Be asking how's it going (say the goings well)

Naamloos deel 3

It's only two days later when, after Harry's just finished with hallway duty, he's walking back to his class room to gather his things and leave for the day. He stops in front of his door when he sees a lone piece of paper hanging out of his late work mail box, which the students are to turn assignments into if Harry's not in the class room at the time.

Harry grabs it with a furrowed brow, trying to think of whose homework this could be as he hasn't assigned anything since the essays that were turned in last week. The paper is folded in half and he pulls it open only to have his heart sink.

He sees a Dear Mr. Styles printed at the top of the page and quickly folds it back before unlocking his classroom door and rushing inside, closing and locking it back behind him.

Harry takes in a few deep breaths before walking over to his desk and taking a seat, tossing the still folded letter onto his desk. Harry has a feeling. Has a feeling he knows who it is who's writing these letters and he's at a complete loss on what to do about it.

He toys with the idea of confronting Louis himself but he can already imagine how awkward that situation would be, especially if Louis isn't the ones writing the letters and Harry is just having a bit of wishful thinking,

His cheeks pink up at that thought flitting through his mind, that maybe some small, completely inappropriate, part of him hopes Louis is the one writing these notes. Because although Harry knows it's wrong on so many levels, and he's not fully able to wrap his head around it, he finds himself sometimes thinking of Louis.

Especially since receiving the first note, he's found himself once or twice absentmindedly glancing at Louis bum as he walks down the rows of desks back to his seat. He always looks away quickly, of course, once he catches himself doing it and prays that none of the other students had seen.

And Harry is torn between thinking of himself as disgusting while the other part of his brain attempts to reason with him, whispering that Louis is eighteen, Harry is still young, and Louis is just so pretty and this has never been a thing for Harry.

He's never specifically been attracted to someone who was younger than him on purpose, but Louis has an air to him that seems so much more mature and cheeky all at once and Harry just knows he's going straight to hell.

He sighs before glancing around quickly and snatching the letter off his desk. Harry unfolds it slowly before taking a deep breath and begins reading.

Dear Mr. Styles,

First I'd like to thank you for not sharing my last note with anyone.

I realize it was cut off rather abruptly and I'd like the chance to remedy that.

Because, still, I just can't get the image of your hands and fingers out of my head. Every other part of you is good as well, don't get me wrong, but there's something about the way I imagine your fingers pressed deep inside me.

They're so long and I just know they could get to that perfect spot that I'm never quit able to reach myself. I always try though, Mr. Styles. I try really hard for you.

That's what I think of a lot. You watching me as I try to get myself off, my fingers pushing in and out of myself as I desperately try to reach that spot inside that will make me come.

But my fingers are so small compared to yours, and I eventually have to beg for your help, when I'm so desperate to get off I'm practically crying into the pillow. But you always tell me no, I have do it on my own first. Because I need to be a good boy for you.

At that point, I have to grab my cock and it usually only takes a few tugs before I'm spilling all over my hand.

Just writing this letter has made me hard, Mr. Styles. I'll be thinking of you, as always.

The letter doesn't give away any more than the first one had, besides confirming that it is in fact a boy writing them and Harry is flushed down to his chest once he's finished reading it. He nearly has a panic attack after realizing he's half hard in his slacks and is utterly turned on just by the thought of Louis writing these simple words on a page.

He doesn't have time to read the note one more time, as he would like to, because there's suddenly a knock at his door that his him shooting out of his chair, crumpling the paper up, and throwing it into a random drawer in his desk.

"Uhm, one second!" Harry calls out as he pushes back his hair and wills the flush of his cheeks to go away.

He walks to the door slowly as he feels himself begin to calm and pulls it open to find Niall Horan, a boy from his sixth class, standing in front of him, smiling broadly.

"Niall, can I help you?" Harry leans against the door frame, smiling shakily as he makes an attempt at looking normal.

That all goes to shit when he glances sideways to find Louis leaning against the lockers next to his class room door, staring down at his phone as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

Harry's eyes are drawn back to Niall as he begins speaking.

"Hey Mr. Styles, sorry to bother you but me and Lou were just on our way to practice and I thought I'd stop by to see if you got the note I put in your box?"

Harry's eyes nearly bulge out of his head and he can see Louis' head snap up out of his peripheral, wearing a similar look of disbelief on his face.

"N-note?" Harry stutters out before swallowing thickly. This has to be a joke. It has to be.

Niall only looks confused though before glancing absently at Harry's mailbox.

"Right, my note." Niall continues before looking back at Harry. "It's my doctor's note for missing class yesterday?"

Harry flounders for a moment before shaking his head dumbly and glancing at Louis, who is now staring intently down the hallway, paying them no mind.

"No," He begins slowly. "Sorry, Niall, there uh wasn't any note in my box."

Niall glances around with his brow furrowed for a moment before a big smile spreads over his face and he lets out a loud laugh.

"I'm such an idiot." He gives another chuckle before walking next door to Mr. Payne's class and pulling a slip out of his mail box. "Must have accidentally put it in the wrong box, eh? Whoops, well here you go. I already got the notes from Louis so I should be all caught up."

Harry nods dumbly as he takes the note out of Niall's hands and scans it for lack of anything better to do.

"Right. Ok, well thanks Niall."

"Alright, later Mr. Styles. We gotta get to practice."

Niall turns away and begins walking down the hall, Louis close on his heels, when Harry decides he has to say something. He has to be a mature adult about the situation.

"Louis?" Harry watches as the two boys stop dead in their tracks and Louis turns towards him slowly, not quit meeting Harry's eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Styles?"

"Can I have a word?" Louis glances back at Niall helplessly before grabbing his wrist and pulling him down the hallway.

"I'm sorry Mr. Styles, but I can't be late to footie anymore or I'm off the team. Sorry!" Louis shouts the last word as him and Niall abruptly turn a corner and Harry shakes his head in bewilderment before heading back into his class room.

And if Harry takes the note out of his desk, that he's now almost one hundred percent positive Louis has written, and quickly shoves it into his bag before heading home, well, no one has to know.