Work Text:
Less than one week to Election Day – Wednesday September 23rd
“Crap.”
Louis tipped forward to stare dolefully at the poster that had just nosedived down the wall. His forehead hit the stucco with a solid, painful thunk and he emitted a low-pitched whine.
It was now 7:23, marking 20 minutes since he first began attempting to repost said posters, and not a single one was sticking longer than a minute at a time. The last few days of blu-tack had failed, but Sellotape was apparently not the best choice either to secure his crappy class president campaign posters to the crappy walls of this crappy school.
It was supposed to be simple – run an easy campaign for class president, win the vote with his football captain notoriety and no extra work, do absolutely nothing while in office, get into uni with his newly bolstered extracurricular list.
Instead, he has actually put up posters, is actually friends with and maybe sort of crushing on a guy he thought he hated, and is running against the same guy for this ridiculous campaign.
Stupid Harry Styles and his stupid (and always pretty and always curly, but whatever) hair and his stupid smile had made Louis’ life a living hell.
--
Four weeks to Election Day – Monday August 31st
Panting hard, Louis sprinted down the left flank of the pitch. One minute to go and a tied score had both teams a bit frantic, and typically calm and collected captain Louis was no exception.
“Niall!”
He threw his body between two defenders and gesticulated wildly at his fellow forward, urging a pass.
And there was the ball, coming in two metres ahead of him – he pushed on, caught the ball on the toe of his left boot, dribbled up and to the right, glanced up to gauge the defending goalkeeper’s position, reared his right leg back, and –
He did a double take.
“Mum?”
Why was his mum in the goalkeeper’s kit? Why was his mum on the pitch at all?
“Louis!”
She had her arms crossed, and she was shouting at him.
“Louis, get out of bed now!”
What?
“LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON, I CANNOT DRIVE YOU TO SCHOOL THIS MORNING SO GET YOUR ARSE OUT OF BED!”
Louis’ eyes flew open.
The view in front of him was in fact his bedroom ceiling, not the football pitch. He flopped onto his stomach and groaned at the sight of his alarm clock, which read 7:07.
“Fuuuuuck.”
He pounded downstairs a few minutes later, backpack slung over one shoulder, to find his mum blocking the door to once again keep him from his goal – this time a quick exit without Mum-standard nagging.
“Louis, I’m not doing this with you all school year. You keep claiming that you’re an adult now, so you need to keep your own schedule and learn to wake yourself up. Are we clear?”
“Yeah, Mum.” He slipped past her. Maybe he could get out the door before-
“And since you were out all day yesterday, when you get home we’re discussing your uni application plan.”
Louis sighed.
“I’m not hounding you about your grades again this year.”
“Yeah, right,” he mumbled.
Big mistake.
His mum’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. Strike one.
“Don’t act like I’m wrong about this. Your guidance counselor said the same thing at the end of last year, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.” He managed to open the door a sliver.
“And remember what I said about football? Bad grades, no football.”
Bile rose up Louis’ throat.
“Mum, come on. I can’t quit footie, I’m captain.”
She stared him down. “Bad grades, no football.”
“Mum.”
“You didn’t think I was serious about that? I’m not letting you throw away a chance at uni, no matter how important football is to you.”
“That’s not what’s going to happen, I want to go to uni for football, I’m not going to ‘throw away a chance at uni’ –”
“No, you won’t, because you’re going to come up with a plan, a backup plan if footie doesn’t work out. Aren’t you?”
It was way past time to get out of here.
“Yeah, I’ll come up with a plan.”
“Good. This afternoon, when you get home from practice, we’ll sit down and discuss it.”
“Fine.”
Her eyes softened a tad. She placed her hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead.
“Have a good first day.”
--
The halls were silent, with Louis’ jogging steps echoing eerily. He skidded to a stop in front of his first period class, opening the door and ducking his gaze from Mr. Tenley’s disapproving headshake. He shuffled to the back of the room, slinging his bag down next to Niall’s beside him.
“Alright, bro?” Niall whispered, holding out a subtle fist for Louis to bump.
“Alright, you?”
“Fucking trig first thing, gonna be a long year.”
“Tell me about it,” Louis grumbled, feeling an amount of dread unfit for the first day of his final year of school.
--
“Ah, you can’t quit footie, Lou!” Niall groaned around his sandwich.
“Yeah, I know.” Louis sorely wished they weren’t rehashing his unfortunate morning, but the boys had noticed his oddly somber mood and poked and prodded until he finally came out with it at lunch.
“I could help you with Literature,” Zayn contributed.
“Let’s be realistic, there’s only so much I can do about my grades at this point. But thanks,” Louis added as an afterthought.
“What about another club or something?” Niall asked.
“Footie was the club I wanted to join, there’s nothing else cool here.”
“Hey!”
“Except World Cultures, obviously.” Louis rolled his eyes at Zayn when Niall turned back to his sandwich. As a proud Irishman and co-chair of the World Cultures club, he was constantly harassing Louis and Zayn to join. “But not my thing, Niall."
Niall responded by opening his mouth to display his partially chewed food. Louis flicked him off.
“I think you’re selling yourself short on the grades thing. I bet your mum would get you a tutor,” Zayn persisted.
Louis furrowed his brow.
“No.”
One thing Zayn and his mum had in common – effective looks of so-done-with-Louis’-shit. Perhaps a side effect of knowing Louis too well.
But thankfully, Zayn also proved his knowledge of Louis’ moods by changing the subject to some beginning-of-the-year parties slated for the next few weekends, and Louis pepped right back up.
“Harry is throwing something at his barn Saturday after next,” Niall added as they were gathering their trash.
“Ugh, Styles.”
“He’s nice, Lou.”
“Too nice. It’s annoying. And, like, fake. No one genuinely smiles that much. And who has a barn? He’s like an 18th-century lord. He looks like one, too, with the hair.”
This time it was Zayn rolling his eyes at Niall, and Louis shoved him in the hopes of knocking his eyes out of their sockets. But Zayn just stumbled into Niall, who caught him with a hand on his hip and a gentle smile.
Louis huffed out a breath.
“Just get a room already.”
Of course, the idiots immediately took this as a cue to separate and look awkward (Niall) and furious (Zayn).
Louis just grinned and traipsed ahead of them to the bin.
He heard Zayn say quite loudly, “Louis wants to run.”
He whipped his head around.
They were standing in front of a table manned by the one and only Liam Payne, overachiever extraordinaire and last year’s class president.
And Zayn was leaning ominously over a completely empty sign-up sheet, pen poised.
“ZAYN.” He booked it over and yanked them both a few metres away. “What the fuck?”
Niall crossed his arms. “He’s actually doing you a favor. Run for class president, do nothing, add to your extracurriculars and get into uni.”
“I-“ Louis paused. “What do you mean?
“The football team would all vote for you, and enough people know you since you’re captain to get a majority of the vote,” Zayn said.
Louis contemplated the reign of Louis Tomlinson, Class President. He could smile beatifically and make empty promises of better snacks in the vending machines. Everyone knew the position was more like a figurehead, anyway – someone to emcee prom and all that shit.
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“I know.” Zayn smiled smugly.
“You are a god among men, Zayner.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder, then spun around and made his way back to a confused-looking Liam.
“Hey!”
“Hi?"
Liam was looking at Louis like he was expecting him to attack. Admittedly, their last face-to-face interaction was at a pool party a few years ago, at which Louis had jumped out of a bush with a water gun and sprayed Liam in the face. Liam might have screeched. Louis wanted to believe they were over it in their old age, water under the bridge and all that.
