Work Text:
The hallway is so empty that the only noise around him is the tell-tale squeaks his Vans are making on the polished floor. He’s hurrying as fast as he can, of course, but he wasn’t expecting the torrential downpour that opened up on him the second he got out of his car in the parking lot. Fucking Midwest. Fucking rain.
“Tomlinson,” he hears behind him, punctuated with a meaningful cough. Shit.
Louis spins around, forced smile on his face. “Mr. Koeffler! Thank you for coming to greet me, but I’m about to be—“
“You’re twenty minutes late. Again.” Koeffler checks his watch as if to emphasize the point. Jesus, Louis knows he’s late.
“I’m so sorry, but.” He stops speaking as soon as the aging, balding man holds up his hand. Louis tries to keep calm, but his blood is boiling. He’s at school before anybody else three days a week, on the field to run laps and do drills. Sometimes he’s an entire hour before the rest of the team. A few of the guys might get lucky enough to play at college. Louis knows he will. Then he’ll make it to the MLS and the U.S. Men’s National Team.
It’s part of his five year plan.
Spending his mornings as TA in the lower-level government class doesn’t really fit into his plan. So he’s late. Again. Does it really matter? Nobody expects you to do anything if you’ve got TA first period, as long as you bring the teacher coffee. He’s got Mrs. Vernon’s double latte in his left hand. It’s still fairly warm. He knows she’ll appreciate it anyway. She never turns him in for tardies.
“Come with me, Tomlinson. This is the fifth time this month that I’ve caught you, god knows how many other times I’ve missed. You seem to think that because you’re playing soccer that you can just do as you please, but I won’t have any of that here. We don’t put athletics above academics. Never have and never will, at least not under my watch. I’m going to write you up for Saturday work.”
Louis is seething. He’s late because he forgot his skit for drama at home, had to go back as soon as he had dropped off Lottie at her school, and then the rain, and the latte and there’s just too much on his plate this morning. Well, not literally. His stomach grumbles as a reminder that he had forgotten to eat breakfast the second the office door swings open and the sweet woman who sits at the front desk, Linda, calls the few feet down the hall to Koeffler.
“The transfer student is here! So is the mother. She has some questions about tennis, as well.” She’s grinning widely, and Louis doesn’t miss the wink she throws his way. She knows she’s saving his ass. Louis owes the new kid one, and he’ll bring Linda one of the cookies she likes from the bakery he frequents for his family on Sundays.
“Go on to class, son. Don’t be late again. You’re lucky. Maybe Saturday work will knock that cockiness down a few pegs.”
God, Koeffler is such a dick.
Louis salutes him and spins back around on his heel, not bothering to hold back. He rolls his eyes and turns to walk to class.
The cup in his hands is glowing a dark, pulsating red.
When he hands the latte to Mrs. Vernon a couple of minutes later the cup is back to normal, and so is his pulse.
He takes his seat, uncapping the red grading pen that’s always ready for him. There’s a small stack to get through today, and the key is on top, so he should be able to finish before the period is over.
Liam leans over from his seat and shoves a protein bar onto Louis’ desk. Louis scowls. The least Liam could do is snag him something great for breakfast.
“It’s cookies and cream?” Liam offers, now distracted from the worksheet he had been working on. Everybody is chatting amongst themselves while they work.
Liam makes up for it when he hands Louis a chocolate Bolthouse Farms. God, Louis loves Liam. He will totally change any answers Liam has wrong on his worksheet.
“The best, Payno.” He pauses to take a drink and opens the protein bar, taking a bite as he examines the key and the first worksheet on the top of the pile. “So, did you hear we’re getting a new kid? They're interested in tennis.”
“Boy or a girl?” Liam asks curiously. The last new student they got was Niall Horan, a junior from Ireland. The school still doesn’t shut up about him. Girls are into his accent, apparently.
