It Might Get Loud

four

Louis takes English Literature. Or, as he describes it, he spends his late Tuesday mornings sitting at the back of a classroom, wondering what exactly compelled him to pick such a subject.

            He doesn't read. He doesn't care about Shakespeare or T.S Elliot or The Great Gatsby or whatever the fuck Mrs Tate's rambling on about now. No. Fuck that shit.

            All he cares about right now is the fact that Harry, in a very subtle way, has nestled himself a place in The Rogue without there being any formal discussion whatsoever — just a 'yeah, okay'. Niall's entry to the band wasn't nearly as simple; he had to sign forms, recite oaths, and all that shit. Basically, Louis doesn't take new band members lightly. He won't allow anybody to carelessly waltz in without at least proving that they're willing to endure all the blood, sweat and tears that comes with belonging to The Rogue.

            Consuming his mind is also the fact that Louis' dick may have hardened just a little bit when he saw Harry standing in the doorway — with his cute timid smile and wide, forest green eyes — and that's never happened before; like ever. Even with girls. He simply isn't sexually attracted to anyone, he's learned, and for a long time he thought he was asexual, his reason being that he was so passionate about music that his body wasn't fussed about adding to the population.

            He has questioned that, however, as there have been sporadic occasions where Louis' seen a girl in public and thought 'okay, she is kinda hot'. And now this thing with Harry, which is something entirely new and a problem he can't ignore. To put it in simple terms, Louis' sexuality is a bit of a mess at the moment, but he doesn't have to label it right now, does he? No.

            What he is sure about, however, is that Zayn is currently slumped in the seat beside him, fast asleep.

            "Hey," Louis whispers, leaning over in his seat, trying to catch his mate's attention. Ms Tate is eyeing him suspiciously — but then again when isn't she? — so he conducts stealth like movements, tentatively shaking Zayn's shoulder, speaking in low mumbles. "Mate, get up. Ms Tate's watchin' us."

            At that, Zayn produces a loud grumble, the volume enough to capture the attention of the entire class. Heads spin in their direction, leaving them as two wide eyed gits, Louis' hands braced over Zayn's shoulders, and Zayn's eyes half closed to the point that he appears stoned. It's not the first time they've been caught like this. In fact, they've already created a bit of a reputation for being the most disruptive students in the class.

            "Tomlinson, Malik, see me after class." Ms Tate mumbles tiredly, going back to teaching like it's business as usual. Louis nearly throws a tantrum, however, because what did he actually do? Yeah, he can understand why Zayn might need a lecture; the dude was dozing off in the middle of class. But Louis hadn't been doing anything wrong, as far as he was concerned. In fact, he'd been doing the right thing by trying to wake Zayn up. He should be praised, not punished. Jesus.

            Louis hates being a teenager sometimes. He hates how he's treated like a child, yet expected to behave like an adult. He hates that his opinion doesn't matter 'cause he's just a naïve, abundance of hormones who doesn't know any better, apparently.

            He slumps into his seat, rolls his eyes and groans. The attitude he's displaying probably isn't helping him regain a place in Ms Tate's good books, but he's forgotten how to give a fuck.

            After grudgingly enduring a lecture from Ms Tate about appropriate behaviour and all that shit she's recited over a dozen times, Louis is finally free to go to lunch. He and Niall always pack their own food, as they're both distrustful of the greasy slop served at the cafeteria. And also the lunch lady smells like slightly off cheese.