LOUIS
// his hands alone make me hard //

I watch as he sits down in his seat ever so elegantly, though he's so tall and awkwardly clumsy. His hair is pulled back behind him, showcasing his beautiful green gems for eyes. I sit quietly, crossing my ankles and biting my lip as he readjusts himself on the chair.

"Louis?"

"Shush Niall," I smile as the bell rings, indicating the cut-off of my staring session, "Let me admire."

"You're gonna admire him 'till you're in hell," he responds, running a hand through his hair and exhaling.

"Hell?" I look at him, offended.

"Let's face it, you're not a good boy."

"Hm," I shrug, adjusting my glasses on my nose, "God I just want that boy to fuck me in five hundred thousand positions, enough so that we could make up new ones--"

"Okay, ew," My best friend makes vomiting sounds and I chuckle, deciding to stop talking about my sexual fantasies.

"I'm sorry," the teacher walks in and I lower my voice down to a whisper, "I just don't know what to do with all this sexual frustration..."

The class continues on, boring as usual. The professor begins to talk but my eyes don't move to him; instead they stay on the boy two rows away from me. I watch as his hands move sharply on the paper as our "lovely" teacher begins spitting out useless information. It's obvious he cares about his school work. I wonder if he has any dreams, aspirations.

God I just want to get into his head.

His hand stops scribbling as he looks up subtly. I suddenly realize he may sense my stare, so I look down at my paper quickly, as if I was never looking. Out of the corner of my eye I see him turn around again and I sigh internally, relieved.

"Louis Tomlinson?"

I look up at my professor, who's giving me an evil glare. I realize that I need to answer what he just asked. I turn to Niall frantically, who shrugs sorrowfully. For some reason, my eyes land on Harry's just as he gives me a side glance and holds up four fingers.

"Four?"

He sighs, writing the answer down on the board, attached to the string of numbers letters and equations that I fail to understand more than once a day. He tells me I'm correct and I smile, happy to know I blew his mind.

"You got lucky," Niall tells me, "seriously, if you can't stop thinking about Harry, do what I do. Write it."

"All I think about is sex though," I whisper, chuckling quietly.

"Then make it a sex journal."

This, is what inspires me.