“Haven’t seen them,” Louis hums as he finishes the first worksheet up. Only two wrong. The next worksheet in the pile is Liam’s. Louis changes one answer from B to D and gives Liam a perfect score. Liam brought him breakfast and Liam’s his best friend. It’s the least he can do.
“You know those aren’t the only genders, right? Maybe they’re gender neutral, Liam. Or gender fluid. God.” He’s teasing Liam, of course. Liam says he’s going to major in gender studies at UCLA after they’re out of this place.
“I was asking a question deemed acceptable by society that is quite standard and not meant, in any way, to exclude or offend those who may be genderqueer,” Liam says smugly. He reaches over and steals the last bit of Louis’ chalky protein bar.
“Asshole,” Liam adds for emphasis.
God, Louis loves Liam. He tries not to be too fond, but the eraser of his pencil sparkles a soft pink for a split second. Luckily it blends in, and nobody but Liam is the wiser.
Louis doesn’t think about the new student again until he’s settling under their favorite tree at lunch. They claimed it sophomore year and opt not to go inside unless it’s raining. The ground is a bit damp from earlier, but Liam’s a boy scout and he’s always prepared. Today he’s laid them out a large rain slicker he keeps in his locker for such occasions. It’ll take a downpour for them to head inside where campus security likes to lurk; Louis has snuck in mini bottles of vodka to mix with his orange juice at lunch too many times to chance it inside.
One time sophomore year he snuck in six mini bottles of Grey Goose (they came in a thank you basket his mom had gotten when she assisted in the delivery of triplets), but nobody else wanted to partake. He had done the smart thing and had them all to himself, since they had gym after lunch and it was supposed to be a free day. When they got to class Louis was drunk and shocked to find out that due to an expected upcoming heat wave, coupled with the shittiest humidity in the country, they were moving the mile run up. To right that moment.
Liam had never gotten a mile time of anything over seven minutes, so it meant a lot to Louis that he had just laughed when they clocked in at ten minutes. Liam told their teacher they both felt like they had a bug from the cafeteria.
Anyway, Louis really loves Liam.
Louis is mixing up his massive bowl of nachos and splitting his chocolate chip cookie with Liam when Niall plops down next to him. Niall’s got nachos, a personal pizza, a chocolate chip cookie, a Red Bull, and an order of fries on his plate. Louis doesn’t know how he hasn’t had a heart attack already.
“Meet the new kid yet?” Niall asks, accent think. Louis supposes he can understand how people find it attractive, and he thinks it sounds much nicer than his, with his a’s too sharp and his tendency to say ‘dahler’ when he’s talking about dollars. Maybe if soccer fails, Louis can go into broadcasting. The midwestern accent is the most sought after for broadcasting professionals.
“No, but they did sort of save my ass this morning. Linda came out to get Koeffler right as he was about to give me Saturday work, so you could say I owe them one. Why, did you?” Louis carefully digs out a chip with extra cheese on it and passes it to Liam, who is delighted.
“I’ve got three classes with him, he’s in my year. All of the girls’ eyes popped out of their head when he walked in. He’s a proper looker, mate.” Niall’s mouth was full of food, but he was skilled enough to hold conversation without spraying crumbs everywhere. Louis was always impressed.
His interest level also just went up approximately sixteen notches.
“Louis, he’s new! Let him settle in. I see that look. Don’t go fishing to see if he’s straight or not.”
Fucking Liam. Always reading his mind.
There aren’t many out boys around this place. It’s a burden Louis must carry.
“Or I can just fill you in?” Niall offers, moving onto his fries. He’s dipping them in the extra cheese from his nachos. Louis thinks he’s a genius. With information.
Liam sighs but continues eating his salad. If Louis really wanted to shut him up he’d mention how Liam got the fried chicken instead of the grilled chicken on top of it, but he loves Liam and he’s mostly proud of him for eating something delicious and not counting his calories. Louis would just pick all of the lettuce out.
He doesn’t care if it defeats the purpose of salad.
