This Feels A Lot Like Love

1. Run Lost Boy

The first time Harry saw Louis was in Year 4. They were both fairly young and pink-cheeked, probably still wetting their bed sheets. Harry's curls were barely starting to form, his stray wisps of hair curling on his forehead, too short for anybody's liking.

Harry was sitting alone by himself with no one to play with until a messy-haired Louis wadded along and gave him his crayons.

"They're the color of the rainbows," Louis said, his smiling lips painted a cherry red.

Harry thanked Louis quietly and watched him walk back to his little group of friends with stars in his eyes.

The second time Harry saw Louis was in Year 11. Harry's curls were starting to unravel into tumbling locks of waves. His clothes were patched up and old, but everybody was still too young to notice or care.

Harry was sitting on the bleachers at the pitch where boys were lining up to try out for the school's football team next year. Louis, of course, was there with his shining face and sweaty hair. He ran up and down the green meadow of grass, kicking penalty after penalty kick and scoring eight goals out of ten. Harry was utterly impressed. He didn't think it was a big deal that his eyes were pinpointed to the short boy with baby blue eyes.

The third time Harry saw Louis was in Year 13, Upper Sixth Form. Harry was minding his own business as usual and stacking heavy textbooks into his ratty, old rucksack. His clothes were bought from the Lost and Found shop two blocks away from their house and his hair was curly, swept off his forehead in a nice fringe. His classmates were finally old enough to understand that he was poor and kept to himself, mostly because when he came out last year, people bullied him mercilessly. His mum had cried and Gemma had wanted to flunk her classes in order to protect him from mean bullies in his grade level. But Harry wanted to be truly himself and so they called him brave.

Harry slammed his locker shut, his pigeon-toed feet carrying him to his next class. As soon as his eyes landed on a pair of bullies, he turned around and headed to the other direction. Most likely to the loos where he sought out protection. Before he reached the restrooms, however, a large meaty palm fell on top of his shoulder, stopping him shortly.

"Hey, Curly. Where are you going?"

Harry swallowed hard past the lump inside his throat. He turned around, nerves prickling his skin and spreading goosebumps on his flesh.

"Um," Harry said weakly. His eyes darted around everywhere except at Emmett who was staring intently into his eyes. "I—Um—Well."

"Um. Um. What?" Emmett sneered. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Hey, Em!"

Both boys turned around to the sound of a high-pitched, Yorkshire accented voice. Harry knew that voice anywhere. He breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of Louis running towards them, his slightly sweaty hair brushed off his forehead. Louis reached them in no time and slapped Emmett's back a little too roughly.

"Drop your hands off my boy here," Louis ordered with smiling lips, gesturing towards Harry.

"You know this nerd?" Emmett asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

Louis tsk'ed his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He arched his eyebrow, his scrutinized eyes racing up and down Emmett's face.

"Now, now, Em. Settle down. We're all friends here. Why don't you leave poor, H, here alone and run along to footie practice, will you?"

"But—" Emmett started, his eyebrows pinching together.

"As your footie captain, I order you to come along. You're late already," Louis said, his voice stern.