Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The treacherous, white snow of winter had long melted and watered the flora of spring and summer by the time balmy June days rolled around — perfect weather for becoming the center of town gossip.

The little village of Avonlea, like the graceful plantlife that adorned it, had emerged from the frigid winter bustling with life and purpose. The school year was coming to an end, so the children could be seen laughing and playing, frolicking in the meadows; and planting season had begun, so the village farmers could be seen toiling over soil and seeds in their fields.

But on a day when he should have been sowing his turnip seeds like his fellow villagers, Matthew Cuthbert was instead driving away from the house with the buggy and sorrel mare, dressed in his white collar and best clothes. It must have been a queer sight if anyone had been watching (and he did get a funny little feeling that someone was watching when he drove past Lynde’s Hollow), for Matthew rarely ever left home if he could help it, and his dressy garments were usually reserved for Sundays at church. It was quite a queer feeling for Matthew himself, to be driving eight miles to another village, Bright River, when he usually would be working, yet this early June day was anything but usual. He and his sister, Marilla, had decided that they were to adopt an orphan; a little boy from an orphan asylum in Nova Scotia, to help out around the farm.

At sixty and with heart troubles, Matthew was no longer young and spry enough to do all the backbreaking work, and after deeming the options for hired help unsatisfactory, the siblings had made the bold, and some folks called it mad , move of adopting an orphan boy. He would be eleven or twelve, they decided, old enough to start doing chores right away but young enough to train properly. Of course, they needed a strong, tall boy to do the work, and Mrs. Spencer was to pick out a suitable boy for them and bring him from the Hopetown asylum to Avonlea. The Cuthberts had resolved to raise him, give him an education, and train him up to their standards; but neither of them had much experience with children, and it must be admitted that it was hardly unexpected when the townsfolk felt bewildered and skeptical when they heard the news.

But currently, none of that concerned Matthew as he drove along the path, enjoying the sights of the pretty road and tying his horse in the yard of the small hotel when he arrived at his destination. 

The boy was supposed to be on the five-thirty train, but there was no sign of it; and Matthew bumbled into the station house. The platform seemed empty, save for the stationmaster and a small, scrawny boy sitting on a pile of shingles with a brownish lump in his arms. Could he be the boy? But , no, they had specifically asked for a strong, tall boy, and this boy was anything but. 

Matthew quickly shambled past him. The stationmaster was organizing his papers and locking up the ticket office when Matthew reached him. He looked slightly irritated when he saw Matthew. However, his irritation vanished in an instant to reveal a charming, professional smile. “How can I help you, Mr. Cuthbert?”

“Uh, I… may I enquire about the whereabouts of the five-thirty train?”

“The five thirty train’s been and gone for a while now, I’m afraid.” The stationmaster gestured towards the clock mounted on the wall, which read to almost six o’ clock. “Though, there was a passenger that was dropped off for you, I believe. Are you expecting a little boy?”

“Um, yes.”

“Then your boy’s the one sitting on the shingles out there. He’s a bit of a queer one, I’ll say. I told him he could come inside to wait, but he refused and insisted he wanted to be outside, and decided to sit on the shingles, of all things! But he’s all yours.”

Matthew frowned, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “A-are you sure that’s the boy left for us?”

“Yes, there were no other orphans on the five thirty train, and I’m not harboring any little boys around here.” The stationmaster shoved his keys into his pocket and took an impatient step forward, evidently eager to go home.

“But, sir. He can’t be—” 

“I assure you he is, Mr. Cuthbert. Mrs. Spencer said he was for you and your sister and said you’d be coming to pick him up. You are adopting an orphan boy from Nova Scotia, are you not?”

“Y-yes, but—”

“Then he’s your boy. Come now, Mr. Cuthbert, I’d like to go home for supper, and I promise there’s no other orphan boys around. If there’s an issue and he’s the wrong boy, it has nothing to do with me. Good day, Mr. Cuthbert.” With that said, the stationmaster jogged away, leaving a bewildered Matthew on the platform.

He stood there for a minute while he attempted to work out his next step. In his heart, he felt that this could not be the right boy, or Mrs. Spencer had grossly misunderstood the type of orphan they had wanted, and he knew that when Marilla saw the boy, she’d feel the same. But Matthew couldn’t, with good conscience, leave a young child alone on the platform, and Marilla would be better suited to deal with whatever mixup had occurred, so he resolved to bring the boy home and let his sister sort it out.

Matthew lumbered down the platform towards the pile of shingles and discovered with an uneasy shiver that the boy had been staring at him. Matthew did not like to be stared at or to be paid attention to in any way, especially not with bright eyes that seemed to harbor much more than eyes should.

The child was, well, a boy, and as the Cuthberts had requested, about twelve years old, although the boy must have been small for his age. He was all but drowning in a wrinkled dress shirt at least two sizes too big for him, loose trousers, and a brown coat. A mess of fluffy, caramel hair peeked out from underneath a tweed flat cap.  A shabby carpet bag sat in the boy’s lap. His eyes shone a brilliant shade of blue, and his cheeks and jaw were nearly too sharp, but he was too scrawny and too petite and too pale, and not what Matthew had been expecting at all.

“Hello. Are you, um, Mr. Cuthbert? Of Green Gables?” The child’s voice was soft and raspy. 

Matthew was ashamed to admit he was a little startled by its suddenness. He nodded dumbly. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” the child continued with a timid smile, hopping off the shingles and holding out his hand for Matthew to shake. “I was beginning to worry that perhaps I’d have to stay the night at the station. If I did, I could sleep in that pretty, big cherry tree down the tracks, and that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? But then I was worried you wouldn’t be coming to get me after all, and I’m very happy to see you.” 

Matthew shook hands shyly. “I’m sorry I was so late. Here, let me take your bag for you, and we can be on our way.”

“It’s alright, I can carry it myself,” the child assured him. “It’s really not very heavy. Orphans like me don’t have many belongings, and this bag is so old and frail that I’d better carry it myself. You see, if you don’t hold it a certain way, the handle just pulls out, and I’ve mastered how to hold it without that happening.”

Well, Matthew could hardly argue with that. “Ah, I see. Come along, then, the buggy’s tied not so far from here.”

He gestured awkwardly, began to walk, and was relieved when he turned around to see the boy was following and lugging his carpet bag along. The boy was a strange sight— although the carpet bag was not very full, it was still so big compared to the boy’s frame, and even his flat cap covered half of his ears. Although Matthew had not expected orphans to be dressed in bespoke clothes, his baggy clothes accentuated the boy’s small size, which only furthered Matthew’s belief that this boy wouldn’t be much help around the farm.

After clambering into the buggy, Matthew picked up the reins and clucked the mare forward, and they were on their way. Bright River and its station house were soon left behind, replaced by sprawling fields of green dotted with large barns and colorful houses. The air was heavy with the cloying sweet scent of blooming flowers, wafting all over the idyllic landscape and the child was taking it all in with wondrous, wordless awe. 

When they rounded a curve in the road, an audible gasp left the boy’s lips. Ahead of them, the road was lined with huge apple trees that had been planted by an eccentric farmer years before; the trees had grown in such a way that they arched over the road completely. The branches drooped with snowy blossoms and formed the perfect canopy above, soft and delicate and fragrant, like the interior of a stately cathedral. Below the boughs of the apple trees sprawled the rosy sunset, glowing radiantly like the stained glass window adorning the end of the cathedral aisle.

As they rode into this winsome stretch of road, it was like they had left behind the mortal world and entered an ethereal, fairylike wonderland; and for those few hundred yards, everything felt right in the world. The boy didn’t even seem to breathe throughout it, his eyes now bluer and wider than ever, and his mouth hanging open slightly.

They had driven past the miniature paradise and left over a mile behind them before the boy finally spoke, voice trembling rapturously. “Oh, Mr. Cuthbert, that place, that beautiful, beautiful white place we passed, w-what’s it called?”

“You must be talking about the Avenue,” Matthew said. It was a very ordinary name for a very extraordinary place; after all, the ordinary Newbridge people had named it, and they didn’t have a mite of imagination, nor did they have a way with words. “It’s real pretty, ain’t it?”

“ Pretty doesn’t seem like the right word to describe it,” the boy sighed. “It was so much more than pretty or beautiful, and Avenue really doesn’t seem to capture the magic of the place.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does,” was Matthew’s unoriginal reply.

“If you were given the chance, Mr. Cuthbert, what would you name it?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. Matthew was like the Newbridge people and lacked a knack for naming things “prettily.”

“If I was to name it, I think I’d name it the White Way of Delight,” the boy decided. “Isn’t that a nicer name?”

