fic: dust off your highest hopes (1/2)
dust off your highest hopes
r, 14,000 words
high school AU with theater club louis and star jock liam
for the beautiful greta, nspired by her tags here
warnings for minor mentions of bullying / homophobia
also on ao3
Louis has a spot, way in the back row of the school theater, the last little aisle of three seats in a row that are tucked up next to the sound booth. He goes there to nap and to listen to his ipod and go over lines, and everyone knows it’s his, because he sort of runs things in the drama department, and also, he’s written his name on one of the seats with marker.
So he’s confused when he goes to shut his eyes after classes and before he’s due to begin rehearsals, and there’s someone in his spot. The spot that’s his. And not just someone, as it turns out, but Liam Payne.
“You’re in my spot,” he says when he reaches him, tilting his head curiously to the side, because it’s true, and he can’t think of anything else to say. He’s not unhappy about it; this just hasn’t ever happened before, so he’s not sure what the procedure is. He’s not sure Liam’s ever even been inside the theater before.
“Oh, er, sorry, I’ll just--” Liam starts to say, going red in the face.
“S’alright, I mean,” Louis says hastily. The day as a whole has been dreadfully dull, and this could prove to make the afternoon much more interesting than usual, so he doesn’t want to accidentally chase Liam off. He’s looking a bit skittish already.
“I was just, um, looking for somewhere quiet to revise?” Liam explains, although he turns it into a question, like if that’s not okay with Louis he can change his answer.
“Won’t be quiet in here for very long,” Louis says, flopping down into the seat next to Liam. “We’re rehearsing, and Harry’ll be here soon. He decided he wants to be Frenchie today and, like, y’know how he gets.”
“Um. Not really?” Liam says, which makes sense. Liam’s on all sorts of teams, good at literally every sport, it seems like, and Louis has heard rumors he’s already getting scholarship offers for uni because of it, so it makes sense that he doesn’t really know anything about the kids who stick to the drama department, or how loud and shrill Harry can get when he thinks he’s being clever.
“He’ll rupture your eardrums, mate,” Louis says, shrugging apologetically and smiling at Liam amiably.
“Right, um. I’ll go, then,” Liam says, gathering up his books and papers a bit awkwardly. He stuffs them into his bag and starts to leave, but turns back after a few steps. “I’m Liam, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Louis shrugs, “I know.”
“Er -- you do?” Liam asks, looking genuinely confused.
“You’re, like, on the football team, mate. And the track team. And some other teams I can’t remember. What’s the one? With the little stick nets?”
“Lacrosse,” Liam supplies weakly.
Louis grins. “Right. So, yeah. I know who you are.”
“Right,” mumbles Liam, going red all over again. Louis hadn’t known someone could blush so much without going lightheaded and passing out. That would be unusual and possibly interesting as well, although Liam might damage his face, which seems a waste.
“Anyway, I’m Louis,” he adds.
“Yeah, I -- I know,” Liam says. Louis can’t tell if he’s just saying it since Louis knew Liam’s name and he figures it’s polite to pretend the same, even though there’s no real reason Liam would know Louis. Still, if he’s lying, he’s got a much better poker face than Louis would have guessed.
“Sorry again,” Liam continues.
“You can stay, if you want,” Louis offers, because there’s something funny about Liam, and anyway, it’s someone new to talk to. More interesting than a nap, at least. It also doesn’t hurt that Liam’s fit -- which Louis had known, obviously, because he’s got eyes, and they’ve been in school together for years, but it’s even more apparent close up like this. Liam’s all broad shoulders and biceps, his jeans slung low on his hips and his thin gray t-shirt pulling taut over his chest, but his short hair looks soft, and his eyes are wide and brown. It makes him looks sort of like a good-natured puppy. Only the sort of puppy who could manhandle you a bit, if it wanted to.
Which is a line of thought that Louis probably doesn’t need to get into.
“Don’t wanna interrupt anything,” Liam shrugs, pulling his eyebrows up in a sweetly apologetic expression, and Louis has to stop himself from clapping his hands together, Liam is so precious.
“Don’t be a prat, you can stay. You should stay!” Louis insists, crossing his legs up under himself and gesturing at the seat Liam had been in.
Liam looks around, like maybe he’s missing something important and he’ll get a hint about it from somewhere around the room, but after a moment he just nods and says “Yeah, alright,” and sits down carefully next to Louis.
“What’re you revising?” Louis asks, peering at the notebook that Liam takes back out of his bag.
“Poetry,” Liam says, sounding morose at the prospect. “From the seventeenth century.”
“Can’t help you there, mate,” Louis says apologetically.
Liam smiles back at him. “That’s alright.” He flips open several books and starts peering closely at the pages of small text, squinting his eyes a bit as he does.
“Why’re you studying poetry, anyway?” Louis asks curiously. “Seems a bit--” He stops himself -- he doesn’t exactly want to say that it seems a bit strange for the captain of the football team to be reading Donne if he doesn’t have to, but it’s still true. However Liam’s probably a lot stronger than he is, so he doesn’t finish the sentence, just in case he takes offense easily.
“I’m in advanced literature this term,” Liam admits, seeming almost embarrassed about it. “I like it, poetry and books and all, it’s just -- I don’t think I’m much use at it? Like, I know when I like something, but I can never say why.” He shrugs, and turns back towards his notebook.
“Oh,” Louis says. He hadn’t expected that answer, really, although he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. They sit there quietly for a bit, Louis trying not to feel too surprised by how companionable the silence is, and the way Liam’s frowning in concentration as he reads, his lips moving slightly every so often. They’ve never really exchanged words before today, but it doesn’t feel as strange as it probably ought to, sitting there with him. Louis even manages to close his eyes for a while, tilting his head back against the wall behind him before he hears the stage left doors clang open with the first arrival for rehearsals. Louis ignores whoever it is for five more minutes, figuring it won’t be the end of the world if they start late today.
-
“Why’s Liam Payne lurking in the back?” Harry demands when he slouches into the theater twenty minutes later, one of his shoes untied and a beanie pulled over his hair.
“He’s revising for his poetry class, obviously,” Louis explains, following Harry up the stairs to the stage to round up the rest of the students who are starting to come in now.
“Does he actually know how to read?” Harry asks, sounding legitimately surprised at it, although not in a judgmental sort of way, if that’s possible. Still, Louis scowls at him.
“Don’t be an arsehole,” he scolds. “He seems nice.”
“You can be nice and illiterate at the same time,” Harry says mildly.
“Obviously he’s not illiterate, Haz, just because he’s on the football team. Really, stereotypes.” He sticks out his foot to trip Harry on the last step to underscore his point.
“Alright, sorry, I’m only joking.” Harry nudges Louis’ shoulder with his own and they fold down to sit cross-legged on the floor of the stage, letting the rest of the group form a circle with them as they trudge in.
They’ve got to finish the read through of the second act today, and their advisor still hasn’t finalized the audition schedules for next week -- it’s generally assumed what most of the roles will end up as, Harry’ll be Danny and Louis will end up with Kenickie, but there are still several that are up for grabs (Danielle and Eleanor may come to blows over Rizzo), so they’re taking turns reading through them all in order, “to see where everyone’s strengths lie,” according to Mr. Whitshaw. Privately, Louis thinks it’s an excuse to delay making any final casting choices, because as an advisor he’s rather pathetic and has made it known how much he loathes making these sort of decisions -- “the sort an advisor’s meant to make,” Eleanor complains regularly -- and it’ll likely all come down to Louis in the end. He’s been Mr. Whitshaw’s unofficial assistant for the last two years, and even though it can get a bit tiring having to do a job that’s meant to be salaried for free, on top of performing in the play itself, Louis has never been one to say no to the theater. Or minor positions of authority over his peers.