Louis arches his eyebrows at Niall, willing him to get the hell on with it.
Niall finally clues in and swallows whatever the hell he just shoveled into his mouth.
“So,” he begins, pausing for suspense. Louis throws one of Niall’s own fries at him.
“So,” Niall starts again, picking up the fry off his lap and eating it. “He’s called Harry and everybody thinks he’s dreamy. I swear, even Piesner got weak knees when he walked in. You know how she is, prickly old thing. Anyway, she sat him with me because I ‘know how it feels to be new’, or whatever. Great lad, really nice, said he dumped his boyfriend back home six months ago and was glad to move away. California boy. Proper smart, too. He’s on track to graduate early.” Niall wiggles his eyebrows at Louis suggestively while taking a massive bite of pizza.
“If you’re swapping life stories then why isn’t he sitting with us then, Cupid?” Liam asks Niall as he reaches over to steal a pepperoni off of his pizza.
“Had to change his electives, Payno. They put him into technology and yearbook, but he says he refuses to settle for anything less than drama two and agriculture.”
Louis helps out in drama two. It’s his second TA period. Right after his drama three class.
He tries to play it cool when he offers the rest of his nachos to Liam, who takes them readily. His salad is long gone.
When his backpack straps glow a soft blue he pushes it between his body and the tree where Niall won’t catch a glimpse of it.
“So, boys. You think they teach you to grow decent weed in ag?”
Louis’ mom and sisters leave on Friday after school is out. They’re driving to Columbia to visit family and Louis is able to opt out because he is running a fundamentals camp on Sunday afternoon for their local Boys and Girls club. He’s excited that his sign up sheet had filled up in less than two hours, all twenty spots filled with little beans who want to kick around a ball with him.
Kids are awesome and Columbia is quite boring, anyway. Louis doubts he’s missing out on much.
Louis has known about the trip long enough to invite a few people over. Nick, who works at the corner store his parents own, wants into Louis’ pants so bad he can probably taste it (as if Louis would ever, ever go there), and sells to Louis. Louis is aware that he’s spending most all of his money from his last check on booze, but he lives by the motto that a party isn’t a party without vodka.
Niall and Liam both chip in twenty bucks each for booze, and Niall’s got a job at a pizza place that allows him to get a bunch of pizzas for next to nothing.
A few people has turned into more than just a few, but everybody is having a good time and it’s nearly midnight. They’ve got music on but it isn’t too loud, and Perrie tells him he’s thrown the most successful kickback of the year. Cher is constantly within arm’s reach of Niall, and Louis thinks that Liam might be flirting with a guy and a girl, who may or may not already be a couple, and whoa, okay— if that’s your thing, Liam.
Louis would never go for being a couple’s third. He likes his action one-on-one, and he expects to be worshipped. With an ass like his, he thinks he’s worth it.
That’s what he’s been told, at least.
Things are fuzzy around the edges when he goes into the kitchen to find his Altoid box he keeps filled with rolled joints in it. The kitchen is almost deserted, most people out on the patio or in the living room, but there’s somebody standing at his kitchen sink, curls down to their shoulders, wearing the tightest jeans Louis has ever seen (including his own), and… washing dishes?
Louis has to be more drunk than he thought, because high school boys do not attend parties just to wash dishes at somebody else’s house.
“Ay, Curly! This is a party. No work allowed.” Louis doesn’t think before he reaches out and pokes the guy’s shoulder with his finger, laughing when the guy jumps and drops the plate he had been rinsing off back into the sink full of soapy water. Louis doesn’t recognize this kid from the back, nobody on his team has god hair like this, or a pert little ass like this, and—
The guy spins around abruptly with suds still on his hands, causing a few to fling onto where Louis’ collarbone is exposed. He’s got on a relaxed tank, knows he looks good in it, and he’s suddenly very, very glad he’s wearing his very best pair of black ‘fuck me’ jeans. This guy is gorgeous.
He’s got the pinkest lips and his eyes are so, so green.
