"I'm sorry."
Harry peeks up at him through his unfairly long eyelashes, but he doesn't say a word in response. He eats another bite of his sandwich, a bit forcefully, before he sits back and folds his hands on the table. He looks at Louis expectantly.
"Can I help you?"
Louis shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, tray heavy in his hands, and coughs. "Um, I just wanted to apologize. For, y'know. Calling you what I did."
"It's okay."
"No, um, it's not." Louis looks away. Harry is silent for a few seconds, but he clears the area next to him and catches Louis's eye by clearing his throat.
"Sit," he says, and Louis does. He scrambles over and sinks down next to Harry somewhat gratefully, because finding a seat in the cafeteria is a struggle that Louis goes through almost every day. He usually ends up in the library. Harry's hand rests on Louis's shoulder, but he tries not to tense up. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong. I didn't mean to-"
"I know. I shouldn't have called you, um, I shouldn't have said you were a freak."
Harry blushes. "You're not the first one to have said that."
"I also know that, and that's why I feel so terrible. You're not a freak for... doing what you do, okay?" Louis finds himself relaxing into Harry's touch a little bit too quickly.
The other boy is quiet for a few moments, and just when Louis looks over to make sure he's actually listening, he speaks up. "Thank you."
He nods. "Yeah, no problem. Can I... stay here? Like, and eat."
"If you want." Harry seems just as surprised as Louis feels himself - he's not sure why he's even attempting to talk to someone like Harry, someone who he knows will draw an unnecessarily large amount of attention to himself - but he stays and eats his mushy blob of school-cooked meat quietly.
He's just moving on to attacking the moist green vegetable on the corner of his tray when Harry speaks again. "My name is Harry, by the way. Harry Styles."
Louis hesitates, but he decides to go along with it. "I'm Louis. Uh, Tomlinson."
"Tomlinson," Harry repeats. "It's very British, innit?"
"I suppose." Louis shrugs to himself. His eyes are still focused on his disgusting lunch, so he doesn't notice that Harry has moved closer until he can feel Harry's leg against his own and their elbows touching lightly. He briefly wonders what about him is so incredibly attractive to Harry.
"Why don't you have any friends?" Harry asks, bluntly and sort of loudly. Louis thinks the entire question - from his tone to his wording - sums Harry up pretty nicely.
Louis sighs, drops his fork, and turns to face Harry and his startlingly green eyes. "I do have friends. They just don't go to school here."
"What are their names?"
"Stan, Niall, Liam, and Zayn."
"Where do they go?"
"None of them live here in Donny - except for Stan - so I really don't know exactly which school they go to, but. I met them over the summer. They're great lads."
"Well, what about Stan?"
Harry asks a lot of questions. "He's a dropout." Louis continues to answer them, though, because he can't remember having a conversation this long in the past six months with anyone besides his mum. "Why don't you have any friends?"
"People think I'm weird," Harry replies, and he's smiling for some bizzare reason. Louis doesn't think being lonely is something to be happy about, but that's just him, after all. "So I'm my own best friend."
"Doesn't that get... sad?"
"Why would it?"
Louis shifts in his seat, lunch completely forgotten. "If you don't have anyone else, don't you get really lonely?"
"No. I don't need anyone else."
"Everyone needs someone," Louis argues, furrowing his brow.
"Not me."
He seems much too calm about the entire conversation. Louis huffs, and one of Harry's curls falls in his face. He really is quite wonderful to look at, really. "I think you're lying to me and to yourself then, Harry Styles."
"I think that you don't know me at all, Louis Tomlinson."
Louis purses his lips. "So, if you don't need anyone, why did you even bother trying to get to know me? Why did you talk to me in the first place?"
"Because you're attractive and I want to kiss you," Harry says so nonchalantly that Louis almost falls out of his chair. He should be used to this by now. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing is wrong with that, but the feeling is not mutual, mate."
"I understand. I'm not going to force you to kiss me," Harry's mouth says, but his eyes twinkle mischievously and Louis's stomach proceeds to be attacked by a swarm of angry butterflies.
"You don't even know what I'm like."
"So?"
"I could be a complete asshat," Louis says, and Harry snorts.
"Are you a complete asshat?"
"Well-"
"Exactly." Harry holds out half of a very tempting chocolate chip biscuit to Louis, waving it in front of his face, and Louis can't tell if he's offering it or showing it off. He looks at his own food in disgust. Harry's got a nice salad, crisps, and the other half of said biscuit in front of him. Louis seriously considers asking his mum to buy more groceries, but he knows that's not an option and pushes the thought to the back of his head sadly. "Do you want it, or not?"
Louis no longer hesitates. "Yes, thank you." It tastes like heaven and sweet, temporary hell at the same time. He hasn't tasted anything homemade in what feels like centuries. Harry watches him eat, so Louis opts for using a napkin to get the chocolate off of his hands instead of licking it off. Proper table etiquette is always key, even in the corner of a school cafeteria.
It's quiet between them for a few minutes - minus the sound of Harry chewing and Louis stabbing his food to see how many holes he can make with his fork - and slowly, people stop laughing and talking and notice the pair of them together.
