Archive of Our Own ^beta

The morning light is insufferably bright this particular morning, bringing Louis out of his restless sleep as it streams through the cracks between and underneath the curtains. A banging on the door shocks him further out of the post-sleep daze Louis was currently undergoing.

“Louis! Mum says you need to get up! We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” Lottie’s squeaky voice says, slightly muffled from the thick wood of his bedroom door.

Louis simply groans, only slightly trying to smother himself in his pillow. Perhaps staying up until half 2 last night (or rather, this morning) wasn’t such a brilliant idea. But, life and everything that comes with it calls, so sleeping until a much more reasonable time (most preferably at least noon) is out of the picture and also means Louis is going to have to get up and ready for school before his family leaves without him.

Louis’ movements are sluggishly slow as he makes his lunch, sleep pulling at his mind and weighing down his eyelids. Maybe, if he leans a little like this, props his arm against the table just like this, maybe he’ll be able to catch a quick little kip before…

“Boo! We’re leaving in two, if you want to get some food down your gob or anything, I suggest doing so now.”

Louis’ eyes snap open and he stands up straight, meeting the gaze of his mother, who’s got a knowing smirk on her face. He makes his face impassive and indifferent, as if she didn’t just catch him slacking. “Yeah, be just a second,” he answers, before going off and lathering some toast in jam. By the time he’s finished, he’s getting yelled at by the twins, Fizzy and Lottie.

“Alright, alright!” he yells to silence them, stuffing his toast into his mouth and grabbing his backpack. Without any socks, he shoves his feet roughly into his school shoes and shepherds his siblings out the door to where Jay is waiting in the car. The chill of an English winter is finally starting to let off, but that doesn’t mean the car doesn’t get extra frosty on early school mornings, so she’s taken one for the team and gone out to heat it up.

“Where are your socks, Lou Bear?” Jay asks as soon as he gets into the passenger seat, Lottie fussing over buckling Phoebe and Daisy into their car seats while Fizzy yells at her from the back row of the car.

“Couldn’t find any. And you know I don’t like wearing socks,” he replies, busying himself with putting the shoes on properly.

He can practically hear the eye roll from his mother. “I know I’ve said this before, but you’re going to get frostbite on your toes if you don’t wear socks! It’s practically spring, I know, but it’s still bloody cold, Louis!”

“Plus, your feet smell!” Lottie chimes in from behind him, the twins cackling on either side of her at his expense.

Louis turns around to scowl at the eldest of his sisters and tickle Phoebe and Daisy. “Don’t laugh at me!” he growls, but a smile is twisting his lips upward. Once his hands have been batted away by their little arms and their giggles have subsided, Louis turns back around to address his mum, who’s smiling fondly. “I’ll have you know that I did wear socks during winter, so my feet are perfectly fine, thank you very much. And I just couldn’t find any this morning! I do wear them when it’s cold, promise.”

Jay laughs, reaching a hand across the centre console to run her fingers through Louis’ fringe. “Yes, yes. I do worry, though. You know that. And maybe if your room wasn’t such a pigsty, you’d be able to find some socks!”

Louis’ mouth drops, mock offended by his mum’s comment, and is about to reply with his classic sass, when the car slows and they pull up in front of the school. Jay grins at him mischievously, knowing exactly what she’s just done, before turning to say goodbye to her two eldest daughters, who are already halfway out the car. She blows them kisses as they yell farewell and rush up to their waiting friends.

“I can’t believe you would say that,” Louis says when her attention is back on him. He can’t make it halfway through the sentence before cracking up though, so the retort isn’t half as effective as he had intended it to be. (How very disappointing.)

Jay grabs his head and pulls it forward to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Go on, off to school. Don’t want you being late. Be good and smart and all that. See you this afternoon.”
“Okay,” he relents, shoving his bag strap over his shoulder. “See you then. Love you!”

“Love you more,” she replies as he slams the car door, giving one last wave before she drives off.

“Louis, mate!” a cheery Irish voice calls as a hand lands heavily on his shoulder.

Louis turns to greet his friend, a grin settling on his face. “Niall! How are you, lad? You didn’t happen to bring me a cup of coffee, did you? There was no time to make any this morning.”

His best friend’s blue eyes light up (even more so than they already have) and his smile grows wider. “It’s your lucky day, I’ve got some leftover in my thermos.” He turns to grab the stainless steel flask from his bag before handing it to Louis.

“An angel! It’s a miracle. You are the best, Nialler,” he praises as he downs the perfectly-heated liquid, warming his insides and making his eyes seem less heavy. Louis already feels like a new man. He tells Niall as much and the boy simply cackles in his charming bright way, spewing sunshine out of his mouth.

The bell rings and the two boys make their way to their lockers, chatting amicably about their weekends and the homework due soon. “Oi! Tommo! Horan!” Stan calls from the opposite end of the corridor, surrounded by Oli, Calvin, Liam and the rest of the boys from the footie team.

“Lucas! You dumbass, where’ve you been? Not answering your cell all weekend, wanker!” Niall replies, his cheerful Irish twang pushing his words across the sea of people.