“Oops,” the guy says, quickly reaching for a towel to dry his hands off on before leaning forward and crowding all into Louis’ personal space to dab at where there’s likely soapy suds sliding down over his chest.
“Hi,” Louis breathes, and everything feels so electric. His heart rate has picked up, thrumming quicker than a mouse’s, rapidly beating and he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath now, waiting for whatever this boy wants to say.
He takes his time wiping Louis’ skin off, ditching the towel in favor of running his fingers there, like he’s making sure he’s really gotten it all.
Everything is hazy and beautiful, and this boy is making his chest feel so, so tight.
“Hiii, I’m Harry. I hope you don’t mind that Niall invited me.” He holds out a giant hand for Louis to shake, but Louis doesn’t have to reach far because there’s barely any space between the two of them.
Louis’ brain kicks into gear, finally catching up and processing the situation. This is Harry. He’s the new guy. He likes boys.
Louis is very much a boy, thank you very much.
The kitchen light quickly flickers green. Harry’s brows crease and he goes to look up at it, but Louis rushes to take his hand to distract him. Harry’s hand is big and warm and engulfs Louis’, and he can feel the contact spark through his extremities and down his spine.
He immediately tries to steady his pulse as soon as the bubbles shimmer a soft green, glad Harry has turned away from them. They stop as soon as Harry pulls his hand back, and Louis tries to convince himself he’s not sad about the loss of contact.
Louis turns away now, feels a blush creeping up into his cheeks. This boy, Harry, is looking at him so closely. He’s got his lips a bit parted like he’s winded, but he’s done nothing strenuous.
Louis did that to him.
He licks his lips when he pulls his Altoid tin out from behind the bread basket, popping it open and pulling out a joint good enough for two. He puts it back quickly and digs his lighter out of his pocket.
But his lighter isn’t there. Fucking Liam. Stole his lighter again.
“Oh, um.” Harry says, reaching into his own pocket and pulling out a soft pink Bic.
Of course he’s got a lovely pink Bic that happens to be Louis’. This is Harry’s downfall. He’s a lighter thief, and Louis can’t like one of those.
“You stole my lighter?” Louis asks, brows arching as he snatches it from Harry.
“No? That’s mine. I like finding the pink ones because they’re rare,” Harry says and shrugs, leaning back against the counter a bit.
Louis examines the lighter, tries to ignore the way his fingers are trembling. Sure enough, there’s an ‘HS’ scribbled on the very bottom of the lighter.
“You smoke?” he asks Harry, flicking the lighter to produce a spark. It still feels dwarfed by the feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he inhales he passes the lighter back to Harry and nods a little ‘thanks’ when he exhales a few moments later. He doesn’t apologize for falsely accusing Harry, and refuses to think about how it’s cute that they both only like to keep the pink Bics around. How Harry knows that they’re rare, too.
He coughs a bit, but only because he catches how the lighter is now glowing bright blue where Harry is sliding it into his pocket without looking. Fuck. He takes another drag.
Harry seems to be attempting to compose himself too, trying to defuse this spark that’s so tangible between them.
“Not really? I mean, I do but I carry this around more for like, candles.” Louis can’t help but laugh, and then Harry’s stolen the joint from between his fingers and is taking a drag. Louis attempts to make a weak protest over it but Harry stops him. “Puff puff pass is the rule, Louis Tomlinson.”
“You light candles at parties and you know my full name, but I don’t know yours. This seems quite unfair, Harold.” Harold? Where did that come from? Harry hardly looks like a sixty year old man.
“Niall went on about you and how great you are, of course. Told me you’re a cute little pixie with great hair, good at soccer. Talked you up a bit actually, pal. You’re not disappointing. Styles, by the way. S’my last name.” Harry takes another drag and passes it back to Louis, who tries hard not to stare at Harry’s mouth as he exhales smoke.
Harry Styles? What the fuck kind of name is that?
