I'm In Love With The Brown-Haired Boy//L.S//

Chapter Eight

"I think the stars are moving," I say, pointing up at the sky and staring hard at the clear night above.

"What?" Harry says, starting to laugh.

"Look real close. I swear to you, they're moving." I squint my eyes, trying to focus on the stars, even though it doesn't help at all.

"Louis, you're just high as fuck," Harry says, still laughing.

I pause for a moment, still inspecting the sky. Then I turn my gaze away from the stars to Harry. His smile and his laugh are just so beautiful. I love these moments together because it's like I get to see the real Harry. Not the one who's pressured to act a certain way. The real Harry. The Harry who, when he laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkle just slightly, and his dimples make an appearance, softening his usually sharp features.

Harry's laughter trails off as he meets my gaze. His expression shifts—still warm, but now there's something thoughtful in it. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he turns his head back up toward the sky.

"Louis," he says suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For... this. For just being here."

I smile, even though he can't see it. "Anytime, Harry."

I pick up my phone for a brief second to check the time.

"Oh fuck," I say in a panic as I sit up straight.

"What? What's wrong?" Harry asks, concern quickly replacing the calm on his face.

"It's ten thirty. I was so high, I lost track of time," I say, standing up. For a second, I'm dizzy until my head clears. "Can I use your shower again?" I ask, hoping he'll say yes.

"Yeah, sure," Harry replies, standing up and beginning to gather his things.

Once Harry has all his stuff together, we head back to his house. I take a shower and borrow more of his clothes.

I thank him over and over before finally heading back home. It's around midnight when I arrive. I sneak quietly through the front door, trying not to wake anyone since my mom and sisters are all asleep in their rooms.

I flop down onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. My high has worn off, but my mind races with memories of earlier.

A smile spreads across my face as I replay the feelings I had with Harry today.

Sometimes, I feel like there might be something there, like I'm not crazy.

***

It's the next morning, and I've just gotten ready for school. I'm wearing a blue and red Champion sweatshirt paired with blue jeans and my black checkered Vans. I rummage through my drawer full of beanies and decide on a plain red one.

I walk out of my room and down the hall into the kitchen, where my mom is at the counter packing the girls' lunches. She spots me, and a look of I know what you've been up to crosses her face.

"So, what time did you get home last night?" she asks while separating potato chips into small baggies.

I freeze, unsure how to respond. If I tell her the truth, she'll probably chew me out, but if I lie and say I got home around ten, I'll be safe. Then again, she might've gone to bed at ten-thirty, so she'd know I didn't get home at ten. And if she catches me in a lie, I'll be in even more trouble.

"Uh... ten-thirty," I finally spit out.

"Louis!" she says, putting the bag in her hand down on the counter and shooting me a look that's equal parts angry and disappointed. "Why were you out so late on a school night? You know better than that."