The five senses (Larry Stylinson AU)

Touch Pt1

Tuesday is much like Monday was. The day is still sunny, still frosty and still lonely.

Louis watches as Zayn hurries away, eager to get back to his exam, (apparently one week is just not enough time, or so Zayn had complained the whole way to school).

It’s not like he minds it, being by himself. He’s always been a solitary person, either because of his shyness, or because he’s simply like that naturally, he doesn’t know.

Still, sometimes so much solitude makes him feel lonely, and today is one of those days. Sighing and rubbing his hands together to warm them up, he starts towards the school. He’s got business this morning, and he’s very much aware that he completely screwed up the homework he handed in the day before, (too busy daydreaming about shining green eyes and loud-and-slightly-weird laugh) so he’s not eager to get it back.

Honestly it’s not like he doesn’t try (yesterday being an exception), but the whole subject just goes way over his head. He tries, he really does, but his eyelids feel awfully heavy as Mr Brown goes on and on, and oh my god, on and on.

It’s only towards the end of the lesson that the nagging starts. He complains and complains about how none of them are putting any effort into their work.

“This is your AS year. You can’t just wait a week before your exams to start really putting some work in” he walks around the room handing their work back, never stopping to draw breath, “we’re halfway through the year, and this is still the kind of work you’re handing in. If you really think you can pass at the level you are now, you’re all very much mistaken” he fixes them with his stern gaze before moving towards Louis, the last one to get his homework back, “even you Louis, I expected more from you,” he moves back towards his desk just as the bell goes.

Face hot, Louis blinks away the tears of embarrassment, angry that such simple words can reduce him to such a mess. He hates hearing his name being called out, and the attention it draws. Hates having to answer during the register. Hates it even more when a teacher calls him when not strictly necessary, and in front of his classmates.

Feeling paranoid, he hurries out of the classroom, feeling as if everyone’s eyes are on him, judging him, even though he knows, knows nobody is looking at him, that nobody cares, but it still doesn’t stop him from running away, heart beating unevenly in his chest in expectation, as if he’s being chased by a silent being that’s just waiting to pounce.

He’s such a freak.

He enters the toilet grateful that it’s empty, and rubs a trembling hand down his face, whilst looking at himself in the mirror and absolutely hating what he sees: a pale, scared and pathetic looking boy.

He’s got private study now, but he skips it, escaping away from people and their judging eyes. He locks himself in his car, hating how cold everything in it is.

He reaches out to switch on the heater, breath coming out in cloudy puffs in front of him. He sighs contentedly once the warm air hits his face, and leans his head back on his seat.

Once the bell goes in time for his English lesson, he opens his eyes again, gathers his courage and turns off the heater. It’s only when he feels little white cold dots falling on his face that he notices the change in scenery.

Everything is coated with a light dust of snow that makes him smile, blinking away the snowflakes stuck on his eyelashes.

His footsteps make dark shapes on the ground as he walks, and snow swirls around his face, the cold wind feels biting on his cheeks.

Feeling calmer, he walks back inside, sad to leave when it looks so pretty outside.

He’s one of the first to arrive, the room is still mostly empty, and he sits down in his usual place, immediately getting his books out of his bag. He’s barely read two whole pages when he feels a warm hand setting on his shoulder.