Seven Years // l.s.

1. Just A Phase

Everyone said it was just a phase.

Nothing to worry about.

Everyone said that Harry would grow out of it. There was no way he could possibly like someone of the same gender at such a young age. Because thirteen was young these days and almost more often considered younger and more immature than twelve-year-olds.

But by everyone, that only meant those that knew and those that knew were those that used to be his friends. They were the ones that used to talk to him about the weird things their pets could do and the cool place their parents took them to that weekend. They were the ones Harry did everything with.

Not anymore.

They were the ones who were against Harry; the ones that wished to rid Harry, but never had the guts to do so. They were the ones that made Harry feel like shit when he was alone in his bedroom with nothing better to do than think about the nasty things they say.

Harry would never admit to it, but he spent many nights locked away in his rooom, bawling until he couldn't let out another sob for if he did, it might possibly kill him.

And all of this was because he liked a boy. He liked a boy very much that he was targeted and called terrible, horrible things that he dare not repeat. He liked a boy and some how, some way, that affected the lives of everyone around him.

It was stupid and he knew that.

So when he turned fourteen, and he was nearing one year of liking this boy, Harry finally gave up on trying to impress anyone. He thought, "fuck it!" and continued on with his life as if nothing had ever concerned him before.

It was rough.

Sometimes he'd feel so lonely that he didn't know what to do with himself and had to resort to his last option which was visiting his ill grandmother who lived in the local retirement home.

He'd walk over and stay for about an hour and in this time he'd actually begin to feel alive again. It's as if he were recharged; his batteries switched out and replaced with ones that brought him more happiness than the last ones.

Old people were the best people.

You could judge people with them. You could talk about almost anything and they wouldn't be able to hear you.

They were the best.

Harry visited so often that those there had remembered his name and probably the drink he always ordered and favorite snack.

He was well known and well liked here and he appreciated that. There was no trying to get with the right people, because here, you were all old, worn out, and nearing your inevitable death.

It's unpleasant to think of, it really is. But it was also something many elderly folk and their families were facing; death and loss. What a lovely combination.

Today was one of those days where everything seemed like shit and as if Harry couldn't get anything accomplished. He mumbled to himself as he walked throughout the building, something we was known to do. And came to room 238 which is where he entered and smiled big when his grandmother looked at him with wide eyes.

"Hi, Gramma," Harry greeted, "How are you today?"

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Get off my farm!"

"Gramma, not today, please," Harry begged.

The only downfall to visiting the retirement home was that his grandmother could be in any mood. He absolutely hated it when she got like this; where she couldn't remember who he is.

It made him wonder if people even really knew him or if they just forgot too.

"Get out!" His grandmother yelled.

Harry picked up his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He slowly walked out of the building, regretting coming on a Sunday. It seemed it was always Sunday his grandmother went crazy. Every Sunday.

"Oh please, I can do that shit in my sleep," a voice spoke, getting closer to Harry. He turned around to see feathery brown hair and bright blue eyes, "You're shitting me. How can you not do that? Just go to the insert tab, find 'drop cap' and it should do it for you...Yes, it's on the right side...Did you get it? No? Seriously, you're making this more difficult then it has to be."

Who was he talking to and about what?

Harry wondered about the conversation the boy was having until he turned a corner and the boy continued in the same direction he had been going.

Harry made his way home and opened his journal, writing another entry for the week. He had figured out that expressing his thoughts and feelings was a good idea and helped get his mind off of things and people.

The following day, Harry went to school and sat at the table behind his love interest, Louis; the boy he had seen the day before and always seemed to be a main topic of his journal entries. He noticed how Louis behaved with his friends, loud, obnoxious, outgoing. Everything Harry wasn't.

"Are you coming to the game tonight?" Louis asked his friend, Jedidiah, from across the classroom.

"I don't think so. My mom can't pick me up so I won't have a ride."

"Oh, okay," Louis slumped back in his seat, but then turned around to Harry, "Are you going to the game tonight?"

Harry stared, shocked and speechless. Was this real? Was Louis actually talking to him?

"W-what game?"

Louis looked at Harry like he was stupid, "the football game, obviously."

Duh, Harry. God, how stupid are you?

"Oh, y-yeah. I'm going."

"Cool, I'll see you there."

See him there? What was that supposed to mean? Harry knew that he was over analyzing things and that Louis probably didn't mean much more than 'I'll see you around.' But the fact that Louis took the time to speak to Harry when he could have actually been doing his English work was pretty remarkable.

Maybe there would come a day where he becomes friends with Louis, until then, Harry would admire him from afar.