Dedicated to all my new and old followers and everyone that's reading this.


(DISCLAIMER: The first part of this book is VERY poorly written... like I'm embarrassed it exists. I started writing this 8 years ago when I was 14 years old. My abilities have changed and these early chapters in no way are reflective of what I'm capable of doing now. I can promise with my whole heart that later chapters are much better. So if you're willing to get through this terribly written content then bless you. Anyways... Welcome).

It was an average day in Cheshire. The sky was an overcast grey and not showing a moment of relent. The cracked dull footpath was soaked in rain and droplets of water ever-so slowly dribbling off the amber, auburn and crimson leaves onto Harry's already wet hair. He was so sick of beginning the day soaking wet, tired, cold and in a foul mood. It was always generally cold, and the weather today was no exception. It had been a solid week straight of ice-cold gusts of wind and rain pelting down consistently throughout the day. It was becoming quite a joke at this point.

But today things were looking up, everything but the weather that is. He no longer had to sit on a tiny, uncomfortable stool and listen to his prehistorically ancient art teacher drone about the importance of colour in art pieces. Instead, he was going to be listening to an apparently 'reasonably attractive' and younger teacher. He was going to listen to endless conversations about scripts, plays and the art of acting. It's the second week of the term but today felt like Harry's first day back. The decision to change subjects came easy and it was something that Harry could enjoy significantly more than art.

The initial decision to choose art was purely for the way it was therapeutic; in the way that he could block out the harsh realities of the world and focus on the piece of art in front of him. However, if he was going to stay awake all this term, he knew he was going to have to leave. And that's how it came to be. Switching art class for drama which thankfully happened to be on the same time. This class also happened to be the one on everyone's lips and it all came down to the teacher that taught it. There wasn't a day that went by that Harry heard girls giggling and whispering about no one other than the infamous Mr. Tomlinson. The very same Mr. Tomlinson that had taken over the wreckage of the drama department. There had been a handful of times that Harry had been able to catch a glimpse for a fleeting moment of the teacher, and from those few quick glances he deduced the man was moderately attractive. A definite step up from the 70 something year old art teacher.

Although today was looking up, there was already a slight issue to start with. Harry's damn bus was twenty minutes late, which also means he's catastrophically twenty minutes late for his first class. What a fucking brilliant way to kick off the term. The gates to Seabrook High neared and Harry starts to fasten his pace, because lets be real here, there's no way he's going to run the entire block. If he was already running late, he may as well take his time and accept the fact he'll receive a lecture for his tardiness. But luckily the block of classrooms for drama wasn't too far from the front office, so Harry wasn't going to waste precious time making his way through this giant prison. Well, he likes to call it prison.

The school is eerily quiet and that's because the hundreds of students are sitting in their classes probably crying on the inside whilst learning algebra. That's only just one thing to cry about, there's a lot more. Harry clutches his drama books to his chest, fastening his pace as he passes the front office. He starts down the stairs, his eyes trained on the entry to the dark red brick building. He can feel the beads of water dripping from his hair onto the back of his neck as the rain begins to pick up.

"Jesus Christ," His voice is low and filled with aggravation as he steps out of the rain and under the shelter of the building. Harry's eyes quickly dart around the area to see if anyone can see him looking like a drowned cat and brushes wet strands of hair out of his face. He's thankful he chose today to wear his thick coat because otherwise his uniform would be equally as drenched as his hair.

Harry takes a few moments to gather himself, slides out of his wet coat and fumbles for the door. The second he steps inside he's enveloped with a wave of warmth, and he once the door is closed, he gently leans against it. Harry closes his eyes and slowly exhales, trying his best to shake the feeling of terror sinking in his stomach. He's aware that he's about to get his ear chewed off the very minute he walks into the classroom. Through all whispers and gossip he had learnt this man was apparently quite strict which was nerve wracking, to be honest.

He closes the door and leans against it before closing his eyes and exhaling. Feeling mildly terrified because he knows he's going to get his head ripped off the minute he walks in. This teacher is apparently strict and all. The hallway leading to the drama department was narrow and long, and winding a bit. Once Harry finds the strength internally to face Mr. Tomlinson he forces his legs to start moving again, eyes scanning the walls covered in the multitude of posters along the way. Every inch of the walls around him were covered in movie posters of all different genres in a cluttered mess. His legs move faster than he can register and before he realises it he's standing in front of door "105". He uses one hand to brush the loose, wet curls out of his eyes again and knocks gently before he can stop himself. There's no answer and as time ticks Harry begins to feel more uncomfortable and finally just as he's about to press into the door, it swings open in one swift movement. Harry automatically flinches and his heart skips a beat. Immediately taking a step back and feeling his face warming up at a rapid pace, Harry is greeted by a pair of bright eyes that remind Harry of the oceans of Bora Bora.

