Strawberry Milk L.S.

strawberry milk

Louis taps his finger against the table like the beat to a song that he can’t dance to. He glances around, once, twice; looking the lavish cafeteria over to see if any of the lads have gotten out of their classes yet. He groans when he sees no one familiar, and proceeds by sitting back in the hard, uncomfortable chair and crossing his arms over his chest, stretching his legs out. One of his black Vans is untied, but he's too lazy to stretch down and re-knit it. He flicks his fringe from his eyes and looks again toward the doors, but, to no avail.

Rolling his eyes, he picks at the little string hanging off the sleeve of his new, white band shirt. He got it for five dollars at an obviously overpriced thrift-shop, but really, he can't complain. His summer job went to shit, so he doesn’t have a whole lot of money to splurge on himself after buying all the textbooks he needed for the first term (which he probably won't even use half as much as the professors say he will.) So, overpriced used band shirts is better than brand new ones that cost triple- maybe even more- that price. (Logistics. Logistics.)

Oh well. It is what it is.

He glances back toward the doors again, only to be startled by a deep cough and an, “Excuse me?”

He turns forward again, and then up, only to see a tall, well fit boy, with chocolate curls that curl against his shoulders, and soft milky skin. His lips are curled up in a small, hesitant smile, his body clad in a white shirt that dips down over his delicate looking collarbones, paired with tight black jeans that hug his slender thighs. Only one thought runs through Louis' mind. Hot.

Louis blinks, clearing his throat. He sits up a little. “What do you need, mate?”

The boy blushes, looking down for a moment as if rethinking what he is about to say, before he softly asks, “Is it alright if I sit here? There’s nowhere else.”

Louis throws him a flirtatious smile, using his hand to gesture to the empty table. “Feel free.”

The boy blushes again, looking down at the table as he sits. “Thank you.”

Louis looks back, seeing if his mates are here like it’s a nervous habit, but when he sees they aren't he turns back to the boy. He watches as the boy pulls out a clear bottle, filled to the brink with something pink that sort of looks like Pepto Bismol.

“What’s that?” he asks.

The boy looks up startled eyes wide. “Oh, uh. It’s strawberry milk.”

Louis laughs under his breath. “Strawberry milk? I haven't drank that since I was like, five, probably.”

The boy blushes a deep red, opening his mouth to say something, but he ends up closing it. That's when Louis notices his fingers tapping against the bottle, similar to the way he was tapping against the table earlier. His nails, though, are polished in a pale mint colour, that almost blends in with the boy's creamy skin. Louis feels light-headed, like it isn’t getting enough oxygen. He doesn't know if he is checking out a boy, or a girl, or both, and he feels a bit sick. It’s not - he is not judgmental, everyone to their own and all that, but it is weird for him because he has never met a guy (guy?) who paints their nails before.

“Why are your nails painted?” he blurts, not tearing his eyes away from the boy's jittering fingers.

“I-uh, I just like it, um.” The boy stutters, looking down. His knuckles turn white, and Louis can tell he is squeezing the bottle.

“S’ bit weird.”

The boy chews his lip, cheeks red and eyes drawn down.

It's not harsh or mean, the way Louis stated it. He just said it like he was talking to one of his mates. He didn’t mean for it to come off as him being disgusted by it or something.

But then the boy glances up to Louis and his eyes are rimmed with tears. He smiles weakly, says, “Thanks for letting me sit here, but I forgot that I have somewhere to be.”

Louis shouldn't feel as bad as he does watching the boy stumble out of the cafeteria with his painted nails and strawberry milk, but he does, because he truly didn't mean for what he said to hurt the boy's feelings. He sighs, running his fingers through his fringe.

running his fingers through his fringe.

“Who was that, mate?” he hears a smooth voice ask behind him, startling him. He looks up to see thick black hair and white teeth, his mate Zayn sitting down where the other boy was moments before.

Louis exhales shakily, picking at the string on his shirt again, “Don't know.”

“Well, he was proper fit, that's for sure.”

Louis shrugs, not mentioning the pale mint colour that was delicately painted over his nails. He also doesn’t mention that Zayn never calls guys fit, but.

Zayn is staring at him with lines between his eyebrows and a small, confused smile. Louis pretends to ignore it.

“Right.” Zayn says breathlessly, pretending Louis isn't acting as off as he is at the moment, “so, sorry to break it to you, mate, but I’ve got to get some more textbooks, shit right? But Li and Niall should be here soon. Just wanted to stop by and tell ya.”

Louis nods, looking over his own fingernails.

(Louis’ last class of Monday is astronomy, which sounded like a cool and easy way to get his science credit. That is until he had to buy an expensive arse telescope and textbook. But he's here, and he's doing it, because apparently the professors cool, and the class is relatively easy to pass, all as long as you stay connected in the online forums and learn to use your planisphere correctly.

Most of the students have piled in, chattering around him as he sits leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest with his typical bored expression. That is, until a curly-haired boy stumbles in with his head down and his cheeks flushed, taking a seat in the front row. Louis’ interest is peaked again.

Louis’ entire body fills with guilt, though, which is probably dripping around him in an invisible puddle, when he notices the boy frantically scratching off the nail polish with trembling fingers.)