“Yes, yes it is, I think,” Matthew admitted cheerfully. “Such a wonderful name, and it suits the place so much better.”

“Thank you.” The boy’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, and he resumed sitting in silence again.

Matthew noticed that other than their little conversation, the boy was very quiet, which he did not think was a bad thing; Matthew tended to be quiet too, so he understood. But unlike Matthew, he did not seem to be quiet because he was shy. Instead, Matthew got the strange feeling that the boy was actually dreaming, and his mind was only partially anchored to reality. Matthew had never been much of a daydreamer himself, nor had he ever known one, so he could not definitively say if the boy was daydreaming or not, but the boy did seem very lost in his thoughts as he stared aimlessly at the horizon.

“Are you alright?” Matthew asked as they drove over the crest of a hill.

The boy, who had been absent-mindedly tapping his fingers rapidly on his carpet bag, quickly turned his head. “Me? Yes, I’m fine, o-of course I am.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “We’re almost home, by the way. We’re only half a mile away, and you’ll be able to see Green Gables soon.”

The boy perked up immediately. Below them, a meandering pond came into view, so long that it could’ve been considered a river, with a wooden bridge standing guard over it midway. In the twilight, the pond’s water reflected a multitude of wonderful colors, with shades of warm rose and murky violet and soft green: nature’s very own masterpiece. Surrounding its shores were groves of fir and spruce, and in between their swaying shadows was the occasional ripe plum tree.

Seeing the boy gazing at the pond, Matthew informed him, “That’s Barry’s pond.”

“Oh.” The boy made a face. “Oh, I don’t like that very much either. It’s so unromantic . Why do people call it that?”

“Because Mr. Barry lives up there in Orchard Slope, I suppose.” Matthew nodded towards the little grey house that stood on a slope beyond the pond. “What would you name Barry’s pond, then?”

“I think… I think I’d name it the Lake of Shining Waters,” the boy mused. “There, that’s a prettier name.” 

Matthew clapped as best as he could while holding the reins in his hands. “You’re quite good at this!” He received a small, bashful smile in return, and couldn’t help feeling something fond flutter about in his heart for this boy.

They drove over the bridge and rounded a corner and finally, finally Green Gables appeared. It was a shame it was tucked away at the corner of the village, for the house, although not very extraordinary itself, created a perfect picture with the scenery around it. The sun had set, but hazes of marigold light still illuminated the landscape: cozy farmsteads scattered on a gentle slope, encompassed by so many trees all in hearty blossom. The sky, although darkening, was clear, save for wispy clouds and a twinkling white star that hung above the farmsteads. And of course, Green Gables was in view, a green and white farmhouse perched near the crest of the hill. 

“That’s Green Gables, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing.

“Why, yes! How did you know?”

“I didn’t, I just felt that it must be,” the boy explained. “It’s so— it’s so beautiful . I had heard that Prince Edward Island was one of the prettiest places in the country, but this is so much lovelier than I had ever imagined,” the boy breathed out almost reverently. “I can’t believe this is to be my home.”

It was dark by the time they pulled up to Green Gables, and Matthew was starting to feel the dread creep back in. He enjoyed his ride with the boy and liked him even if there hadn’t been much talking, but now came the difficult matter of whether they would actually be keeping this boy. Matthew had a sinking feeling that they would not, since Marilla was so particular about everything. He was not looking forward to  snatching away Louis’ new home as fast as it had been given.

Nevertheless, he dutifully opened the door and led the boy in.

Marilla had been waiting for them and walked over briskly once she heard the door open. She stopped in her tracks once she saw the scrawny figure standing in her doorway. “Matthew Cuthbert, what is the meaning of this?”

“There was only him at the station,” Matthew said helplessly, not able to make eye contact with the boy. “There were no others. I even asked the stationmaster.”

“No others? How could this be?” Marilla’s eyebrows furrowed into one straight line. “We sent word to Mrs. Spencer for a strong boy. A tall boy to help with the farm. This one’s anything but!”

The boy seemingly took several seconds to fully comprehend the meaning of Marilla’s words, but once he did, his eyes widened and his lower lip trembled. “I-I knew it was too good to be true!” he cried, dropping his carpet bag onto the floor with a muffled thump . “I should’ve known that this place was too lovely for me. I should’ve known that nobody would really want me. So you don’t want me either, after all! All because you think I’m-I’m skinny !” He then proceeded to bury his head in his hands and burst into tears, loud and convulsive sobs racking his tiny frame.

Both Matthew and Marilla froze, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Marilla stepped forward and lamely patted the boy’s back once or twice. “There, there, don’t cry, child. We won’t be turning you out-of-doors tonight.”

“You don’t understand at all,” he spat bitterly, raising his face from his hands to glare at Marilla reproachfully. “You don’t understand what it’s like, to be an orphan with no family… To be bounced around so many places… Nobody’s ever kept me for long. They’ve always sent me away because they don’t want me… And when I think I’ve finally found a home, such a pretty home at that… To be told that I’m not tall enough and I don’t look strong enough, so I’m not wanted again! Oh, I knew it— I knew it!” At his last exclamation, he let out a choked sob, and his head collapsed into his hands again.

“We never said we didn’t want you,” Matthew began, but he was interrupted by the boy dropping to the floor on his knees. 

“Oh but please, please don’t send me away,” Louis implored earnestly, hands clasped at his chest. “I-I promise, even if I don’t look very strong, I could lift more books than Jimmy in the orphanage, and he’s twice my weight, a-and I can grow taller and stronger… and I can take care of babies if you have any of those, and Mrs. Davies taught me how to sweep so I can do that, and I helped Mrs. Bailey in the kitchen and I can do all sorts of little things to help with the cooking, and-and I’m a fast learner. I can learn whatever you want me to do really quickly, and if you keep me I promise I won’t cause any trouble. Please, don’t send me away, I don’t want to go back to that horrid orphanage. I only spent a few months there but it’s already awful, and it’s so much prettier and nicer here, please, please .”

Marilla was momentarily stunned as she listened to the boy’s unexpected speech, but she came back to her senses and hurriedly bent down and grabbed the boy by his arms. “Get up, child, get up.”

“I won’t get up until you say you’ll keep me—”

“Get up ,” Marilla repeated firmly. “I won’t have people begging on their knees in my foyer.” 

Obediently, the boy got up, dusting off his knees. 

“Now, what is your name?”

“Louis Tomlinson.” 

“That’s a good, strong name that’ll wear well in the washing.” Marrilla nodded approvingly. “Come on then, Louis Tomlinson, you may take your bag and go sit in the parlor. Matthew and I have a lot to discuss, and you can wait there while we talk.”

“Okay.” Louis picked up his bag and shuffled gloomily to the parlor, where he flopped down onto the sofa miserably. 

Matthew and Marilla went into the kitchen, further away from the parlor to prevent eavesdropping. Almost immediately, Marilla’s usually stiff demeanor deflated. She pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. “Dear Lord, Matthew, what are we going to do? Shall we send him back to the orphanage?”

“No.” 

Marilla narrowed her eyes. “No? Why? He’s a boy, at least, but he doesn’t look suited for farm work. There must have been some mistake at the orphanage.” 

“Well, now.” Matthew had never been good at arguing his opinion, but for Louis, he tried his best. “Maybe there was some mistake there, but it’s an orphan asylum, Marilla. I don’t suppose they had the best food or the best care there, it’s really not so surprising that Louis’ quite thin. But once we give him a proper amount of good food and a good home, I’m sure he’ll grow stronger and taller, just like he said. He’s only twelve, he’s got time to grow.”

“That’s only a possibility, though. We’d better send this boy back and ask the orphanage for a boy that’s already tall and strong. And did you see him crying and begging? He’s too… dramatic , for lack of a better word.”

“His tears were understandable,” Matthew defended. “And it means he’s not some emotionless, boring child. He’s human .” 

Marilla raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so set on us keeping him?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I-I just know that I like him, and I don’t want to have to break his heart by sending him back to the orphanage. Besides, isn’t it shallow to judge Louis and his ability only by his appearance?”

Marilla suddenly recalled an old memory: she had been a young child when she heard one of her aunts say to her uncle, “She’s such a dark, homely little thing. What a pity, she’ll grow up to be so boring and plain, no doubt.” Even years later, the offhand comment still stung. 

“I suppose,” she relented at last. “And it does seem a bit cruel to send the boy back when he so desperately wants a home…”

She fell silent after that, deep in thought. 

Matthew piped up, “We’ll keep him, then?”

Marilla shook her head. “Don’t ask me that yet, Matthew. I need time to think all of this over. Perhaps we should have our supper first.”

A hungry Matthew agreed wholeheartedly and helped carry the food to the table while Marilla fetched Louis from the parlor. 