“Yeah, hi. How do I sign up to run for class president?”
“You just… sign up? But I don’t…” Now the fear in Liam’s eyes had been replaced by distrust, and his nose was scrunched like he had smelled something awful.
Louis narrowed his eyes. There were few good places that sentence would lead, and he got the impression its inevitable conclusion was going to imply Louis had no place in this election.
Perhaps Liam was not as mature and forgiving as Louis was.
“But...?” He prompted as menacingly as possible.
Liam stared up at him for another long moment before clearing his throat.
“Um, nothing. There’s the sign-up sheet. And there’s a session after school today to discuss the process and all that.”
“I have footie practice at 4, is it before that?” Louis asked as he signed his name.
“Yeah, it’s immediately after school, in the office for the Politics department. Mrs. Burrows is the faculty advi-“
Louis finished his signature with a flourish and dropped the pen on the table. “Right, great. See you then, Payno!”
He flounced towards the door, calling back to Niall and Zayn:
“Make way for your next class president, peasants.”
--
Louis found himself flying down empty halls again that afternoon. He’d gotten caught up with Stan discussing Manchester’s current lineup after last period, remembering the class president meeting 10 minutes late and shouting goodbye at Stan as he raced away to find the office for the - Politics department, was it?
He rounded a corner that seemed depressingly familiar, cursing up a storm under his breath –
Before having said breath knocked out of him abruptly by someone’s large body, totally in his way.
“Ow,” he wheezed, clutching his chest.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
And of course, it was none other than annoyingly nice Harry Styles.
“Fuck.” Louis coughed out an uneven breath.
“I should have looked where I was going, I’m sorry!” He was looking at Louis all doe-eyed, and Louis found the swelling feeling of injustice quell, making way for something like… guilt?
“It wasn’t your fault, mate, you weren’t the one sprinting around a corner,” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Really, it doesn’t require ‘sorry’. And I’m fine.”
“Right, sorry. Are you sure? Sorry. For saying sorry, that time.” Harry quickly amended.
“Stop apologizing.” Louis glanced down at his watch and came to a decision. “And if you want to make it up to me, you can tell me where the office for the Politics department is.”
“I… don’t think we have a Politics department. But we do have a Government and History department, if that’s what you’re looking for?”
“Yeah, that. You know where the office is?"
“Yeah, it’s just around here. I can show you if you want? To make up for-“
Louis cut him off before Harry could offer up his firstborn. “Sure. Lead the way.”
Harry loped back the way he had come, hesitating ever-so-briefly to glance around the corner and then back at Louis before continuing on.
They stopped in front of a door Louis had definitely passed on his first lap around. Ugh.
“Here it is.” Harry made a weak attempt at a showman’s gesture towards the door.
“Thanks.” Louis reached past Harry for the door handle. “See you around.”
“What’s it for?”
He glanced back over his shoulder at Harry.
“What’s what for?”
“Your– meeting, I’m assuming?”
Why did he want to know? What a weirdo.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just, you know, taking an interest.” Harry shrugged.
Such a weirdo.
“Class president meeting.”
“Oh, you’re running?” Harry smiled widely. “That’s great! The meeting just ended, actually, but I can tell you what you need to know.”
“You mean, you’re running, too?” Louis both already knew and dreaded the answer.
“Yep!” The loon was still grinning away.
“Excellent,” Louis muttered.
“It should be fun! Want to grab a coffee? I can get you up to speed on everything. I was just going to-”
“I have footie practice, actually.”
“Oh.” Harry’s puppy-like enthusiasm deflated as rapidly as it had risen. “Maybe tomorrow morning then? I could-"
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Okay. Like 7?”
Louis snorted. “I’m barely out of bed then.”
“Oh. Right. Um, well, since first period is at 7:30, maybe a few minutes before that? I can meet you in front of trig.”
Louis frowned. “How do you know I have trig first thing?”
“I’m in your trig class.”
Okay, so maybe Louis was a bit of an unobservant idiot today.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Okay."
They stood there looking at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.
Louis clapped his hands together, effectively breaking the awkward tension (he felt) and visibly startling Harry. “So, 7, like, 25 then?”
“Yeah, 7:25.”
“’kay, see you.” Louis whirled away. Things to do, people to see, so this excruciating conversation could be over.
He was almost to the corner when he realized he’d forgotten to thank Harry. And Harry was being super helpful, while Louis had been kind of a jerk, so really Louis should be apologizing and then thanking Harry.
But when he turned back, the hall was empty. Hmph.
--
Tuesday September 1st
The next day, Louis strolled into school an impressive 10 minutes before the first bell.
He hadn’t been this early since the day in his second year when he and some of the other football players saran-wrapped Coach’s office. Suffice it to say, if he had ever realized it was Louis who led the charge, Louis would not be captain today.
But this was the dawn of a new Louis – the genesis of which was certainly not a solid bollocking from his mum the previous afternoon for his “lack of commitment to his future,” only quieted by the news of his candidacy for class president.
With these 10 minutes to spare before class, he’d have time to grab a croissant from the cafeteria, maybe a Coke.
He was an adult after all, one who could be on time to things but also make his own meal choices.
He weaved through the other students clogging the halls, turning down the math corridor that led to the cafeteria while silently marveling at the difference a few minutes made in activation of “the clump.”
“Louis!”
Harry Styles was awkwardly attempting to wave at him with a takeaway cup in his hand. Wh-?
Right. Uni. Class president. Harry Styles.
Louis sighed – resigning himself to his new, adult fate of being early and making planned meetings, albeit accidentally – and responded with his own half-hearted wave.
He slid around a girl pushing an A/V cart, accidentally crowding in quite close to Harry, who was laden with a white paper bag and two takeaway cups.
“Hi!”
“Hey.” He nodded to Harry’s hands. “What have you got there?”
“Oh!” Harry began shuffling the items around in his hands, and Louis snatched one of the takeaway cups before it could slip through his fingers and plummet to the ground. “Thanks. I grabbed coffee and tea and some pastries, in case you wanted any.”
“Quite the spread, Styles,” Louis pried the lid off the drink in his hand, nose filling with the scent of strong black tea. “Nice. Mind if I take the tea?”
“No, no, go for it. It’s English Breakfast.” Harry wiggled the bag in his other hand. “And there are a couple of muffins, a croissant, and an egg sandwich in here.”
Louis’ eyes widened. “Wow.”
“I got them from Mandeville –“
“You went there this early? Posh breakfast.”
“Yeah, I mean, I work there. I do openings and afternoon shifts, and weekends. And they let me take a few things for free every day, so…”
“And you spent your freebie on me? I’m flattered.”
“Oh, no worries, I mean, it’s fine, since I was there this morning, and- anyway,” Harry cut off his own babbling. “Want to grab seats in trig?”
“Sure.”
Louis followed Harry into the classroom, raising his eyebrows when he seated them in the front row.
“Eager, Styles?”
Harry shrugged. “You can move before class if you want. I just need to be closer to the board.”
“Oh. Why?”
“I have mild dyslexia.”
Apparently Louis was fated to feel guilty for being an insensitive asshole around Harry every time they interacted.
“Ah. Sorry to pry.”
Harry shrugged again. “No worries. It’s not something I’ve done wrong or something about me that’s bad, it’s just something that my body does on its own – so people can’t rightfully judge me for it. And you weren’t, you were just asking, so…”
Well, that was kind of poetic. And the first complex sentence he’d heard Harry speak, like, ever. Louis was a bit taken aback, to be honest.
“That’s a good outlook” was the response he settled on.
“Thanks,” Harry replied, sounding a bit taken aback himself.