Louis busies himself with licking his bottom lip and taking another drag, tries to ignore it when the kitchen light seems to burn blue and then green and how Harry’s eyes won’t leave his lips.
They finish the joint in silence, taking the last few drags at a comfortable, languid sort of pace. At one point Ed stumbles into the kitchen, guitar strapped across his body, but his eyes widen and he quickly exits when he sees how close Harry and Louis are standing.
Louis has found himself leaned up against the sink, observing Harry observing him. It feels like a stand off, like each one of them is waiting to see who is going to crack first.
Harry is suddenly in his space, body nearly pressed against Louis’ and Louis is so stunned he can’t find words. He’s high and everything feels surreal. A few beads on Harry’s necklace are glowing green, green, green.
Harry’s reaching behind him though, reaches in to pull the plug to drain the sink. Louis can smell him, smells like Sweet Island Skunk and vanilla. Louis wonders if he’d taste the same.
Harry goes to take a step back but Louis reaches out to grab his wrist, holds him steady just there. Just close enough.
“So,” Louis speaks, almost embarrassed about how raspy his voice has gotten. He tries to breathe steady. “Are all California boys so polite? Do they all light candles and do dishes at parties, and strut around in jeans so tight it’s a sin? Or are you one of a kind, Harry Styles?”
Louis already knows the answer. There’s nobody else like Harry.
“California boy, hm? You’ve been taking notes. Did you do a little research, Tomlinson?” Harry’s smirking down at him. Harry’s hand moves around to slide up under Louis’ shirt, fingers pressing against Louis’ hipbone. Harry’s holding him in place, as if Louis could go anywhere. Harry’s got him caged in, and there’s nowhere else Louis would rather be. Harry’s fingertips are a little bit damp from the water in the sink, which should be gross, but it’s like it’s conducting electricity between them and Louis’ whole body feels so, so hot.
“Niall, um.” Louis tries, but he stops when Harry gives his hipbone a squeeze. “Fuck. Um, Niall’s got a big mouth. You know that.”
He swallows hard, gasping when the light above flickers blue. He’s so hard in his jeans.
“You’ve got such a nice mouth, Louis,” Harry breathes out, dipping down to mouth at Louis’ jaw.
When asked, Louis will deny that he whimpers and leans into it.
He lets his eyes close as Harry’s mouth moves down to his neck, sucking steady against his pulse point. God, Louis wants him so bad. His lips are soft, plush, and his tongue is lapping at the mark he’s surely just left behind.
The light above them flickers to green but he thinks Harry is too lost in this to notice, too caught up in this thing to pay any attention. The salt shaker on the stove is glowing blue, pulsating quickly like the beat of his heart. Like the beat of Harry’s heart, thrumming underneath where Louis has moved his hand, letting it rest on his chest. It clenches in Harry’s shirt when their lips finally meet, tugging so hard a button pops, and they’re both groaning and it’s a battle of two electric currants, two tongues, two mouths. Louis takes and takes and Harry just gives so well, making him push his hips into Harry’s, feels where they’re both hard beneath their jeans.
The kitchen light is only growing brighter though, flickering back between bright blue and a gorgeous green, colors Louis has never seen his whole thing cause. Normally if he wills it to, he can stop it, but this just keeps going.
They break apart when they hear a commotion from the living room and out on the patio, voices growing louder.
Louis slides away from Harry when Liam comes in, concern written all over his face.
“Is everything alright?” He asks, eyes darting between the two of them.
“Fine, Liam. What’s all the noise out there about?” Louis asks, while Harry’s busying himself with trying to discreetly adjust himself in his jeans. God, Louis wants to get a peek. That looks so promising.
“The, um. Lights are…” Liam trails off, as if he’s not sure how to proceed in front of Harry. “The lights are like, freaking out? Green and blue, man. Colton wants to know how where you got the lights! Great for a party.”
Fuck. All of the lights? Louis has never, ever let it get this far out of control.