Louis shot up from his seat when he saw Marilla coming and stuttered out, “H-have you—”

“No, we have not, but we’ve decided to have supper first. You must be hungry,” Marilla said, not unkindly. “Leave your bag in the parlor and come with me.”

Supper was a very quiet affair. Louis could hardly eat, nibbling on some bread and butter before he gave up and leaving his crab-apple preserves untouched.

“You’re not eating,” Marilla commented sharply. “If you don’t eat, how are you supposed to grow taller and stronger?”

“I can usually eat just fine, but I just can’t today,” Louis explained unhappily.

“Why not?”

“Oh, I’m in the depths of despair, and I can’t eat when I’m in the depths of despair.”

Marilla held back a snort. “Try your best to eat up, Louis, it’s not good to waste food.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Louis mumbled, grimacing as he lifted another piece of buttery toast to his mouth. But by the time supper was over, his plate was still half full and the crab-apple preserves had barely been pecked at. 

Marilla noticed this but didn’t say anything about it. She gathered the plates in her arms and said to Louis, “Come make yourself useful and help wash up.” 

Obediently, Louis followed Marilla into the kitchen and bobbed his head along as she pointed out where the wash basin and soap was. Truth be told, Marilla was slightly nervous about leaving the boy in her kitchen. She was too fond of her own way and how she kept her house, and what if Louis completely messed up her kitchen? What if he put all of the dishes in the wrong places? What if he dropped and broke her precious plates? But, then again, it was only dishwashing, and hopefully he would not destroy everything with water and soup in a couple minutes.

Matthew and Marilla retired to the parlor instead while Louis reached for the sponge.

“Have you made up your mind?” Matthew watched his sister bustle around and distractedly fluff the cushions on the sofa. “About Louis?”

“Y-e-e-e-s, I think,” Marilla said slowly. “I have a feeling that I might regret this in the future. That boy really isn’t some sort of perfect, angelic child, you know. But right now, I can’t find it in me to send the boy back so heartlessly when he seems so set on staying here, and as you said, he doesn’t seem like he’ll be completely useless. He’ll grow stronger to help with the farmwork.  If he doesn’t, he can at least help me with tasks around the house.”

“We’re keeping him, then?” 

Marilla sighed. “...Yes. For now.”

Matthew grinned triumphantly.

“Don’t look at me like that, Matthew Cuthbert,” Marilla said irritatedly, straightening up from where she had been bent over the sofa. “This isn’t going to be an easy task for either of us, especially me since I’ll mostly be the one raising the child!”

“Well, of course it won’t be easy , but we’ll manage,” Matthew said good-naturedly. “Louis seems like a good child.”

“A dramatic child who currently isn’t suited for the exact thing we brought him here for,” Marilla muttered. “But yes, we’ll keep him. I’ll have my hands full from now on, I guess. I’ll just have to make the best of it.”

Louis was still scrubbing at the dishes when Matthew and Marilla finally entered the kitchen. The washed ones were spotless, and Marilla only offered, “Your dishwashing isn’t bad. At least that’s one thing you can do right now.”

At the sight of the siblings, Louis dropped the little scalloped glass plate he had been holding into the water basin and clasped his hands together again. “Mr. Cuthbert, Miss Cuthbert, won’t you please tell me if you’ll keep me or not?” he beseeched. “I really can’t concentrate on anything when I don’t know. I really am in the depths of despair, please tell me.”

“I never knew such an impatient child,” Marilla tutted in disapproval. “But Matthew and I have decided that we shall be keeping you, as long as you promise to be good, and work hard and—”

Marilla was cut off by Louis suddenly lurching forward and wrapping his soapy arms around her in a tight hug. She was even more startled when he planted a kiss on her cheek, unexpected, but somehow it warmed the cockles of Marilla's heart. Never before had any child, or any person , really, willingly hugged and kissed her. 

"Oh, thank you, thank you so much!" Louis exclaimed before moving to hug Matthew. 

"You're-you're very welcome," Matthew stammered shyly, he too not used to so much affection. 

"Thank you, thank you for keeping me," Louis repeated, voice thickening as his eyes filled with tears again. "I promise, you won't regret it! Oh, it feels so good to know that I finally have a home , that somebody finally w-wants me—" 

From the wobbliness of his voice, Louis sounded on the verge of tears again, which Marilla was not particularly looking forward to. "Now, don't cry anymore," she said sternly. "Listen. You know we brought you here to help with the farmwork, since Matthew is getting older, but we also mean to give you a good, proper education and bring you up like you're our own child. We do mean to take good care of you and provide you with what you need, but you must be good and helpful and hardworking. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. I'm so grateful to you, and of course I shall work my hardest and try my best, Miss Cuthbert," Louis said eagerly. 

"Good, but don't call me Miss Cuthbert anymore." Marilla wrinkled her nose. "Only the minister calls me that, and it already gives me a funny feeling when he does. It's mighty strange when a child does it, so don't do it anymore."

"What should I call you, then?"

"Marilla is just fine; everyone calls me that. And you can call my brother Matthew," the woman said plainly.

"Doesn't it seem awful disrespectful to call you that?" Louis squirmed. " Marilla. Matthew. No, it doesn't feel right to call you by just your first name. Can I call you Aunt Marilla and Uncle Matthew?"

Marilla looked scandalized. "No! I am not your aunt, and Matthew is not your uncle."

"Yes, but we could pretend—"

"There will be no pretending , Louis. Call me Marilla and call him Matthew. Understood?"

"Alright..."

"I suppose we should put him to bed now, Marilla," Matthew, who had not said much, spoke abruptly. "It's late, and you must be tired, Louis."

"How about the dishes?" Louis had only managed to wash half of them. A small pile of dirty plates sat incriminatingly next to the basin.

"I'll wash the rest." Marilla held out a dishcloth for Louis to wipe his hands on. "Matthew's right. You have traveled a long way and need some rest. Come, dry your hands and get your bag from the parlor, and I'll bring you to your room."

A candle was lit and guided Marilla and Louis into the hall, then into the east gable, where Louis was to stay. The little gable chamber had a bare floor and whitewashed walls, the bed in one corner was old-fashioned, and the three-cornered table in the other was empty save for a red velvet pin-cushion so hard it could break any pin. Despite Louis’ delight at finally having a home, he had to admit his room seemed almost frighteningly rigid and cold. With a shiver, he slowly set his bag down and began rummaging through it.

"I suppose you have sleepwear?" Marilla questioned, setting the candle down on the three-legged table.

"Yes, two nightgowns. They gave it to me at the orphanage." Louis pulled one out for Marilla to see. It was fearfully skimpy, and she made her mind up to get him some new clothes and sleepwear soon, but the flimsy nightgown would make do for one more night or two.

"Good. Undress and put it on, and go to sleep quickly. Remember to put out the candle. I don’t want you setting this place alight. I am in the south gable and Matthew is in the bedroom in the hall.  Come find us if there's some emergency during the night. Sleep well, Louis."

Marilla had turned around and was prepared to leave the room and shut the door when she heard a soft, “Marilla?”

“Yes?” She turned around again expectantly. In the flickering candlelight, he looked especially small and pale and anxious, and Marilla was reminded that, at the end of the day, Louis was just a lonely and forlorn child in desperate need of a home and love and care, all of which she would have to endeavor to give him as best she could.

“Thank you, again… thank you.”

Marilla felt another warm twitch in her heart that she was not accustomed to. “You are welcome, but there is really no need to thank us. Goodnight, Louis.”

“Goodnight.”

The door was finally shut, and Louis was in his nightgown and ready to burrow into his bed after several minutes. Before that, though, he peeked out the muslin-frill-framed window and was disappointed to see that it was too dark to properly make out anything. But, then again, now that he lived here, he was sure there would be plenty of time for him to admire the view in the coming mornings.

Humming to himself, he blew out the candle and settled himself into the bed, and Louis Tomlinson was thus installed as an inmate of the white house among the apple trees.

Chapter Text

It turned out that Green Gables was just as beautiful in the mornings as it was in the evenings, and it delighted Louis to no end. Compared to the dingy, grey orphanage, and the other mediocre homes he had previously stayed at, this was paradise to him, and he was more than willing to begin to call it home.

Once Louis had gotten somewhat settled in his new home, he began to meet some of the people in Avonlea. It was a small, tight-knit village where everyone knew everyone, and although Louis would eventually meet everyone over time, there were certain people Marilla felt Louis should be properly introduced to.

The first was Mrs. Rachel Lynde, one of the very few people Marilla might call a friend. She lived quarter of a mile down the road at Lynde’s Hollow, not far from Green Gables, and she had heard of the new adopted orphan the day of Louis’ arrival, even having peeked out of her window and watched Matthew and Louis drive back from the station herself. 