Louis nodded and gestured at the Mandeville bag on Harry’s desk.
“Do you wanna…?”
“Oh. Yeah. Which do you want?”
“You choose first. Seriously, you brought them and worked for them, I just feel lucky to partake for free,” Louis insisted over Harry’s protests.
They picked away at the pastries as Harry explained that each candidate needed to get 50 signatures from other students in support of their candidacy by the following week, after which they would officially be entered into the race. The three weeks that followed would consist of postering, any “grassroots” campaigning they wanted (within reason), and two minutes to present their platforms during the morning announcements. Then, Election Day.
The only candidates were Harry, Louis, and some girl named Emma whom Louis remembered as a goodie two shoes from his second grade class.
“Why isn’t Liam running?” Louis spluttered out a bit of muffin as he asked, flushing and covering his mouth a beat too late.
The small uptick of Harry’s lips indicated he definitely saw.
“Says he has to concentrate on uni applications this year. Want a napkin?”
“No. I’m fine.” Louis decided to own the moment. He grinned with a mouthful of muffin, resulting in a guffawing laugh from Harry.
And, well, that was kind of nice.
He swallowed and wiped at his mouth as daintily as he could with the sleeve of his jumper.
“So, what makes you class president material, Styles?”
Harry raised his eyebrows in mock suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just, you know, taking an interest.”
That earned a smile from Harry.
“Actually it’s to, like, help my uni applications. I’m hoping to get some scholarships, and leadership positions are good for that.”
“Me, too. Just to help my applications, though. I guess a scholarship would be a bonus, but I’d rather get in for football anyway.”
Harry nodded enthusiastically.
“You’re captain, right? I’ve seen you play, you’re good.”
Louis ducked his head.
“I mean, I just like it, you know? My mum thinks I’m focusing too much on football, but the other stuff isn’t anything I want to do with my life. I’d love to play footie professionally. I don’t want to, like, be stuck in the other stuff."
Apparently, Harry’s rambling was contagious. But he was nodding again, so maybe Louis wasn’t sounding like a total fool.
“Totally. I’d rather be doing something happily, even if it’s not making me a lot of money or whatever, than eventually stuck in a job I hate but that makes me a ton of money.”
“Yeah, like even if I become a coach or something, I know I’d love that. I don’t want to be a banker or a doctor or pushing papers at some random company.”
“Exactly!”
“What’s your, like, thing you want to do?”
Harry shrugged and peered studiously at the muffin he was pulling apart onto a napkin on his desk.
“I guess I’m still open to whatever. I play a bit of guitar and I like baking, but I know there are more careers and stuff I just haven’t found yet.”
“Guitar? Sick.”
“Yeah, Niall and I play together sometimes.” Harry glanced up. “You should come by sometime.”
“Oh.” Louis wasn’t expecting that. Honestly, Louis wasn’t expecting any of what he’d experienced so far with Harry – he was actually kind of… interesting. Maybe Niall had a point. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”
“Cool,” Harry parroted. A smile bloomed across his face, revealing twin dimples. Like, ridiculously deep dimples.
As if of its own volition, Louis’ arm was suddenly extended, and he was poking at one of them.
Harry’s smile grew even wider, and the matching dimple even deeper.
“Ehhem.”
A loud, guttural noise sounded in Louis’ ear. He dropped his arm and swung around – coming face-to-button-down with Mr. Tenley.
Another glance around revealed the entire class was seated and faced forward – or more accurately, faced towards Harry and Louis.
“If you two are quite done flirting, may I begin class?”
The class tittered around them. A flush burned into Louis’ cheeks, and he could see the same happening to Harry out of the corner of his eye.
But Louis was good at nothing if not saving face.
“You certainly may, Mr. Tenley.”
The tittering became outright laughter, while Tenley looked simply murderous.
“Cool it, Tomlinson.”
His beady, hateful eyes remained on Louis a moment longer before he turned to face the board, voice booming to drown out the still-rambunctious class.
“Okay, we’re skipping to chapter three…"
Louis stuck his tongue out behind the teacher’s back and chanced a smirk at Harry – who, miraculously, was looking back at him with his own mirroring smile.
--
About three weeks to Election Day – Wednesday September 9th
“Tomlinson, meet me in the office after you hit the showers.”
The players filing past Coach into the locker rooms emitted a chorus of oohs, though they were quickly silenced by his parting glare.
Louis couldn’t fight a flare of nerves as he put away his kit. Though he had secured a starting position early into his first season on the team and been honored by the captaincy for his final year, he knew his game and his leadership were far from perfect.
Every other day it seemed like a pipe dream, but he still held professional footie apart as his highest ambition. In his starting years he had done early development programs in the summer and extra clinics through the local league.
He had been angling for academy, but his mum’s commitment to his development had died down with fewer funds and limited free time after she and Mark divorced.
And his own behavior had admittedly deteriorated into what he called “shenanigans” and some adults called “inability to take responsibility for his actions.”
Coach had been somewhat more encouraging than the assorted guidance counselors and teachers who had called his mum into offices and empty classrooms over the past few years. Where the latter would cite threats like being held back a year, or in one case suspension, Coach Phillips had spoken to Louis’ potential and given him a glimmer of hope for the future of his game.
If that glimmer were about to be snuffed out – well, this year would be off to a fucking great start, wouldn’t it?
He poked his head around the office door 15 minutes later.
“Coach?”
Coach looked up from a stat sheet, setting it aside when he saw who was at the door.
“Take a seat, Tomlinson.”
Louis shuffled into one of the chairs opposite Coach’s desk. He immediately found the need to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans; he had both flattened his hair carefully in the fogged mirrors and tried to remove a stain on his shirt with his spit before walking in, but the outward changes had not lessened his internal nerves.
He remained silent, waiting for the hammer to come down.
Coach appraised him for a long moment.
“What do you think about Birmingham?”
What?
“What?” Okay, he did not mean to say that out loud. “I mean… what do you mean? Like, the city?”
“The city, sure.”
“Well… I’ve visited a few times with my family…”
Coach nodded thoughtfully.
“Good university there.”
“Yeah…”
Where in the world was this conversation going?
“Coach, I think you’re implying something but I’m not really clear what it is.”
Coach sighed.
“I think you have great potential, as we’ve discussed. You’ve not had the level of training I think you need for Premier League-“
Louis immediately and embarrassingly felt a feverish prickling behind his eyes, and looked at his lap in an attempt to hide it. Fuck. Was he about to cry? In front of Coach?
“- at this time. Okay?”
Louis exhaled deeply, keeping his eyes trained down, only lifting his gaze when the prickling had dulled.
“But I’ve been working really hard, and-“
“I do see that, Louis. But you know the disadvantage of not coming up through academy, we’ve talked about that.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“So what I’m thinking is that you aim for a degree while we work for getting you into, say, Walsall.”
And there was a fucking gleam in Coach’s eye, because Walsall…
“Walsall’s a feeder for United!”
“Yes, it is,” Coach chuckled.
Louis stared open-mouthed across the desk.
“What…?”
The desk chair creaked as Coach leaned forward, his expression rapidly turning serious – but no less self-satisfied.
“I’ve had some early conversations with the new scout for Walsall, a friend of a friend. And your stats are making them take a second look.”
Louis’ mouth remained agape.
“So-“ Coach stood now, and walked around the desk. “This season is important, and we’re going to make sure everything else goes smoothly, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Louis responded breathily.
For the first time in the conversation, Coach looked a bit concerned.
“Grades looking okay?”
“Yeah…” The resulting face from Coach was disbelieving. Yikes. “And I’m running for class president!”
