grin widens and Louis quickly looks away, cheeks burning.
He remembers watching Harry and Niall’s easy friendship, envious. Remembers how many times he’s wished he was more like Niall, and those few, secret times when he’d wished he was him. As Niall looks him over, he feels like all of those thoughts are in the open, those shameful wishes, written on his forehead and showing in his eyes.
“Lou?”
Louis startles. There’s a gentle grip on his forearm that makes him regret wearing long sleeves, but there’s warmth sipping from Harry’s hand, through the fabric and into his skin, making a thrill go down his spine.
“You do that a lot don’t you?”
His hand slides down his arm until he’s holding on to his wrist, and Louis is so aware of it he finds it hard to concentrate on what the boy is saying.
“What?”
“You know, get lost in thought” Harry explains, tugging him along, as he calls back greetings towards his friends.
They walk across the hall, Louis stumbling after Harry as he tries to avoid all the eyes he can feel on him. He knows what they’re thinking. They’re wondering what Harry is doing with him, wondering who he is.
The stares feel heavy on his back, and he feels guilty, because what is he doing taking Harry away from his friends?
“You’re doing it again.”
Louis looks at him dazed, “sorry” he apologizes, but Harry only shakes his head, smiling and tugging him further along by his sleeve.
They both get a cheesy, greasy piece of pizza each, and go to pay for it together.
“Hey Harry!” a girl – Cara – shows up from nowhere, grinning at Harry and completely obvious to Louis’ presence, though he’s standing right next to Harry.
She is one of those girls. Very popular, very girly and very blonde. Three things Louis isn’t.
“Oh, hey Cara” Harry’s taken aback at the girl’s sudden appearance, Louis can tell, even though he tries to hide it, sending a quick smile at the girl.
Trying to ignore the disappointed feeling – it feels a bit like an anchor, Louis muses, pulling and weighing him down – he stands awkwardly to the side, not knowing what to do with his arms, and trying to pretend he’s not listening to their conversation even though he’s standing three feet away from them.
He’s not deaf, he can’t help it.
When the girl finally voices the question, which is most likely the reason why she came over, Louis decides it’s time to go.
“I’m free any time” she pushes when Harry hesitates to answer.
Not wanting to know his answer (he already feels queasy enough as it is) he starts walking away, mumbling a barely audible “see you later” at Harry, which he blushes at because, isn’t it a bit presumptuous of him to assume he’ll see Harry later? To assume that Harry will want to see him?
He scurries away, face burning, and he’s just about to push the (escape) door open when he hears Harry calling out his name, followed immediately by a sudden grip on the back of Louis’ jumper that makes him stumble slightly.
“Hey, wait up!” Harry turns him around, and Louis wishes he wouldn’t because now he finds himself facing the hall, and just as he had expected, everyone is staring at him – them, and not many of them bother to be subtle about it.
“Where are you going?” he asks. There’s a frown on his face, but his lips are pulled up into a half smile.
“Erm..” his eyes wander around the place nervously before focusing on Harry once again, “I don’t really have my lunch here” he tells him, watching as Harry’s curious expression morphs into a surprised one, lips parting as a little “oh” escapes them.
“So that’s why I couldn’t find you yesterday” he says in understanding.
You were looking for me? is what Louis wants to ask; instead he just stares at Harry, speechless.
“Well,” Harry shakes his head, hand sliding down Louis’ shoulder until he’s holding on to his wrist once again, “where do you have your lunch then?” he pulls him through the door and into the empty hallway, “show me.”
Louis nods, still unable to say anything. He guides Harry towards the place by the window where Zayn and he usually spend their breaks.
He sits down on the window sill, dropping his bag by his feet and looking up at Harry embarrassed, because he realises that Harry, popular-and-friendly Harry, would probably rather be out there with his friends, having fun and being loud. This little, quiet and abandoned place is as far from what Harry is used as it could be, and it only serves to emphasise how different they are.
Without saying a word, Harry mimics him, and they sit opposite each other. Harry looks comfortable, as if he’s absorbing the new atmosphere. Louis is anything but.
He shouldn’t feel so nervous, so jittery. The place is familiar, the whole setting is; except for Harry. Harry is… new. Foreign, though not unwelcome.
Louis thinks he doesn’t belong to such a quiet, empty, silent place. Harry belongs to rowdy crowds, full of laughter and adoring friends who are always willing to cheer him up, keep him laughing. Harry feels different here with Louis, almost like his usual brilliance has been dulled down to a gentle glow.
They don’t talk at all. Louis takes his book out and starts reading, just like he would, were he with Zayn. Louis can hear a gentle sound buzzing slightly in the background and he knows the sound is coming from Harry’s earphones. He has one of them in, the other hanging down his front. Louis takes a peek at him from the top of his book every once in a while, still finding it hard to believe that Harry, Harry Styles, is sitting there in front of him, with him. He sees the same thing every time he does: Harry, looking at him with gentle, smiling green eyes, watching him with something akin to affection. Louis hopes he’s not being stupidly naïve to think that.