They’ll be lucky if they have enough students willing to audition to fill all the parts, anyway. Grease has a bigger cast than their last two productions had, and all the students who are likely to join the theater department all probably have by now. If they get really desperate, Louis might be able to guilt Zayn into auditioning, if he catches him in exactly the right mood, but he doesn’t want to have to count on that, because Zayn’s a good mate, but Louis doesn’t want to rely on him memorizing anything or turning up places on time.
Midway through their fourth go at a complete and uninterrupted reading of the school dance scene -- Harry keeps wandering off so Louis has resorted to physically restraining him by the shoulders -- Louis cranes his head backwards to crack his neck and sees Liam quietly pushing open one of the back doors. He catches Louis’ eye and raises his hand to wave once, and Louis grins at him before Liam disappears back into the school.
-
When Louis goes to his locker after rehearsal, there’s a note stuck on it with tape, and it peels off a sliver of paint when Louis yanks it off. He thinks about crumpling it, because he can guess what’s inside, but he’s never been good at that, so he unfolds the paper as he pulls on his jacket, sighing when he sees the choice words scrawled haphazardly on it.
It’s not the first time someone’s left nasty notes on his locker (or in his bag, or on the wind screen of Harry’s car), and frankly he’s more offended by the total lack of creativity they demonstrate than anything -- it’s all the same slurs, with slightly different emphasis for variety, and honestly, if they want to call him gay like it’s some sort of aspersion they could at least try to make it interesting.
He’ll text Harry to tell him about it when he gets home, and Harry will send him a long row of punctuation and strange little smiley faces that will mean “what idiots” and “that’s not even clever” and “how nice of them to think of you,” and they’ll laugh and it’ll be alright, because this sort of thing really doesn’t bother Louis as much as the people who leave the notes seem to think it does.
So he’s not too bothered about it as he walks home, chucking the note into a bin his passes.
Still, though, it gets a bit old, he lets himself think briefly, before pressing the whole thing out of his mind.
-
The next day on the way to maths, Louis’ so distracted looking at his own shoes and wondering if he ought to have worn his cream colored trainers instead of the gray ones that he doesn’t notice Liam coming up behind him until he’s walking right at Louis’ elbow.
“Hey, Louis,” Liam greets, like they’re great pals and stop to chat in the hallway all the time.
“Hey,” Louis replies, stopping abruptly as he looks up from his shoes, and as he does so, Liam keeps walking, and collides directly with his shoulder, sending them both stumbling towards a notice board.
“Oh, er. Sorry,” Liam says, smiling sheepishly at Louis as he disentangles their legs and they start walking again, Louis falling into step besides Liam. He feels inexplicably off-kilter and forces himself to concentrate very carefully as they go, trying not to get distracted again by things like shoes or his own limbs or how preposterously solid Liam had felt against him. He’s not sure it ought to be legal for seventeen year old boys to be that strong.
“Thought you were meant to be coordinated,” Louis says, deliberately not glancing over at the wide spread of Liam’s shoulders, or his biceps. He decides to compromise by looking at Liam’s face instead, and Liam just looks at him all perplexed, like a confused but good-natured -- something. Louis all of a sudden can’t think of how to finish that metaphor. “Um, ‘cos of, like. The athleticism,” he explains.
Liam laughs at him at that, instead of going all red and stuttering like Louis had sort of thought he might. “It wasn’t me who stopped dead in the middle of a hallway,” he says, shifting his enormous pile of books to his other arm. It’s quite a large arm. Which, like, that makes sense, given how much Liam must work out for all his various teams, but still -- Liam’s impressively built. Louis is only recognizing that objectively, though -- as, like, a detached admirer of the human physique, that’s all. Not in a weird way.
“I,” he starts, forgetting what Liam’s just said. “What?”
Liam laughs again. “Your rehearsal sounded good yesterday,” he says as they head side by side up the stairs to the third floor science block. Louis isn’t going to science, or anywhere on the third floor, actually, but that seems unimportant at present.
“Wasn’t actually a proper rehearsal,” Louis says, because apparently now he’s remembered how to speak properly, and that’s a good development. Maybe he just needs to focus on topics he knows, like plays and theater and all that, and not let things like arms and shoulders confuse the issue. “We’re sort of behind schedule, we ought to have a cast sorted out by now, except our advisor’s a knob, so.” He shrugs demonstratively.
“Who is it?” Liam asks curiously, like he’s actually interested. Louis really needs to turn around now if he doesn’t want to be late to maths.
“Whitshaw,” he answers instead.
“Oh,” Liam says, nodding. “He’s who I’ve got for literature.”
“Is he a knob in class as well?” Louis asks. “I’ve never had the pleasure of sitting through his lectures.”
“He’s alright,” Liam says mildly. Louis vaguely wonders if Liam is actually as agreeable as he seems, or just good at pretending.
Liam stops in front of a biology classroom, so Louis does as well. “Um. This is me,” Liam says, nodding towards the door.
“Right, yeah,” Louis says. He’s either going to have to turn around and go back the way he came, which would probably look a bit stupid, or loop around and hope he can sprint back down to his own classroom before the bell without breaking his neck. Instead of doing either of those things, though, he just stands uselessly next to Liam in front of his biology class, who for some reason isn’t moving either.
“Would it bother you if I studied in the theater again today?” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
“What? No, ‘course not,” Louis agrees. “Whenever you like. I’ve got a key, too, so I mean that literally.”
“Cool,” Liam nods. “See you around, then, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you,” Louis says, backing aimlessly down the hall, hoping Liam won’t notice him going in reverse if he does it casually enough. Liam just smiles, though, then disappears into the room, and Louis turns to hurry to his own maths class, and he’s only a few seconds late and slightly out of breath when he gets there.
-
Despite their conversation, Louis is still surprised to see Liam in the back of the theater again that afternoon.
“H’lo, Liam Payne,” he greets cheerfully. “Surprise seeing you here.”
“Oh, um -- I said I’d be here? Is it not alright?” Liam asks.
“No, no, you’re alright,” Louis says. “It was a joke. Sort of. Not actually a good one, though.”
Liam grins at him. “Sorry. I’m a bit dense sometimes?”
Louis just waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t pay attention to me, anyway, I tend to talk crap.” He flops down beside Liam, because if he’s going to wait around for the rest of the cast and crew to turn up, he might as well do it somewhere with a nice view.
-
Liam keeps turning up, and before he can stop himself, Louis starts to expect to see Liam in the back of the theater, a mountain of books stacked up around him and buried under piles of his notes, sheets covered in his neat, cramped handwriting.
Liam tells him how he’d like to study modern literature at uni -- his favorite sort of literature, apparently -- even though everyone thinks he’ll only end up playing football. Louis complains about their theater advisor, and how he drags out the auditions long enough that Louis eventually has to organize the whole thing, and the massive headache he gets when Eleanor shouts at him for casting her as Sandy, and not Rizzo. Liam listens, and not in a pretend sort of way -- two weeks into rehearsals, he asks if one of the younger boys is still having trouble remembering his lines at the beginning of the second act, and Louis is so surprised that Liam’s remembered him mentioning it that he has to take a moment to figure out the answer.
Harry finds the whole thing hilarious, because he’s a terrible person, and apparently nothing is funnier to him than the way that sometimes Louis forgets how to talk around Liam. Louis finds it less amusing. And anyway it’s not like it’s always, talking’s generally one of Louis’ main skill sets in life, but sometimes he forgets how big Liam’s hands are, or his shoulders, and when he glances at them without preparing himself, sometimes he can’t remember how to make words come out of his mouth. That’s all.
