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Monday. The bane of my existence, it was a very useless weekday that only brought a somber feeling to the rest of the human race including myself. Monday meant that nice weekend you spent partying at your best friend's house, scrolling down Tumblr until 3am or even banging that hot new chick in your car was over. School was back in session until the glorious Friday reared its head once again. But until then you'd be counting, eyes half-closed, with only a decaf coffee providing you a smidgen of energy each morning. Rarely was it that classes would be canceled if it wasn't a holiday-either way though, at the end of the school year it was like the "What Time Is It" scene in High School Musical.

I wiggle my coffee around to shift the iced cubs submerged inside while trudging my way past the small forest leading to the entrance of my high school. It was one of those dreary days where you'd rather stay in bed, grey clouds enshrouding the sky and ankle-deep puddles scattered along the ground.

"Harry!" cry a group of a girls from my left side, standing on the opposite sidewalk with cleavage hanging halfway out of their shirts and skirts so short if they were to bend over you'd get an eyeful.

I shoot them a sexy little smirk and gain a bunch of delighted squeals in return-what a nice little ego boost that is. Shit, I've forgotten my manners and haven't even given you a proper introduction of myself. I offer you my sincerest apologies. Hi. I'm Harry Edward Styles. I'm an 18-year-old senior at Bradbury High School in New York City. My hair is a dark brown colour, styled in poufy curls and my eyes are an emerald shade. I'm about 5'10" in height with a long torso and lanky legs, tattoos covering the majority of my arms as well as my chest and hips.

I don't see myself as anything too special-but boys and girls alike do. I love the attention from both, being a bisexual and all ever since the ripe age of 13. Love was equal as far as both genders were concerned, though I leaned more towards boys. Six steady relationships with men during the course of my 4-year journey through high school.

Though I make myself like some sort of desirable person, I sure hadn't had luck. I was either cheated on for being too nice or had to break it off because of irreconcilable differences between my signifcant other and I. One of my boyfriends-I think his name was Darren-had cheated on me with a girl. Sounds pretty normal, but guess how I found them? Fucking, in my bed. I guess you could say I hadn't found the right person yet.

Until today. Glancing away from the girls you wouldn't want to bring home to your mother, I was met with the sight of a boy being hassled by about three male students twice the size of him. He appeared as though he was about to cry while being yanked from side to side.

"We told you to give us your lunch, Tomlinson!" cries the burliest of the group, a darker-skinned boy before slamming his fist into the unnamed victim's stomach.

The average height boy lurches forward, coughing blood up onto the floor. My little hunch about the tears had been right too, which were now spilling from his eyes thanks to the overwhelming pain searing through his abdomen.

"Maybe he was too blind to find it!" jokes one of the burly guy's friends, hysterically laughing at the helpless boy.

Not on my watch, I decide. Unbelievable how there was not even a teacher around to stop these bullies. "Hey!" I shout, though inside I'm praying to God they won't hand my ass to me. Approaching these rowdy boys quick, the boy's head shoots up to look at me. "Leave him alone!" Fists were already being balled up, but I had to keep a brave exterior.

"Or what?" challenges the third student, who holds him from the right side. "You're gonna tell the principal on us like a two-year-old?"

I'm directly in front of them now, a sly smirk running across my face. "Oh, but that would be too easy and I'm sure the punishment wouldn't be as severe. Because, you see, those who badger others are cowards who can't admit that deep down inside they're insecure little girls." WHACK! My fist then makes contact with the burly boy's first, who goes down screaming. Pretty sure I've broken that prick's jaw.

The other two are barely able to escape my wrath as I hook my leg around the blind joke guy and knock him down face-first into the dirt so he gets a mouthful of the worms that had been crawling in it. The smart-mouthed one gets a knee to his groin and goes down in about a minute flat.

The boy who'd been bullied falls onto his knees, sobbing hysterically and I rush over to his side much like a concerned mother would. "What did I ever do to deserve this?" he mumbles into his hands. "Why am I life's target all the time?"

"Hey." Putting my hand on his shoulder in attempt to comfort him, I offer the best advice possible. "Life has absolutely against you. Assholes are everywhere and instead of letting them have that satisfaction they desire so, you need to stand tall and ignore their terrible ways."

"No, you don't understand." The boy's head rises from his hands, and my God. Never had I ever seen anyone so beautiful as he was, just one look at his face showed me two sparkling turquoise eyes and a chiseled set of cheekbones directly beneath. A petite little set of rose-coloured lips were pursed in thought, milk chocolate hair quiffed so it appeared slicked back. A red, over-sized sweater with obsidian stitching hugs his curvy body and brings out his stunning features to immeasurable proportions.

Yet my favourite are the eyes I'd found first, the way they glisten as I stare into them. Any sense of the world around me is gone, my heart racing at the speed of light against the cage that is my chest.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" are the next words to leave his mouth, holding a puzzled tone.