First things first.

Harry was so, so fucking wrong about the moderately attractive thing. This man was other worldly. It's the type of attractive that knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you immediately breathless. Right now, this close to Mr Tomlinson, Harry could see every fine detail.

Bronze hair that was neatly slicked into place, and thick dark eyelashes that brush against highset cheekbones with each blink. Irises that instantly blow up as he takes in the sight of Harry in his doorway. Harry takes notice of the way he's dressed; in a pair of dark denim jeans, a maroon shirt fitted perfectly against his tiny stature. The maroon a perfect contrast against his sun-skin. He doesn't get the chance to focus on the ink littered haphazardly across his skin because the man speaks. His voice is pixie-like yet manly at the same time. It instantly makes Harry's knees weak.

"So...I'm guessing you're the new kid?" The painfully beautiful man speaks slowly, eyes darting over Harry like he's some kind of ethereal creature of the night. Harry begins to chew on the inside of his cheek awkwardly under his gaze until he remembers that he actually has to respond.

"Yeah, I suppose I am," Harry awkwardly shifts balance on his feet and runs his fingers through his hair. A force of habit.

"Harold, right?"

"No, just Harry," Harry swallows nervously, snapping his head back to look at his teacher. Louis' face has changed slightly, jaw clenched and lips pursed in a distasteful line. There's a peach-like glow to his cheeks now, and it's enough to cause a flutter in the depths of Harry's stomach.

"I do notice that you're unfashionably late, but I will ignore it. Just don't let this happen on a regular basis, I have a reputation to hold here. But anyway. Welcome to my drama class, Harry," Mr Tomlinson's voice is like velvet, a soothing velvet that makes you think there's nothing wrong with the world. Harry notices the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he forces a wide smile.

"My bad, I am sorry," Harry says lowly, his line of sight now focusing on the busy classroom just over Mr. Tomlinson's shoulder. He can feel the embarrassment rising as he notices all eyes are on him.

The teacher takes a hesitant step back and allows enough room for Harry to brush past him as he steps inside. Harry clears his throat and looks around awkwardly, wishing he could disappear in this exact moment.

"There's a spare seat at the back just for you Mr...Styles," There's hesitation of repeating Harry's name as he reads the roll quickly, nodding to himself as he finally comes across the one he needed.

Harry doesn't need to verbally respond so he just nods and makes a beeline to the back of the classroom. He makes a mental note to never be late again and endure this type of mortification as he feels the entire class staring into the depths of his soul.

"If you could take your writing book out and copy what's on the board, that would be wonderful,"

"Okay,"

Harry shakily starts to unzip his bag and pulls out his writing book, placing it on his desk next to his textbooks. He tries not to pay attention to the mutters of disgust and giggles of his classmates. This was a regular occurrence, especially since he came out gay. They do subside as time goes on and Harry finds the class to be running smoother than expected. Despite having difficulty diverting his attention elsewhere from the curve of Mr. Tomlinson's backside in the skin-tight jeans. There's a solid 15 minutes that pass, and it's spent either writing down notes in his usual messy scrawl, or admiring. But his attention is quickly taken when he feels the vibration in his pocket from his phone.

There was no need to even second guess who it was from. It was Nick. Nick had been Harry's boyfriend for just about 2 years now. They had met in grade 9 when Nick had come to Seabrook for a year before moving into the city. They'd kept in touch and regularly went out for coffee, and some dates. It was never a serious relationship, but Harry was in love.

As Harry slides his phone out of his pocket he ensures that no one is looking, and to his pleasure there isn't. He places it strategically behind his pencil case and quickly reads the message.

Nick: Hey! I can't wait to see you this afternoon. It feels like forever since I've seen you. I miss you. X

Harry bites his lip and he smiles to himself, feeling a familiar warmth flood through his system. He nervously responds as fast as he can, trying his best not to get caught in the act.

Harry: Hiii, I miss you too! I can't wait either! I love you.

