Sun-kissed Hurricane, Perfect Storm

This is NOT mine original link in comments thX

Harry has always disliked it when people use the word ‘quiet’ to describe others. They always mean it in the sense that they don’t talk a lot, but that isn’t the end of the definition, is it? When you say that a person is quiet, it’s more like saying that everything they do and say is quiet, is on some softer, less noticeable plane that needs to be noted as different.

Of course, Harry probably only disliked being called quiet because that’s exactly what he was.

There are some people who slip under the radar in every situation, like there’s something that makes it impossible for you to think about them for too long- and in this school, that was Harry. There were people who had been in classes with him since primary school who probably wouldn’t recognize him on the street. Even the teachers didn’t pay him any attention, despite the fact that he was one of the best students they’d ever had.

It wasn’t that people didn’t like him, it’s just that with all of the stuff going on in life, who had the time or energy to focus on little old Harry? He was just so… quiet.

He opened the pages of his journal and made a note on the first blank page. Theme: people who can be summed up in one word. Ex: quiet.Unlikely that he’d ever get around to writing about that, since his pages were filled up with hundreds of other ideas just like that one, but he liked writing it down just the same. This journal was full of everything that went through Harry’s head, from to-do lists and dreams he remembered in the morning to poems and songs and pieces of prose. It was always with him, wherever he went-

The silence and stillness of the library where Harry was having lunch was suddenly shattered in a burst of laughter, a rumble of feet, and the sound of a door smacking a wall as it swung open. Harry was smiling before he even looked up- not that he needed to look up. If he was synonymous with the word ‘quiet,’ then the boy who’d just stormed in with his posse and his eyeliner and his myriad of facial piercings was how you defined ‘loud.’

It could only be Louis Tomlinson.                    

He was like the day to Harry’s night. Harry was the center of nothing; Louis was the center of everything. People remembered Louis from that one time he said ‘hey’ to them in a hallway two years ago. He never entered a room without making an entrance. He never left without taking most of the energy in the space with him. He was just so… loud.

He was flanked by two boys that were on the football team with him, one of whom found himself being pushed playfully into a bookcase by the sun-kissed hurricane himself. They pretended to be chastised by the librarian, dropped off whatever they’d come with, and left once more in a flurry of snickers and laughter. Harry made another note in his journal.

Poem idea: the way the air refuses to settle down even after he’s gone.

This one might actually get written. The ones about Louis usually do, which is fine. That journal is everything that crosses Harry’s mind, and after all, it’s Louis who’s on most of the pages.

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Louis knows he’s in trouble -for real trouble, not ‘trouble’- when his mom says she wants to talk after the girls are already in bed. The post-bedtime lull is the only peace she gets, so if she’s spending it to talk to him now instead of just calling it to him over the chaos at dinner… she probably means business.