The Larry Book [ completed ]

glitter and helium

By : starseas (ao3 )

Summary:

harry and louis are from two different crowds, but harry wants to ask louis to prom.

( a/n : really sorry been busy you guys probably deleted this anyways going to update more often I promise 🌚 )

Harry's having trouble breathing.

The classroom is a blur of dimness and shadow, but pale orange sunlight still seeps in through the gaps in the blinds, casting bars of brightness across the tiled floors.

It strikes the dust in the air, lighting it on fire, letting it burn-

and Harry's having trouble breathing, because the overhead projector is humming through the room, the sounds of murmured conversation swimming in his ears, but he really can't make anything out over his own thoughts, a string of fuck, fuck, fuck filling up his mind like water.

See, the thing is, he'd completely forgotten about prom.

It's not even something he'd been thinking about, not really-not until Liam Payne, student body president, walked into his fourth period English class during a lecture on Shakespearean literature to give an announcement about the prom, which is apparently this Saturday, believe it or not. Jesus.

Liam's still talking at the front of the classroom, half of his face lit up by the sunlight and half of it drowned out in the shadows, but Harry honestly can't pay attention to him right now.

Not when prom is in four days.

Fuck. How the hell could Harry have forgotten about it?

Sighing, he shifts a bit in his seat, looking towards the front of the classroom before he can stop himself. In the front row, Louis' sitting in the desk beside the door, and with all of the lights turned off like this, he's just a dim silhouette edged in golden sunlight.

Harry ends up watching the pale line of his neck anyways.

He knows it's just a neck, and usually that wouldn't do much for him at all, but bloody hell-it's Louis' neck, and Harry loves knowing that beneath the cotton fabric of his sweater, there are bruises left by Harry's mouth.

Pale purple and blue-scattered across his chest like constellations, tucked between his thighs like something left unsaid.

It's hot, alright? It's so fucking hot, and Harry knows he shouldn't be letting himself think about it when he's sitting right beside Niall in their seats, but he just can't help it, he honestly can't.

His mind is swimming with thoughts of Louis-Louis' lips, Louis' legs, the way his hair feels when Harry pulls at it, his chest, his hands, his hands in Harry's mouth, his hands on Harry's belly, his hands between Harry's legs, touching, turning, tasting. Harry thinks about how he got to school early this morning, twenty minutes before the bell, and he thinks about the way that Louis had followed him into the toilets with steady eyes, his pink mouth tilting up into a grin when Harry smiled and said, "Come 'ere. I want to touch you."

And yes, it was muffled and quiet but it was so bloody good, too, and Harry still feels like he's buzzing in all the places where Louis had touched him, in all the places where Louis made him feel electric.

It's weird, because Louis is Louis-

He's captain of the football team, he's best mates with Zayn Malik (who basically owns the Smoker's Pit out by the bleachers, honestly, it's ridiculous), and in freshman year Louis hooked up with Eleanor Calder, a bloody senior at the time, and Harry has no fucking clue how that even happened.