Liam, on the other hand, seems to be getting used to being around Louis, because he stutters less and ends fewer sentences with a question mark, but sometimes he’ll still trip over his words and go pink high on his cheeks, and not that he’ll admit it, but it sometimes makes Louis’ heart race. Just a bit.
Liam will wave to him in the halls, and sometimes they’ll talk if they end up walking near each other in the halls, but mostly it’s just the two of them sitting in the back of the theater together, Liam’s pen scratching as he takes notes on some thick book filled with tiny print. Louis doesn’t expect Liam to start, like, sitting with him at lunch or anything, because they’re not proper mates -- the blokes on most of Liam’s teams are still primarily the twats who have been giving Louis and Harry shit for years, and no amount of Liam hanging about in the theater after school will change that enough for Louis to want much to do with them, even just by proximity -- but he still finds himself looking forward to the days he sees Liam despite all of that. It’s enough to just see Liam here, anyway, in the theater, where at least he feels like he’s almost got a grasp on it all.
-
“Hey, listen,” Liam says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he’s leaving before proper rehearsals start one afternoon. The sets crew has started putting together some of the scenery, and the noise from the hammering is distracting. “I know you’re good at like, um. Plays and stuff. So I was wondering if I could ask you a favor, maybe?” He bites his lip in a nervous gesture, but doesn’t look away from Louis.
“Sure,” Louis agrees, wondering what Liam could possibly want his help with.
“Well, like, we’re doing a bit about Hamlet in class next, and I’m sort of lost on it all. Poetry is fine, but plays -- I guess I don’t really get them? So. Do you think you might want to, um. Tutor me, or something?”
“Um,” Louis hedges. “I’d be glad to help, but I dunno if I’m qualified to be a tutor, or anything.”
“No, right,” Liam says, looking like he’s about to start apologizing. “I just thought it might help to have, like. Insights from someone who actually knows about theater? Possibly?”
Louis considers it, trying to think with the part of his brain that’s not focused on the shirt Liam’s wearing today (which is navy and looks very worn and thin, at least from Louis’ perspective), and shrugs when he can’t come up with any good reason to say no. Actually, that’s a lie, because he can, several of them -- for starters, he’d nearly failed his own literature course. But for some reason that doesn’t seem like it matters much, and saying no to Liam doesn’t sound like anything he much wants to do, as it turns out.
“Yeah, alright. I can try, at least. We can meet at the library after rehearsals if you like? Unless you’ve got practice, or a game, or something.”
“Whatever you like,” Liam nods agreeably, and then he licks his lips in a movement that looks almost nervous, and it’s -- it’s all more than a little distracting. Objectively. “I’m, um. Busy for the rest of the week, but maybe next?”
“Cool, yes. I, um. I have to go over... there, now,” Louis gestures towards the stage. “Because of Harry, and the stuff,” he explains, and he knows that sounds like nonsense (he really does have to go shout at Harry to leave the nail gun alone before he winds up shooting himself with it), but his brain’s apparently gone from the premises for the duration, so he thinks he’d better leave before he agrees to anything else.
“Sure, of course. Should I, like, give you my number?” Liam asks, holding out his hand tentatively towards Louis. “So we can figure it out?”
Louis just hands over his mobile to Liam silently, quirking his head slightly as Liam programs in his own number, tongue poking out the side of his mouth.
Louis may or may not drop a line during a scene ten minutes later when he realizes what he’s gotten himself into.
-
“Oh God,” Harry groans, laughing in a way that’s really quite rude and not at all proper best mate behavior. “He wants you to be his tutor? He really will be illiterate once you’re done with him, Lou.”
“How dare you,” Louis asks, putting as much outrage into his voice as he can manage. Telling Harry was a mistake. Telling Harry anything is a mistake, and it’s his own fault that he hasn’t learned that lesson by now.
“Liam’s alright,” Zayn says mildly, shrugging and kicking his feet up on the back of one of the theater seats. He’d turned up after rehearsals finished, looking cool and doing the thing where he practices pouting into the distance. He must think Louis can’t tell when he’s at it, but he can. Louis can tell everything.
“Of course he’s alright,” Louis says. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“No, m’just saying, like. He hangs around with that twat Andy, right? And those other tossers? But I think it’s just cos he’s too nice to tell him to fuck off. He’s not like the rest of them, really.”
“And you know this first hand?” Harry asks curiously. “Have you secretly joined the football team when we weren’t paying attention?”
Zayn rolls his eyes, and Louis tries not to let himself laugh out loud at the mental image of Zayn running voluntarily, because even though it’s a hilarious thought, Zayn can get quite touchy.
“Niall’s on the track team with him. Says he’s alright.”
“Oh, if Niall says--” Harry starts, voice going all high and mocking. He mimes something that’s meant to be either a swoon or a seizure, Louis isn’t sure which.
“Don’t start,” Zayn says. “Christ, I wait around for you lot--”
“You waited around to watch Niall run laps, you twat,” Harry interrupts, but Zayn ignores him.
“I wait around for you lot to offer you a ride home and this is the thanks I get. Maybe you can just walk, then,” he huffs, aiming the last bit at Louis darkly.
“Why’ve I got to walk?” Louis asks. “I haven’t said anything.”
“Not yet,” Zayn says sullenly.
-
Liam doesn’t turn up in the theater for the rest of the week, but Zayn mentions that there had been an important track meet on Thursday and Liam’s apparently broken some sort of record in one of the events, and there’s the football match on Friday evening as well, so he’s probably busy. Louis is a bit disappointed -- just because he’s gotten sort of used to having Liam around, he tells himself. But he’s known that Liam is busy, and so’s he, anyway. He’s finally managed to force Mr. Whitshaw into making sort-of regular appearances at rehearsals, so they’ve finally started properly, which means he has a lot less time to lounge around the back of the theater taking naps and messing about.
Louis does see him on Monday, running laps around the track near the student car park when Harry gives him a ride home early. His shirt’s off, and not that Louis looks, but the way he runs is all smooth and fluid, like he was born to do it, born to move without having to think about it. Not that Louis looks.
“You’re going to get put on some sort of list for perverts if you keep staring at him,” Harry warns him happily as they pull out onto the road.
Louis frowns, but forces himself to drag his eyes away from Liam and focus on the radio instead, flipping around until he finds something cheerful and upbeat that’ll annoy Harry.
-
On one of the days he miraculously doesn’t have play practice, or the prop room to sort out, or any younger cast members to menace about their choreography, Louis actually manages to go straight home after school for once. Harry gives him a ride again, and snatches a note stuck to the windscreen away before Louis can see what’s written on it. He smiles apologetically at Louis as he crumples it up, like he’s the one responsible for its presence, not one of Liam’s idiot teammates. Louis is suddenly reminded -- not for the first time -- what a good mate Harry is, even if he does drive him a bit mad sometimes.
Harry offers to let Louis win at FIFA at his, but Louis says no -- all he wants to do is collapse in his own bed and not have to do anything for a full afternoon. Lottie and his mum both won’t be home for ages, and the rest of his sisters have ballet lessons for the rest of the afternoon, so for once he might actually get a quiet afternoon by himself. The idea is rare and tantalizing enough to almost make his mouth water.
He’s curled under his duvet in bed with a bag of crisps in one hand and the remote in the other when his mobile buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, he’s surprised to see Liam’s name on the screen.
heyy louis its liam, sory ive been so busy llately. footballs ben madd!! r u still intersted in helping me revise 4 lit? im still hopeless :(
Louis swallows heavily, nearly choking on a crisp. He’d sort of forgotten he’d agreed to that, and he still suspects Liam would have better luck with someone who hadn’t been kicked out of their literature classes on a semi-regular basis for falling asleep too often, but he’s agreed, and even though he finds himself getting a bit sweaty now whenever he thinks about Liam, he’s not keen on canceling their plans, either.
yeah of course, he types. dunno how helpful ill be but i can try
brill, Liam responds moments later. have u got practce 2moro? ill be dun with track bye 4, u could come 2 mine if u like?