Once he presses send there's an overwhelming feeling of being watched. The classroom was quieter than it ever has been, and he could feel more sets of eyes on him than usual. He slowly looks up, eyes widening. Much to his horror he's met with Mr. Tomlinson's eyes that radiate annoyance. Harry doesn't respond as he feels frozen in place, wishing he had the ability to sink into the floor and disappear forever.

"In case you don't know the rules of my classroom Harold...No texting while I'm teaching. I guess you're going to have to hand it to me," There's no sense of playfulness in the tone of his voice, and his face looks completely blank.

Harry's heart hits the floor at breakneck speed. Mouth running dry and anxiety is pumping through his system.

"No! I won't do it again, I'm sorry. Please don't." Harry finds himself suddenly pleading, which is making the situation a million times more embarrassing. His hands tightly clutch the phone and body feeling like ice has been poured straight over his head. He notices all the eyes on him. This day isn't looking up after all.

"Harry, this is how we work in this classroom. If you don't give me your phone, I'll be sending you down to the principal's office and they will give your parents a call,"

Harry swallows hard but then very slowly passes over his phone, his head spinning with embarrassment. Mr Tomlinson makes his way to the front of the classroom, eyes scanning the older teens and making sure he had everyone's attention. He cleared his throat and started talking. His voice loud and bold. Harry wanted to disappear. He wanted to sink into the ground this very instant. He listens to the literal narration of the last couples of texts messages and feels like he's having an outer body experience. He had never felt this mortified in his life. It was pretty obvious amongst students that he was gay but he was certain teachers didn't and he had wanted to keep it that way.

There's a flash of anger in Mr. Tomlinson's eyes that causes Harry's hands to shake anxiously. He doesn't know where to look so his eyes focus on his own messy crawl in the notebook. He clenches his jaw tightly, mentally willing himself not to cry as he feels the familiar burn of tears.

"Mr Styles, that's an afternoon detention, I'll see you back here at 3:00,"

Harry nods but continues to look down. Utterly ashamed. He looks up in time to see Mr. Tomlinson slam the phone into his drawer and lock it with his keys. Harry knows that he's probably never blushed this hard from embarrassment in his entire life.

The rest of the class moves extremely slowly, but when the bell goes he's the first out of the room. He tries to ignore the rude remark from the bully of the grade as he walks towards the door. Harry feels the pain in his chest suddenly worsen. He wants to go home; he wants to drop out of the class. But he has no choice; he must be in it for the rest of the year. By the time the afternoon comes, Harry slowly makes his way to his detention. He's still just as horrified. He enters the room to find Mr Tomlinson sitting at his desk. He doesn't even turn to face the door.

"Come over here Harry," His voice is low.

Harry really doesn't want to be here. This guy was an absolute twat, and it made it harder because he was fucking beautiful. He walks over, fingers tightly gripping his bag straps.

"I don't appreciate you texting in my class. I would never expect this from you, from what I've heard you're a fabulous student. I'm disgusted,"

It was a feeling that Harry couldn't brush off. The sudden feeling of horror and hurt that was swirling in the pits of his stomach. There was a feeling that this teacher wasn't talking about the texting, however, talking about Harry's sexual preference.

"It's the first day, and I was lenient with you arriving late. You looked like a little wet lost puppy, but you haven't left a good first impression,"

The room is spinning, and Harry can feel his eyes burning but he's trying not to let the tears start to build and show. He should have stayed with that stupid, old, ridiculous art teacher. At least that teacher would never treat Harry like this. It's so blatantly obvious now. He's homophobic. He's going to give Harry shit for the rest of the year for being gay.

"Sir, I'm sorry. It will never happen again,"

"If I ever, ever see that phone again. I'll be keeping it locked up for a term. You understand me? Now go and pick the gum off the bottom of the tables," Mr Tomlinson nods towards the tables. Harry instantly frowns in response.

"All I did was text in class sir, and this is my first offence! Why should I do that?"

"I'm the teacher, you're the student. You listen to what I have to say, and you do it. Got it? Now go, I am trying to mark my year 12's. Goodbye," He shoos Harry away.

Harry walks over to the tables and crawls under it. He stares at all the multi-coloured gum that is stuck under the tables and he scrunches his nose in disgust and starts scraping it off.

