Chapter Text
Harry doesn't know if he believes in fate.
He walked into his philosophy class on a Tuesday afternoon. The classroom was full of students mumbling, the faint smell of paper hang in the air mixed with the familiar scent of coffee that the professor never failed to bring with him.
Harry sat down in his usual seat waiting for the class to start. It wasn't his favourite course. It was actually an elective course to help him get credits while exploring a different subject in university and he was quite liking it.
Notes weren't really necessary in this class, but he still liked to summarise the lectures assigned. That afternoon was no different than any other.
The professor began the class explaining ideologies and its philosophers. Today he was telling them about Popper and how he believed that science should always be questioned and theories must be capable of being disproven through evidence.
That's how he explained falsifiability, the demarcation criterion used to distinguish science from pseudoscience.
And that was the moment he saw him.
Showing up a little late, hair slightly tousled as if he had used the open stairs of the building. He scanned the room for and empty seat and ended up settling in the row in front of his.
Just a few seats away.
Harry couldn't take his eyes off him. There was something about the way he moves. That calm energy that he radiated was fascinating.
The professor kept on talking but Harry's attention was somewhere else. He could see him paying attention to what the professor was saying—something that Harry clearly should be doing—as if he was trying to absorb every single word.
The time flew and Harry ended up a bit lost in this class.
He left the class with a suspicious light feeling of joy, out of nowhere. His next class was in less than ten minutes and he still has to walk to the other end of campus, but today he didn't care.
If someone were to ask him why the sudden change, he wouldn't actually know how to answer. It'll be a bit embarrassing for him to admit he just saw the most beautiful boy in the whole universe. What is he, fifteen with a new crush? Absolutely not.
Besides, he's only seen the lad once. They might share that class but he is sure he'll get over it soon. It is totally normal finding someone attractive but that is it for him. Attractiveness. Nothing else
So yeah, Harry doesn’t really know if he believes in fate.
Or at least he didn’t until today.
It’s Tuesday again, and he is jogging down the hallway clutching his bag like his life depends on it. The summative pair assessment is today and it starts in less than five minutes. He isn’t late—technically—but he isn’t early either. Which to him is just as bad.
He slips into the classroom as discreetly as possible, cheeks slightly flushed, breathing just a bit too fast. Scanning the room quickly searching for a seat.
The room is obviously already filling up, the students are pairing off, claiming their seats and reviewing through their notes.
That’s when he realizes it. Everyone is already in pairs. Fucking hell.
Everyone except for one boy. The one who has just slipped into the room, his eyes anxiously flicking around the place. The same guy he saw last week and got a weird sense of something.
Harry spotted him the second he walked in, all soft blue eyes and stupidly good hair, at that moment he thought: Oh. Oh no.
Then he spent the rest of the lecture pretending not to stare at him.
And he was there. Again.
‘Well yeah, obviously he is here again, he is in the same class. What the fuck Harry.’
Messy brown hair, blue jeans, an oversized jumper and a scowl that somehow made him look even prettier. Prettier? He seemed a bit unsure of where to go, which made two of them.
Great. Harry swallowed. Feeling his pulse in his throat. He just stares, like a deer caught in headlights. Their eyes met. Only a few seconds, but long enough to feel dumb.
And somehow, without realising it Harry had taken a few steps closer. As if his body had decided on its own to approach the other guy while his brain had a turmoil.
'What are you doing? What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU-'
Standing right in front of him now. Too close to back away without it being -more- weird. The blue-eyed man looked up, frown still showing slightly, lips parted like he was mid-though. Just like he hadn’t expected anyone to approach him.
Shit.
Harry had no idea what to say. He didn’t have a plan. One second he was panicking alone and the next he was here, heart pounding and mouth dry. Standing in front of the pretty boy from his class.
But he was here now. He had to do something, say something. Anything.
Ask him if he has a partner. Nod. Blink. MAKE A NOISE. Jesus. DO SOMETHING
So he did. He said the first thing that came to his mind. Well, kind of.
“Hey. Do you—uh—do you have a partner?” he asked, voice cracking embarrassingly on the last word.
The smaller man blinked, taken aback but not in a bad way. His scowl relaxed into something softer, even curious. “Oh. Uhm no. Not yet.”
Harry nodded too fast. “Cool. Same, I mean—not cool. Just… same.” Just kill him now please.
The boy huffed a quiet laugh through his nose and glanced around the room then back at Harry. There was a pause. Not an awkward one. But it still felt a bit too long.
“Would you mind—” he cleared his throat. “Would you mind being my partner?”
Tilting his head a bit and narrowing his eyes a little like he was sizing him up, the other one smiled. It wasn’t a full blown grin but it made Harry’s stomach flip.
“Of course not.” he simply said.
God, Harry let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. “Okay, brilliant. Perfect then.”
They headed to where Harry placed his stuff, near the back of the room. As they sat, Harry couldn’t help but feel like the other boy had an easy kind of presence. Even if he was the one who acted like he wasn’t able to form decent sentences before, it still didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who needs to fill the space to own it.
Harry on the other hand was already overthinking how he was sitting.
The professor gave out the instructions with the assessment sheets with the question paper and as cliché as it is, they both reached for it at the same time. Fingers nearly brushing. There was no contact, just the heat of it. Enough to make something twist low in his stomach. Once again.
What the fuck is happening?
He looked away quickly, blinking down at the questions on the paper like they were the most fascinating ones in the world.
Student’s Names:
Of course. Of course they had to write their names.
