Chapter Text
Harry's six and it's his first day at school and maybe he feels a little nervous, and a little lonely, but he remembers his mum telling him that as long as he's kind, and sweet, and generous, he'll find lots of friends and suddenly he feels all better again because sharing colouring pencils and his bouncy pink ball with the next door neighbours is sort of nice. This reassures him enough to wave goodbye with a toothy grin towards the metallic grey car parked in front of the entrance and blow a kiss once his mum was finished reminding him to eat his lunch through the scrolled down passenger window.
Harry’s led into a class full of children his age and he can't help but introduce himself to every single one with 'Hiya, my name’s Harry. Nice to meet you!' They all seem so nice, and so funny and that kind of makes him want to be good enough to be friends with and he mentally notes himself to be 'kind, sweet, generous' when they ask him if they can borrow his gold Faber-Castell pencil, the one that is his absolute favourite and the one that no one is allowed to use that one other than himself.
He feels a little gutted when the gold comes back half the length of what it originally was as a result of being sharpened too much, but that's okay- he’s just making friends.
Lunch break comes around. Harry is more than happy when they invite him to sit together with the year one kids, (they're one whole year older and that just makes it extra cool) but is a little hesitant when they ask him to share his peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. They tell Harry he's nice, and Harry being the naive kid he is, is convinced enough to tear more than three quarters of the whole sandwich and share it between the boys. He didn’t feel too hungry anyway.
———
It’s been a fortnight since Harry's first day, and no matter how kind, sweet and generous he was, he’s ended up being alone every lunch break after the initial two. Maybe it was because he was too nice that allowed the kids to feel superior over him and boss him around.
He always smiles though, because his mum always says a smile is a key to someone's heart but evidently, it's a different case for Harry when he gets pushed over and told he’s a ‘cry baby’, when his knees get scraped on the rough, stoney dirt. It wasn't his fault he was sensitive, and plus, they would be crying too if they were feeling a sting on their knees with blood dotted over them.
Harry isn't sure if this was how friends are supposed to treat each other and so he's not sure if he wants any friends anymore. He curls up and pulls his knees to his chest, face hidden, silky chocolate hair being the only thing surfacing.
He tries to keep whimpers as quiet and hushed as possible, until he feels a soft plastic ball hit his legs. He hears the tympanic rhythm of glossy red boots coming to a stop beside him, along with steady panting.
"Oops!" , a voice says.
Harry raises tear stained cheeks to look up at the boy towering beside him, sniffles, and croaks out,
“Hi."
Blurry green meet bright blue. Six meets eight. The boy with the scarlet boots holds a hand out. “You’re bleeding,” He starts.
“I know.” Hesitance takes Louis’ hand, loose and slack.
“Wanna come to sick bay with me?”
———
Sick bay isn’t too bad, it seems. They’re sitting on navy leather seats that Louis keeps sliding his bum on, and Harry’s watching blood trickle down his leg, and that is until, a lady named - Ms Travis - comes to his aid. Kneels in front of him and starts dabbing at his wound with a tissue partially soaked with disinfectant.
It draws a hiss out of the injured boy but Ms Travis makes a point to tell him he’ll survive as she presses on a band aid to each knee and goes on to clean up his hands. She tells him he can stay till the end of lunch and Louis stays with him.
“Does it hurt?” Louis whispers, hushed, and watches Ms Travis’ retreating form.
Harry shakes his head, “Not anymore.”
Louis nods, smiles to show him he’s glad. “You know, rumour has it Ms Travis’ boyfriend is Mr Summers. The tall dude with the black curly hair.” Louis’ tone is back to hushed, like he’s sharing a big secret with the boy sitting beside him. “Amy says she’s seen them snogging once.”
That earns a proper giggle from Harry, and Louis is right there with him. The older boy is all of a sudden sitting back up, very carefully carding his fingers through the slick bowl cut before bringing his hand to the space in between them, prompting for a hand shake. “Me name’s Louis, and I’m eight, what’s yours?”
The corners of Harry’s lips quirk up into a smile for a soft, short answer.
“Harry, six." He takes Louis’ hand in his and gives it a solemn shake.
Harry registers Louis didn’t make fun of him for his little break down and well- he makes it his goal to be friends with him.