Mrs. Rachel was not a dour woman, but she looked upon the whole adoption affair quite pessimistically. In her opinion, adopting a boy you knew nothing about was a grave mistake. What if the strange child set fire to the house or put poison in the bread, just like she’d read in the newspapers! 

Louis had already been at Green Gables for several days before Mrs. Rachel finally went up to inspect him, finally having recovered from a bad headache. The lady was almost bursting with curiosity and arrived uninvited and unannounced one afternoon. To be sure, she had done this many times and was not an unexpected figure in the Cuthbert household, but this time Marilla felt a tiny hint of dread as she saw her neighbor approaching the house.

Alas, Mrs. Lynde was the town gossip, extremely opinionated and matter-of-fact, and not known for holding her tongue. She had taken one look at Louis, who was still in his scruffy clothes from the orphanage, and immediately exclaimed, “Why, but you’re awfully skinny! And so small and short! Dear me, are you really twelve years old? My my, Marilla, are you sure you want this little mite? He doesn’t look like he’ll be much use at all!” 

Meanwhile, a silently fuming Louis had tried his very best not to leap forward and slap the woman across the face.

Despite Mrs. Lynde echoing Marilla’s initial thoughts, she still hissed a firm, “ Rachel, ” and sat her neighbor down in an attempt to turn her opinion on the adoption, while Louis, who had been told to stay in his room and leave the adults to talk, lay face down on his bed with a wounded young heart.

Fortunately, the subsequent neighbors Louis met were far less blunt.

By this time, it had been weeks since Louis had arrived , weeks that had been put to good use. Matthew had ruled that Louis was not to begin on farm work yet, worried that the gruelling work might be too much for a boy whose ribs still protruded slightly, and whose cheeks still looked too gaunt. Matthew had, however, suggested that Louis sit and watch him work to get a basic grasp on farming, which the boy did faithfully. He sat on a woodpile and observed Matthew working in the fields whenever he could, but much of his time was occupied by various little tasks and chores Marilla had assigned him.

It was a lot of washing dishes and preparing ingredients for Marilla to cook with, some sweeping and cleaning to maintain her desired spick and span house interior, and just a bit of sewing. Marilla wasn’t planning on teaching him embroidery — that really wasn’t a skill he would need— but she had deemed knowing some basic sewing skills would be useful, even for boys who had been intended for farmwork. So Louis found himself practicing different types of stitches on spare pieces of linen cloth, and then, when his skills were up to snuff, he helped Marilla repair and patch up old pieces of clothing.

After weeks of having Louis as household helper and monitoring him while he did his chores, Marilla had concluded that he was clever and dutiful, and a fast learner. He picked up and refined new skills quickly and followed Marilla’s instructions well, but he still had his flaws. For example, Louis seemed prone to sudden fits of daydreaming, which hindered his productivity. Marilla had caught him gazing out of the window motionlessly mid-chore more than a few times now and was not very pleased about it . E ven so, she had to admit that he was relatively good at his tasks and was really quite helpful.

Louis completed all his chores diligently and felt pleased at being useful to the Cuthberts, but what he found true joy in were the times Marilla let him play, and he didn’t have to work. When he wasn’t shelling peas or shining silverware or watching Matthew, Louis was in the great outdoors, having a wonderful time. Already, he had become acquainted with many of the flora within the perimeter of Green Gables and was eager to meet more.

A lane that ran through the woods below the apple orchard was discovered, and was traversed often while Louis enjoyed the thick masses of birch and wild cherry trees, and especially the charming brook and quaint bridge that lay near the woods’ end. Once these woods had been thoroughly explored, a spring with the clearest, coldest water was discovered in the hollow, then a log bridge near it brought Louis to another new realm…

He was returning from one such excursion on a quiet afternoon when he saw Marilla waiting for him at the door. 

“Did I do something?” 

“Well, you mended Matthew’s pants and scrubbed the floor this morning,” Marilla said drily. “But if you mean to ask if you’ve done anything bad , then no, none that I’m aware of.”

“Oh. Good.”

“I called you in because I have something to tell you,” she explained. “Did we ever tell you about the Barrys? They live in Orchard Slope, across the apple orchard, and they’ve got two children: a girl, Minnie May, and a boy, Dillon. Minnie May’s only a couple of years old, but Dillon’s around your age, and he came back from visiting relatives a few days ago. I’m going to go over and ask Mrs. Barry for a quilt pattern, and I thought if you came with me you could get to know Dillon and — why are your eyes so wet?”

Louis’ eyes had indeed begun to brim with tears of excitement and emotion at the prospect of meeting a new friend. He, unfortunately, had not had many friends in his bleak twelve years of life, and certainly had not had any close ones. “I’m sorry, but — oh, Marilla, do you really think Dillon could be my friend? A-a best friend?”

“Yes,” Marilla said frankly. “That is the intention of introducing you two, for you two to be friends. Now, get a hold of yourself, for pity’s sake! Mrs. Barry can be a bit particular about who her children play with, so if you wish to be friends with Dillon then you must be polite and well-mannered and don’t cry in front of Mrs. Barry. At least you look much more presentable in the new clothes I made you. Get your hat and come along.”

Mrs. Barry was a tall, black-haired woman who shook hands with Louis cordially and, thankfully, did not make any comments on his appearance. Her son, dark-haired like his mother and jolly-faced like his father, peered out from inside the house when he heard visitors entering and was almost immediately beckoned by Mrs. Barry to come over.

“This is my son, Dillon,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “And Dillon, this is Louis Tomlinson, the boy the Cuthberts have adopted.”

“Hello,” Dillon said. 

Louis stammered out a nervous, “H-how d’you do?”

“Would you like to come see our garden?” Dillon offered, and when Louis nodded slightly, turned to Mrs. Barry. “Mother, can we?”

“You may, dear. Go on and show Louis around.”

Encircled by towering old trees, the Barry garden was alive with flowers : lilacs, dandelions, roses, peonies, and daffodils… under normal circumstances, Louis would have been mesmerized in this floral paradise, but currently he was too anxious about befriending Dillon to properly notice any of it.

“I’m real glad you’ve come to live at Green Gables, you know.” Dillon broke Louis’ nervous silence.  “All the other children in Avonlea live too far away from here, and it’ll be wonderful to finally have someone to play with.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. And Mother likes Miss Marilla, so she’ll like you and let me play with you. It’ll be loads of fun!”

Louis’ heart swelled. “Let’s be friends, shall we? Best friends?” He clasped his hands together in a plea, which Dillon cheerfully agreed to.

"Sure, I guess so!”

"Oh, I'm so happy." Louis' eyes shone, threatening to fill with tears for the second time in the span of a couple hours. “You’re — you’re my very first friend.”

“Your very first?” Dillon was having some trouble wrapping his head around the concept of someone his age not having any friends. Not that he had an overabundance of friends either, but he had a fair share of playmates at school.

“Yes, if you don’t count my imaginary ones, and I suppose Grace Cairns doesn’t count either since she was only being nice to me so I would do some of her chores for her,” Louis said quietly, staring at his shoes for a few somber seconds before an idea struck him and his energy returned. “Shall we vow to be best friends for ever and ever?"

Dillon laughed. "Well, I guess I wouldn't mind doing that, but I've never vowed eternal friendship before. How do you do it?"

"It's simple, really," Louis replied earnestly. "We've got to hold hands, and let’s stand near the old willow trees. It’ll be more official like that.” 

Accordingly, their hands were joined and the two boys shuffled beyond the path to get under the massive, yet slender willow trees near the outskirts of the garden. Dappled light streamed down on them between the canopy of leaves, and the drooping branches seemed to hide them away and envelop them in a small haven.

“Here, I-I’ll go first.” Louis cleared his throat. “To my friend, Dillon Barry, I vow to be a loyal, caring friend, to make you smile, comfort you when you are sad, and support you in whatever you do. I promise my deepest devotion, my truest love, and my fullest care, and I solemnly swear to be faithful to my best friend Dillon, as long as the sun and moon shall endure. Now you can repeat it, but put my name in instead of yours.”

Truth be told, Dillon was a bit bewildered and had some trouble remembering such a wordy vow , but he managed to stammer through his oath verbatim nonetheless with some help from Louis. When he was finished, he said, "What do we have to do now?"

"Nothing, the oath's done." Louis squeezed his new friend’s hands tightly. "We’re best friends forever now."

Dillon cheered and ended it with another little laugh. "I think I’ll like you a lot, Louis Tomlinson. Would you like to come and look at my flowers?”