Clearing his throat (for what feels like the millionth time) he is suddenly aware of the silence. Speaking softly so he wouldn’t bother the other students he got close to his partner. A bit way too close if anyone were to say.
“Wait, sorry. I didn’t even ask your name.”
The other boy glanced at him, something amused tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m Louis,” he says.
Harry nodded. “Right. Nice name.” he smiled. “I’m Harry,” he added.
Louis gave a tiny nod, almost a smile. “That's a nice one too.”
A nice one. Sure. Except for the part where his name suddenly felt like a secret Harry wasn’t supposed to know. Like he’d stumbled into something important by accident.
He wrote Harry Styles in the first blank, then passed the pen over without looking. A moment later, Louis Tomlinson appeared beside it.
He stared at the two names side by side, like the answer to a question he hadn’t realised he was asking.
Then blinked, shook his head, and forced himself to focus.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
They actually worked surprisingly well together. Louis had a dry kind of wit that cracked Harry up more than he expected, and he seemed to get the material without being condescending about it.
Which Harry totally appreciated, especially when his brain short-circuited mid sentence trying to explain everything they’ve seen so far in class. With a very much half eaten pen cap in his mouth.
“Right, so basically if you can’t prove it wrong, it’s not really science.” Harry tried, waving his hand vaguely.
Louis squinted at him, lips twitching. “Is that your official academic phrasing?”
Harry shrugged. “Close enough. I mean, the pen cap adds credibility.”
Louis snorted quietly. “Right. Oxford material.”
The way he said it, mocking him playfully made Harry somewhat lighter. Like they were already in on a joke together. Considering they’d just met, it was nice to have someone who he can see himself being friends with.
Louis tapped his pencil against the paper, glancing at the unfinished questions. “Right. Kant.”
Harry let out a soft groan, slumping forward. “Ugh. Why does that man sound like a villain and think like a robot?”
That made Louis laugh, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the sound.
“It’s not that bad,” Louis said. “It’s just the whole autonomy thing. Moral law and reason and all that.”
Harry blinked. “You say that like it’s self explanatory.”
Louis looked over at him, amused. “Okay. Kant believes that moral actions are the ones done out of duty, right? Not out of feelings or consequences. You do the right thing because it’s the right thing. Full stop.”
Harry squinted at him. “So like... if I help someone cross the street just because I feel bad for them, it doesn’t count?”
“Not in Kant’s world,” Louis said with a small shrug. “He’d rather you do it because it’s what reason demands. Because you'd want everyone to act that way, always.”
“Oh, right. The universal law thing.” Harry mumbled, scribbling something down. “Act only on the maxim you’d want to become universal.”
Louis raised his eyebrows, slightly impressed. “Look at you, knowing your imperatives.”
Harry beamed. “Bit of a philosopher, me.”
“Right. With your pen cap of truth.”
“I never claimed to be a good philosopher.”
Louis bit back a grin. “Lucky for you, Kant doesn’t grade these.”
When the professor finally called time and began collecting papers, Harry felt almost disappointed. He didn’t expect feeling that way, and certainly didn’t want it to end. Which was insane. But still it was rare to click with someone like this. So quickly, so easy.
They stood up together, shuffling their papers into a pile and gathering their things. The classroom buzzed with noise as students began filing out, but for a moment, Harry and Louis lingered near the door.
Harry held it open, trying not to make it obvious that he was watching Louis closely. Louis stepped through, turning back slightly with a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Thanks.” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag. Then, after a beat:
“Next time, study.”
Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Oi,” he huffed, laughing as he stepped out behind him. “I did study! You just talked too much.”
Louis shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Mm. Sure. We’ll go with that.”
Their eyes met, and for a second it felt like time tilted just a little. The hallway was busy, full of students pushing past them, but it felt like they were in their own little corner of the world.
Harry looked away first, cheeks warm. “I should… I’ve got another class,” he said, not really wanting to go.
“Me too,” Louis replied, soft. “See you next week, yeah?”
Harry nodded, already smiling. “Yeah. See you.”
He walked off with the faintest feeling blooming in his chest. Nothing too serious, just a weird warmth. And, an echo of a smile that suspiciously wouldn’t leave his face.
No big deal.
When he’s finally seated in his next lecture, half of his notes end up as useless doodles, smiley faces, bad handwriting and to make matters worse, the blinking cursor on his laptop screen mocks him like it knows he’s not going to write anything coherent anyway.
He sighs and leans back in his seat, twirling the pen between his fingers. Just as someone drops into the seat next to him.
“Mate.” Aiden says, already pulling out a bag of crisps. It’s only 10 a.m. “Did you see the readings for this week? Absolute nightmare.”
Harry huffs a laugh. “Didn’t even finish the ones from last week, to be honest.”
Aiden shrugs like same, and then starts rambling about some party he went to on Saturday. Harry half listens, eyes flicking between his screen and the little smiley face he accidentally drew with hearts around it. Pathetic.
“And I met someone.” Aiden says suddenly, loud enough to make Harry blink and look up. “Like, actually met-met. Might be seeing him again.”
The green-eyed man raises a brow. Not quite engaged in the convo but polite enough to nod. “Nice. What’s he like?”
Aiden shows a faint smile, crumpling his crisps packet. “Fit. Funny. Cute smile. Gorgeous fierce eyes. Decent taste in music.”
“That narrows it down.” Harry mumbles. Smiling faintly too.
Aiden doesn’t offer a name and Harry doesn’t ask for one either. His attention is already drifting back to his laptop, in which the cursor still waits patiently—annoyingly—for a though worth writing down.
Instead, he draws another dumb smiley face.