"Because you're perfect," I blurt out, and immediately regret my statement. Real smooth, Styles. You just meet a beautiful guy, don't even know his name and yet you say something that sounds like it came out of The Notebook.

"I wouldn't say that." The boy's cheeks immediately flush a deep red and a teensy giggle sounds from him, the absolute cutest noise ever. "You see, I've got this, er, problem."

"Problem?" What kind of a problem could this stunning boy be burdened with besides being so much more attractive than all the other humans inhabiting Earth? "What kind of problem are we talking?"

"I'm losing my vision." The happiness that had been in his voice just a second ago is conquered by melancholy, and he looks away from me with shame evident. "The doctors say I'll be legally blind in less than a year."

"That's not a problem, at least to me. Sight isn't everything, I promise you.'' I can feel the pain he's feeling, if that's possible, and it's so strong it almost renders me completely weak.

Another tear streaks down his cheek as he reaches out for my own, missing at first before he touches. "I don't even know your name, but you give me the hope I've been searching for a long time."

My hand covers his as I stare up at him with so much admiration, wishing so badly he could see my image clearly. "Harry Styles."

"I'm Louis." His words are choked out as he glances slightly above where I am, stroking over the skin softly. "Louis Tomlinson." Thinking for a moment, his eyebrows furrow. "Why did you help me, Harry?"

"Because I can't stand to see the people who least deserve any sort of torment going through it. The thought of leaving you there to be beaten over something so ridiculous as food was just unbearable." Nearing closer, the scent of spearmint on his breath is so inviting as I take his cheeks into my hands instead, wiping away the tears spilling with my thumbs.

His are now grasping my wrists as his bottom lip leaks with the blood he'd hacked up. "You have no idea how grateful I am that you were there to help me when I needed it most, even my own family hasn't done that." Bad memories are flowing through his head as he speaks, little to my knowledge. "It's so much more than defense that you just gave me, Harry."

"I'll always be there for you, okay?" I have never meant anything more as I help him stand on his two feet before handing him the cane he'd dropped in the grass. "If you need the nurse, I don't mind being a few minutes late to Pre-Calculus."

"I'd rather not bother the poor woman, I do enough as it is." Scraping the end of the cane along the pavement, he still hasn't a clue where to go.

So, nervously, I take his right hand and brace for the worst possible outcome.

Instead, he squeezes and links his fingers through mine like they were meant to be nowhere else. "I never did like this damn cane anyways, it always creaks and I'm sure everyone and their mother stares at me."

Thank God he can't see the idiotic smile that's just spread across my face as the both of us walk towards the door, receiving some disapproving stares that I block out. "Do you have to use the cane, or is optional?"

"I kind of have to, says the doctor. I'd be more comfortable with a guard dog, at least they can sense oncoming danger." Shaking his head, the sound of students around talking about the both of them both positively and negatively is louder than ever. "I'll most likely have to get one when I'm fully blind, as if that's something to look forward to."

"Blind or not, you're worth so much more than you think." Gently brushing my thumb over the back of his hand, we're approaching the two front double doors now. I hold the right open for him, gentleman-like and let him inside first before once again walking at his side. "I could care less what anyone might say about you, to me you have not one flaw."

"Harry?" His voice is soft, a lovely Doncaster accent making my name sound like the most charming harmony.

"Yeah?" Anything he says is suddenly the most important thing.

"I really like holding hands with you."

There's a silent pause, and only the sound of our shoes going pat-pat against the floor is heard for a few moments before I speak up. "I really like holding hands with you too, Louis."

Though it feels like it's only been a minute or two, it's been five and we're now in front of his classroom. "I know we're here." Once again, his gaze is upwards, though this time it's on me directly. "But I don't want to let go."

"It's not forever," I promise and see the utter sadness that is plaguing him. "You'll be fine without me, Louis. Don't let anyone tell you anything differently than I have." Bringing his knuckles up to my lips, I peck them gently before forcing myself to pull away from his warm hand.

Stepping up onto my black boots, he wraps his arms tight around my neck and buries his face in the warm fabric of my black long-sleeve shirt. "Just hold me for a tiny bit longer, I need to be home again." His voice is breaking, and I can't help feeling like I'm leaving a kitten behind in the pouring rain. "You're the closest thing to."

"Shhh," I whisper, stroking over his back and nuzzling my head against his. "It'll be okay, Louis. Everything is always okay in the end, just like I know you'll be."

He pulls back, and though he doesn't want to leave my arms, there has never been more faith that life will look up. "I will be, thanks to your saving grace."
One final squeeze and he's out of my grasp, as much as I don't want him to be. Heading away, he gives me one final glance as he takes a hold of the door knob before opening it up.

It is that moment that I realize that to me, he is the world itself. To him, I am nothing more than a silhouette.