He hadn’t been sure if the idea of another extracurricular would appease or anger Coach, but Coach’s face relaxed with the addendum.
“Good. Stay out of trouble, Tomlinson, and we can hold out for a good outcome here.”
Louis nodded enthusiastically. He also finally took notice that Coach was standing by the door, and hurried to get up.
“I want to talk about this more, but I want to get more information from the scout first and give you a few days to think on your goals for this year, okay?”
“Okay.” Louis grabbed the hand that Coach stuck out, giving it a possibly overaggressive shake. But Coach just smiled and waved him out the door with his other hand.
Louis took his leave, but paused and turned for a quiet “Thanks” before making his way out to the parking lot.
Once there, he dropped his bag from his shoulder and himself to a seated position on a cement block.
He gripped his hair in his hands, attempting to ground himself. He was jittery and elated and kept feeling swoops of nerves through his chest, too.
A moment later, he jumped up and let out a massive whoop with his arms flung up to the sky. A bird flew out of an adjacent tree, apparently unappreciative of what a great day this had turned out to be – but Louis just exhaled out a relieved laugh.
“Impressive.”
He whirled around to see Harry Styles approaching from the direction of the school building, hands tucked into his pockets as he strolled forward.
“I am, aren’t I?” Louis couldn’t help his cocky grin.
Harry came to a stop in front of him.
“What for this time?”
“Oh, I’m just having a fucking great day!” For once, this sounded not at all sarcastic. “Want to know why?” He was 0.5 seconds from jumping up and down.
An amused smile made its way to Harry’s face. “Sure!”
Louis pointed at him. “Drumroll, please.” Harry obligingly pulled his hands out of his pockets and patted out a fast rhythm on his thighs until Louis conducted him to a stop, adding a final dramatic pause before:
“I’ve got a shot at pro football! Like, eventually. But still!”
“What do you mean?!”
“Our coach just told me I have a shot at a feeder club in the next few years that could get me into the Premier League!” And now he was literally jumping up and down.
“LOUIS! That’s great!” Harry looked, well, almost as excited as Louis was feeling inside. His smile was now showing so many teeth it was almost shark-like, and his eyes were nearly slits from his cheeks pushing so far into them.
And then he swooped forward and wrapped his arms around Louis, and they were jumping up and down together, and it was sort of odd but also so right.
Because Louis wanted to share this with someone, and Harry was here, and he was so, so happy.
He whooped again, and then Harry whooped, and they laughed and jumped and whooped some more. It was comfortable despite their moderate size difference.
A few jumps later, they finally separated. Harry took a step back and his hands returned to his pockets but his effusive smile remained.
“That’s so great, Louis, really. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you.” Louis beamed.
“Are you headed home?"
“Yeah!” Louis bounced again with sustained happiness. “You?”
“Yep. Do you- we could walk together for a bit, if you want?”
Louis shrugged, smile still in tact. Why the fuck not? This was a good day. And Harry was happy for him. Everything was happy.
“Sure! Lead the way.”
They fell into step together a metre apart.
“So was that news you were expecting, or…?” Harry glanced over.
Louis shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. Like, I hoped for it, obviously-“
“I remember you saying.”
“Yeah! But there’s so much training that goes into it, and I’m obviously not in an academy, so it’s not like there was a clear path.”
“Yeah, that would be frustrating.”
“Exactly. So I’m looking for any ‘in’ and Coach seems positive about this one.”
“That’s amazing, Louis.”
“Thank you!” He didn’t think he’d get sick of hearing it anytime soon. After a pause he thought to ask, “What were you doing at school so late?”
“Oh, I get tutored. Dyslexia,” Harry said with an added eye roll.
“Ah, yeah.” Louis nodded. He hesitated a moment, unsure of the right way to ask, before jumping in: “What’s the hardest subject for you?”
Harry scrunched his nose and mouth to one side. It had the effect of pushing his cheek into a round little puff on one side, which made Louis smile. It was kind of cute- or whatever.
“You’d think just Literature – words and all that – but Government and History has the added bonus of similar names of politicians and classifications for various systems. Liam actually tutors me,” he added.
“Ah.”
Harry seemed to interpret the look on Louis’ face correctly, as he said, “He’s got a reputation for being too intense because he was a bit more reserved and stuff when we were younger, but he’s just a goofball who works hard, honestly.”
Louis looked at him askance, but held his hands up in surrender at Harry’s corresponding raised eyebrows.
“Alright, alright. Don’t judge a book by its cover and all that, yeah?”
Harry nodded. “Yep. That’s the motto I live by.”
Now it was Louis’ turn to raise his eyebrows.
“Everyone gets misjudged for things, you know?" Harry continued. "I have been, I’m sure you have been. I’d like to find the good in people and situations whenever possible.”
“You’re quite earnest.” Louis couldn’t help the appraisal – and immediately wanted to slap his hand over his mouth to stop the words from having emerged in the first place. It sounded like the very judgment Harry had just argued against.
Harry looked surprised for a moment, but quickly rejoined: “And you’re quite honest.”
That was – not too bad of a response, actually. Louis shrugged.
“Fair enough.”
They walked on in silence for a few moments, feet scuffing along the road. It was another 10 minutes for Louis, and he wasn’t sure about the journey for Harry but he thought he remembered seeing him in the same general neighborhood over the past however many years they’d been in school together.
Sometimes Louis needed a reprieve from always being ‘on’ and liked a good solo walk – but Harry’s mix of honesty and positivity and, apparently, willingness to be quiet was good company.
Might as well make the most of it.
“Tell me about your family.”
Harry immediately smiled.
“Older sister, parents divorced but my mum has been dating a great guy for the last seven years, cat named Dusty. You?"
“Four sisters-“
“WOW.”
“- I know. Mum and dad divorced, too.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”
Harry nodded.
“Four sisters, though. Are you the middle?”
“Oldest.”
“Woof.”
Louis barked out a laugh. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“’Woof.’”
“It’s, like an exclamation.”
“An exclamation.”
“Something succinct that you say to express an emotion, like, succinctly.”
Louis couldn’t resist reaching out and giving Harry’s shoulder a gentle shove. Harry’s next steps therefore brought him into the grass, where he gave a scrunched-nose smile down at his now grass-covered boots.
“Too many big words to define such a little word,” Louis teased.
Harry sighed a faux-exasperated breath at him. “It’s like, ‘Oh, that must be overwhelming. Woof.’”
“Hm. That kind of makes sense.”
“Yeah! It does.”
“Very creative.”
“Thank you.” Harry gave an exaggerated curtsy that almost made him fall into a street sign, and Louis couldn’t help but laugh. Thankfully Harry wasn’t offended, and just laughed as well.
As he recovered his balance, he thumbed up to the street sign.
“This is me.”
“Cool. Thanks for the company,” Louis remembered to add.
“Anytime!” Harry gave a small wave and turned away, but made a full rotation to face Louis as he added, “And congratulations!”
“Thanks!”
“Bye, Louis!”
“Bye, Harry!”
They both smiled and turned away.
As he walked on a few more paces, Louis couldn’t help a curious glance back. He saw Harry skip, then walk, then skip again every few steps.
Such an odd kid, Louis thought. It still brought a smile to his face.
About two weeks to Election Day – Tuesday September 15th
“Harry!”
Louis called down the hallway and broke into a slight jog to catch up to Harry, whose curly hair he had just spotted emerging from the Advanced Japanese classroom.
Harry turned, and immediately his face brightened.
“Hi!”
Louis finally reached him, bouncing a bit on his toes. Frankly, everything was making him happy these days. The sun shining, the birds singing, new friends smiling.