And that’s -- unexpected. Louis had assumed they’d get together in the theater again, or maybe the library, because those are really the only places they see each other -- at school. Louis can’t convincingly pretend that he hasn’t missed having Liam around lately while they’ve both been busy, but -- but it’s not like they’re the sort of mates who go to each other’s house, or at least not to Louis’ knowledge. It seems a bit strange to think about it, a bit perilous.
But then, it’s Liam, and there’s a strong chance that Louis is just being an idiot, so before he can talk himself out of it he forces himself to respond.
rehearsal should be over by 5, i can come over after?? gimme yr address :)
-
Mostly Louis has calmed himself down by the time play practice is over the next day, and is feeling much less unhinged as he walks to Liam’s house. They’re mates, basically. There’s nothing unusual about two mates revising. That’s what he tells himself the whole walk over, and has himself almost entirely convinced by the time he arrives at Liam’s.
“Hi!” Liam greets him loudly when he opens the door. “Er, um. Hi,” he says at a less shouty volume. “You, uh. You found it, then, didn’t get lost?”
“Um, yep,” Louis says, wincing at the awkward way he turns his palms up like he’s trying to demonstrate ‘here I am.’
“Right, yeah, obviously,” Liam says, laughing a bit self-consciously. “You can, um, come in then?” He hauls the front door the rest of the way open, and leads Louis through their empty house. The sitting room is small and cozy and absolutely covered in photographs, of Liam and what Louis assumes must be his sisters, in ridiculous Christmas jumpers and on holiday at the ocean and on birthdays all the way down to when they were small.
“My room’s upstairs,” Liam says, clearing his throat as he shows Louis up the staircase. He trips a little on the top step and goes brilliantly red in the face. Louis realizes that Liam’s nervous, and as soon as he does he has to bite back an uncomfortable giggle, because Liam being nervous instantaneously makes him nervous as well, undoing all the calming breath exercises he’d done on the way over.
Liam’s room is like the rest of the house -- cozy and orderly, smelling faintly of clean laundry. His walls are covered -- absolutely covered -- in ribbons and medals, placards and trophies. Louis spots one in the corner with a photo attached -- Liam from primary school, missing his two front teeth and grinning madly in his several sizes too big football shirt. Somehow, it makes the nervousness that had started twisting his stomach settle.
“Thanks for coming,” Liam says, sounding a bit more at ease now as well.
“‘Course,” Louis says, flopping into a twisted-up position on Liam’s bed. “D’you want to get started?” Liam nods and pulls out several notebooks and a copy of Hamlet from the stack next to his bed.
Louis forces himself to be calm as best he can as Liam sits down beside him and starts to look over his notes.
-
“Which one’s Polonius? The son of someone?” Louis is squinting at Liam’s upside down notes, trying to pick out a name. “Laertes?” He may have overstated his knowledge of Shakespeare, as it turns out. It’d be going much better if Liam was revising for Taming of the Shrew, since they’ve just done that one as their play last autumn, but all he knows about Hamlet is the bits he didn’t sleep through last term. Something about Kenneth Brannaugh and a ghost.
“Other way around, actually,” Liam says gently, like he’s hesitant to correct Louis.
“Right, yeah, that’s what I meant.” Louis isn’t sure why he all of a sudden feels self-conscious -- like if he was any use he’d be able to keep a few swotty characters straight, since he’s the one supposed to be helping Liam out. “Sorry, it turns out I might be even more useless at this than I thought.”
Liam just smiles benevolently. It sort of reminds Louis of a teacher he had when he was ten, who was always gently tolerant of him even though he was dismal in everything, and would give him better marks than he deserved just because she was fond of him.
“S’alright,” Liam says. “I, um. I might be better at it than I thought, too? At least, I think I’ve sorted the first few acts.” He gestures vaguely at his notebooks, which seem to be exploding with papers covered in his scrawl.
“That’s good, then,” Louis says, unsure if he feels relieved or disappointed that his non-existant expertise doesn’t seem to be needed. “Sorry I’m useless as a tutor. Although I did try to warn you.”
Liam just laughs, his eyes going all crinkly, and Louis likes that sound -- he decides he’d like to keep making Liam laugh.
-
Louis thinks it’s all going rather well until an hour later. He reaches for a spare pencil at the exact moment Liam does, and their hands bump as they both fumble for it. “Oh, um,” he says, feeling a rush of nerves barrel into him like a freight train. His hand feels like he’s shocked himself on something staticky where his fingers had brushed Liam’s, and it’s so absurd that he has to peer at it, because that’s not a thing that actually happens -- you don’t actually feel sparks when your hand brushes against someone else’s, no matter how nice they look in their light blue shirt today.
“Sorry,” Liam apologizes hastily, handing the pencil to Louis. He takes it, for lack of anything better to do, and then looks down at it dumbly in his own hand.
After that, he’s a mess. Every time one of them shifts, it feels like they’re bumping into the other, all awkward edges and movements, forgetting how to navigate around the space another person takes up. The whole thing is making Louis start to sweat -- literally sweat -- because from the moment his fingers brushed Liam’s, every small point of contact is agony -- every time it makes Louis realize with a jolt just how badly he wants to touch the rest of Liam, or have Liam touch him. Liam’s knee brushes his own, and he’s off on an elaborate fantasy of Liam’s hands on the rest of his legs, or cupping his chin, or brushing down the sides of his arm. When Louis accidentally knocks their shoulders together when he goes to turn a page, Liam responds by nervously biting the end of his pen, which conjures up all sorts of ideas about Liam’s mouth and lips that are so wildly inappropriate Louis’ head spins a bit.
He takes a breath in, and tries to steady himself. He can do this. He’s a human being and can behave accordingly, or at least ought to be able to, given all the years he’s had to practice. He can be normal and cool and friendly and decidedly not a sex pest who’s coming over very distracted by the press of Liam Payne’s thigh against his own.
He takes one deep breath that comes out almost a sigh on the exhale, and Liam glances over at him.
“Alright?” Liam asks unsteadily, and Louis has to guess that he knows the answer, but he nods anyway, not trusting his mouth to make actual words at the moment.
“Wait, hold on,” Liam says, and then before Louis can react, he’s leaning in, his face inches from Louis’. Oh my God, Louis thinks hysterically. He’s going to kiss me, and I’m going to be sick on him when he does.
Liam doesn’t kiss him, though. He just reaches over and brushes his thumb softly across the ridge of Louis’ cheekbone, and then pulls it away. “Eyelash,” he explains softly, and then purses his lips to blow it gently away.
“Um,” Louis says, trying frantically to recall the English language. “Thanks.”
Liam just smiles softly at him. “No problem.”
Louis tries to turn back to his notes, feeling himself blushing. He tries to focus, but the words are turning into nonsense squiggles in front of his eyes. He tries to hold out, hoping to maintain at least a little semblance of dignity, but he can feel Liam watching him, and the warmth of his leg where it’s still close. Louis is only so strong, and he only lasts ten more minutes before he pretends to receive a text from his mum, who needs him home immediately, or so he tells Liam.
“Oh, alright,” Liam says. “D’you need a ride home?”
“Nah, no. Thanks, yeah, but no, I’m fine,” Louis babbles, a bit frantic at the prospect of being enclosed in a car with Liam. “I’ll walk.”
