"HORAN!" Louis calls, loud enough for the whole corridor to spin their heads in his direction. Louis couldn't give any less of a shit, however, because he's pretty sure that last night he came up with the best opening notes to a song in all of history. He needs to inform Niall of this fact; simply needs to.
Niall stops dead in the centre of the corridor, a still rock amidst the moving current of loud students, and searches for Louis' scruffy brown hair and goofy smile - the one he always gives when something exciting happened the night before.
"Wha?" Niall says through the wad of minty gum he's chewing, accent thick. Louis comes bounding up a second later, a little breathless. He's dressed in his signature skinny jeans, khaki parka jacket, beanie, and never to forget, his always-present headphones, hanging loosely around his neck. There have been countless mornings where Niall has been wandering his way to first period, minding his own business, when Louis has popped out of nowhere and started talking a million words a minute about something he's discovered. It's not any different this time.
"NiallNiallNiall you have to come over tonight. I think I composed the best opening to a song, like, ever and you need to listen to it. It's amazing, I swear. Just, please cancel anything you have planned tonight. I have a good feeling about this-"
"Whoa whoa whoa," Niall interrupts, holding his hand up to stop Louis from talking himself to death. Louis just stands there, eyes wide and panting. "'Course I'll come over, mate. And plans? When have you known me to have plans?" he jokes.
Okay, maybe Louis was a little dumb to ask Niall to 'cancel his plans', considering the only circumstances where Niall would even contemplate steeping out of his house are school and band practice.
"Good point. I'll uh, see you at Musical Performance, yeah?" Louis says quickly, already edging away. Niall nods before spinning around and sauntering down the opposite direction.
When Louis first opens his locker, about two minutes after that rushed meeting with Niall, he's faced with, to put it lightly, an absolute pigsty. He doesn't see the point in constantly maintaining an organised locker. He's only at it, what, fifteen minutes a day? Less? And it's not as if he has time for it anyway. He's always running late to classes.
But not Musical Performance, no. He's vowing to be punctual for that class, considering it is the only class which actually holds some value to him.
At his locker, he dodges past the rotting apple core and scrunched up papers of his failed algebra tests, eventually fighting through the mess and returning with a binder book lined with music sheets, his much loved guitar pick (he refuses to use any other) and a pen. That's all he needs, really.
He skips homeroom, as it's useless. Instead he buys a can of diet coke from the vending machine in the south corridor and settles in that one spot in the bushes by the science block where he's never been caught wagging. It must be a blind spot to all teachers.
He doesn't have his guitar with him — It's locked up safely in the music store room, where all the other musical kids keep their instruments on the days they have lessons — but he has a pen and some paper and soft guitar chords blasting out his headphones, so it doesn't matter all too much. He jots down ideas for song lyrics, the occasional melody, and takes rationed sips of his coke, trying to make it last as long as he can.
When his can is well and truly empty, he pulls up his sleeve and checks his watch - the one his grandpa gave him for his thirteenth birthday — and fuck, he's late. He's late he's late he's late.
YOU ARE READING
It Might Get Loud
Fanfiction[DISCONTINUED FOR NOW] Harry isn't sure exactly how he ended up in an elective class titled 'Musical Performance'. He swore he marked it as his last preference, granted that the only instrument he's ever laid hands on is a recorder, and that was in...