It’s a startling, unwelcomed intrusion when the bell goes and the quiet vanishes gradually, parallel to the way the humming noise of chatter grows slowly louder.
Louis sets his books down on his lap, looking expectantly at Harry, but Harry only looks back at him, blinking owlishly. They watch each other silently, and Louis leans back against the wall, head tilting to the side in confusion. A few minutes later, the hallway quietens again, and they are back to the previous silence, but still Harry doesn’t move.
“Don’t… don’t you have class now?”
Harry shakes his head, “don’t you?”
“No”
They watch each other for a few more seconds before “I usually spend my free time in the music department”.
Louis hums, interested. Everybody knows that Harry sings, it’s not exactly a secret, it’s just another one of the reasons why he’s so liked, because he’s so damn good at it.
“Do you, you can go. If you want, I mean.” He gets out, disappointed in advance.
“You’ll come too?” there’s an enthusiastic grin growing on Harry’s face, and all it does is make Louis extremely flustered.
“No, I meant, I mean, you” he stops talking realizing he’s making no sense, but Harry seems to understand what he meant well enough, and his face falls, smile faltering. Louis misses it already.
“Oh. We can stay here then, I don’t mind” he says quickly, and Louis would wonder whether he’s just being his usual nice self, except… except he sounds eager, looks it too.
But maybe he’s just going crazy.
“I mean, there’s no point in going, if I’ll just be by myself there, and you’ll be alone here…Better to stick together right?”
No, Louis thinks, he definitely sounds eager, and he doesn’t think that was a rhetorical question either, because Harry is looking at him expectantly, and startled he hurries to answer, “oh yeah, okay” he agrees, nodding, watching the way Harry’s shoulder slump as he lets out a deep sigh. The reaction makes Louis’ tummy feel funny.
Seemingly reassured, Harry leans forward, eyes dancing as he watches Louis.
“What?” he asks self-consciously.
“Nothing” he grins, “tell me something about yourself”
“What?” he repeats, aware that he probably looks a bit ridiculous, with his mouth gaping open in surprise.
“Go on” Harry insists grinning, and really Louis loves his smile, but he wishes that it wouldn’t make him feel so…nervous and fidgety. “Tell me”.
Louis shrugs; looking down at his hands, “I don’t really know what to say…” he trails off. What could he possible tell Harry about himself that wouldn’t send him running away and back to his friends? Not much, he thinks sadly.
“Well… how old are you?”
Louis looks up, surprised that that’s the first question Harry would ask. He finds the green eyes set on him, and blushes looking back down, eyes focusing on the dark gray carpet.
“17” he answers quietly, eyes snapping back up at Harry’s unexpected groan, “how come everyone’s 17 already?” he whines, and there’s an actual pout on his face.
Louis smiles, “aren’t you?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure of the answer, he knows when Harry’s birthday is, the whole school knows when his birthday is.
“No… not yet. Almost though” he finishes, expression lifting at the thought, “only a few more days… it’s the first of February” he adds at Louis’ expectant face.
Louis nods, satisfied that he couldn’t be called a creep if he let slip that he knew Harry’s birthday now.
“When’s your birthday?” Harry asks suddenly, as if the question had just popped into his mind.
“Twenty-fourth of December”
“Christmas Eve! That’s so cool” Harry smiles happily at him.
Shrugging and trying his best not to stare too much, he says quietly, “it’s usually more about Christmas than my birthday though” he looks up at Harry, and seeing the sympathetic expression on his face he hurries to add, “I don’t mind it really. I like Christmas, it’s my favourite time of the year” Louis watches pleased as his words make a smile grow on Harry’s face.
“Mine too! Best time of the year..” he sighs wistfully.
“What are you doing for your birthday then?” Louis asks, wanting to keep the conversation going.
Lips pursed in thought, Harry shrugs, “I’m not sure yet. Niall wants to throw a party though” he rolls his eyes, “everything is an excuse to have a party for Niall.”
Louis smiles, “that’s nice”
“You’d come, wouldn’t you?” Harry chirps, grinning cheekily at him.
“Uh…” Louis blushes, “I don’t know.”
“What?” Harry frowns, “why not?”
“Parties are not really my thing…” Louis explains sadly. Harry would get tired of him soon, Louis’ sure, he’s just so…boring.
“You went to Ed’s” Harry says accusingly, and Louis looks down, unable to look at the big and betrayed looking eyes any longer.
“Zayn kinda dragged me to that one” he lifts one shoulder despondently.
“So… you only went because of Zayn?”
“Pretty much” Louis answers, looking out the window. It’s still snowing.