He doesn’t manage to get his heart to stop racing until he’s halfway home, but by that point he’s so distracted trying to sort out what’s just happened, he barely notices.
part 2
r, 14,000 words
high school AU with theater club louis and star jock liam
for the beautiful greta, nspired by her tags here
warnings for minor mentions of bullying / homophobia
also on ao3
Louis has a spot, way in the back row of the school theater, the last little aisle of three seats in a row that are tucked up next to the sound booth. He goes there to nap and to listen to his ipod and go over lines, and everyone knows it’s his, because he sort of runs things in the drama department, and also, he’s written his name on one of the seats with marker.
So he’s confused when he goes to shut his eyes after classes and before he’s due to begin rehearsals, and there’s someone in his spot. The spot that’s his. And not just someone, as it turns out, but Liam Payne.
“You’re in my spot,” he says when he reaches him, tilting his head curiously to the side, because it’s true, and he can’t think of anything else to say. He’s not unhappy about it; this just hasn’t ever happened before, so he’s not sure what the procedure is. He’s not sure Liam’s ever even been inside the theater before.
“Oh, er, sorry, I’ll just--” Liam starts to say, going red in the face.
“S’alright, I mean,” Louis says hastily. The day as a whole has been dreadfully dull, and this could prove to make the afternoon much more interesting than usual, so he doesn’t want to accidentally chase Liam off. He’s looking a bit skittish already.
“I was just, um, looking for somewhere quiet to revise?” Liam explains, although he turns it into a question, like if that’s not okay with Louis he can change his answer.
“Won’t be quiet in here for very long,” Louis says, flopping down into the seat next to Liam. “We’re rehearsing, and Harry’ll be here soon. He decided he wants to be Frenchie today and, like, y’know how he gets.”
“Um. Not really?” Liam says, which makes sense. Liam’s on all sorts of teams, good at literally every sport, it seems like, and Louis has heard rumors he’s already getting scholarship offers for uni because of it, so it makes sense that he doesn’t really know anything about the kids who stick to the drama department, or how loud and shrill Harry can get when he thinks he’s being clever.
“He’ll rupture your eardrums, mate,” Louis says, shrugging apologetically and smiling at Liam amiably.
“Right, um. I’ll go, then,” Liam says, gathering up his books and papers a bit awkwardly. He stuffs them into his bag and starts to leave, but turns back after a few steps. “I’m Liam, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Louis shrugs, “I know.”
“Er -- you do?” Liam asks, looking genuinely confused.
“You’re, like, on the football team, mate. And the track team. And some other teams I can’t remember. What’s the one? With the little stick nets?”
“Lacrosse,” Liam supplies weakly.
Louis grins. “Right. So, yeah. I know who you are.”
“Right,” mumbles Liam, going red all over again. Louis hadn’t known someone could blush so much without going lightheaded and passing out. That would be unusual and possibly interesting as well, although Liam might damage his face, which seems a waste.
“Anyway, I’m Louis,” he adds.
“Yeah, I -- I know,” Liam says. Louis can’t tell if he’s just saying it since Louis knew Liam’s name and he figures it’s polite to pretend the same, even though there’s no real reason Liam would know Louis. Still, if he’s lying, he’s got a much better poker face than Louis would have guessed.
“Sorry again,” Liam continues.
“You can stay, if you want,” Louis offers, because there’s something funny about Liam, and anyway, it’s someone new to talk to. More interesting than a nap, at least. It also doesn’t hurt that Liam’s fit -- which Louis had known, obviously, because he’s got eyes, and they’ve been in school together for years, but it’s even more apparent close up like this. Liam’s all broad shoulders and biceps, his jeans slung low on his hips and his thin gray t-shirt pulling taut over his chest, but his short hair looks soft, and his eyes are wide and brown. It makes him looks sort of like a good-natured puppy. Only the sort of puppy who could manhandle you a bit, if it wanted to.
Which is a line of thought that Louis probably doesn’t need to get into.
“Don’t wanna interrupt anything,” Liam shrugs, pulling his eyebrows up in a sweetly apologetic expression, and Louis has to stop himself from clapping his hands together, Liam is so precious.
“Don’t be a prat, you can stay. You should stay!” Louis insists, crossing his legs up under himself and gesturing at the seat Liam had been in.
Liam looks around, like maybe he’s missing something important and he’ll get a hint about it from somewhere around the room, but after a moment he just nods and says “Yeah, alright,” and sits down carefully next to Louis.
“What’re you revising?” Louis asks, peering at the notebook that Liam takes back out of his bag.
“Poetry,” Liam says, sounding morose at the prospect. “From the seventeenth century.”
“Can’t help you there, mate,” Louis says apologetically.
Liam smiles back at him. “That’s alright.” He flips open several books and starts peering closely at the pages of small text, squinting his eyes a bit as he does.
“Why’re you studying poetry, anyway?” Louis asks curiously. “Seems a bit--” He stops himself -- he doesn’t exactly want to say that it seems a bit strange for the captain of the football team to be reading Donne if he doesn’t have to, but it’s still true. However Liam’s probably a lot stronger than he is, so he doesn’t finish the sentence, just in case he takes offense easily.
“I’m in advanced literature this term,” Liam admits, seeming almost embarrassed about it. “I like it, poetry and books and all, it’s just -- I don’t think I’m much use at it? Like, I know when I like something, but I can never say why.” He shrugs, and turns back towards his notebook.
“Oh,” Louis says. He hadn’t expected that answer, really, although he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. They sit there quietly for a bit, Louis trying not to feel too surprised by how companionable the silence is, and the way Liam’s frowning in concentration as he reads, his lips moving slightly every so often. They’ve never really exchanged words before today, but it doesn’t feel as strange as it probably ought to, sitting there with him. Louis even manages to close his eyes for a while, tilting his head back against the wall behind him before he hears the stage left doors clang open with the first arrival for rehearsals. Louis ignores whoever it is for five more minutes, figuring it won’t be the end of the world if they start late today.
-
“Why’s Liam Payne lurking in the back?” Harry demands when he slouches into the theater twenty minutes later, one of his shoes untied and a beanie pulled over his hair.
“He’s revising for his poetry class, obviously,” Louis explains, following Harry up the stairs to the stage to round up the rest of the students who are starting to come in now.
“Does he actually know how to read?” Harry asks, sounding legitimately surprised at it, although not in a judgmental sort of way, if that’s possible. Still, Louis scowls at him.
“Don’t be an arsehole,” he scolds. “He seems nice.”
“You can be nice and illiterate at the same time,” Harry says mildly.
“Obviously he’s not illiterate, Haz, just because he’s on the football team. Really, stereotypes.” He sticks out his foot to trip Harry on the last step to underscore his point.
“Alright, sorry, I’m only joking.” Harry nudges Louis’ shoulder with his own and they fold down to sit cross-legged on the floor of the stage, letting the rest of the group form a circle with them as they trudge in.
They’ve got to finish the read through of the second act today, and their advisor still hasn’t finalized the audition schedules for next week -- it’s generally assumed what most of the roles will end up as, Harry’ll be Danny and Louis will end up with Kenickie, but there are still several that are up for grabs (Danielle and Eleanor may come to blows over Rizzo), so they’re taking turns reading through them all in order, “to see where everyone’s strengths lie,” according to Mr. Whitshaw. Privately, Louis thinks it’s an excuse to delay making any final casting choices, because as an advisor he’s rather pathetic and has made it known how much he loathes making these sort of decisions -- “the sort an advisor’s meant to make,” Eleanor complains regularly -- and it’ll likely all come down to Louis in the end. He’s been Mr. Whitshaw’s unofficial assistant for the last two years, and even though it can get a bit tiring having to do a job that’s meant to be salaried for free, on top of performing in the play itself, Louis has never been one to say no to the theater. Or minor positions of authority over his peers.
