Wish from a shooting star (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 11 (Here we go again)

Switching to 3rd person!!

The first thing Louis does in the morning is checking his phone. No new messages.

Last night, an hour after Harry left, he texted him asking if everything's okay, and that he apologizes if he's done something he shouldn't have. It was a pile of 23 messages with half of them not making any sense, but Louis wasn't bothered by that. What made him nervous was that Harry hasn't even opened those messages yet.

He shakes him head to himself and agrees that maybe he just fell asleep, or his phone died. Today's a Monday, which means they should meet at school. The thought of it makes Louis feel more at ease, so he tries not to overthink it much.

He enters the school building, looking around if he could maybe spot him. Once he reaches his locker, he has one last look around before unlocking it and taking out his books.

Someone taps his shoulder, and his hopes rise for a moment. "Harr-" He turns around only to find Zayn. He lets out a sigh and forces a smile to greet him. "Need something?"

"Hello to you too," Zayn returns, his tone a little sarcastic as he notices the less-than-thrilled look on the other man's face. "I just have a quick question I wanted to ask."

"Please, go on."

"I heard you were with Harry yesterday. Have you heard from him since?"

"How did you find out we were together?" the question slips from Louis' lips before he can catch himself, his eyebrows knitting together in a puzzled expression.

"That's a long story," Zayn says, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his voice as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "But I sent him a few texts yesterday and he still hasn't answered me."

"You have his number?" Louis' voice rises slightly. "But I thought you guys haven't talked for a really long time or something?" he persists.

"Um... that's a longer story," Zayn runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, creating a momentary mess before it falls back into place. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"No, I have not heard anything from him yet."

Louis might not know what Harry not answering means, but Zayn does.

"What can I say," Louis continues, shrugging his shoulders, "it's not usual for him to take this long to respond. I'm sure he's fine though." Truth to be told, he's not, but he feels like saying it out loud might help him in believing it. "I'd love to know why you're not on speaking terms though."

"I'll... I'll tell you about it some other time."

Louis' first period is history. So is Harry's, and Louis hopes to find him there. Once he enters the said class and looks around, and he does, in fact, spot him.

There, in the left corner of the room, Harry is sitting at the very back, a chair slightly apart from the others, which gives him a sense of solitude amidst the crowd. There's a hint of visible stress in the way he holds his shoulders, almost as if he's trying to shrink from the world around him, but Louis is too dumbfounded just by seeing him after everything to notice that.

Harry's head is bent low, his gaze focused on his hands, which are restlessly playing with each other under the wooden table. He doesn't notice Louis back. Or maybe he does, but their gazes never meet. The soft light from the large windows falls gently on his face, highlighting the contours of his cheeks and the straight line of his nose. His curly hair, a rich shade of brown, cascades down like a waterfall, framing his face and partially obscuring his eyes.