“Fuck,” Harry mutters. Louis is pretty stunned about what just happened too, but Harry’s even more out of it than Louis is. He also seems to be embarrassed that they’ve been caught by Liam, and he ducks his head down.
“Louis!” He says, deep voice even deeper than before, laced with arousal. “Thank you for the party, this was. It was lovely, so lovely. But my carriage will turn into a pumpkin if I’m not home by one.” He bows a little bit, what a nerd, and reaches a hand out to trail it along Louis’ arm, down to his wrist, and lets their fingers slide together for a brief moment. “I’m just two streets over, going to walk home. The air might do me some good.” His gaze meets Louis’ for a moment, and Louis can feel heat curl up in his belly again.
“Liam,” he nods as he leaves.
What the fuck just happened?
Louis can’t control anything around Harry. Even now, the clock on the wall glows blue.
Liam looks almost as worried as Louis feels.
“I think you might need to keep your distance, dude.”
Louis eyes Liam closely, eyes narrowing because how can he deny how good that was?
The clock’s pulsating blue so hard, now fading into green, that it’s almost vibrating against the wall.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Yeah,” he agrees. He punches Liam on the arm softly. “Think that’s for the best.”
He takes two deep breaths and relaxes once the clock returns to normal.
Niall bursts into the kitchen just then, grin on his face. “Cher kissed me!”
At least when they kissed the entire lighting system didn’t flip the fuck out.
Louis groans, grabs a cup of juice, and heads out onto the patio.
He doesn’t see Harry again for the rest of the night.
Saturday is spent cleaning up the house. Niall actually pitches in and does a majority of the cleaning. Louis and Liam end up starting a water fight outside, and the water bottle in his hand vibrates a soft, pale green.
When Niall orders them Chinese for dinner he’s so pleased his phone case shimmers a deep, dark green. He pays Niall back by helping him with his history homework, and keeps his phone shoved firmly in his pocket.
When he goes to bed on Saturday night he wills his pillow to shimmer yellow or pink or orange, but it just goes a soft green, welcoming and warm and Harry.
He’s got the kids from eleven to two on Sunday, and doesn’t hesitate to stop and get them a big case of water. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a split second before he checks the time and, once he realizes he’s got plenty of it, swings by his favorite bakery to get them all some snacks.
He pulls his beanie down over his hair, ruffles his fringe that’s fallen across his forehead, and knows Janie’s going to tease him for always looking like a couch potato on Sundays. He’s in his usual sweats and an older t-shirt, one he got from the zoo a couple of years ago. It’s adorned with a punk rock penguin, and he loves it a lot, okay?
Liam always tells him he looks “soft” like this, so Louis punches him extra hard while Liam laughs and laughs.
He’s pushing open the door to the bakery and is immediately assaulted with the smell of something really, really delicious. 4 Seasons doesn’t look like much, just a tiny place sandwiched between a liquor store and a check cashing place, but Louis could eat anything they make and not even complain about the weight he’d gain.
Janie is just bringing out a gorgeous gooey butter cake that Louis wants to devour all by himself, and she gives Louis the biggest smile in the world. He hadn’t come by last Sunday, he was too swamped with homework, and so his mom and sisters had come to get their usual weekly doughnuts.
He explains they’re out of town and that he’s going to be grabbing some pastries for the Boys and Girls club kids today, which pleases Janie. She’s always going on about how sweet Louis is to volunteer his time on Sundays, but he feels like he gets just as much out of it as the kids do. She tosses him in two cupcakes for free as they chat about how muggy it is, how they’re happy the rain has finally seemed to stop, and how Janie’s son is doing (Louis signed his cast when he broke his arm).
Louis is mid-laugh when Harry emerges from the back room, face covered in small smudges of flour and his hair up in a bun. He’s laughing at himself, and Janie ushers him over.
“Louis! You’ve got to meet my new help. Came all the way from a fancy gluten free, all organic bakery in Santa Cruz!”