They’ll be lucky if they have enough students willing to audition to fill all the parts, anyway. Grease has a bigger cast than their last two productions had, and all the students who are likely to join the theater department all probably have by now. If they get really desperate, Louis might be able to guilt Zayn into auditioning, if he catches him in exactly the right mood, but he doesn’t want to have to count on that, because Zayn’s a good mate, but Louis doesn’t want to rely on him memorizing anything or turning up places on time.
Midway through their fourth go at a complete and uninterrupted reading of the school dance scene -- Harry keeps wandering off so Louis has resorted to physically restraining him by the shoulders -- Louis cranes his head backwards to crack his neck and sees Liam quietly pushing open one of the back doors. He catches Louis’ eye and raises his hand to wave once, and Louis grins at him before Liam disappears back into the school.
-
When Louis goes to his locker after rehearsal, there’s a note stuck on it with tape, and it peels off a sliver of paint when Louis yanks it off. He thinks about crumpling it, because he can guess what’s inside, but he’s never been good at that, so he unfolds the paper as he pulls on his jacket, sighing when he sees the choice words scrawled haphazardly on it.
It’s not the first time someone’s left nasty notes on his locker (or in his bag, or on the wind screen of Harry’s car), and frankly he’s more offended by the total lack of creativity they demonstrate than anything -- it’s all the same slurs, with slightly different emphasis for variety, and honestly, if they want to call him gay like it’s some sort of aspersion they could at least try to make it interesting.
He’ll text Harry to tell him about it when he gets home, and Harry will send him a long row of punctuation and strange little smiley faces that will mean “what idiots” and “that’s not even clever” and “how nice of them to think of you,” and they’ll laugh and it’ll be alright, because this sort of thing really doesn’t bother Louis as much as the people who leave the notes seem to think it does.
So he’s not too bothered about it as he walks home, chucking the note into a bin his passes.
Still, though, it gets a bit old, he lets himself think briefly, before pressing the whole thing out of his mind.
-
The next day on the way to maths, Louis’ so distracted looking at his own shoes and wondering if he ought to have worn his cream colored trainers instead of the gray ones that he doesn’t notice Liam coming up behind him until he’s walking right at Louis’ elbow.
“Hey, Louis,” Liam greets, like they’re great pals and stop to chat in the hallway all the time.
“Hey,” Louis replies, stopping abruptly as he looks up from his shoes, and as he does so, Liam keeps walking, and collides directly with his shoulder, sending them both stumbling towards a notice board.
“Oh, er. Sorry,” Liam says, smiling sheepishly at Louis as he disentangles their legs and they start walking again, Louis falling into step besides Liam. He feels inexplicably off-kilter and forces himself to concentrate very carefully as they go, trying not to get distracted again by things like shoes or his own limbs or how preposterously solid Liam had felt against him. He’s not sure it ought to be legal for seventeen year old boys to be that strong.
“Thought you were meant to be coordinated,” Louis says, deliberately not glancing over at the wide spread of Liam’s shoulders, or his biceps. He decides to compromise by looking at Liam’s face instead, and Liam just looks at him all perplexed, like a confused but good-natured -- something. Louis all of a sudden can’t think of how to finish that metaphor. “Um, ‘cos of, like. The athleticism,” he explains.
Liam laughs at him at that, instead of going all red and stuttering like Louis had sort of thought he might. “It wasn’t me who stopped dead in the middle of a hallway,” he says, shifting his enormous pile of books to his other arm. It’s quite a large arm. Which, like, that makes sense, given how much Liam must work out for all his various teams, but still -- Liam’s impressively built. Louis is only recognizing that objectively, though -- as, like, a detached admirer of the human physique, that’s all. Not in a weird way.
“I,” he starts, forgetting what Liam’s just said. “What?”
Liam laughs again. “Your rehearsal sounded good yesterday,” he says as they head side by side up the stairs to the third floor science block. Louis isn’t going to science, or anywhere on the third floor, actually, but that seems unimportant at present.
“Wasn’t actually a proper rehearsal,” Louis says, because apparently now he’s remembered how to speak properly, and that’s a good development. Maybe he just needs to focus on topics he knows, like plays and theater and all that, and not let things like arms and shoulders confuse the issue. “We’re sort of behind schedule, we ought to have a cast sorted out by now, except our advisor’s a knob, so.” He shrugs demonstratively.
“Who is it?” Liam asks curiously, like he’s actually interested. Louis really needs to turn around now if he doesn’t want to be late to maths.
“Whitshaw,” he answers instead.
“Oh,” Liam says, nodding. “He’s who I’ve got for literature.”
“Is he a knob in class as well?” Louis asks. “I’ve never had the pleasure of sitting through his lectures.”
“He’s alright,” Liam says mildly. Louis vaguely wonders if Liam is actually as agreeable as he seems, or just good at pretending.
Liam stops in front of a biology classroom, so Louis does as well. “Um. This is me,” Liam says, nodding towards the door.
“Right, yeah,” Louis says. He’s either going to have to turn around and go back the way he came, which would probably look a bit stupid, or loop around and hope he can sprint back down to his own classroom before the bell without breaking his neck. Instead of doing either of those things, though, he just stands uselessly next to Liam in front of his biology class, who for some reason isn’t moving either.
“Would it bother you if I studied in the theater again today?” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
“What? No, ‘course not,” Louis agrees. “Whenever you like. I’ve got a key, too, so I mean that literally.”
“Cool,” Liam nods. “See you around, then, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you,” Louis says, backing aimlessly down the hall, hoping Liam won’t notice him going in reverse if he does it casually enough. Liam just smiles, though, then disappears into the room, and Louis turns to hurry to his own maths class, and he’s only a few seconds late and slightly out of breath when he gets there.
-
Despite their conversation, Louis is still surprised to see Liam in the back of the theater again that afternoon.
“H’lo, Liam Payne,” he greets cheerfully. “Surprise seeing you here.”
“Oh, um -- I said I’d be here? Is it not alright?” Liam asks.
“No, no, you’re alright,” Louis says. “It was a joke. Sort of. Not actually a good one, though.”
Liam grins at him. “Sorry. I’m a bit dense sometimes?”
Louis just waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t pay attention to me, anyway, I tend to talk crap.” He flops down beside Liam, because if he’s going to wait around for the rest of the cast and crew to turn up, he might as well do it somewhere with a nice view.
-
Liam keeps turning up, and before he can stop himself, Louis starts to expect to see Liam in the back of the theater, a mountain of books stacked up around him and buried under piles of his notes, sheets covered in his neat, cramped handwriting.
Liam tells him how he’d like to study modern literature at uni -- his favorite sort of literature, apparently -- even though everyone thinks he’ll only end up playing football. Louis complains about their theater advisor, and how he drags out the auditions long enough that Louis eventually has to organize the whole thing, and the massive headache he gets when Eleanor shouts at him for casting her as Sandy, and not Rizzo. Liam listens, and not in a pretend sort of way -- two weeks into rehearsals, he asks if one of the younger boys is still having trouble remembering his lines at the beginning of the second act, and Louis is so surprised that Liam’s remembered him mentioning it that he has to take a moment to figure out the answer.
Harry finds the whole thing hilarious, because he’s a terrible person, and apparently nothing is funnier to him than the way that sometimes Louis forgets how to talk around Liam. Louis finds it less amusing. And anyway it’s not like it’s always, talking’s generally one of Louis’ main skill sets in life, but sometimes he forgets how big Liam’s hands are, or his shoulders, and when he glances at them without preparing himself, sometimes he can’t remember how to make words come out of his mouth. That’s all.