“Hi!”
“You’re peppy today.”
“I’m peppy every day, Curly.” Louis reached out to pick up one of Harry’s honest-to-God ringlets and give it a gentle tug.
Louis had always been a tactile person, prone to jumping onto his friend’s backs and doling out hugs. So that wasn’t abnormal.
And Harry and he were friends now.
For days Niall had teased Louis about Tenley’s embarrassing callout, which Louis had inadvertently fueled by greeting Harry at the start of trig every day and in the hall a handful of times in Niall’s presence. And they had all sat together at the same lunch table throughout this past week. Plus, Harry and Louis had ended up on a few more walks home together, their tutoring and football schedules respectively aligning.
Oddly, Harry was the only person Louis had told about the potential of Walsall F.C. besides his mum.
Because Harry understood (it turned out he was a United fan, as well) and didn’t have a personal stake in scouting news (Niall was a great friend and probably wouldn’t get jealous or think it was unfair, but Louis still felt weird about it, or about telling Zayn and not Niall).
And he was so genuinely interested in what news Coach had for Louis and how Louis felt about the possibility and the team and Birmingham. He even had some thoughts on the city, as his older sister Gemma was attending the university there. He would bounce a bit as he walked beside Louis, profiling interesting parts of the city and helping flesh out what Louis might want to study.
And, okay, Louis never would have thought he’d become friends with Harry Styles.
But it turned out Harry also liked some of the same bands as Louis, not to mention his surprisingly varied and vulgar repertoire of dick jokes. So he was funny and fun to talk to, and had great music recommendations.
Plus, who was Louis to deny someone the glorious opportunity of being his friend?
And maybe it had something to do with the preening Harry was currently showcasing, smiling down at Louis as he tugged the captured curl again – but there was just something about Harry that screamed, Touch me.
Louis was trying not to think about it too much.
“That’s a new nickname.”
“Huh?” Louis pulled his eyes from Harry’s lip- smile. From his smile.
“’Curly,’” Harry repeated. “That’s new.”
“Your overall persona lends itself to nicknames,” Louis asserted. He’d actually spent some time brainstorming them. He did that for all of his friends. Again, not abnormal.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Like Curly-“ Another tug of the curl. “Haz.” A poke to Harry’s opposite cheek, prompting a giggle and a flailing attempt to block Louis’ onslaught. “Farmer Harry.”
“Hey!”
“You have a barn, Styles. Don’t try to argue.” He managed to gently grab Harry’s jaw and turned him into his own personal puppet, artificially shaking the curly head back and forth. “I. Will. Not. Argue.”
“Lou!” Harry’s giggles had turned into all-out laughter, further hindering his struggles to escape.
“Own your future, Harry. You were born to be a farmer.”
“Nooo,” Harry managed to croon through his laughter.
“Yes.” Louis finally released him and stepped past to continue down the hall. He smiled when Harry followed alongside him. “When you lose this election and realize that the sheep need you, it will all come to pass, Farmer Styles.”
“Excuse you!”
Harry’s mock-offended gape was a caricature. His eyes were wide, his mouth a small “o” shape.
“That’s your fate. Just accept it, it will make things easier."
“I’m not giving up on this election.” Harry’s smile belied his attempt at a serious look.
Louis shrugged. “Might as well.”
But Harry was looking smug now. Suspiciously smug.
“I have something you don’t have.”
“And what’s that?”
“Beautiful posters.”
Louis snorted. “That’s not going to win you an election.”
“Don’t knock ‘em ‘til you’ve seen ‘em.”
“Oh, yeah? And when will they be making their grand debut?”
“Next Monday.”
“Next Monday? That’s ages from now."
“Need to stay fresh in the constituents’ minds.” Harry tapped his own temple.
“Good campaign advice, thanks.”
Harry made a move to flick Louis in the nose, but Louis managed to intercept his hand en route.
“Don’t you dare."
“All’s fair in love and…”
Louis waited for him to finish the phrase, but he remained silent.
“War, Styles. We’re at war.”
“Right.” Harry’s cheeks were getting kind of rosy. Weird.
Louis continued on a burst of inspiration, “I can give you an opportunity to fix your clearly subpar posters. You should see your competition to properly prepare for your loss.”
Harry nodded, somewhat slowly. “Okay.”
“Maybe next Sunday?”
“Okay.” He was still nodding.
“I’ll come to yours. With my posters.”
“Yeah.”
Louis shot him a questioning look. “You okay? Your head’s going to fall off if you keep doing that.”
Harry’s head finally stopped bobbing. And Louis’ hands gave a sudden jerk as Harry pulled his away.
Apparently they’d been holding hands this whole time.
“I’m fine.” Harry was backing down the hallway the way they had come, his now-free hand running through his curls and flipping them away from his face. “I’ll- yeah. See you, Lou!”
And he disappeared into the flow of student traffic.
--
Almost one week to Election Day – Saturday September 19th
“Oh, my God.”
Actual haystacks and farm equipment were everywhere. Louis was in an actual barn. Harry Styles’ actual barn.
The people milling about had vaguely familiar faces, but he gripped onto Niall’s and Zayn’s arms anyway just as they started towards a table covered in beer cans, plastic cups, and cheap liquor.
“Don’t leave me. I’ll get murdered by the creepy old farmer who’s probably lying in wait in the loft.”
Niall shook him off and grabbed Zayn’s other arm.
“You’ll be fine, Louis.” He dragged Zayn away from his role as Louis’ life raft, calling back, “Go chat up Harry, you know you want to."
Louis scoffed in the direction of their retreating backs. “Go make out drunkenly with Zayn, you know you want to,” he muttered.
With the loss of his third-wheel-causing friends, Louis felt briefly lost. But then he realized he should go grace Harry with his presence, thank him for the invite. That was the polite thing to do, after all.
He wandered among the clustered groups, bestowing an occasional greeting upon friends and friends-of-friends alike.
His and Harry’s competition Emma was among the partiers, looking quite far along on the path to extreme drunkenness. He glanced back over his shoulder at some particularly loud exclamations from her and her friends, shaking his head in mock disapproval –
And walked straight into Harry Styles.
And his plastic cup, the contents of which splashed across Harry’s chest and stomach and turned his white t-shirt nearly translucent.
“Sorry!”
Did that squeak come from Louis? Ugh.
Harry was just chuckling, holding his now shirt slightly up and away from his skin.
“We’ve got to stop running into each other like this.”
Louis’ horror at his own walking incompetency turned into horror at that gross, gross pun.
“That was terrible.”
Harry, apparently unoffended, made a sound suspiciously similar to a giggle.
“I babysit a lot, so I’ve gotten good at puns and stuff since dick jokes don’t come up often.” He snorted. “’Come up,’ get it?”
Louis fought off an unbidden smile with an attempted sigh.
“You’re a piece of work, Styles.”
Harry shrugged, his own smile emerging. It had a cocky edge this time.
“You like it.”
And, well –
Louis had no response to that.
Because he thought he kind of did.
Like it.
He settled with shaking his head and returned to the topic of Harry’s ruined shirt.
“Sorry about that, by the way. Not fun to smell like alcohol all night.”
“Oh, it’s just ginger ale. No big deal.”
Louis furrowed his brow. “Ginger ale? But it’s a party. Your party.”
“I’m sober, actually. So, you know, no alcohol.”
Huh. Louis didn’t know anyone their age who was sober.
Maybe it was a health thing. Harry looked really healthy. There were muscles now visible through his wet shirt.
He was, like, fit.