Louis left some time later with a promise to Dillon that he would come by as soon as he could, which would hopefully be the next day if Marilla allowed it. He had discovered that Dillon owned an extensive collection of books, and was over the moon when Dillon offered to lend him some over the summer. 

Bubbling with excitement and too happy to keep his mouth shut, he told Marilla all about it on the walk home.

“A vow of eternal friendship? I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before, it sounds mighty ridiculous to me. If you were true friends, you wouldn’t have to promise to be good friends forever. I hope you won’t scare Dillon off with your queer notions, and I hope you two won’t spend all summer cooped up in your rooms with a book. It’ll spoil your eyes,” she warned. 

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Louis assured her. “Dillon says he’s going to show me all the pretty places in Avonlea, so we’re going to spend plenty of time outdoors. We’re going to go to the beach to look for shells and sea glass, and we’re going to take Mr. Barry’s flat and go rowing in the pond, and he’s going to teach me how to jump rope. Did you know, Dillon knows how to play so many games but I don’t know any? He’s going to teach me some so we can play together.”

“Don’t get too excited, Louis, you mustn’t forget that you’ve got work to do. That should be your main focus, not playing with Dillon,” Marilla said seriously. “But, I suppose it will be good for you to have a friend, and it’s good to see you so lively.”

“I feel like the happiest boy in the whole world,” Louis sighed contentedly as they reached their front door. “I’m so grateful for you, for Matthew, for Green Gables, for my room and for my new clothes — and I’m so grateful I met Dillon today.”

*

Louis’ first summer in his new home was a wonderful time.

There was work, of course, but he didn’t really mind it. He liked feeling useful and Marilla never assigned him too much work nor was she too harsh with him, and best of all : she gave him plenty of time to play.

Although Louis still cherished time spent by himself, an ample amount of his free time was spent with Dillon. Under Dillon’s charge, Louis’ eyes were opened to all of the nooks and crannies and hidden wonders Avonlea had to offer, and they rowed, berried, and explored till their feet ached. It was a summer of reveling and merry-making, and Louis enjoyed every moment of it. 

By the time September came, Louis had almost fully settled down. He no longer needed anyone to guide him through Avonlea ; in fact, he’d become quite accustomed to running errands for Marilla around the village as long as it was not too far. His cheeks had filled out a bit thanks to his improved diet, his room had lost some of its cold sterility after it began to fill up with little trinkets he’d collected and trophies from his excursions with Dillon, and he’d even forgiven Mrs. Lynde for the rude things she had said about him.

All good things must come to an end, but Louis was not altogether very sorry when his fruitful summer slipped away and was replaced by a comfortable autumn. The new school year was upon the small fry of Avonlea, and Louis was energized and ready to learn, even if he was dreadfully behind everyone else his age due to his limited prior education.

The first several weeks of school went by without much incident. Many of Louis’ schoolmates took to him quite well and, even though he did not like the teacher very much, he did not object to Canadian history, geography, literature and the likes of them entering his world.

But disaster had struck by the third week.

On a breezy morning,  Louis and Dillon were capering down the road to the schoolhouse when the latter said nonchalantly, “Well, I suppose Harry will be at school today.”

“Harry?”

“Harry Styles. He’s been visiting family all summer, and he’s only just gotten back. Harry’s so handsome and so charming, and he teases everyone but he’s so sweet,” Dillon gushed. “I can’t wait for you to meet him, I’m sure you’ll like him.”

“Oh.” Louis frowned slightly. Whispers of schoolchildren gossip had reached his young ears, and although he had never heard anything bad about this Styles boy, the amount of times he had heard someone wax lyrical about Harry seemed suspicious. Even Dillon partook in raving about Harry Styles, so Louis was curious to meet him and see what he was like. 

“And Harry’ll be in your class, Lou. He missed quite a bit of school when he and his father went to Alberta for his father’s health, so he’s only in the fourth book, like you, even though he’s fourteen. But Harry’s terribly clever, and you might not find it so easy to be the head of the class now that he’s here.”

“That’s not so bad,” Louis admitted as they climbed over the fence to reach the main road. “Being ahead of people younger than me when I’m behind people my own age is hardly something to be proud of. It’ll be nice to have some proper competition in class.” 

Pupils of the Avonlea school tended to congregate outside the schoolhouse’s entrance in the morning , that is, if they came early enough that the schoolmaster hadn’t arrived and let them in yet. On this day, Louis and Dillon fell into the early camp, having started an impromptu foot race to school once they had reached the main road. 

They were quite breathless when they arrived at their destination, and giggling like mad. Though small for his age, Louis could run like the wind and had won their little race, and he was dusting off his pants and trying to catch his breath when Dillon grabbed his arm. “There, there’s Harry sitting on the steps!”

Louis turned his head to look and, sure enough, there was a boy lounging on the schoolhouse’s front steps, near the grass. Being almost three years older than Louis, Harry Styles was much taller and bigger, with a head of delicious brown curls that resembled those of a Roman statue, warm, friendly green eyes and pink lips that curled into a grin when their owner realized that someone was looking at him. He tossed a cheeky wink to Louis, who immediately turned away again, scandalized.

“I-I suppose your Harry Styles is quite good-looking,” Louis informed Dillon later as they entered the schoolhouse along with the rest of the students. “But he winked at me, and I don’t think it’s good manners to wink at someone you don’t know at all.”

“Maybe he’s trying to charm you,” Dillon teased, much to Louis’ dismay.

“Well,” he huffed with pink cheeks as they sat down in their seats, which were right next to the window. “I don’t want to be charmed.”

Harry took his seat right across the aisle from Louis, but Louis did not notice or care, too busy taking his books out of his desk and organizing his school materials. Harry himself did not seem very interested in engaging with Louis either, save for the little glances he’d occasionally throw at him throughout their lessons, and the morning proceeded uneventfully.

The same, however, could not be said for the afternoon.

After lunch, the energy and fervor of the morning had dissipated, and with their tummies full, the room settled into a sleepy, unfocused stupor. Their teacher, Mr. Phillips, was sitting in the back of the room to fawn over his favorite students as usual, while the rest were left to their own devices.

Most were doing whatever they pleased. Lillie Morgan was drawing caricatures of Mr. Phillips on her slate, Jacob Simmons was furtively snacking on some candied limes, Dillon had propped up his copy of What Katy Did behind his An Introduction to Geometry ; beside him, unlike the others, Louis was bent over a geometry problem that had been vexing his soul for the past fifteen minutes, and Harry Styles was desperately trying to make Louis Tomlinson look at him. 

He was, unfortunately, failing, due to Louis’ steely determination to find the value of angle X and prove angle Y is a right angle . Harry had tried everything he could think of: snapping his fingers, waving his hand, wiggling about in his chair, and even throwing a few pebbles he had found during their lunch break at Louis, all to no avail. Louis didn’t even flinch, too engrossed in angles and triangles and formulas to pay Harry and his antics any mind. 

Harry was beginning to get antsy. He wasn’t used to people ignoring him— the new Tomlinson boy had been looking at him this morning, for Heaven’s sake, so why wouldn’t he look now? 

He must’ve accidentally been making too much noise because some people were beginning to look at Harry now, but none of the eyes on him were the ones he wanted, and it would be terribly, terribly embarrassing if Harry couldn’t get Louis to look at him now that everyone else was watching.

In a frustrated last attempt, Harry reached over the aisle, tugged on Louis’ sleeve harshly, and hissed, “Hey, you! Tiny string bean!”

That got Louis’ attention.

He sprang up so suddenly and his shoes hit the ground so loudly that a startled Dillon almost dropped his books to the floor. Even with his lean frame, Louis was a menacing creature as he stood before Harry with a very red face and wet yet fierce eyes.

"How dare you!" he cried with the utmost passion. "You horrible, rude, ghastly , good-for-nothing scoundrel! How dare you call me that!"

With a flurry of movement and a mind clouded by anger, Louis grabbed his slate and, with a resounding smack, slammed it straight over Harry's head. 

The slate, along with the unfinished geometry problem that had been scrawled on it, cracked into countless pieces that scattered around a very shocked Harry's feet and lodged into his chocolate curls. 

Audible gasps cut through the room as jaws dropped and bodies froze in shock. The class had not seen anything so wild and outrageous happen for a while, and they watched on with bated breath— what was Harry going to do? Would he hit Louis back? Would they start a fight? A fight seemed much more interesting than geometry, and it must be admitted that several students were hoping for a fight to break out, but any and all of their speculations and secret wishes were halted by Mr. Phillips charging down the aisle towards Louis.

"Louis Tomlinson! What is the meaning of this?!"

