50 Billion Rainbows || Larry Stylinson

E I G H T

Harry Styles

When lunch time comes around, Harry is seated into his usual seat with the usual people. The group of friends he associates with have all become used to his expressionless aura. His arms are coated with a jean jacket that is slightly rolled up at the wrists.

His tattoos exposed to wandering eyes. His own making a tradition to scan the place subtly in search of an overly happy boy. Each and every day. Three more hours of lectures and messages sent between friends pass. He has not yet caught a brunette boy in his sights.

The last class of the day creeps on to him slowly and the pressure of being seated for many hours have finally taken a toll on Harry. He excuses himself and sighs out a breath of relief when the heavy door of the classroom shuts behind him. Turning his head both ways he concludes the halls as vacant. Large windows line both sides of the walls encasing metal doors.

The windows are strategically placed between every couple of lockers, allowing sunlight to spill in heaps. Leather boots begin to move towards the right side, hands digging themselves into a faded jean jacket. He stops halfway, stance relaxed, the rectangular window that is agape and flowing with a breeze too soft exists with no suspicion.

His forearm begins to move, leaning itself onto the metal sill. The thin white shirt that covers his torso does nothing on protecting him from the light cold. Lazily chewing on the bright yellow gum he waits for the comfortable figure beneath him to notice.

Recognizing Louis' obliviousness he leans in further, his head and arms out of the window. Propping his chin onto his palm he watches as Louis mouths words to himself as he reads the book he always seems to carry around. The fingertips of his right hand are centimeters away from the top of Louis' head. He takes note of the dark color of his hair.

The even tan that coats the back of his neck contrasts against the white shirt he is wearing, Harry finds it slightly fascinating. Reaching forward his fingers twitch to press against any part of Louis' skin, he withdraws.

"Shouldn't you be in class" Harry murmurs. Louis gasps, tilts his head to look back at his closest friend. They stare at one another, a bright smile on one and an amused spark in the other.

"I don't have class right now" Louis replies with a gentle blink in his eyes. Harry tilts his head to a small degree, drawn to the way the long lashes casts shadows over Louis' cheeks, reminding him of the wet mascara that smears Macy's eyes.

He realizes the resemblance between Louis and Macy, their bright eyes, brown hair and the similar light that illuminates off their smiles. Louis hums a small tune under his breath that looses itself in the light wind. Louis glances back up, a grin shaping his face into something that should not make your heart burn up in blue flames.

Harry has come to a conclusion that proves how much brighter Louis' eyes are than Macy's. How softer his hair looks and how unique his smile is.

"I would go home if I had a free hour" Harry straightens up, shoves his hands back into his pockets.

"I'll have nothing to do" Louis shuts the book that lays neglected onto his lap. His shoes scrape against the cement as he stands, he brushes off any unwanted residue from his dark pants.

"Make something pretty"

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Louis Tomlinson