The guilty feeling doesn’t go away like it should. And honestly, Louis doesn’t even know why he feels so bad about it. It isn’t his fault the boy is so sensitive or whatever. He has always just been honest about things like that. Like the time Zayn got a blond streak through his hair and all he did was call him a skunk for the time he had it. But, Louis still watches him in their astronomy class, and he notices how his nails remain dull and unpainted, and really, he feels a bit like the equivalence to shit.
(He also notices that the boy carries around bottles/jars/cartons of strawberry milk everywhere he goes, which is really fucking weird, but whatever. Louis’ already established in his mind that the boy is strange.)
His chance to apologise comes quick and easy within the next few weeks (because it’s much too early in the school year to be burdened with such guilt, and also because the astronomy teacher is assigning a project that you can do alone or in partners, and Louis’ never been one to work alone.)
So he figures that this would be the best time to apologise to the mess of a boy, ease his degradable conscience, and also get a partner. That way he doesn’t fall into an implication of depression, and the boy, or girl, or whatever he identifies as, can go back to painting his nails.
He sighs, picking up his Marvel comic book covered bag, and he makes his way to the front of the class. The boy is sitting there, picking at his own bag and biting at his lip as the people around him look for partners or begin their work alone. Louis sits next to him, ignoring the way the boy looks over startled. He stares straight-ahead at the giant board, and says: “So here's the thing,” he sighs, “I didn't mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn't like it, because their opinions shouldn't matter, y’know?” Louis takes a breath, finally glancing over to see the boy wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. On a whim, he adds, “and like, I noticed you scraping it off, and that you haven't been wearing any, and I think you should, because that's what you like.”
The boy blushes, and Louis thinks it might be the only thing he knows how to do. He also looks away, wringing his fingers nervously which makes Louis want to keep talking.
“Also, my name is Louis and I really want you to be my partner, so that maybe I can prove to you I’m not as big as a twat as I probably came off as.” He holds his hand out, offering a shrug and a small smile.
The boy watches Louis’ hand carefully, before gently wrapping his own around it. Soft.
“My names Harry,” the boy says shyly, a small smile covering his own face as well, “and I wouldn't mind being your partner.”
(The next day as Louis is walking through the lunchroom as a shortcut to his next class, he sees Harry. He has his strawberry milk and a clean-cut sandwich. Louis also notices his nails are painted a light, bubble-gum pink, and he can’ help but to smile a little as he walks out the cafeteria doors.)
YOU ARE READING
Strawberry Milk L.S.
Teen Fiction"So here's the thing," he starts. "I didn't mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn't like it because their opinions...