"I-I…" Louis' anger was quickly being replaced by fear. He hadn't meant to shout so loud, and he definitely hadn't meant to break his slate over Harry Styles' head. It had all been in the heat of the moment, but now he was going to get in trouble, and what would Marilla and Matthew say? 

"It's all my fault, sir," Harry murmured. "I was the one who provoked him by calling him names, and—"

"Be quiet, Harry," Mr. Phillips ordered. "Tomlinson, this is absolutely unacceptable . I am ashamed to see one of my students having such a temper and being so violent towards a fellow classmate. You must be punished, immediately."

Our poor protagonist was dragged to the front of the classroom and forced to stand up on the platform in front of the blackboard, where everyone could see him clearly. "You are to stand here for the rest of the afternoon," the schoolmaster barked. "And you called Harry names, didn't you? Well, let's see how you like the taste of your own medicine."

Mr. Phillips picked up a piece of white chalk and wrote on the board in large letters, Louis Tomlinson is a good-for-nothing scoundrel. "There, write that fifty times, and perhaps you'll learn your lesson."

Louis’ face burned as he took the chalk from Mr. Phillips’ hand with trembling fingers and glanced around the room. He could feel Dillon and their friends’ sympathetic gazes on him, but he could not bear to meet anyone’s eyes, and he did not even bother to look at Harry, his tormentor, who probably had some smug smile on his face. Louis had never endured so much humiliation and shame, and his eyes had already begun to prick with tears when he heard Mr. Phillips mutter quietly, “That’s what people get for adopting strange orphans. The Cuthberts should have known better.”

Oh, how hateful this teacher was! Louis promptly resolved not to give Mr. Phillips or that wretched Harry Styles the satisfaction of seeing him cry— he would take his punishment with indifference and save his tears for the privacy of his own bedroom. Furiously blinking his damp eyes and hardening his mouth, he stoically turned to face the blackboard and lifted his hand up to write. 

Louis Tomlinson is a good-for-nothing scoundrel. Louis Tomlinson is a good-for-nothing scoundrel. Louis Tomlinson is a good-for-nothing scoundrel… 

When school was finally dismissed, Louis left accompanied by Dillon, who was rubbing his back and already badmouthing Mr. Phillips, and suggesting that they go home and eat some of Mrs. Barry’s leftover raspberry tarts to lift their spirits. But when they reached the porch door, they found that Harry Styles was waiting for them— or, more specifically, waiting for Louis.

He had a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley in his hand and held the flowers out to Louis sheepishly. “I’m sorry I called you that in school, Louis,” he said shyly. “I was being silly and I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble like that. Don’t be mad at me for keeps now, okay?” 

Louis merely scoffed and stomped past him with a haughty jut to his chin. 

Dillon’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Lou! Where are you going?” he whisper-shouted, chasing after his friend. “Aren’t you going to forgive him?”

“No. He insulted me terribly, Dill.”

“But didn’t you forgive Mrs. Lynde, even though she made rude comments about your appearance too?” Dillon tried desperately. He hated conflict, especially between two of his friends, and in any case he felt it was wrong to just brush Harry off like that without saying anything. 

“Mrs. Lynde is a good friend of Marilla and Matthew, and I forgave her for their sake,” Louis said stiffly. “And anyhow, Mrs. Lynde didn’t call me a tiny string bean .” 

“But, see, Harry calls lots of people names. He doesn’t really mean it. He’s just teasing and being silly. And he’s never, ever apologized for it to anyone before, much less with flowers .” To Dillon, that would’ve been enough to make him forgive Harry. He was so good-looking and sweet and it was so romantic to apologize with flowers! Who could resist that?

But Louis viewed things differently.

“Well, he shouldn’t be calling anyone names. Especially not ones that insult people’s appearances,” Louis retorted. It was one thing to have to face humiliation in front of the whole class; it was another thing to have his physical insecurities picked out and laughed at. “First Matthew and Marilla didn’t want to adopt me because they said I was scrawny, then Mrs. Lynde said I’m skinny, then today that Styles boy called me a tiny string bean. This is the last straw!”

Alas, things only escalated thereafter, as things are apt to do. 

The very next day, Mr. Phillips came to school with a headache-induced surly expression on his face that did not bode well for his pupils. He rushed through the lesson with a sharper tongue than usual and, when he assigned the class problems to solve by themselves, did not even bother going to the back of the room to assist his favorites like he usually did. Instead, he retired to his desk with a glass of water and surveyed the class sullenly.  

The Avonlea scholars had picked up on their teacher’s irascible grouchiness and were quiet as church mice as they worked. Even the squeak of a pencil and the shuffle of shoes against wood struck worry in the students' hearts. Who knew what could set their teacher off? 

They worked for about an hour with no notable happenings, that is, if you didn't count the twelve times someone's pencil squeaked too loud, or the two times somebody coughed, all of which resulted in dirty glares from Mr. Phillips. 

Louis had been toiling over a fractions problem for several minutes— it seemed that mathematics really wasn't his forte, unfortunately— and he was getting frustrated. He did know his fractions, but this type of problem hadn't been taught by Mr. Phillips so far, yet he had requested the students finish all of the problems before school was dismissed.

Seeing that he didn't have much of a choice, Louis leaned closer to Dillon. His best friend was ahead of him, so he would likely know the answer, and if Louis asked in the quietest whisper he could muster, Mr. Phillips wouldn't mind it, right? But as soon as the words, "Do you know how to do this, Dill?" left Louis' mouth, he heard Mr. Phillips' glass slam harshly onto the desk, causing some of the water to splash out and soak into the wood.

"Mr. Tomlinson," the teacher rebuked coldly. "You are being a nuisance to me and to this class again. This is meant to be individual work, not a social hour. Go sit next to Harry."

"But I—"

"Go. Sit. Next.To. Him." Mr. Phillips glowered. "Or would you like to be whipped for your insolence, Mr. Tomlinson?" 

"N-no sir," Louis stuttered out. White-faced, he gathered his books and materials from his desk, and after Dillon squeezed his arm comfortingly, slowly moved across the aisle to sit in the empty seat next to Harry.

Everyone's eyes were on him as he sank into the chair. Everyone except Harry, whose face glowed a bright shade of magenta, and who was focused on the fractions in front of him like they were the most important thing in the world.

For the second time in two days, Louis was the most humiliated he ever had been in his entire life. Whatever scraps had been left of his dignity were flushed down the drain now, and he felt like an empty husk in his chair, tired and listless and dull.

To be singled out and scolded, and to be forced to sit next to Harry Styles out of all people— this really was the last straw. 

Despite his deepening dislike for Mr. Phillips, Louis’ love of learning outweighed his desire to hold a grudge against the only teacher in the village, so instead all of his pent up resentment was channeled towards the next easiest target: Harry Styles.

To be sure, Harry was not a very easy person to resent, but Louis was not an easily forgiving person, either.

A few days later, Louis was leaving Green Gables to borrow some sugar from the Barrys when he almost tripped on a small basket sitting on the front steps. Inside were some homemade chocolate cookies, mouth-watering and inviting and still a little warm to the touch. Nestled inside was an apology note that had been signed H.S. , which promptly stopped Louis from nibbling on a freshly baked cookie. Pity, they did smell so delicious and chocolatey, and it was quite kind of Harry to bake him cookies, but Louis was never going to eat something that came from the enemy. Plus, the basket had been placed on the front steps, a place where Louis could’ve easily tripped over them, fallen down the steps and broken his neck, so it was obviously a secret ploy by Harry to murder him. Clearly, Harry was just pretending to be sorry. 

The next day, a handful of pink and red heart-shaped candies with various inscriptions on them appeared on Louis’ school desk, accompanied by another note from H.S.  

“How cute is that?” Dillon was practically swooning at the sight of them. “Look, this one says You Are Sweet . And this one says Cutie Pie . And this one says You’re A Dreamboat !”

“I don’t care what they say,” Louis said stubbornly, gathering all the candies and shoving them into Dillon’s hands carelessly. “You can have them if you like them so much.”  

“I love them! They’re adorable. But they’re meant for you .”

“I don’t want them.” He glanced over at the opposite corner of the classroom, where Harry was chatting to someone and casting sidelong looks in Louis’ general direction, like he was trying to see what reaction his candies had produced. “Harry Styles must’ve put poison in them or something. On second thoughts, maybe don’t eat the candies.”

“Don’t be silly, Lou,” Dillon tutted. “He’d never do that.” 

“You’re right. He’s too dim-witted to figure out how to put poison in candy.”

“ Louis !” Dillon gasped. “You’re being terribly mean to him, you know.”

“He was terribly mean to me !” Louis protested. “No amount of gifts can change that. I won’t accept his bribes. Not now, not ever.”

