Tease [Larry]

Three

Anne eats her cereal like she's been famished, hair a ratty nest atop her head, bath robe snug around her curvaceous body. She's assessing Harry, from the pinning, pale green eyes and the slightly pinched look grazed upon her features, but Harry couldn't care less. He's got school in a matter of fifteen minutes, and—thanks to Gemma and her inability to channel patience—was stranded at home with no ride.

"Mom." He's so over it; having to repeat himself three times over before anything actually clicks. He thinks the synapses in her brain might be damaged, but manages to keep these thoughts to himself if he wants to be taken anywhere apart from a homeless shelter. "Are you listening to what I'm saying?"

"Walk," she croaks. She takes another bite of her honey oats, unbothered. "It's a nice day out. Walk."

Harry raises his eyebrows in disbelief. It's no question that his mothers's a bit of a deadbeat, but even this was low for a part time alcohol abuser. "If I walk I'll be late." He refrains from commenting on the heat of the day, but in reality, he'd rather hide in the backyard tool shed until his mother leaves for work, than attempt to muster up the energy for a thirty minute walk to school.

She casually finishes her bowl of cereal, but Harry's headstrong. If he bothers her for long enough, she'll eventually cave. Or so he hopes.

Ten minutes later, and Harry's left with five minutes to walk to school. He hadn't been kidding when he threatened to skip, but if he's granted another attendance infraction on his record, it's a phone call home, and the last thing he needs is for Anne to be down his throat about attending his classes.

By the time he gets to school, his back is sweat soaked and sticky, his face is inflamed and slick to the touch, and a quick whiff under his arms reminds him he's in dire need of a hygienic touch up.

Before he's given a chance, the bell for second period rings, and Harry's shoved through the wave of oncoming students, practically crowd surfing. He sees a glimpse of Niall's stark blonde hair, Gemma talking up some guy from her French course, but then it's just the honking, hooked nose of Mrs. Q, rambling on about Shakespearean literature.

After second and third period, he all but trudges to lunch. He's hardly managed to cool down, with the air conditioning unit still down, he was assigned another measly book report, and Niall's not answering his god damn cell phone.

To make matters a thousand times worse, while he's angry texting Niall a profound number of threatening, descriptive messages, he runs face first into Louis Tomlinson. He's alone of course, sucked into his own text conversation, but he still looks ridiculously good, dressed in a pair of cuffed jeans and a baby blue crew neck.

Harry believes that somewhere out there, beyond the realms of this world, there's a higher power, either toying with Harry's life like he's a pawn, or sitting back and laughing at his obvious and constant misfortunes. By the slightly irritated look on Louis' face, Harry reckon's it's a little bit of both.

Because he had managed the better part of a year and a half without even seeing Louis on campus, but now here they were. At school. In a forlorn hallway during lunch.

"Styles?" Louis sighs, rolling his cerulean eyes before jamming his phone into his back pocket. "Why do you look like someone's just ran over your dog?"

Harry looks down at his phone to see that he's still got no response from Niall. "No reason," he mutters.

"Why are you here?" It's not unkind per say, but Harry still stands tall, preparing to be on defense.

His eyes start to shift. "Because I go to school here?"

"Thank you, Einstein." It's Louis' turn for sarcasm. "I meant, why aren't you having lunch right now? In the lunchroom, like a normal year ten?"