It would make a lot more sense if he had no ass, because it seems like 99% of it is actually in his personality

Harry's raging as the minute's ticket by. The gum is disgusting, this teacher is disgusting...but this teacher is so beautiful. He feels like it's been hours when Mr Tomlinson calls him back to the front of the classroom.

"You're going to write out "I will never text my boyfriend ever again in class," now," He points over to the table that has a book and pens set up.

BOYFRIEND.

Harry almost didn't pick it up but as the word 'boyfriend' slips past Louis' lips, there was a sudden sound of disgust. Louis shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck. His lips turning into a hard line as he looks at Harry.

"Okay. No texting my boyfriend then," He says carefully.

He watches in slight amusement that switches to anger when Mr Tomlinson shudders before blinking a few times. He runs a hand through his now ruffled brown hair and lets out a slow breath. Louis seems so visibly shaken right now, and he looks so uncomfortable. Harry wonders why this man could be such a horrible person, when he looks so damn beautiful. Louis licks his lips before speaking.

"Yep. No boyfriend or texting friends or family, school is for working hard,"

Harry knew this could possibly be the worst year of his life. He turned back to the table. He frowned to himself, mouthing prick and he began writing his lines. He wrote about 10 lines before he looks up at the clock. It was 4pm and that's when Harry stood up and began to move. He wasn't staying here a minute past 4. He wanted to go home and see Nick and forget this ever fucking happened.

"Where are you going?" Louis' voice is loud and urgent.

Harry turns towards his teacher and notices he's leaning back into his chair, arms crossed. His brows are pulled into a slight frown and mouth still in that hard line. When he's angry his features look ever more beautiful. Harry literally mentally shuns himself.

"I'm getting ready to leave, it's 4pm?" Harry raises an eyebrow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Well, my detentions go until 5,"

"Really?" Harry's face falls flat.

There is literally no way he's staying here any longer. This shit should be actually fucking illegal. You know what? It probably is illegal. Harry's so mad right now. Who does this person think he is?

"Yeah, have you finished writing your lines?"

"Yes," Harry angrily retorts.

"Well, you can clean the whiteboard as well,"

By the time the detention came to an end, Harry was physically drained and completely ropable. He doesn't say a word as he storms out the door, but he doesn't make it far.

Louis' hand is placed on his shoulders, fingers partially digging in to stop him from moving any further. It sends a surge of electricity through Harry's rigid body and he quickly turns, noticing the way Louis' eyes widen momentarily and mouth turning into a little "o". Harry's breathing is nowhere near under control and he can feel his heart hammering against his chest. But his brain is focusing on the remnants of warmth that Louis' hand has left on his shoulder, and immediately wants to put it back there. Harry swears he's sick.

"Don't forget to bring your "Centre Stage" book to class tomorrow, or else you will get detention,"

"We have class tomorrow?"

"Yeah,"

Harry doesn't respond, he just turns back around and leaves. Phone in hand and heart racing as he begins to send a quick text to explain why he's late. It's only then when he realises there's been more texts sent...that are obviously not from him.

"Get fucked," Harry mutters, reading fast through the messages. His body seizing up as he soaks up the messages.

Nick: I love you too babe x

Harry: yeah...about that.

Nick: What?

Harry: I think we need to talk about a few things. I don't think this relationship is working out.

Nick: Wtf!?

Mr Tomlinson never replied. Harry started panicking. He can't seem to get Nick's number dialled fast enough. He's already walking out of the building and jogging up the stairs. He listens to the dial tones and he feels nauseated. He's having a full-blown panic attack.

"Hello?" He hears Nick's familiar voice.

"Nick, my drama teacher had my phone all afternoon. I just got it back from detention. That wasn't me. I love you babe, don't be mad. Oh god," Harry spits out, stammering.

"It's okay, I'm with Anne now. When will you be home?"

"Real soon, I'm going to have to run home, I won't be too long. I love you,"

There's silence on the other end of the phone indicating that Nick has ended the call. Harry is literally sprinting home, he doesn't even care for the bus right now. He'll get home faster if he does run. His bag is on his back, bumping up and down with each step. Harry chest, legs and body is burning as he runs out of the school gates. It's still raining.

This day was by the most fucked up day of Harry's life. He joined the class of a serious homophobe, that homophobe read Harry's texts out to the class, gave him detention and not only made Harry feel like shit, he also texted Harry's boyfriend. This was so fucked up.