Liam, on the other hand, seems to be getting used to being around Louis, because he stutters less and ends fewer sentences with a question mark, but sometimes he’ll still trip over his words and go pink high on his cheeks, and not that he’ll admit it, but it sometimes makes Louis’ heart race. Just a bit.
Liam will wave to him in the halls, and sometimes they’ll talk if they end up walking near each other in the halls, but mostly it’s just the two of them sitting in the back of the theater together, Liam’s pen scratching as he takes notes on some thick book filled with tiny print. Louis doesn’t expect Liam to start, like, sitting with him at lunch or anything, because they’re not proper mates -- the blokes on most of Liam’s teams are still primarily the twats who have been giving Louis and Harry shit for years, and no amount of Liam hanging about in the theater after school will change that enough for Louis to want much to do with them, even just by proximity -- but he still finds himself looking forward to the days he sees Liam despite all of that. It’s enough to just see Liam here, anyway, in the theater, where at least he feels like he’s almost got a grasp on it all.
-
“Hey, listen,” Liam says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he’s leaving before proper rehearsals start one afternoon. The sets crew has started putting together some of the scenery, and the noise from the hammering is distracting. “I know you’re good at like, um. Plays and stuff. So I was wondering if I could ask you a favor, maybe?” He bites his lip in a nervous gesture, but doesn’t look away from Louis.
“Sure,” Louis agrees, wondering what Liam could possibly want his help with.
“Well, like, we’re doing a bit about Hamlet in class next, and I’m sort of lost on it all. Poetry is fine, but plays -- I guess I don’t really get them? So. Do you think you might want to, um. Tutor me, or something?”
“Um,” Louis hedges. “I’d be glad to help, but I dunno if I’m qualified to be a tutor, or anything.”
“No, right,” Liam says, looking like he’s about to start apologizing. “I just thought it might help to have, like. Insights from someone who actually knows about theater? Possibly?”
Louis considers it, trying to think with the part of his brain that’s not focused on the shirt Liam’s wearing today (which is navy and looks very worn and thin, at least from Louis’ perspective), and shrugs when he can’t come up with any good reason to say no. Actually, that’s a lie, because he can, several of them -- for starters, he’d nearly failed his own literature course. But for some reason that doesn’t seem like it matters much, and saying no to Liam doesn’t sound like anything he much wants to do, as it turns out.
“Yeah, alright. I can try, at least. We can meet at the library after rehearsals if you like? Unless you’ve got practice, or a game, or something.”
“Whatever you like,” Liam nods agreeably, and then he licks his lips in a movement that looks almost nervous, and it’s -- it’s all more than a little distracting. Objectively. “I’m, um. Busy for the rest of the week, but maybe next?”
“Cool, yes. I, um. I have to go over... there, now,” Louis gestures towards the stage. “Because of Harry, and the stuff,” he explains, and he knows that sounds like nonsense (he really does have to go shout at Harry to leave the nail gun alone before he winds up shooting himself with it), but his brain’s apparently gone from the premises for the duration, so he thinks he’d better leave before he agrees to anything else.
“Sure, of course. Should I, like, give you my number?” Liam asks, holding out his hand tentatively towards Louis. “So we can figure it out?”
Louis just hands over his mobile to Liam silently, quirking his head slightly as Liam programs in his own number, tongue poking out the side of his mouth.
Louis may or may not drop a line during a scene ten minutes later when he realizes what he’s gotten himself into.
-
“Oh God,” Harry groans, laughing in a way that’s really quite rude and not at all proper best mate behavior. “He wants you to be his tutor? He really will be illiterate once you’re done with him, Lou.”
“How dare you,” Louis asks, putting as much outrage into his voice as he can manage. Telling Harry was a mistake. Telling Harry anything is a mistake, and it’s his own fault that he hasn’t learned that lesson by now.
“Liam’s alright,” Zayn says mildly, shrugging and kicking his feet up on the back of one of the theater seats. He’d turned up after rehearsals finished, looking cool and doing the thing where he practices pouting into the distance. He must think Louis can’t tell when he’s at it, but he can. Louis can tell everything.
“Of course he’s alright,” Louis says. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“No, m’just saying, like. He hangs around with that twat Andy, right? And those other tossers? But I think it’s just cos he’s too nice to tell him to fuck off. He’s not like the rest of them, really.”
“And you know this first hand?” Harry asks curiously. “Have you secretly joined the football team when we weren’t paying attention?”
Zayn rolls his eyes, and Louis tries not to let himself laugh out loud at the mental image of Zayn running voluntarily, because even though it’s a hilarious thought, Zayn can get quite touchy.
“Niall’s on the track team with him. Says he’s alright.”
“Oh, if Niall says--” Harry starts, voice going all high and mocking. He mimes something that’s meant to be either a swoon or a seizure, Louis isn’t sure which.
“Don’t start,” Zayn says. “Christ, I wait around for you lot--”
“You waited around to watch Niall run laps, you twat,” Harry interrupts, but Zayn ignores him.
“I wait around for you lot to offer you a ride home and this is the thanks I get. Maybe you can just walk, then,” he huffs, aiming the last bit at Louis darkly.
“Why’ve I got to walk?” Louis asks. “I haven’t said anything.”
“Not yet,” Zayn says sullenly.
-
Liam doesn’t turn up in the theater for the rest of the week, but Zayn mentions that there had been an important track meet on Thursday and Liam’s apparently broken some sort of record in one of the events, and there’s the football match on Friday evening as well, so he’s probably busy. Louis is a bit disappointed -- just because he’s gotten sort of used to having Liam around, he tells himself. But he’s known that Liam is busy, and so’s he, anyway. He’s finally managed to force Mr. Whitshaw into making sort-of regular appearances at rehearsals, so they’ve finally started properly, which means he has a lot less time to lounge around the back of the theater taking naps and messing about.
Louis does see him on Monday, running laps around the track near the student car park when Harry gives him a ride home early. His shirt’s off, and not that Louis looks, but the way he runs is all smooth and fluid, like he was born to do it, born to move without having to think about it. Not that Louis looks.
“You’re going to get put on some sort of list for perverts if you keep staring at him,” Harry warns him happily as they pull out onto the road.
Louis frowns, but forces himself to drag his eyes away from Liam and focus on the radio instead, flipping around until he finds something cheerful and upbeat that’ll annoy Harry.
-
On one of the days he miraculously doesn’t have play practice, or the prop room to sort out, or any younger cast members to menace about their choreography, Louis actually manages to go straight home after school for once. Harry gives him a ride again, and snatches a note stuck to the windscreen away before Louis can see what’s written on it. He smiles apologetically at Louis as he crumples it up, like he’s the one responsible for its presence, not one of Liam’s idiot teammates. Louis is suddenly reminded -- not for the first time -- what a good mate Harry is, even if he does drive him a bit mad sometimes.
Harry offers to let Louis win at FIFA at his, but Louis says no -- all he wants to do is collapse in his own bed and not have to do anything for a full afternoon. Lottie and his mum both won’t be home for ages, and the rest of his sisters have ballet lessons for the rest of the afternoon, so for once he might actually get a quiet afternoon by himself. The idea is rare and tantalizing enough to almost make his mouth water.
He’s curled under his duvet in bed with a bag of crisps in one hand and the remote in the other when his mobile buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, he’s surprised to see Liam’s name on the screen.
heyy louis its liam, sory ive been so busy llately. footballs ben madd!! r u still intersted in helping me revise 4 lit? im still hopeless :(
Louis swallows heavily, nearly choking on a crisp. He’d sort of forgotten he’d agreed to that, and he still suspects Liam would have better luck with someone who hadn’t been kicked out of their literature classes on a semi-regular basis for falling asleep too often, but he’s agreed, and even though he finds himself getting a bit sweaty now whenever he thinks about Liam, he’s not keen on canceling their plans, either.
yeah of course, he types. dunno how helpful ill be but i can try
brill, Liam responds moments later. have u got practce 2moro? ill be dun with track bye 4, u could come 2 mine if u like?
