Good Morals [Larry Stylinson]

Ch. Five | Get Out of My Head

  [E:✔]

Harry didn't get sleep that night. He went out with his friends Saturday, out to the mall, then bowling, and then they had a bite to eat. However he didn't get sleep that night either. Even on Sunday night he only got about three hours of sleep. Why? He had no idea. So, when he was woken up Monday morning, still exhausted from the slight sleep deprivation he was dealing with, he stayed in bed. He wanted his mum to call him in sick. He didn't want to go, not after staying up two-almost three-nights in a row for reasons he really wasn't sure of. He has dealt with insomnia is the past, maybe that was it. His mum eventually knocked on his door, "Harry, honey, you've gotta get up for school. You can't be late today," his mum called out to him. He groaned, "Yes mum, I'll be downstairs in a minute and leave," he huffed. He rolled out of bed and slumped over to his closet, picking out another pair of skinny jeans, tugging them on and pulling a hoodie over his head, feeling it's warmth rather comforting.

    He drove to school, and like every other day his first two classes swept by quickly. Lunch even went by quickly, and even Drama and English, which was his last class. He still participated in his classes, and in Drama he went along with the exercise, plastering on a smile and forcing a laugh a few times here and there. But each day he was in this class he grew shyer and shyer.

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    Soon enough it was Friday, and how Harry had somehow breezed through the week without remembering anything was far beyond him. He was currently in Drama, writing things down in his notebook for the end-of-the-year scene when Zayn nudged him. Harry hummed in response. "Hazza, you've been acting strange all week, is everything alright," Harry felt his friend's gaze on the side of his face. "'M fine, thanks," he mumbled, but Zayn didn't accept the answer. "That's bullshit. What's wrong, you're concerning me," Zayn's voice was threaded with genuine concern. Harry closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in and out, hesitating for a bit before deciding he should just get it out and tell Zayn. "I haven't been sleeping, Zayn. Amy kissed me and I rejected her, so dealing with that is stressful. I dunno, other things I don't really know. I've just been stressed," Harry looked into his friend's eyes, and Zayn felt Harry's emotions in his own heart. "I didn't sleep last weekend either. I've been dazed, I've felt different this week, like you pointed out," Harry's voice cracks at this point, and he drops his head down, blushing, hoping nobody heard that. It seemed like nobody did. It felt like he was being stared at, however, but he didn't look behind him. "Harry, I don't know what to do, obviously you're stressing over something specific, maybe you just don't realize it yet, and Amy kissed you? Are you serious," Zayn looked a bit pissed off. "I'm sorry, Harry, I don't know what to do. But you know you can text or call me if you need to, alright? Liam doesn't take many things seriously and Niall can be a bit of a loud-mouth," he lightly chuckled. "So I've got you. If Amy tries anything again," he ran his fingers through Harry's hair, warning about Amy, and gave him a side hug, Harry leaning his head on Zayn's shoulder for a second. "Harry," his name was called out loudly, making his body tense up. He looked at Zayn, who also looked a bit concerned. They were doing their work. Harry cleared his throat, turning his head, "Y-yes," he questioned, "Stay after class, please," Mr. Tomlinson said, continuing to stare at his laptop, even though he was looking at nothing at all.
     Louis, just like Zayn, had noticed a complete change in Harry's mood. Harry wasn't happy. Even around his friends, even when he was acting out the prompts in class, goofing off, there was something about the way he laughed that sounded way too forced. Louis's ever-growing curiosity for the boy aside, he was genuinely concerned, as a teacher who sees a change in his student's attitude. Although he was fully aware Harry was timid and not talkative towards him, he still thought asking wouldn't hurt. And much to Harry's dismay the bell rang in a matter of minutes. He slowly got up, giving Zayn a hug and waving at his other friends who looked at him a bit weirdly. When it was just Harry and his teacher, Louis walked over and shut the door half-way. Harry slumped over to his teacher's desk, holding onto his notebook. Louis stood behind his own chair, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes directed at his shoes. "Harry, I've noticed a change in your behavior. Is everything alright? Are you feeling alright," he looked up at the boy, whose eyes were staring down at the floor and his hands shoved in his pockets like they always were when he talked to Louis. He had a deep blush across his face, mainly due to nervousness but also because-well-it was Mr. Tomlinson. He just nodded and said, "Yeah, I'm good," with uncertainty lacing through his tone. He was disappointed when Mr. Tomlinson spoke up again, wishing he could just leave. "I know that's not true. I know you've always been...uncomfortable around me, and yes, it's not the greatest feeling in the world, but even in class you seem to be lacking," Louis explained. He bit his lip as Harry rocked back and forth on his feet. There was an uncomfortable silence for a while, until the green-eyed boy finally spoke up, "I don't think it's that important. It's nothing concerning you, so don't worry about it. I'll be better by next week," his voice was impassive. Mr. Tomlinson nodded, pursing his lips. "Alright. I expect it by next week. Drama shouldn't be a tiring class," he folded his hands together. Harry nodded curtly before leaving the room and heading to his English class.