Louis ignored Dillon's pleas for him to forgive Harry, the fact that Marilla thought he was being ridiculous, and all of the flowers and heart candies Harry had brought to school or left on his doorstep in an effort to appease him. None of them understood how deeply he had been hurt, or how excruciatingly humiliated he had felt, so in Louis’ eyes they had no right to tell him what to do. All of Harry's flowers were tossed aside, and his candies were either given to Dillon or crushed under the heel of Louis' unrelenting shoe. 

"My mind has been made up," he told a hapless Dillon several evenings later. "I shall never forgive Harry Styles. Never ."

*

The breezy autumn cooled into a harsh winter, which softened back to an airy spring, and through it Louis did not speak to Harry again for almost the entire year, even if little gifts persisted in showing up once a month. 

He pretended that the curly boy did not exist at all, and swept past him disdainfully if he experienced the misfortune of meeting Harry in the street or standing too close to him in school. Whenever anyone mentioned his name, Louis would turn away or distract himself, or try to change the subject completely. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

But ignoring Harry Styles' existence was a little harder than Louis had originally expected. 

Louis had thrown himself into his studies, determined to learn and catch up to Dillon and all the classmates his age, and determined to never be surpassed in any subject by Harry. Consequently, Louis often covertly noted what page in the textbook Harry was on, which problem he had finished up to, and what his marks on the latest test were. How else was he supposed to beat Harry if he didn’t keep tabs on him? He would be loath to admit it, though, since admitting it would mean acknowledging Harry existed, and as far as Louis was concerned, he didn't.

A rivalry soon emerged between them, and although Harry saw it as friendly and all in good fun, Louis saw it as his life's mission to defeat his rival. On days when Harry was the head of class and had his name written proudly on the blackboard on the roll of honor, Louis felt himself a failure and would spend the night buried in his textbooks until his eyes hurt and Marilla told him to go to bed. On days when Louis was the head of class, he would look over at Harry triumphantly, hoping to see him bitter and disappointed, but his satisfaction was marred when Harry would instead smile and shake his hand and congratulate him heartily. 

It was hard to pretend someone didn't exist when they seemed so happy for you.

Nevertheless, the tactic of ignoring and avoiding seemed to work well, and Louis’ life was becoming very Harry-Styles-free for a good while. 

But, of course, fate had other plans.

Secluded in the woods behind Green Gables, there was a small myrtle grove that Louis liked to visit. Besides the soft, lush grass that carpeted the ground, there were little bunches of lilies-of-the-valley and daisies dotted around, and a few boulders that he could sit on. A small brook ran near it and, although there were many pretty places in Avonlea, Louis felt like this grove, which he had christened Dryad’s Cradle, was the prettiest, most special of all.

It was quiet, since it was hidden in the outskirts of the village, and heavenly, and Louis did not even take Dillon here to play. As far as he knew, he was the only one who came to the little grove behind Green Gables, and he liked it that way. 

He wasn’t an unsocial or stingy soul and didn’t mind sharing whatever he found with his friends, but all people need something that solely belongs to them, and for Louis Dryad’s Cradle was that. He came whenever he needed some tranquility to study or just time to himself when he wanted to be alone, and the company of the myrtles and flowers always seemed to give him what he needed.

So imagine his surprise when one day, while he was sitting on a boulder in Dryad’s Cradle and reading a book, he heard a merry whistle and looked up to see Harry Styles sauntering into the grove.

The whistle died on his lips when he spotted his classmate on the boulder, but he quickly grinned and waved. “Hi, Louis! What are you doing here?”

Louis’ eyes widened in panic. He wouldn’t have even liked his best friend coming here, and now that loathsome Styles boy had come to taint his refuge? “G-go away.”

“What?”

“Go away!”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“This is my place and I don’t want you here.”

“You don’t own the woods, you know,” Harry said, leaning against the trunk of a tree and raising an eyebrow. 

“I found it first so it’s mine!” Louis declared fiercely, like a jealous child trying to protect his favorite toy.

"Well, I've been coming here since I was little, before you came to Avonlea, so I'm afraid that's not really true." The smile on Harry's face was good-natured, but to Louis it looked like the smirk of the devil himself.

His fingers trembled against the pages of his book and he felt a desperate whimper rise up in his throat. This was his part of the woods, his place, his haven, and was Harry going to take that away from him too?

"Are you— are you crying?" Harry pushed off from the tree, face crinkling with concern. "What's the matter?" 

Louis cursed himself for the tears, but now that one drop had been squeezed out and was running down his cheeks, the rest were unstoppable. " Go away! " he cried out again with a choked sob before he was scrambling off the boulder and tearing off through the woods until he was far, far away.

It was two weeks before Louis managed to build up the courage to return to Dryad's Cradle. He didn't want to run into Harry again, but he missed his safe place and had figured that as long as he was careful and cautious, he'd be able to avoid meeting Harry there again.

He didn't have to worry, though, because after that tearful spring day, Louis never saw Harry Styles in Dryad's Cradle again, and the little grove returned to being comforting and sweet once more.

*

Summer came in a burst of warmth and gold and laughter, and to the student's joy, it marked the end of the school year and the departure of their teacher, Mr. Phillips.

But to Louis, it marked something far more important. 

"Matthew! Marilla!" he sang, skipping down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"No skipping inside the house," Marilla snapped. "Walk properly, please."

"Yes, sorry." Louis stopped bounding around and slid into his seat, still cheery. "I'm just so happy today!"

"What for? Did something happen?" Matthew sat down opposite Louis and couldn't help being infected by the boy's happiness and smiling. 

"Do you know what day it is today?"

"Well now, I dunno."

"It's been one year since I came to Green Gables!" Louis explained. "And it's been the best year of my life yet."

"Is it really?" Marilla slid a plate of eggs and toast towards each of them. "My, it doesn't feel like a year. It feels longer."

"It feels like we've had you forever, doesn't it?" Matthew agreed. "To be honest, I can't remember what life was like before you came, Louis."

Louis flushed. "Well, I'm really grateful you decided to keep me. It truly, truly has been a wonderful year, and I'm so grateful."

"We're glad we decided to keep you, too," Marilla murmured in a rare display of softness. "You have been a good child and a good helper, and done excellently in school. I hope you shall keep it up."

Unlike the previous summer, Louis found himself in the company of many friends, instead of only one. Of course Dillon remained his best friend, and the one he liked more than all of the others, but being able to have fun with so many people made for a glorious and satisfying social life.

It was on one hazy afternoon that some of the pupils of Louis’ class decided to have a party. Dillon was chosen to be the host, partly because of his mother’s famous raspberry tarts, partly because he had a spacious garden; and luckily Marilla had allowed Louis to go to the party, after some reassurance that the party would be a small one, with select guests. 

Unfortunately, Harry Styles was one of these guests. In his venture to pretend a certain boy did not exist, Louis had not asked Dillon to kick Harry off the guest list when they were discussing the party, and consequently there was a tall, curly boy among the group of people that arrived at Orchard Slope.

“Hello, everyone!” Dillon greeted them at the door with a jolly smile. “Come on in! As promised, Mother’s made us some raspberry tarts, two per person, and tea is all ready for you.”

Tea was pleasant and everything you could expect tea to be: besides Mrs. Barry’s raspberry tarts, there were delicate finger sandwiches and crumbly scones and an ornate fruit platter, and of course tea steaming in little china teacups.

After tea, the group found themselves settled in the Barry’s garden to play Truth or Dare, and they were seated in a circle on the grass, under the shade of the old willow trees.

“Truth or dare, Harry?” Lillie Morgan turned to face him, and the rest of the students, except Louis, followed suit with anticipating eyes.

“Uh, truth.” 

Louis scoffed quietly. Of course someone as witless and spineless as Harry Styles would pick a boring truth . 

“Alright. Hmm… which person here do you think is the most good-looking?” 

There were some “oohs” and “ahhs” from around the circle as Harry’s cheeks turned pink, and Louis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He did not care in the slightest who Harry thought was the most handsome in their group and was hoping Harry’s turn would be over soon so something actually interesting could happen.

Harry, however, was taking a ridiculous amount of time to answer. He was surveying each person in the circle, and his eyes seemed to linger on Louis’ face for a suspiciously long amount of time, but he finally said, “I’d say, uh, myself.”

Witless, spineless, and vain. What a loser.

“Boo! That’s a terrible answer, H,” Lillie complained. 

“What? Can’t I say myself?”

“You can, but it’s not a fun answer at all. Come on, Harry! Who's the most good-looking?”

When Harry offered no other answer, Lillie opened his mouth to chastise him again, but Dillon cut her off before she could make a sound. “Alright, Lillie, leave him alone. Now, truth or dare, Lou?”

