By the time lunch rolls around, he is exhausted. Hes been tardy to three classes, which in natural defense is not his fault. Teachers keep holding him back and telling him he needs to pay more attention and learn to get his work in on time and its all he can do not to fall to his knees and start bawling: Im sorry, Im sorry, Im sorry, and Don't you know by now I have mental disorder and I can't help that I can't do some things and more, Im sorry, Im sorry, Im sorry[s].
A girl talked to him though. She said “Will you please stop tapping your pencil,” and then, “Oh my god you're tapping your foot now, please stop,” and then, “What is wrong with you why are you rocking like that? Can't you just sit still?” By the end of the class he was sure he was twitching awkwardly with blood rolling down his face from how hard he had been biting down on his lip, and really, whats the point?
So he was just absolutely relieved to finally be with his mates, Niall, Zayn, and Liam, who would let him rock and tap and move all he wants. He would be nothing without them, except maybe an awkward blubbering, twitching, nautically-cute, mess of a teenager.
Plopping down at their cafeteria table, the first thing he hears is: “Yeah mate, I heard he’s pretty fit.”
Followed by: “Well I guess Nick got to him pretty face so hes got to be something.”
And: Nick! Of course that scumbag got him!”
Louis glanced between the three confused with lines settled between his eyebrows, listening in on the conversation, “Who you talking about lads?”
“Theres this boy--” Louis bit his lip and picked at his food, listening to Zayn ramble about how Nick got to the new kid named Harry pretty quickly, and how apparently this said Harry was quote-on-quote “the fittest bloke that's graced this school,” yet, Louis was more interest in the fact that one of the pickles the lunch lady gave him slithered on top of his salad. Louis hated pickles too, and it was just sitting there, on his lovely salad that he did like. (Louis thinks he’ll write a novel: The Tragic Story of Romickles and Salaiette.)
So he picked around the pickle and all the little infected lettuce leaves that was continuing to get infected by the pickle and its vinegar juice, and Louis briefly wondered if it was acidic, and if the salad was slowly dissolving under the toxicness of the pickle. He sort of felt bad for not moving it out of the way, but what could he do now, it was already too late.
Liam burst into laughter, startling Louis from his internal battle over whether or not salad had feelings, letting his eyes trail to where Niall tried to sneakily steal one of his pickles. He pretended not to notice though, because he took the one on top of his salad deactivating his troubled thoughts of (“To Be or Not To Be: Why Pickles aren't in Omelettes.”)
But that was also when he caught a quick glimpse and saw him and it was like everything went quiet. Every single bad reincarnation of Shakespeare acts in his mind faded away and he...