“Why…?” Louis started to ask – and then realized that was pretty much the last thing you should ask someone who was sober.
Because the other option was-
“Alcoholism runs in my family. And I don’t like myself when I drink, so.”
Harry said it so casually. Like he wasn’t revealing something that was so, so personal to chronic foot-in-mouth-disease-sufferer Louis.
Louis was such an arse.
“I- I’m sorry.” Was that the right response? Fuck. “I didn’t mean to-“
“Louis.” Harry placed a hand on his arm. A warm, large hand. Louis looked down at it. “There’s no apologizing required, and you didn’t offend me. You just asked a question.”
Louis didn’t answer immediately. He was still looking at the hand.
Harry followed his gaze, and promptly yanked the hand away.
Louis felt an odd sense of loss. And cold.
Harry’s shoulders hunched up a bit around his ears, and he continued on in a quieter tone:
“I know it’s weird. But it just makes sense for me."
“It’s not weird,” Louis rushed out. And it really wasn’t. “Different, maybe. But not, like, bad. Or weird.”
He lifted his own hand, hesitating only slightly before bringing it to rest on Harry’s arm.
“That’s, like, great for you to do if it makes sense to you and makes you feel more comfortable, or whatever.” On a whim, he skimmed his hand down to Harry’s wrist and circled it gently. “And it’s kind of brave, too.”
The tension framing Harry’s shoulders face had dissipated rapidly.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Louis squeezed his wrist slightly, then released it.
After a moment, Harry motioned over his shoulder with the hand holding his empty cup. “I’m going to go change my shirt back at the house.”
“No wet t-shirt contest?” Louis chuckled. And then immediately flushed at visions it brought to his head and wanted to die.
But Harry just smiled and shook his head.
“Nope, not tonight. I’ll be back.” He turned away, but twisted back towards Louis a moment later. “Will you be around for a bit? We could, like, debate campaign strategy or something."
“Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
“Alright. I’ll be back.”
“See you soon.”
“See you.”
Neither made a move to walk away immediately. Then Harry raised his hand to give a small wave and backed away.
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye, Styles.” Louis returned the wave.
And if he didn’t stop smiling throughout the night, from Harry’s return to their discussion of silly campaign promises, marveling at Niall’s and Zayn’s antics, and shared laughter at Harry’s frankly horrible footie skills – well, he was just enjoying a new friendship.
With a mate who happened to be fit.
Whatever.
--
Sunday September 20th
Sunlight was just dappling through his window when Louis awoke on the day of the Great Poster Face-Off and promptly vaulted out of bed.
Early weekends were close to an impossibility for him, but he was feeling oddly amped today.
His mum even snapped at him by the end of breakfast, telling him to stop causing a ruckus and teasing his sisters.
“You’re like a Tasmanian devil, I swear,” she grumbled as she walked out of the kitchen. “10 minutes until we leave, okay?"
“'Kay!”
He bounded back upstairs. His heart was still pounding a bit from the exertion when he spotted an alert on his mobile from its perch on his desk.
His heart jolted again – maybe he needed to increase his cardio? – while he was reading the messages displayed there.
Hi! I’m doing a morning shift at Mandeville that runs through lunch, so maybe you can come over after 2?
Louis tapped out in rapid succession:
Bring me a sandwich!
Just kidding.
But maybe you should buy some pastries to emotionally eat when you see my far superior posters and cry yourself to sleep!!!!!!
He dropped his phone and puttered about grabbing proper trousers for the family’s venture out to the arts supply store.
--
“What’s with the face?” his mum asked. They were en route back from the store, the two of them somewhat in their own bubble up front and separate from the din of the girls squabbling in the back seats.
Louis gave a desultory shrug and turned to look out the window.
“Nothing.”
It had been almost an hour and a half and Harry hadn’t responded to his messages yet.
Louis wasn’t pouting.
Or worrying that his joke about bringing pastries had been rude or presumptuous.
“A boy?”
“Mum.”
“Just asking, just asking. Would you rather I didn’t want to know about your life?"
“Yes.”
She glanced over at him.
“Talk to me, hun. Come on. We don’t do the angsty teenager thing, you and me.”
Louis huffed.
“Fine. It’s a boy. But it’s not like that!” He rushed out over her cooing. “I’m running against him for class president.”
“What’s his name?” She sounded way too delighted to be having this conversation.
“Mum, it’s not like that!”
“Okay, okay. What’s his name?"
He huffed again.
“Harry Styles.”
“Oh, Harry Styles!”
He swung around to look at her.
“Why do you sound like you know him?”
“I know his mother, Anne.”
“How?”
“Louis, parents aren’t hermits. We have friends.”
“Yeah, I know. But how do you know her?”
“She volunteers at the hospital, and we’ve had lunch a couple of times.”
“Oh.”
“Nothing insidious.”
“What do you think of her?”
“Louis."
“What? I want to know what kind of people they are.”
“She’s my friend, so obviously I think highly of her.” She shot him an incredulous look. “Are we done with the third-degree?”
His only response was a shrug.
“And what about Harry? Is he your… friend?”
"Yes, he’s my friend.” His brow furrowed. “Stop smirking.”
“I’m not smirking, I’m smiling.”
“Well, stop smiling.”
“I’m just glad you’ve made a friend.”
“I have friends, Mum.”
She sighed. “I know, Louis. I just mean a new friend.”
“I know what you’re implying.”
“Maybe you’re the one adding in the implication.”
They stared each other down for a long moment. Louis was slightly ashamed to be the first to break.
“I don’t know. He’s nice.”
His mum hummed encouragingly.
“He plays guitar.”
“Well, that’s cool.”
Louis nodded. “Yeah. And he’s kind of bizarre. Like, he makes tons of jokes but they’re puns or dirty ones. He doesn’t ever seem to get offended-“
“There’s a nice change.”
Louis disregarded this aspersion on his character. “And he does really well in school but he’s dyslexic so he has to work really hard.”
“That’s not bizarre, honey.”
“No, I know. I just meant he’s, like, kind of a mix of things, like opposites. Different.”
And that was quite a lot more than Louis had consciously thought about Harry. Like, ever.
For a few moments, the only sounds filling the air were his sisters’ whispers and game console beeps, breaking up the resonant rush of the other cars passing by.
“He sounds great,” his mum finally said.
Louis opened his mouth to clarify his ramblings (she seemed to be getting the wrong impression about what exactly was going on with him and Harry) – but was distracted by a vibration under his thigh, from his tucked-away phone. He dug it out.
Caprese panini or French ham and cornichon? And don’t worry, your consolation prize chocolate cake won’t cost me anything ;)
Louis smiled.
“Yeah. He’s cool.”
--
Later that afternoon
“That’s such shit.”
Louis laughed and made his FIFA player run a circle around Harry’s, celebrating a victorious tournament.
After scarfing down their sandwiches and ribbing each other for their poster designs – Harry’s a classy, patriotic theme and Louis’ full of thinly veiled innuendos – they’d retired to Harry’s room for some video games.
Louis was lying on his stomach on the bed, while Harry sat against it with his knees drawn up. He was banging his head onto them gently in shame (mock, Louis sort of hoped. Don’t want to truly embarrass the kid).
Harry pulled his head back up after a few more moments and leaned it back against the bed frame.
His movement wafted a fruity and sugary wave back towards Louis’ nose, like stepping into a candy shop.
Louis let himself subtly sniff in, resisting the urge to drop his own head down to drown in the sweetly-scented curls at the crown of Harry’s head.
“Lou?”
“What?” He popped his head back up from where it had been drifting south without his permission.
