Conformity (Larry Stylinson AU)

One.

hello, first chapter of my new short-ish story, wooh

i am an american and the british schooling system severely confuses me, so i just used the way we do things over in america. i wish i could write it more realistically to the setting, but i just did it this way to make it easier

anyways, thank you soooo much for reading Conformity and please don't be shy with commenting, my children

enjoooyyyy~

-Julia

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I begin to feel queasy, as I always do. It isn't an abnormality for my friends to be doing this in my presence, so I try to pay it no mind like usual. But as the smoke gradually fills the space I find it arduous to simply inhale without gagging. My asthma isn't a giant fan of the white clouds above my head.

"Oi, Haz, you alright?" Liam inquires in between my coughing.

I nod. "M'fine."

"His pussy lungs can't take it." Zayn comments. He's always thought I was weak for not wanting to poison my body with a hysteria inducing plant. I roll my eyes.

"And?"

Zayn just shrugs, taking another long drag and letting out a small giggle. Liam peered at me and began speaking about a different topic to defuse the tension. "So, do you fancy that Louis Tomlinson kid or something? I saw you checking him out today,"

I bite down on my lip, not really wanting to answer the question. Which, of course gave it away. A chorus of 'ooh's come from their mouths.

Louis Tomlinson moved from Doncaster about three years ago, and each year he becomes more insanely beautiful and interesting. I think I've said a grand total of four words to him, and he's smiled at me once. But I am completely infatuated with him. I've managed to keep that information to myself until now.

"Would you have enough room to do anal in a broom closet?" Zayn wondered aloud, sending himself and Liam into another laughing fit.

I widen my eyes through the rest of their discussion of gay sex and laughter. I can't blame them entirely for the things they say, I never do. In defending them I say that the toxins they're putting into themselves are at fault.

I glance down at my watch, secretly grateful when I see that I should be heading home. I stand to my feet and give the bumbling idiots a nod.

"I've got to get home. See you boys tomorrow,"

They mutter good-bye's in return as I retreat before the drugs get into their systems and take in a deep breath when I finally exit the smoke infested room. I usually stay longer, but I'm just not in the mood. If Zayn's mum knew half of what went down in that space he would have even less of a social life.

When I reach the porch, I kick up my skateboard and carry it down to the pavement then set it down and hop on it. Since I'm penniless a skateboard that my dad bought me for my 15th birthday in an attempt to compensate for leaving my mom for some rich, Hispanic lady is my only mode of transportation.

I roll on the concrete, passing neighbors along the way that wave and send me friendly smiles. Our neighborhood is a pretty close-knit community where everyone knows everyone. Unfortunately myself, Zayn, Liam, and a few other boys like us are the only teenagers. I like to think the elderly and middle-aged women actually like me despite my affiliations with the other lads. I'm the one who helps bring in groceries, takes the rubbish to the curb, and sometimes mow lawns and shovels snow. I offer to do it for free, but I usually get a few pounds out if it. My mates tease me for this, but I don't really mind. I like to be kind. Just because I've got a 'hard life' doesn't mean I need to take it out on my body and everyone around me like they do.