Look After You (1D Larry Fanfiction)

Part Two - Harry's Point of View

Part Two - Harry's Point of View

Why won't these idiots just shut up? I thought bitterly to myself as I listened in on a conversation between two boys in my Honors English class. All they can think about is cars and sports and stupid shit. I rubbed my temples in an attempt to ease my headache.

As soon as I heard the bell ring, I grabbed my books and made a hasty exit to the door. I swatted my brown curls out of my eyes only to have the cold wind whip them right back at me. It was only fall of my freshman year, and I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to handle studying at Pendleton Prep. My mom thought it would do me some good to go to a boarding school, because then I'd be forced into social situations. It wasn't that I had any serious social issues, I just didn't have the patience for most people. I like to stay on the outskirts of a situation; I guess you could call me an observer.

Back at my dorm, my roommate, Austin, sat with his unnecessarily-large headphones blasting rap music that I could hear from outside in the hallway. He acknowledged my prescence with a slight nod, and then returned his attention to the magazine in his lap. I grabbed my overcoat, a scarf, and my notepad, and went to visit my favorite spot on campus.

Between two of the dorm buildings - mine, Oliver Hall, and the one adjacent, Perkins - there was a sycamore tree whose branches stretched to cover the grassy pocket park. I liked sitting with my back against the trunk; it made me feel like a college student in one of those cheesy movies. I adjusted until I was comfortable, and then I started letting the words flow through me and onto the page.

I was still deep in thought when a voice spoke to me. "Hey," he said, "aren't you in my art class?" 

I looked up, bewildered. The boy who stood before me looked much like the rest of them at Pendleton - perfectly done-up hair and that stupid uniform - but I did recognize him. "I think so. Mr. Jameson's class, right? " I mumbled.

He beamed down at me in response and stuck his arm out for a shake. "I'm Louis Tomlinson." I gave my hand back. His hand was warm and friendly, just like his smile. 

"I'm Harry. Styles. Harry Styles." For some reason, my sentences couldn't flow the correct way. I felt like everything I said was cold and stuccato while everything about Louis was eminating warmth. I frowned and looked back down at my notepad.

"Ooh, what's that? You're a writer?" I looked up and saw him leaning over my shoulder and squinting in an attempt to read my messy scrawl. 

I quickly shut my pad and muttered, "No. I mean, no one's ever read anything of mine. It's more... just... personal." I was still baffled at my inablility to form logical sentences. Maybe I did have a social anxiety problem...

When I glanced up at him, he nodded in understanding. "I get what you mean," he said, lifting the folder from under his arm. "I like to draw, so... I get it when you say it's just personal." I stared at the folder a little too long, wondering what types of things he drew. He cleared his throat, bringing my attention back up to his eyes, which I still struggled to look straight into. "So, what are you doing out here? It gets pretty cold in the evening like this..."

"Oh, I just find it more peaceful out here," I explained. Suddenly feeling like an idiot, I picked up my things and stood up. I was much taller than Louis, and looking down at him felt awkward. I tried to avert my eyes. "My, uh, roommate is, um..."

I noticed a grin spread along his face. "Ah, no need to explain. I have to escape my roomie too. It's hard to find alone time here at Pendleton." I watched him reach up to scratch at the back of his neck. He looked uncomfortable, and I felt like it was my fault.

"Well, I should probably get going, with it being dinner time and all." I shifted my weight from foot to foot, not being able to find the proper balance.

Without a beat of hesitation, Louis said, "Oh, I'm about to go to the caf right now, actually, if you'd like to join me?"

I didn't answer with haste, because the whole situation seemed so odd. Yes, it would be nice to make a friend at Pendleton, but I didn't understand why he was being so nice to me. Deciding to risk it, I agreed, and we walked to the cafeteria together in silence, as if we both knew we were doing something right.