Harry holds up his hand and gives a little sheepish wave, and Louis feels his entire body go on high alert.
He doesn’t say a word to Louis though, but instead turns to Janie and wrinkles his nose.
“Your stand mixer is finicky! I didn’t realize it just bypassed level one and went right into three, so I’ve had a little mishap with the flour. The dough is proofing, do you need me to start cleaning the pans?” he asks, and Louis can’t stop staring.
He looks so, so beautiful.
And Louis can’t have him.
It’s one thing to be an openly gay MLS player, but if everybody knew he was also a freak that made things shimmer and glow, he’d be done for.
“Nonsense, Harry! Go take your break. I’ll ring Louis up.” Janie glances between the two of them as she speaks, obviously picking up on whatever vibe they’re putting out.
Harry doesn’t bother removing his apron as he comes out from behind the counter, bypasses Louis, and heads out front.
Leave it up to this human cupcake to pick up a job baking edible cupcakes within a week of moving here.
Well, Louis thinks Harry is quite edible, too. Just. You know, in a different way.
He pulls out his wallet and argues with Janie for nearly a full minute when she insists Louis should get a discount because he’s doing it for kids. He finally accepts but drops the remainder of the money into the tip jar sneakily, before he leans across the counter to hug her goodbye.
When he exits the shop he almost runs into Harry, literally. The flour smudge on Harry’s cheek shimmers green as he steadies Louis, holding onto the box of pastries so it doesn’t fall.
“Hi,” he offers.
“Hey,” Louis replies, short. He doesn’t know why Harry just left. He doesn’t understand why he took off, didn’t even offer his number. Maybe Louis is a bad kisser. Maybe Harry hadn’t felt the sparks.
He then remembers Liam’s words, and how he couldn’t control anything around Harry, couldn’t make anything stop or calm down or stop fucking glowing and shimmering and nearly vibrating with it.
With whatever the ‘it’ between them is.
“I, um. I’m sorry I left so quickly. Just remembered I still had some unpacking to do.” Harry’s eyes don’t meet his.
It’s a lie and Louis knows it. Nobody rushes home, pleasantly stoned, when they feel the urge to finish unpacking when it’s well after midnight.
Stay away from him, stay away from him, stay away from him.
“Right, yeah. Of course. I’m actually going to be late, so like…” Louis trails off, moves to step down from the curb and get into his car.
“Louis wait,” Harry says, sounding conflicted and unsure. Good, serves him well.
Louis is so, so conflicted too. This beautiful boy.
He pauses, tries not to gasp when Harry’s fingers glide over his wrist. There’s a sizzle, crack, pop zinging right underneath the surface of his skin, and Harry looks like he’s got so much he needs to say.
“The flourless chocolate cupcakes are really great,” Harry offers lamely. Louis knows he’s copping out. “Frosted them myself.”
Harry’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
Louis tries to ignore it when the logo sticker on the box glows ocean blue.
“I’ll be sure to save those for myself then,” he replies smoothly, sure his smile matches Harry’s.
He turns and leaves before Harry notices the fucking sticker.
At least it isn’t goddamn green.
He sees Harry in the hallways at school all week, and suddenly finds himself very in need of extra study sessions during lunch, since Harry has taken to eating with them under their tree. Everything keeps glowing green, shimmering out of control when Harry even speaks in his vicinity, and he can’t fucking control it and he’s going to prove to everybody he’s an actual fucking weirdo.
Niall doesn’t even know, there’s no way he can tell Harry.
Even if there’s a voice in the back of his head telling him that Harry wouldn’t mind at all, wouldn’t judge him for it.
Isn’t Santa Cruz full of weirdo hippies anyway? Harry would probably think it was cool.
He thinks he’s doing great until Friday, when he’s pretending to read a book on Alexander the Great as he picks at his hamburger. Food isn’t really allowed in the library, but his mom helped deliver the librarian’s youngest daughter, so Louis maybe gets a small amount of leeway.