Harry didn’t seem to have caught on to his sniffing, judging by the look of amusement rather than disgust on his face from where he was partially turned around. Apparently Louis’d been wrapped in his Wonka factory haze and missed part of the conversation.
“Sorry,” he dropped the controller so he could flick his hair off of his forehead, feeling inexplicably warm and sweaty. “Was reveling in my glorious playing.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re not that good.”
“Excuse me,” Louis scoffed. “I’m reigning champion here and in every other tournament I play. And I don’t even own the game.”
“Guess we’ll have to do a rematch sometime, then.”
“Guess so.”
They exchanged small smiles before Louis dropped his chin to hide his.
That warm feeling was back. And he was starting to suspect he knew what it was.
Being mates with Harry was going to be very difficult if he kept looking so cute.
Harry suddenly turned to face the bed full-on.
“Why haven’t we hung out before?”
Louis was momentarily struck dumb. He couldn’t exactly tell Harry that he used to hate his guts for, apparently, absolutely no reason.
“I mean, I’ve been friends with Niall since middle school. And you’ve known him since you were both little, right?”
“Right.”
Harry kept his expectant gaze on Louis.
“Well, I knew him, but we weren’t, like, good friends until high school."
“Why not?”
Louis shrugged his shoulders, though in his precarious position it had the effect of pushing him further south.
“Well, I was kind of an asshole back in middle school.”
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Louis-”
“No, I was. I had just made some older friends that were kind of douchey, and they kind of took advantage of me, and then I tried to act like them, you know?” He flopped over onto his stomach and folded his hands in front of him, resting his chin on them. “Just stupid peer pressure shit. Niall and I drifted apart, got in some fights and stuff, and we didn’t really reconnect until Zayn transferred in and they became friends, or whatever.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Louis exhaled and let his head tip to the side to lay on his arms. He was now facing Harry, who had settled himself criss-cross right next to the bed.
“I’m sorry I was like that and, like, sorry it happened to me. ‘Cause I know some of it was their influence, and a lot of it was me, too. But, like, I know more now about who I want to be. I’m sometimes still a bit of a douche, but I’m trying to be better at catching myself before I evolve into full douchebag.”
Harry snorted a laugh, but his face immediately fell.
“Sorry, I didn’t-“
But Louis waved his concern away. “It’s fine. I’m funny.”
At that, Harry released this cackle of laughter with his head thrown back, eyes closed tight, mouth wide open, all pure joy.
And if that wasn’t the greatest thing Louis had ever seen. It made him laugh in response.
Their laughter trickled down to a few giggles and snorts, but rushed out again when their eyes met, an exuberant feedback loop.
Eventually they quieted down, and Louis exhaled a relaxed breath.
It was like being with Zayn and Niall and his other childhood friend Stan, but it had happened so much faster. The laughter was easy, revelations were accepted and discussed but didn’t drag the conversation down.
A spark of a memory flared. Louis straightened up.
“I remember when you moved here.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, we had that group project on the oceanic food chain in elementary school. And-“ He sat up completely and pointed at Harry. “You came to my house!” Harry nodded. “You were so quiet.”
Harry’s response was reminiscent of the Harry of that faraway time, barely audible.
“I was nervous.”
“Why were you nervous? We weren’t even presenting then. It was our first meeting.” Louis furrowed his brow. “And you got to my house before anyone else, and we were just sitting at my kitchen table, and you weren’t saying anything.”
Harry jumped in. “Well, yeah, you were-“ But then he stopped.
“I was what?”
“Nothing, like, bad. No, really, that’s not what I-“ He was rushing to placate an increasingly annoyed Louis. “You were, like…”
“Like…?”
“… Intimidating.”
“And that’s not bad?” Louis asked, miffed.
“No, I mean, like, I was intimidated by you because you were so, like, pretty.”
What the fuck?
Harry wasn’t meeting Louis’ gaze. All Louis could see of him were the tips of his flushed cheeks and his fingers twisting around one another in his lap.
“Pretty?”
Harry raised his head, revealing wide, wide eyes, and rushed out, “I don’t mean that in a bad way. Like, it’s more about how I was figuring out that I liked boys, and so being, like, attracted to you, I guess, was scary, you know?”
“You were… attracted to me?”
Harry’s mouth stayed gaped open for a long moment before he started rambling.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
“Stop apologizing,” Louis murmured. Harry ceased his frantic chattering and looked down again.
They stayed quiet for an eternity of a minute.
Louis’ mind was churning, but he couldn’t find words.
It was Harry broke the silence.
“You’re not, like, freaked out, are you?”
Louis didn’t respond for another long moment.
He opened his mouth, not really knowing what was going to come out of it.
“I-“
“God, I’m sorry. I should-“
“Harry. Just-“
‘Just’ what?
Maybe talking. They should talk this out. Definitely. And Harry shouldn’t be curled in on himself on the floor, that wasn’t good.
“We should- Can you come, like-“ Louis weakly gestured at the foot of the bed in front of him.
Harry hesitated a moment before untangling his gangly legs from their pretzeled form on the floor.
Then he was on his knees, pushing up onto the edge of the bed. Then up on his knees on the bed, about to lower his body to a seated position.
But he was further into Louis’ space than Louis had anticipated.
Sort of towering, curls hanging.
That jolting Louis felt in his chest this morning was back with a vengeance.
Their eyes locked, and Harry’s body froze for a long moment.
Then he was shifting forward, his face drawing closer to Louis’.
Louis could actually hear Harry’s soft exhales, see a few hairs above his upper lip.
His own face and chest and everywhere tingled with heat.
He felt a pressure building in his throat and eyes.
But it was exhilarating, electric.
His eyes closed.
Then-
Warm, soft lips brushed his.
Once. Twice. A bit firmer, then a bit more cautious.
Louis responded in kind, a reflex.
He breathed in the breaks between their lips meeting. What began warm and soft became hot and clinging. Gentle nips and Harry sucking Louis’ bottom lip between his.
Louis couldn’t help but let out a huffed exhalation – of surprise? Lust? He wasn’t entirely sure – when both sets of lips parted and Harry’s tongue swept into his mouth with finesse.
Then Harry’s body was pressing further into his, pushing him onto his back and settling as an anchor over his own.
The absent thought flitted to Louis’ mind that this was the first time he’d actually made out with a boy. But the rapid-fire progression wasn’t really freaking him out.
It was just- perfect.
Both his and Harry’s hands were skimming each others’ bodies, lightly squeezing and feeling planes and curves.
They let out a harmonized huff (Louis again) and moan (Harry) as their lower halves aligned. Louis found himself pushing his hips up and Harry’s grinded down, and Harry broke his lips away from Louis’ to nuzzle into his neck.
“Is this too much?”
The words drifted into Louis’ ear like an echo. It took him a minute to process them, distracted as he was by the fact that the nuzzling had become wet presses of lips and grazes of teeth. His head turned to give Harry more room.
“Don’t stop,” he found himself murmuring.
Harry’s head rose back up and their lips met again, and again, and again, until Harry trailed his down to the other side of Louis’ neck.
Louis’ hands found their way to the back of Harry’s head to hold him in place.
“Haz…”
“Harry! Louis!”
A female voice suddenly rang through the sound of their labored breaths.
Harry pushed himself off of Louis with surprising agility and practically flung himself off the bed, standing to face the door.
“Yeah, Mum?” He called, his voice somewhat high.
So disoriented was Louis at the loss of a warm body pressing him into the mattress and the sudden commotion that he very nearly missed Harry’s hand reaching down to adjust himself – but he didn’t, and it solidified the fact that he and Harry were just making out on Harry’s bed.