Louis laughs, eyes focused on his mates’ antics. He opens his mouth to add to the long-distance conversation they all seem to be engaging in, his lips curled in a smirk at the argument between Stan and Ni — oof.

He sends a short petite little person to the floor, books and papers scattering all over the place.

“Fuck!” a quiet whisper rises into the air, curling like smoke, before eventually dispersing. The little person — who Louis now figures is a boy, if the short scruffy hair and school tie is anything to go off of — rubs his forehead before scrambling to pick up the dropped items, which are all getting carelessly stepped on by passer-bys.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Louis quickly says, remembering his manners. He crouches down to help the boy gather his things, trying to stack the papers as neatly as possible. He searches out the boy’s gaze. “Are you alright? It was totally my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going, I’m really sorry. Are you — oh.”

Green. His eyes are green. Brighter-than-freshly-cut-grass-and-deeper-than-forests green. A spectacular, mind-blowing, iridescent green that has stolen all of the breath in Louis’ lungs and for some reason, he doesn’t care, for some reason all he’s thinking is take it, take it all, everything that is mine is yours for forever and a day.

And then the boy gives him a small, shy, reserved smile and Louis’ just regained something that could be called air but who cares, it’s gone again. “It’s okay,” he mumbles under his breath, so quiet Louis almost doesn’t pick up on it, clutching his haphazardly-stacked pile of books and papers to his chest. Before the boy can move, Louis is up on his feet again, offering a hand to the crouched boy.

He gives him another smile as he takes the hand and stands upright. “Did I hurt you? Are you sure you’re alright?”

The boy laughs breathlessly. “Just a little bump on m’ forehead. Otherwise, I’m really okay.”

The sound of his giggle brings a fond smile to Louis’ face. “Okay, good. I’m Louis. Tomlinson.” He goes to hold out his hand, only to realise it’s still preoccupied in the boy’s hand. And now Louis is blushing.

“I know,” the boy says quickly. Then he shuts his mouth, a surprised look overcoming his features, as if he can’t believe he just said that. Louis laughs, charmed by the boy, as he continues with, “everyone knows who you are. I mean, I’m fairly new, but everyone knows you. Captain of the football team and all that.”

Louis nods as if he understands what that means, before raising a single eyebrow, a sly grin on his lips. “I think this is the part where you say your name.”

The boy’s cheeks turn a lovely dusty rose (or perhaps Louis is imagining things? The lighting in this hallway is rather shitty and it’s actually quite hot for late-winter-early-spring) before tittering. “Of course! M’ Harry. Styles. It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for knocking me down. I mean!” He turns a shade darker, his neck and ears flushing red. “I’m sorry, that was so rude. I didn’t mean that.”

Louis smiles his squinty-smile, the crinkles around his eyes making a special appearance. It’s a smile usually reserved for when the twins do something especially cute (which is getting more and more rare as time wears on), or when he comes across a baby animal, or when Fizzy or Lottie or his mum do something endearing, or when cute green-eyed boys — especially those endowed with the name Harry — stumble over their words. “Nice to meet you too, Harry Styles. I really am sorry for knocking you down. I’ll have to keep an eye out now.”

Harry smiles softly at the floor before glancing up under his long, long, long lashes at Louis. “It’s really really okay.”

For a moment, the two boys just stare at each other gently with barely-there smiles.

And then the bell rings and Niall, who had clearly wandered off to have a more appropriately distanced conversation with the boys, claps Louis on the shoulder. “Come on mate, Fairweather will go ballistic if you’re late again. You know how she is on Mondays, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says dismissively, stuck in the foggy daze of Harry Styles’ eyes and Harry Styles’ voice and Harry Styles’ face.

Said Harry Styles glances at the floor before running a hand through his hair. “You should go. I’ve heard of Fairweather. She’s brutal.”

“Right you are, lad,” Niall chimes in. “Now, say goodbye, Louis.”

“Bye, Harry Styles,” Louis breathes, giving him a wobbly grin before being steered down the hallway.

“What the fuck was that, mate?!” Niall yells in his ear, a huge shit-eating beam overtaking his face. “One second I was yelling at Stanley with you, the next you’re in a lovesick cloud, looking at this kid like a lost puppy and not registering anything going on around you! It was the funniest thing ever! So, your boy’s name is Harry, then?”

The continuous, unrelenting shaking of Louis’ shoulders break him out of his reverie. He shakes his and rolls his eyes. “A few things, Niall. One,” he holds up a finger, “he is not my boy. Two,” another finger joins the first, “I was not a puppy. And three,” a third finger, “I am not in a lovesick cloud. So cut it out.”

Despite Louis’ cutting-edge tone and glare, Niall just breaks out in hysterical cackles. “I’ve never seen you lie so much in the entirety I have known you,” he says in between chortles, wiping at a non-existent tear under his eye.

Louis spends the rest of the walk to homeroom swatting at his best friend.

***

The next time Louis sees Harry Styles, he’s just walked into the wrong classroom.