“Oh”
Louis looks back at Harry. His lips are pursed, and his eyebrows are furrowed, and he just looks so pretty all sulky like that, that Louis is sure his heart misses a few necessary beats.
“Harry?” Louis leans forward, confused as to why Harry looks so moody all of a sudden.
“What is it?”
Harry shrugs, refusing to speak. Louis is about to question him again when the loud ring of the bell sounds, shattering their little quiet bubble.
The sudden noise makes Louis jump backwards. He looks at a still sullen Harry and feels suddenly awkward. Not knowing what to say he picks up his bag with every intention of running away as fast as he can without actually running.
His thoughts must be written clearly on his face, because Harry leans forward, still sat down, and hooks his fingers on Louis’ loop belt. Louis hopes the little catch in his breath wasn’t noticeable.
“Wait, Lou. Can I have your number?” Harry asks, looking up at him from under his eyelashes as if Louis would even think to say no to him.
With a jerky nod, mostly because of the nickname, he takes Harry’s phone from him smiling briefly at the background picture. He puts his number in and gives the phone back to Harry, willing away the warmth in his cheeks.
“What do you have now?” Harry asks, and Louis sends him a funny look, wondering how Harry’s mood could change so quickly.
“Philosophy”
Harry jumps to his feet, picking up his bag, “I’ll walk you”.
They walk towards his classroom in silence and it’s only when they arrive that Harry speaks, “you know, it doesn’t surprise me, that you take philosophy.”
Louis doesn’t say anything, unsure as to whether Harry means that as a good or a bad thing.
With a dimpled smile and a cheerful “see you later” thrown over his shoulder, Harry leaves Louis, disappearing in between the other students seconds later.
Louis doesn’t speak much for the rest of the day, oblivious to the curious looks Zayn sends him on the way home.
The whole situation seems surreal, he’s not sure whether all of it actually happened, or if he’s really just gone crazy.
The latter does seem more likely.
He sits in the living room with his family, later that evening. They watch tv while Louis reads a book sat on the corner of the couch with Phoebe slumped against him.
The noise coming from the television and the sound of his sisters’ laughter don’t distract him from his reading. It’s actually quite comforting, knowing they are there with him.
The buzzing of his phone takes him by surprise, and he takes it out carefully, as not to jostle the dozing Phoebe too much, and wondering what Zayn could want.
His heart feels like it stops for a couple of seconds before re-starting twice as fast when he sees the unknown number. He knows who it is immediately.
Hi Lou, this is Harry
His fingers are shaking, he notices, as he hits the reply button.
Hey Harry
He doesn’t know what else to say, he stares at the words for what feels like a whole hour, before hitting send, shoulders slumping in relief at getting it over with.
Are you busy?
Louis actually laughs at that, though quietly. He’s pretty sure his definition of busy differs a lot from Harry’s.
Not really, what’s up?
Nothing, just wanted to talk. I’m bored.
Louis stares at the screen.
What about?
A second after he hits send he regrets it. God, he’s so awkward.
Don’t know. What are you doing?
Tapping his fingers nervously on the side of his phone, he wonders what to tell Harry, wishing he had something more interesting to say.
He must spend a bit too long thinking, because soon his phone is buzzing in his hands once again.
Lou? You sure you’re not busy?
And then, tell me if I’m interrupting.
You’re not, I’m just watching the telly with my sisters.
You have sisters? How many? How old are they?
Louis blinks astonished at all the questions.
4. They’re all younger than me.
What are they called?
Lottie is the oldest, she’s 11. Then there’s Fiz who’s 9 and the twins Daisy and Phoebe, they’re 7.
He smiles. Texting Harry is so much easier than actually speaking to him.
Aw, that’s so cute Lou! Do you get on well?
Yes, they’re all really lovely, we’re quite close
He’s not sure how else to explain his relationship with his sisters. It would require a better way with words than he has.
That’s good. I’ve an older sister, we’re very close too, but she’s left for uni, so I miss her a lot.
Louis smiles fondly.
“Louis?”
Louis looks up, meeting his mum’s curious gaze, “yeah?”
His mum looks at him for a few seconds, and Louis knows she’s wondering whether she should even ask.
“Can you put Phoebe in bed please?” she says instead, and Louis mentally sighs his relief. He’s close with his mum, but that doesn’t mean he’d blush any less when the words ‘Harry Styles’ came out of his mouth.
He nods, and swiftly picks up the girl, taking her upstairs and carefully setting her down in her bed. She rolls to her side as soon as he does so, hand curling into the crook of her neck.
Smiling he kisses her hair, wishing her a quiet ‘g’night’ before retreating into his own bedroom.
He lays in bed, going back to his book, and forgets all about his phone until much later, when it buzzes for one last time that day.
Good night Lou. See you tomorrow.