larry- one shots

A Love That Feels This Right

It's eight-thirty in the morning, and when the automatic doors slowly open before him, numerous pairs of eyes fall onto his appearance. The entrance foyer isn't very large, but there are groups around the water fountain, people flooding in and out of the toilets, and—directly in his line of sight—one of his most favourite people in the world.

As always, the classic high-school rumour mill is never completely reliable. Sure, there are those stories that fly around that turn out to be true—like the one about Niall getting with a model at a party a few months ago (which Louis still struggles to believe)—but this 'rumour' has so many versions, and none of them are actually right.

As Louis approaches said favourite person, the two of them make eye contact and share a small smile before Louis has an arm being thrown over his shoulder.

"Hey, man!" is exclaimed into his ear, closely followed by a whispered, "I missed you last night; I hope you're feeling better. You look lovely, by the way."

Despite having known this boy for over six years—since he slid into the seat next to Louis in the form room and formally introduced himself as 'Harry Edward Styles'—Louis still struggles to keep a neutral expression on his face every morning when he receives such loving compliments.

Just as Louis mumbles a soft 'thank you', the other boys around them notice his presence and shout loud greetings and comments on all sorts of subjects that Louis can't take in because of the comforting arm across his shoulder blades. To the others, it's just a pally embrace, but to him, it's so much more. Just a single touch from Harry is enough to make his skin burst into teenage, clichéd flames.

~*~

"Harold, you should be in a lesson right now."

Harry hums against the soft skin of Louis' neck. "I'd rather be here with you."

Louis can't help but smile at his boyfriend's sappiness as he raises a hand to stroke it through Harry's hair. "You never used to be so rebellious, you know."

Harry looks up with a small smirk lifting the corner of his lips. "I wonder what changed me."

"I can't be to blame for everything, surely."

"No, not at all."

They meet in the middle, lips brushing softly as Louis' fingers knot with the curly strands at the back of Harry's neck. As strong arms wrap around Louis' waist, he positively melts, feeling warmth all over. Harry's presence is soft and comforting, like a mug of hot tea on a chilly day, washing away the worry that is always lingering in the back of Louis' mind. It's always there; that terrifying thought of the bathroom door flying open, revealing some homophobic prick who would probably dislike the sight of the footie team captain snogging his best mate—who is also the head boy.

It's only a few short moments later when they pull apart, and Harry's bottom lip is jutting out in a pout. "Do I really have to go? It's only psychology—I doubt Miss Robinson will miss me."

Louis mirrors the pout, but pulls out his phone to check the time. "Honey, you're almost fifteen minutes late. I'll see you at lunch though, yeah?"

Harry's face transforms into something even sadder, his eyes wide like those of a puppy that has been scolded. "What about third period?"

"I've got training."

" Why?"

Louis chuckles, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth. "We have a match soon, remember?" When Harry's expression remains utterly disappointed, he adds: "We can meet up after school too, if you like?"