“I’m so sorry, Sir! Didn’t realise my timetable had changed! It won’t happen again, I didn’t mean to disrupt your class. I’m really sor—“

“Alright, Tomlinson, I understand!” the disgruntled teacher grumbles, shooing the boy out the door. “Just leave! Go to your class!”“Yes, Sir!” Louis replies dutifully, giving the older man a finger salute before marching down the hallway, only just catching the endeared grin on his face. He’s just rounded the corner when he almost knocks into a short frame. He grabs the person’s shoulders at the last minute, keeping them both upright. He goes to apologise when the person raises his head and Louis’ gaze meets green, green, green, and a woozy smile melts onto his lips.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he murmurs at Harry, who returns the grin.

The boy laughs freely (what a wonderful, wonderful noise it is) and, with a twinkle in his eye, replies, “I thought you said you were going to start keeping an eye out, hmm?”

Louis makes an offended noise, opening his mouth in mock offence. “Harry Styles! I didn’t know you had the sass in you!”

The two of them giggle, gazing into each other’s eyes, before Louis breaks the comfortable quiet.

“Where are you off to?” he asks.

He holds up a thin stack of paper. “Miss wants this photocopied, so I’m going to the office. Is it on your way?”

Louis can’t help but wonder if that is hopefulness he spies in Harry’s endless emerald eyes. What if it is? What if Harry has been experiencing what Louis has been enduring all of today? What are the chances they feel the same way?

“Yeah,” he replies, “it is.”

(It really, really isn’t, actually couldn’t be further in the opposite direction to Louis’ actual class, but the look on Harry’s face when he says it and when Harry excitedly tells Louis about the friend he made before the weekend — “his name is Zayn, do you know him, Lou?” — makes it all worth it.)

(Especially the fact that Harry called Louis Lou. All very much worth anything.)

(Even when Louis’ geography teacher keeps him behind during lunch to berate him and tell him he’ll never amount to anything.)

***

It turns out that Harry is a year younger than Louis and incredibly smart. So smart, that the boy is in Louis’ twelfth grade math class. Granted, Louis has never been particularly talented in mathematics, so his class isn’t all that impressive in the grand scheme of grade twelve math classes, but still. Harry is here, in his math class. As far as Louis is concerned, that is all that matters.

“Ooooh, look, there’s Tommo’s boy,” Oli says to the group, consisting of Louis, Niall and Stan. Unfortunately, Liam and Calvin are rather intelligent, meaning they’re in much higher, more complex class.

Niall had spilled the beans about Louis’ little “crush” (Niall’s words, apparently) at lunchtime on Monday when Louis was being held behind in geography and since then, all of Louis’ friends had been insufferable and mentioning it at every turn.

“Shut up, Oli!” Louis hisses when they all laugh hysterically. “Stop dickheads, he’ll hear you!”

Stan makes a kissy noise, his eyes glimmering with mirth and laughter. “You probably want that, don’t you? Then he’ll really be your boy.”

Louis takes the time to cuff all four of his mates on the back of the head. “I’m gonna go talk to him,” he says quietly, suddenly aware of how large the group’s presence is, stood in front of the doorway. He glances behind him at where Harry’s sitting at the back of the classroom, glad that he’s very much immersed in his activities. “You all can piss right off for the rest of the lesson, alright?”

The boys nod solemnly, saluting him with their chests puffed out. They look like right idiots. Louis just rolls his eyes and walks away from that circus of absolute clowns.

“Hey, Harry,” Louis says, making the boy glance up from where he’s setting his workspace up. His doe-eyes widen in pleased surprise. God, Louis thinks, melting into a puddle of lovey-dovey goo on the floor. He’ll never grow tired of those jewel-like eyes.

“Louis! Hey! I didn’t know you were in this class! Have you missed the last few, or something?” An adorable confused frown settles on his face.

Louis pulls himself together in time to chuckle lightly before answering. “Yeah, missed a bit because of important footie meetings and such. One or two I just bunked off,” he winks.

The tips of Harry’s ears turn a lovely shade of pink and he looks down at his open page. “That makes sense,” he says quietly, a small smile playing on his face.

Louis sits down next to him, pulling out his own things, looking to the front of the classroom as the teacher starts the lesson. The boys are sat on a table just within his eyesight. He effectively ignores the looks they’re all giving him.

He writes the date and the name of the topic on the top of his page, and then turns his head toward Harry. “How has your day been going? Haven’t seen you since Monday,” he whispers.

Harry stares down at his page, his pen settled in his hand. His smile grows wider. “It’s been good. Have you missed me?” The twinkle in his eye returns as he smirks cheekily at Louis.

“Always,” the blue-eyes boy replies without missing a beat. And this time, this time, Louis can’t be imagining that blush that settles high on Harry’s round cherubic cheeks.

(Louis spends the rest of the lesson bugging Harry with questions, quite simply obsessed with knowing this giggly, wide-eyed small boy. Said boy gets all blushy and stumbles over his words a few times, much to Louis’ delight.)

(This time, Louis gets both him and Harry in trouble.)

(He still doesn’t regret any of it, not at all.)