His brain is alert as ever, though his eyes are trained toward the floor. Harry doesn't seem to notice or mind the stares, because he doesn't move even an inch or say anything to Louis. It's becoming awkward, at least on Louis's end, and when he looks back up he immediately regrets him. People are staring at him. He gulps.
"Do you play any instruments?" Harry randomly asks. Louis is semi-grateful for the distraction, but he also doesn't want people to see that they're conversing. He pushes this fear away for Harry's sake. Just for a minute.
"Uh, a bit. The piano. Yeah."
"Really?" Harry's pretty, pretty eyes light up like a Christmas tree. "That's sick. I've always wanted to learn how to play an instrument."
"If you don't play anything, why did you ask?" Louis thinks it comes out sounding rude, but Harry doesn't seem to notice. His expression never falters or changes.
"I sing."
"You sing?" Harry doesn't seem like the singing type - actually, Louis changes his mind. He seems exactly like the singing type.
Harry nods much too enthusiastically for the quiet, tense atmosphere. "Yeah. I have a band." His grin is infectious. Louis finds a small smile of his own creeping up, especially when Harry gracefully knocks his water bottle over with his elbow. "Oops."
"What's your band called?" Louis asks.
"White Eskimo," Harry says without missing a beat, but he holds up a hand before Louis can say another word. "I didn't come up with the name, so don't ask what it means. I haven't the slightest clue."
"Well, that's really cool, Harry." Louis frowns to himself. He has no idea why every word he says sounds sarcastic. "Really! It is."
"You should come see us sometime. We rock."
Louis fights the urge to laugh. "You rock?"
"Hard." Harry winks at him stupidly, and this time Louis doesn't fight it - he laughs out loud, and he doesn't even worry. He doesn't even look at everyone else. He doesn't even regret it.
Harry lets out a giggle of his own. Louis is laughing into his hands like he's just discovered what laughter fucking is, and it feels good. After he's calm and a bit lightheaded, Harry's hand creeps toward his again. This time, he lets it happen.
"I've never seen you laugh before."
"School isn't usually a humorous place," Louis argues half-heartedly, because Harry's hand is holding his under the table and, okay, that's happening. "So, uh. Yeah."
"You should laugh more. It makes you live longer, I think." Harry blinks at him softly, delicately, like he's trying to gauge Louis's reaction without being obvious about it - he's failing royally, of course - so Louis swallows his sigh and forces his smile to linger on his face just a few seconds longer.
"I should already be dead, then." It sounds depressing and Louis begins to worry that he's given Harry the wrong idea, but Harry is either stupid, oblivious, or just extremely open-minded (possibly a combination of all three) because he just shakes his head.
"I'm glad that you're not," he says. "Are you?"
"Yeah," Louis breathes, because he is. He enjoys being alive, for the most part. He's got plenty of potential, hopefully. He's got something to live for, surely.
His confidence has died down and his eyes sneak a peek over at the people sitting at other tables before he can control it, really. None of them are looking anymore. He's not sure if he should be relieved or even more terrified. The judgements they may have made, the conclusions, the whispers, the stares-
"Louis? Are you okay?" Harry's voice snaps him out of his thoughts instantaneously. "Your hand- uh. It just tensed way up, and you sort of look really weird, to be honest."
"I'm fine," he mutters.
"Is it me?" Harry asks quietly. He goes to move away, and Louis's hand has never moved so quickly in his entire life.
"No. It's not you. I'm sorry, it's not you. You haven't done anything. We're having a nice chat, yeah? Don't leave."
It seems to be good enough for Harry, because he settles back down and grips Louis's hand with renewed confidence. Louis can melt into it if he doesn't think too hard.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are we holding hands right now?" Louis tries to ask this in the most nonchalant, accepting way he possibly can.
"Because. Friends hold hands sometimes, especially when one friend is upset."
Louis doesn't know which question to ask first. "You - you want to be my friend?"
"No. I already am your friend, tosser," Harry says, but immediately follows it up, "unless you don't want to be friends."
"We can be friends."
"Good."
"I'm not upset, I just. Yeah, it's not a big deal. Don't worry about it. It's not you," Louis repeats for the approximate four hundred and ninety eighth time. He bites his lip to keep the explanation from slipping out. The last thing he wants is to scare Harry away just as he's finding out that Harry is a lot less creepy than originally anticipated.
The bell rings annoyingly, and Harry grunts. Louis reconsiders believing in God, because his luck is at an all time high today. "Gotta get to class, then."
"Yeah. See you later?" Louis says, but Harry doesn't answer. He's already walking away. Louis watches him exit through the green double doors, and he spends the first half of the period staring at the place where Harry had sat.
"Friends," he repeats to himself, quietly, lowly, just to test the word out. It feels a bit foreign. "Friend. I have a friend. His name is Harry. I have a friend named Harry. He goes to my school. His name is Harry." He's very much aware that he's murmuring to himself like he's just gone mad, so he decides to leave before he ends up talking to himself even more.
He has a friend named Harry.
Things just got the tiniest bit more interesting.