He huffed, sitting next to Niall like always, resting his head in his hands which where propped up on the desk. "He'll always be an arsehole, won't he?"

"Who?"

"Tomlinson. Keeps bothering me about stupid shit," Harry grumbles, getting his things out after the bell rings. Harry raised up two fingers, "Drama class shouldn't be tiring, are you okay? Blah blah," he mocks, turning to focus on the instructor speaking. "I don't know how to respond to that, lad. Personally, I thought he liked you. I mean he looks at you like you're special, no offense," Niall smiles at his friend, "Wouldn't have thought he disliked you," he shrugged. Harry rolled his eyes, writing down notes. "Whatever, you're probably just seeing things."

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    Once the final bell rang, dismissing the school for the weekend, Louis hurried to pack up his things and head out, moving quickly before too many students would crowd the halls. He just walked and walked. He heard his name being called and he recognized the voice but he wasn't in the mood to talk to Ms. James. To say the least, Louis's emotions were jumbled. He was growing lonelier and bored. He hasn't dated anyone for quite some time because he just hasn't felt anything towards anyone. Don't get him wrong, he liked his life right now, a good job, a good home. It was somewhat peaceful. But, fuck, he just wanted to be in a relationship. He wasn't interested in online dating or blind dates or anything, he wanted to meet someone in person, someone he comes across and catches his eye. A lad who's sweet and kind, loyal, funny, caring. Tall was always a nice trait. Pale, nice eyes. Dark hair.

He got in his car, starting it. He sighed, closing his eyes, trying to think of something. Maybe there's a nice coffee shop nearby? Bakers were always sweet (no pun intended), and he couldn't cook for shit.

He thought of more things, maybe someone with a smooth voice. Nice smile. Green eyes, curly hair-

no.

Louis's eyes widened, and he scoffed, shaking his head. He buckled up and drove out of the lot as fast as he could. No, he couldn't be thinking of him. How could he? Why was he? Louis zoned out the entire drive home, somehow staying safe. He parked the car and got out of the car, grabbing his bag and walking briskly inside.

No. No, no way.

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It was around one in the morning, Louis got out of bed, still wide awake. He swears under his breath, putting on a pair of socks. He knew this was a bad idea, but it obviously didn't stop him. Where did this urge to get absolutely plastered come from? Maybe he really was just that lonely. He didn't care, he couldn't sleep. He knew most bars stayed open almost twenty-four seven so it shouldn't be that hard to find an open one.

He got in his car, and got out of his drive way, beginning his search for the lucky pub. He found one about five kilos away, pulling into the pub's lot. It was dimly lit and shabby, but it would work if it had alcohol. He slumped into a bar stool, catching the bartender's attention. "What's it gonna be," the guy asked, and Louis internally sighed. "Anything. Gin, maybe," he said. The bartender nodded and grabbed a glass, "Ice," he asked, and Louis nodded. He poured a glass, and the blue-eyed man downed it, "'Nother, please. Keep them going, if you don't mind," he sadly smiled. The other man, appearing past middle-age chuckled, "Wife getting on your nerves, there, lad," he teased. Louis shrugged, "Sure. Let's go with that," he downed the second glass. And then the third, a fourth. The bartender's words were just dazed to him, and after what he could only guess (he stopped counting after the sixth) was his tenth or eleventh drink, he was proper piss drunk. He called Eleanor, slurring inaudible words, barely conscious.

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