Cupid's Defence

Chapter 5

v.

Louis would wake up to it, often. The memory of it, of him, burning into his mind like the worst of dreams.

He remembered the embarrassment the most. That's the feeling that stung the hardest, causing him to shrink in hatred, his fists curling in the bed. That was the feeling that transported him back there, in the middle of the pavement, flowers in his hands and his heart on the ground.

The boy was called Colin. He was in the year above Louis, but they had shared a Biology class, eight years ago. He had a nice, bright smile, and brown eyes so deep Louis fell right into them: he just fell. At the time, he thought it was love. At the time, an innocent, sixteen-year-old Louis thought asking him to Prom in front of the entire school would be a good idea.

It was not.

"Are you serious?" Colin had frowned, simply, "I don't like you that way,"

Pathetic little Louis was distraught. He could not, for the life of him, understand how Colin had not liked him back. Where were the love gods then? Where was his blessing of luck, his harp, his golden ray of sunshine?

He could hear the boy's thoughts, even then. It showed in his face, in the way he glanced at Louis, completely and utterly repulsed.

Are you serious? How could you ever have thought that? Me? Go with you? To Prom? Are you that stupid?

Stupid Louis with his silly, naive attitude. Idiotic, hormonal Louis, who thought a daft smile and positive attention equated to anything more than pity, and an urge not to fail Biology for the second year in a row.

"Sorry," The boy had grimaced, stepping away, "I like the costume, though."

It was a costume he had spent all of his money on, for some dumb gimmick. For some dumb charm. As if it would help. He heard the boy liked Star Wars, and they had giggled over it, once, in class. The boy had looked at Louis as if he molded the stars, in that one second of bliss, and that was enough.

Louis was lovestruck.

"I'm sure you'll find someone," was the last thing Colin said, an afterthought.

Swiftly so, he pressed an awkward pat to Louis' shoulder, and left.

The crowd pressed inwards. It wasn't long until the "Oh my God, is that Louis Tomlinson?"/"Did he just ask him out?"/"I didn't know he was gay!" began. And so he ran. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he could go no further, and then he collapsed, in a nearby park, tears falling just because they could, sticking to him and his nose and the fabric of his dumb Darth Vader mask.

-

As Louis woke, he did so gasping. He could feel the sting of his thighs from his run, still, eight years after. There was unsettling burn in his stomach that would not budge, as the nightmare reminded him why he did not believe in love. The answer was simple: He could not trust his own eyes.

Beside him, the latest one night stand stirred. They were a different man this time, with bright, short red hair, and a loud snore. It was impossible to sleep: Louis wondered how he had managed it, even without his nightmare. He decided it was probably a good time to leave when a text popped across his phone.

hey

And then, a minute later:

hey

Frowning, he typed a response.

who is this?

it's harry