And that’s -- unexpected. Louis had assumed they’d get together in the theater again, or maybe the library, because those are really the only places they see each other -- at school. Louis can’t convincingly pretend that he hasn’t missed having Liam around lately while they’ve both been busy, but -- but it’s not like they’re the sort of mates who go to each other’s house, or at least not to Louis’ knowledge. It seems a bit strange to think about it, a bit perilous.
But then, it’s Liam, and there’s a strong chance that Louis is just being an idiot, so before he can talk himself out of it he forces himself to respond.
rehearsal should be over by 5, i can come over after?? gimme yr address :)
-
Mostly Louis has calmed himself down by the time play practice is over the next day, and is feeling much less unhinged as he walks to Liam’s house. They’re mates, basically. There’s nothing unusual about two mates revising. That’s what he tells himself the whole walk over, and has himself almost entirely convinced by the time he arrives at Liam’s.
“Hi!” Liam greets him loudly when he opens the door. “Er, um. Hi,” he says at a less shouty volume. “You, uh. You found it, then, didn’t get lost?”
“Um, yep,” Louis says, wincing at the awkward way he turns his palms up like he’s trying to demonstrate ‘here I am.’
“Right, yeah, obviously,” Liam says, laughing a bit self-consciously. “You can, um, come in then?” He hauls the front door the rest of the way open, and leads Louis through their empty house. The sitting room is small and cozy and absolutely covered in photographs, of Liam and what Louis assumes must be his sisters, in ridiculous Christmas jumpers and on holiday at the ocean and on birthdays all the way down to when they were small.
“My room’s upstairs,” Liam says, clearing his throat as he shows Louis up the staircase. He trips a little on the top step and goes brilliantly red in the face. Louis realizes that Liam’s nervous, and as soon as he does he has to bite back an uncomfortable giggle, because Liam being nervous instantaneously makes him nervous as well, undoing all the calming breath exercises he’d done on the way over.
Liam’s room is like the rest of the house -- cozy and orderly, smelling faintly of clean laundry. His walls are covered -- absolutely covered -- in ribbons and medals, placards and trophies. Louis spots one in the corner with a photo attached -- Liam from primary school, missing his two front teeth and grinning madly in his several sizes too big football shirt. Somehow, it makes the nervousness that had started twisting his stomach settle.
“Thanks for coming,” Liam says, sounding a bit more at ease now as well.
“‘Course,” Louis says, flopping into a twisted-up position on Liam’s bed. “D’you want to get started?” Liam nods and pulls out several notebooks and a copy of Hamlet from the stack next to his bed.
Louis forces himself to be calm as best he can as Liam sits down beside him and starts to look over his notes.
-
“Which one’s Polonius? The son of someone?” Louis is squinting at Liam’s upside down notes, trying to pick out a name. “Laertes?” He may have overstated his knowledge of Shakespeare, as it turns out. It’d be going much better if Liam was revising for Taming of the Shrew, since they’ve just done that one as their play last autumn, but all he knows about Hamlet is the bits he didn’t sleep through last term. Something about Kenneth Brannaugh and a ghost.
“Other way around, actually,” Liam says gently, like he’s hesitant to correct Louis.
“Right, yeah, that’s what I meant.” Louis isn’t sure why he all of a sudden feels self-conscious -- like if he was any use he’d be able to keep a few swotty characters straight, since he’s the one supposed to be helping Liam out. “Sorry, it turns out I might be even more useless at this than I thought.”
Liam just smiles benevolently. It sort of reminds Louis of a teacher he had when he was ten, who was always gently tolerant of him even though he was dismal in everything, and would give him better marks than he deserved just because she was fond of him.
“S’alright,” Liam says. “I, um. I might be better at it than I thought, too? At least, I think I’ve sorted the first few acts.” He gestures vaguely at his notebooks, which seem to be exploding with papers covered in his scrawl.
“That’s good, then,” Louis says, unsure if he feels relieved or disappointed that his non-existant expertise doesn’t seem to be needed. “Sorry I’m useless as a tutor. Although I did try to warn you.”
Liam just laughs, his eyes going all crinkly, and Louis likes that sound -- he decides he’d like to keep making Liam laugh.
-
Louis thinks it’s all going rather well until an hour later. He reaches for a spare pencil at the exact moment Liam does, and their hands bump as they both fumble for it. “Oh, um,” he says, feeling a rush of nerves barrel into him like a freight train. His hand feels like he’s shocked himself on something staticky where his fingers had brushed Liam’s, and it’s so absurd that he has to peer at it, because that’s not a thing that actually happens -- you don’t actually feel sparks when your hand brushes against someone else’s, no matter how nice they look in their light blue shirt today.
“Sorry,” Liam apologizes hastily, handing the pencil to Louis. He takes it, for lack of anything better to do, and then looks down at it dumbly in his own hand.
After that, he’s a mess. Every time one of them shifts, it feels like they’re bumping into the other, all awkward edges and movements, forgetting how to navigate around the space another person takes up. The whole thing is making Louis start to sweat -- literally sweat -- because from the moment his fingers brushed Liam’s, every small point of contact is agony -- every time it makes Louis realize with a jolt just how badly he wants to touch the rest of Liam, or have Liam touch him. Liam’s knee brushes his own, and he’s off on an elaborate fantasy of Liam’s hands on the rest of his legs, or cupping his chin, or brushing down the sides of his arm. When Louis accidentally knocks their shoulders together when he goes to turn a page, Liam responds by nervously biting the end of his pen, which conjures up all sorts of ideas about Liam’s mouth and lips that are so wildly inappropriate Louis’ head spins a bit.
He takes a breath in, and tries to steady himself. He can do this. He’s a human being and can behave accordingly, or at least ought to be able to, given all the years he’s had to practice. He can be normal and cool and friendly and decidedly not a sex pest who’s coming over very distracted by the press of Liam Payne’s thigh against his own.
He takes one deep breath that comes out almost a sigh on the exhale, and Liam glances over at him.
“Alright?” Liam asks unsteadily, and Louis has to guess that he knows the answer, but he nods anyway, not trusting his mouth to make actual words at the moment.
“Wait, hold on,” Liam says, and then before Louis can react, he’s leaning in, his face inches from Louis’. Oh my God, Louis thinks hysterically. He’s going to kiss me, and I’m going to be sick on him when he does.
Liam doesn’t kiss him, though. He just reaches over and brushes his thumb softly across the ridge of Louis’ cheekbone, and then pulls it away. “Eyelash,” he explains softly, and then purses his lips to blow it gently away.
“Um,” Louis says, trying frantically to recall the English language. “Thanks.”
Liam just smiles softly at him. “No problem.”
Louis tries to turn back to his notes, feeling himself blushing. He tries to focus, but the words are turning into nonsense squiggles in front of his eyes. He tries to hold out, hoping to maintain at least a little semblance of dignity, but he can feel Liam watching him, and the warmth of his leg where it’s still close. Louis is only so strong, and he only lasts ten more minutes before he pretends to receive a text from his mum, who needs him home immediately, or so he tells Liam.
“Oh, alright,” Liam says. “D’you need a ride home?”
“Nah, no. Thanks, yeah, but no, I’m fine,” Louis babbles, a bit frantic at the prospect of being enclosed in a car with Liam. “I’ll walk.”
He doesn’t manage to get his heart to stop racing until he’s halfway home, but by that point he’s so distracted trying to sort out what’s just happened, he barely notices.
part 2