“Louis’ mum is here!”
“Fuck.”
Harry whipped around to look at Louis.
Ah, so he had said that out loud.
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Thanks, Ms. Cox! Down in a minute.” Louis called, eyes still locked with Harry’s.
Then all was quiet.
Louis finally dropped his gaze and rolled off his bed so he could grab his backpack.
“I’m gonna-“
“Louis-“
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yeah?”
He brought his eyes up as he threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder, meeting Harry’s for a brief moment. The corners of his lips lifted into something of a smile that was more like a grimace, and he used the hand on his bag to give a sort of wave.
“Bye!”
And he strode out of Harry’s room, giving him a wide berth to avoid any more skin-to-skin contact.
Because that would not bode well for his mental state – or his arousal – right now.
One week to Election Day, Monday September 21st
Harry was not in trig.
It was distracting.
“Do you know where Harry is?” He whispered to Niall midway through class.
“Shouldn’t you?” Niall mumbled back, eyes still on the board.
“I’m not his keeper.”
“What makes you think I am?”
“Tomlinson! Horan! Knock it off or you’re getting detention.” Mr. Tenley kept his eyes on them a moment before turning back to the lesson.
Louis sighed and slumped back into his seat.
He had thought all night about what he should do about his Harry Styles Problem. And he kind of had no clue still. But he figured something might come to him the next time he saw Harry.
Also, he just wanted to see Harry.
Not that that meant anything.
He was just used to seeing him and talking to him and touching him.
That was all.
Throughout the day, he didn’t spot Harry in any of their usual overlapping hall crossings, or at lunch. He started to ask Niall again if he’d seen him, but Zayn cut in to say they hadn’t. Louis frowned at them both and then down at his sandwich. He wasn't even able to muster up a jibe at Zayn's apparent pairing of himself and Niall. And he suddenly wasn’t feeling very hungry.
--
Throughout the week, Harry continued to evade Louis. He showed up to trig at the last moment, never taking the seat next to Louis – though Louis tried placing himself up front, in the back and pretty much anywhere to confuse Harry into sitting next to him (or leave him no choice). He was like a ghost in the halls, no curly head to be found. And still a no-show at lunch.
What was weird was he was still responding to most of Louis’ texts. The subtle
Where are you?
received the response of
In school? Where are you? :P
He talked in circles around Louis, avoiding any attempts to meet up with exclamations about
Pop quiz! Gotta study :O
And
Bakery shift! See you in schooooool
While the more pointed
We should talk.
from Louis received radio silence.
If Louis was confused Monday and frustrated Tuesday, by Wednesday he was resigned to a Harry-less fate.
It wasn’t a happy one.
--
The Friday before Election Day, Friday September 25th
“Thank you for tuning in to this morning’s announcements!”
Louis hated Liam Payne. And Harry Styles, who seemed to be a no-show for the critical campaign speeches for this damn election.
Louis had attempted to stall for time in the hopes of finally getting Harry in the same room as him, but Liam was uncharacteristically steadfast in assuring that the show would go on at 7:30 sharp.
“Today is a special broadcast, as your candidates for class president will each get a couple of minutes on air to present their platforms.”
Honestly, if Harry was this dedicated to avoiding Louis…
“First up is Louis Tomlinson-“ Louis jerked his head away from the office’s glass door at which he’d been staring expectantly to glare at Liam, whose eyes went wide.
“Um, here’s Louis."
He shoved the microphone at Louis from a fair distance away, apparently realizing that the closer he was to Louis, the closer he would be to the bodily harm Louis was threatening with his eyes.
Louis snatched it up and glared bloody murder at him again, before marshaling his thoughts and pulling out the scrap of notebook paper on which he’d hastily scribbled his campaign speech.
“Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson, and I’m running for class president.”
Just then the door flew open, and there stood a panting and sweating Harry Styles.
“H-!“ The first syllable out of his mouth sounded in stereo around him. Ah. Still being broadcast to the school.
He looked down at his piece of paper again and decided – fuck it. There were more important things.
“Uhh, vote for me.”
He thrust the mic back at Liam, who fumbled it and started in with a rambling intro for Emma, who stood looking incredulously at Louis.
But there was no time for her judgment.
He strode over to Harry, who had shuffled the rest of the way into the office and was looking somewhat abashed. The wanker.
“Harry. You’ve been avoiding me.”
Harry bit his lip and nodded, very small.
“Why?” Louis demanded.
“You know why,” Harry murmured. His eyes were skipping at random to the assembled office workers, Liam and Emma, mid-speech – but they didn’t settle on Louis.
Louis sighed. He reached forward and placed his hand on Harry’s arm, finally securing Harry’s round gaze.
“Look, I’m sorry I kind of freaked out when we-“ He broke off with his own surreptitious glance at the room. “… yeah. But I was just flustered because of our mums." He steeled himself. "Harry, I like you. Like, a lot. I didn’t want to stop-“
“Harry Styles?”
Fucking Liam Payne.
Louis turned to meet Liam’s once-again trepid gaze.
“Can you give us a minute?” He hissed.
“Uh-"
“It’s fine, Louis.”
Louis whipped his head back around to look at Harry, who was no longer looking like someone had kicked his puppy. The exact opposite, actually – his eyes were barely visible, all crinkled up by the grin spread across his face.
And then he took a step towards Louis, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear, “Don’t stop, yeah? Liking me. We can talk in a few.”
Then he strode past and over to the mic.
“Hi, I’m Harry Styles…”
--
Epilogue
The day after Election Day, Tuesday September 29th
“I’ve never skipped class before.”
“Really?”
Harry lifted his head from where he’d locked it to Louis’ neck, sucking love bites into the skin there in the most delicious way. He looked affronted, which was totally unfair – Louis was the one missing out on the sucking.
“Yes, really. I’m a good student.”
Louis scowled.
“Yeah, I know. Can you just-“ He lifted his hands off of Harry’s hips to gesture at his neck.
Harry nipped at his ear and then stuck his tongue into it in retaliation.
“Haz!”
He pushed Harry away briefly, but pulled him back in by the shirt collar to press their lips together through their laughter.
Their giggling kiss had progressed to something deeper and entirely too aggressive for a bathroom make out during trig when the loud speaker blared.
“Good morning and happy Election Day!”
Louis groaned and dropped his head to Harry’s shoulder.
“Fucking Liam Payne.”
Harry swatted Louis’ bum.
“Be nice!"
Louis huffed a sigh into Harry’s neck, holding on through Harry’s resultant squirm.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“… with the results tallied. So, without further ado, your class president is – Emma Wojcicki!”
“What?!” Louis and Harry both exclaimed, Louis’ head shooting up to glare at the loudspeaker as if it were responsible for this news.
A moment later they faced each other, and again exclaimed in unison, “You should have won!”
“I'm fine, Coach is confident about Walsall. What about your scholarship?” Louis continued on with a pout. He stroked a hand down Harry’s arm in preemptive reassurance.
But Harry’s face had relaxed from its outrage on Louis’ behalf, and he just shrugged.
“I’ll figure something else out. Besides,” he lifted his hands to frame Louis’ cheeks and squished them together. “I’ve already won the best prize from this competition - a brand new boyfriend!"
He started giggling as Louis groaned and tried to extract himself.
“You’re the worst.”
Harry shook his head.
I’m the best,” he managed to get out, and paused in his laughter to peck Louis swiftly on the lips and then all over his face.
Louis sighed resignedly.
“Yeah, you’re the best.”
He let himself be drawn into more sweet kisses amid Harry’s continued giggles.
Yeah, Harry was the best.