The Art of Being a Gentleman

Chapter 5

Harry wakes up before the sun begins to rise, dreading what awaits him on this Sunday morning. The sky is still covered by a cool blanket of night and the only source of light is the crescent moon high above. He hasn't spoken to Louis since Wednesday's lunch and he feels as if he might sweat out of his skin. Whenever he has a moment to himself, all of senses are assaulted by thoughts of Louis. He envisions sparkling, blue eyes and evenly tan skin, his nostrils are filled with Louis' signature scent of peaches and cigarettes, he can taste blackberries and the slick warmth of Louis' lips, he can feel his body pressed firmly against a smaller one, and he can hear the slow uncurl of a high and raspy voice filled with mischief.

Harry groans as he rolls over on his stomach and stuffs his face in his pillow. He's frustrated to the point of irrational anger and he's completely disappointed in himself. What Louis said at the barn was true. He can't control himself. And the cherry on top of this whole situation is that he can't even use Victoria as a distraction. It's pageant season, so she's going to be away quite a bit for the next couple of months. Basically, he's fucked.

Harry stays in bed for God knows how long until a portion of the sun peeks over the horizon, shining its light between the small opening of Harry's curtains. He looks over at his alarm clock to see that it's just a little past 5:30. Breakfast is in an hour and a half. He sighs as he runs a hand through his mess of curls, cursing when his class ring momentarily gets stuck. There's a million thoughts running through his mind and none of them have a shred of coherency. Louis is once again making him a nervous wreck without even lifting a perfectly manicured finger.

"Why?" Harry whines, covering his face with his hands. "Why do I have to tear my hair out while he's sauntering around as if nothing's going on? Why does my mind want to give into him when it knows it's all just a game? Do I have an inner masochist?" he uncovers his face and sighs. "And why the f- on earth am I talking to myself?"

"It's a good way to get your thoughts together."

Harry doesn't even flinch at the sudden guest, he just lazily props himself on his elbows and looks forward. One of the twins, who Harry instantly recognizes as Sam, is leaning against the door frame with her arms hanging loosely by her sides. She's still wearing her nightgown, her hair is unkempt, and her face appears younger since it's free of makeup.

"Forgive me for eavesdropping," She apologizes insincerely. "But you sound very troubled."

She walks towards Harry's bed with light, graceful steps and sits down at the end of it, tucking her feet underneath her bottom and placing her hands on her lap. Her countenance is tranquil and her tone is soft, which shocks Harry into speechlessness. Energetic has always been a constant personality trait for the twins. Neither of them have ever given the impression that they know how to be calm and at ease.

"Are you tired, Sam?" Harry asks, concluding that her behavior can only come from exhaustion.

"Nope," She answers. "I'm pretty awake at the moment. It's actually very rare for me or Pam to feel tired in the morning since we make sure to get a proper night's rest."

"Then why-"

"Pam and I tend to feed off each other," She giggles, her expression fond as she thinks of her beloved sister. "Apart, we're pretty chill, but together, we're a powerhouse."

"Maybe that's just a thing among twins, eh?" Harry teases.

She grins. "Maybe... but enough about that, what's troubling you, dear?"

Harry's smile morphs into an unpleasant grimace. "Well, nothing."

"Allow me to rephrase the question," She sighs. "Who is troubling you?"