Tolerate It || l.s ✓

Chapter 1

The rain drummed down against the window panes as Harry paced around his classroom.

It was a dreary Monday afternoon in late January, and Harry had decided that the only way to combat such a day was through copious amounts of piping hot coffee.

Once- many years ago- he would have been bouncing off of the walls from the amount of caffeine he consumed, but nowadays it was as though he needed it to get through the day.

Though school had started up again 3 weeks earlier, following the Christmas holidays, Harry was yet to readjust to the early mornings and and find the energy for the everlasting days- unlike the students who seemed to find it an impossible task to settle down.

"Alfie." Harry gave the blond boy a stern look from where he had propped himself up against the windowsill.

The teenager looked to him, mischief across his face.

Harry crossed his arms, keeping his eyebrows furrowed. "Would you please refrain from using my bin as a basketball hoop?"

"Would you rather I leave the paper all over the floor, sir?" The boy cocked an eyebrow, leaning against his desk and copying Harry's stance.

"Well, by the looks of it that's what you're doing anyway. Basketball practice takes place on a Thursday evening. Perhaps you'd like to practise there instead of in my English class?" Harry watched as he threw a new ball of paper up and down.

"No, not really. This work is a load of bullshit."

"Language." Harry scolded. "Sit down and do your work."

After a couple of threats to send the boy to isolation, Alfie finally sat down, rolling his eyes. Harry relaxed again, sipping at his coffee.

The bell soon went, signalling the end of the day. The children didn't wait for Harry to dismiss them, immediately jumping up and running out of the room. Harry couldn't blame them.

He busied himself with tidying up his desk and picking up the glue sticks that seem to have been flung across the classroom, wanting to make the cleaner's lives just a little bit easier.

After dawdling for as long as he felt was appropriate he finally made his way out to his car, trudging slowly as he prepared to go home and to be so lonely.

//

"Oi! Piss off!" Louis flipped off the cat who was glaring at him with such intensity that he almost felt threatened. "I've spent all evening working on these shitty props so if you even dare to ruin them you'll end up as a rug."

The cat meowed at him, holding her head high as she stalked off towards her basket.

Louis lived alone regarding human company, but he always had Penelope and Oscar the cats by his side- effectively saving him from going completely and utterly insane.

Penelope was an elegant cat, though one of fierceness at the best of times. She had snow white fur, which was often adorned by some sort of bow- courtesy of Louis's younger sisters. Her eyes were large and filled with the depths of oceans (and often a large amount of judgement).

Oscar was the complete opposite. He was a small, scruffy tabby cat, who had the sweetest personality, but Louis really wasn't sure there was much going on in his head.

Louis finished up making the props for his history class (he had decided that his students might learn better if occasionally he incorporated some fun), popping a cardboard crown he had just finished upon his head.

"Din dins time." He sung, picking up the cats bowls and carrying them to the kitchen. They both immediately jumped up, following Louis.

//

Harry hated this part of the day. The part where he had nothing to do but to wallow in self pity. By the time he got home and got changed from his day of teaching it would be dark outside.

He didn't always mind the dark. In fact, sometimes he found it comforting- almost as if it was reassurance that he wasn't alone in his feelings of despair. Though the long, gloomy evenings would often wear him down. He found it impossible to even attempt to be happy when there was nothing remotely happy around him.

He could look to the stars- bright beams of hope against the inky background of melancholy, but even the stars he stared at were burning out, merely a reflection of what once was.

Winter evenings consisted of cosy candles and warm blankets, accompanied by the task of marking work and getting through each night.

His sister may call, or perhaps his mum on a good day, but even that moment of joy would soon be extinguished as the phone beeped- signalling that the person on the other end had returned to their own life.