Harry comes up to him, the library deserted at this hour (even Mrs. Hacker’s in the back room taking her lunch), and Louis knows he has absolutely nowhere to go. Almost immediately the bookmark he’s using glows green, and he hurries to shove it inside the book and slam it shut, hoping Harry didn’t see it. He’s glanced at it though, and Louis knows he saw. His eyes are wide, and he stops dead in his tracks.
“Did you see that?” Harry asks Louis, now approaching the table with a bit more caution. He looks less like he’s on a mission and more like he’s tentatively trying not to scare Louis away.
“No,” Louis denies, adamantly shaking his head. Deny, deny, deny. He saw nothing. He certainly didn’t make it happen.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Harry tells him. “So what, you think I’m a weirdo and you’re avoiding me now? Is that what it is?”
“What? No! Why would I think you’re a weirdo?” he’s so baffled by this kid, honestly. This boy. This stupid, beautiful, lovely, sweet boy.
“Because of the whole…” Harry trails off, gesturing his hands wildly. He looks so good in his jeans and button down, already made a name for himself with his dorky kind of California cool. He’s already making tons of friends, fitting right in, like he’s been here all along. He’s shiny and new but he’s warm and open, embraces everybody and they’ve got no choice but to embrace him, too.
The book Louis has sat down is now sparkling blue, almost the color of the sky. He can’t hide it now, can’t deny that he’s doing this and making everything weird and making Harry lose his mind thinking that— does Harry think he’s doing this?
“I can explain—“ they both begin, and Louis is standing up out of his chair in case he scares Harry off, right out of the library. They stop, and the book glows softly, turning into a beautiful shade between blue and green.
“I can sort of, um. I can make things glow? And I can normally control it but…” Louis tries to explain, knows how crazy he must sound.
He’s shocked when Harry speaks, voice calm and eyes wide.
“But it’s hard to control when you’re around me? You can’t turn it off, even though you’ve been able to before with just a deep breath and clearing your head?” He’s reaching out to touch Louis’ shoulder now, and it’s so electric even through his shirt, already making the blood hum in his veins.
“Yeah,” he breathes out. How would Harry know that unless—
“You. You, too? You make things..?” he asks, and Harry is already nodding.
“Haven’t been able to make anything glow any other color except for the blue of your eyes since we met. I think that’s saying something, myself.”
Louis is endeared that Harry almost seems shy about admitting that, about revealing that he’s making things glow the color of Louis’ eyes.
Wait.
“The blue has been you? I swear I— I can only do green! It’s. Fuck, it’s the color of your eyes.” Louis is laughing now, running his hands over his face and leaning into Harry’s chest, trying to burrow closer.
“I can’t believe this,” Harry is saying, voice muffled against where his mouth is pressing soft kisses against Louis’ temple.
“What are the chances we found each other? I’ve never known anybody else who… have you?” He asks, playfully biting at Harry’s shoulder. He feels so, so light. He could soar off right now if Harry wasn’t anchoring him down, grounding him.
“No, never.” Harry’s voice is soft and gentle, and it’s so comforting to Louis. He gasps when he looks over to see his backpack glowing a soft yellow.
He hasn’t seen anything other than green and blue since he met Harry.
“Is that—“ he begins, cutting himself off. He doesn’t know if that’s Harry or him.
“Think it’s us,” Harry breathes. He’s reaching down to nudge up Louis’ chin before connecting their lips together softly.
When Louis’ eyes close and he melts into it, everything behind his eyes is so, so bright.
Five years later Harry’s in the stands when Louis, along with the rest of LA Galaxy, win the MLS Cup.
The sign in his hands is at least five times bigger than the diploma he earned this last spring from UCLA and it’s lit up a bright cerulean blue, shimmering like mad in the sun.
Later that night when Louis proposes, the box the ring is in shimmers emerald green and matches the color of Harry’s wet eyes when he says yes.