“Dare,” Louis declared loudly. He wasn’t going to be boring. 

“I dare Louis to walk the ridgepole of Mr. Barry’s kitchen roof,” Elliot Boyd interjected before Dillon could think of a dare. 

Immediately, there was a rush of gasps, some of excitement, some of shock, and some of concern. Walking the ridgepole meant walking and balancing on the very top of the angled roof, something that could surely cause injury if done wrongly. The kitchen roof was no low one either, and its height combined with the difficulty of balancing on a narrow pole made for a perilous dare.

“Elliot! What are you on about?” Dillon whipped his head around to glare at him. “It’s unfair and stupid to dare someone to do something so dangerous. Think of another one.”

“Well, Louis hasn’t refused to do it yet,” Elliot argued back. “I shall think of another one when he says so.” Elliot Boyd was a classmate, and wasn’t very wicked or hateful, but his face was too round and pasty and he never said anything smart or interesting, all he did was smile like some fool, and he was certainly not some kind of Prince Charming. Together with the fact that he was too given to staring at Louis with infatuated eyes, and the fact that he had just dared Louis to walk on the ridgepole, Louis did not like him very much.

Louis’ face twisted with indecision. Rationally, he knew he should refuse— he did not want to get himself killed just for a silly dare, but at the same time his honor was at stake. He did not want to be viewed as timid and cowardly by his classmates, and surely he had enough balance in him to walk the ridgepole? He was still on the fence, teetering back and forth between yes and no when he heard a deep, familiar voice speak.

“Please, don’t do it, Louis. It’s too dangerous and you’ll get yourself seriously hurt.”

Harry’s voice was laced with something that sounded like worry, but was probably some sort of act or mocking. So he thought Louis couldn’t walk the ridgepole! Well, Louis would just have to prove him wrong.

“I’ll do it. I’ll walk the ridgepole,” he proclaimed rashly, and he got up to walk towards the ladder leaning against the building.

“Lou, you don’t have to do the dare.” Dillon hurriedly chased after Louis, who was already climbing up the ladder. “You’ll be killed. Be sensible and come down.” 

Louis hesitated again. He really wasn’t being very sensible, and now that he was standing on the ladder he was beginning to realize how high up the kitchen roof actually was, and how dangerous walking its ridgepole could be. He looked down at his classmates clustered at the bottom of the ladder, and saw several faces of sincere anxiousness pleading him to come down, and he was almost convinced. But then, he caught the eye of Harry, whose eyebrows were furrowed and who, apparently, was still keeping up with his “worried” charade. Seeing that Louis was looking at him, he shook his head and mouthed, Come down, please.

That sealed the deal. Louis would walk the ridgepole, even if it killed him, to prove Harry wrong. There was simply no chance he would give Harry the satisfaction of seeing him fail.

“Hush, Dill. I must do this,” he said gravely. He climbed up the remaining part of the ladder and grabbed the chimney to help pull himself up and balance on the ridgepole. Louis’ eyes briefly caught the sight of the ground, which was a dizzyingly far distance from him, but he quickly straightened up with a determined toss of his head. Spreading his arms out for extra balance, he began to inch slowly along the ridgepole. 

For several seconds, it all seemed to be alright. Louis could hear the thumping of his heart and the sound of his own breathing, but he was taking steady steps across the roof and was gaining more confidence in himself. He had walked almost halfway when everything went wrong. 

He swayed too much to his right and before he could do anything, he stumbled and tumbled off the roof with a loud shriek.

Fortunately, the side he tumbled off had a roof that extended down closer to the ground, and had a row of bushes below it, softening the impact, but it was a hefty impact all the same. The frantic group of Avonlea students found their classmate very pale and almost motionless as he lay among the remains of Mrs. Barry’s poor plants. 

“Lou! Are you alright? Are you killed?” Dillon threw himself onto the ground beside his friend, panic-stricken. “Talk to me, please. Just say anything,” he begged.

“I…” Louis lifted his head up dazedly. “I am not killed… I think. But I can’t say I’m alright.”

“Are you injured? Where?”

“E-everywhere.” Louis sat up with some difficulty and looked down at his legs groggily. “But, oh, does my ankle look funny to you?”

Sure enough, his ankle was bent at an odd angle, and the visible skin that wasn’t hidden by Louis’ shoes was starting to swell and bruise. 

Dillon’s face was pallid. “It doesn’t look very good.”

“I must get back home to Green Gables.” Gripping Dillon’s arm tightly, Louis planted his feet on the floor and tried to lift himself up, but promptly cried out in pain and fell back onto the grass. “B-but I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.”

“It’s alright, I can carry you.” Harry swooped down, secured his arms under Louis’ knees and back, and lifted him up with ease. Louis was too disorientated to protest, and in any case Harry, being the oldest and tallest, was probably the strongest in their class and the best person to be carrying Louis, although Louis would die before he said that out loud.

“Dillon, go find your father and tell him to fetch a doctor, and meet us at Green Gables,” Harry instructed calmly. “I think Louis has broken his ankle.”

“Yes— yes, of course.” The distraught boy scrambled to get up and dashed through the garden path and into his house, calling loudly, “Father! Father!”

Louis winced at the noise. His head was already swimming in pain and he could barely concentrate, and Dillon’s shouts weren’t really helping. “Ow.”

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Harry cooed soothingly, swaying Louis around gently like he was a baby. “Just hold on, I’ll get you home.”

But Louis did not hear him. The pain of his throbbing ankle and the aching of his entire body was too much, overwhelming all of his senses, and he fainted in Harry’s arms.

He woke to several blurry shapes hovering around him, speaking in low murmurs that he couldn’t quite decipher. He was lying on the sofa in the parlor, and there was no trace of most of his friends and classmates. He could vaguely make out the shapes of Marilla, Matthew, and some man that was likely the doctor; there was an anxious Dillon sitting beside him on the sofa, and a familiar tall, curly-haired figure standing near the window, staring out of the glass.

What was he still doing here? Confusion flashed through Louis' mind. Why hadn't he left with all the others?

"... Broken… serious… but do not worry… some weeks…" The drone of the doctor's voice cut through Louis' thoughts, but he could still only hear chunks of it. What had happened to his ankle? 

With a grimace, Louis tried to shift his ankle, but a sharp burst of pain burst through him like lightning, and he passed out from the pain a second time.

When he woke again, Dillon and Harry were gone. The sky had darkened into a dismal greyish navy, and Matthew and Marilla were conversing in low tones near the dining room. 

“Ma-Marilla…” Louis’ throat was dry and his garbled words croaky, but the Cuthberts both whipped around to look at him.

“You’re awake!” Relieved, Marilla quickly stepped across the parlor and knelt down by the sofa, closely followed by an anxious Matthew. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, everything hurts, but I’m alright.”

“You gave us such a fright. When I saw Harry Styles carrying you here, I thought— I thought you were killed.” Marilla’s face was pale and full of uncharacteristic worry. “How could you be so foolish? Walking a ridgepole? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry for scaring you,” Louis averted his eyes in shame. “It was a dare and I didn’t want to be seen as a coward. Please don’t be cross with me, at least I’m still alive.” 

“I’m not cross. But you really should be more careful and less rash, Louis. And you let your emotions and grudges get in the way too much.” Marilla stood up and straightened out her skirt. “There now, the doctor has got to set your ankle, then Matthew will carry you up to your room and I’ll be up with some of your supper in just a minute. After that, you must get some rest.”

Harry’s judgement turned out to be correct. Louis’ ankle was indeed broken, and it meant he would have to be bedridden for the next seven weeks. It was a point of mourning for him, since it meant no playing or adventures or even working for the next two months, and he would be missing the first few weeks of school. He would have to meet the new teacher, Miss Stacy, when she wasn’t so new anymore, and he was bound to fall behind in all of his lessons. 

It’s what I get for being so rash, like Marilla says, he thought to himself gloomily. 

“I’ll be glad when October comes,” he told Marilla when she came up to his room one night with his supper.

“October? I thought your favorite season was spring.”

“Well, yes,” Louis laughed. “I love spring. But I love October also.”

“Is it because your ankle will be healed by October?” 

"Ye-e-es, but not really. That's just an upside to this October, but all Octobers are wonderful."

"I suppose you're going to tell me why now," Marilla said dryly, setting the supper down on the three-legged table and sitting on the edge of Louis' bed. "Go on, then."

"Well, you see, summers can be wonderful but they can get so hot and blazing and sticky," Louis began. "It's disagreeable and too intense sometimes. Then it's September and the weather cools and the leaves' color begin to change a bit, and it's rather lovely and pleasant, don’t you think?"

"I suppose," Marilla agreed. 

"But then October comes, and everything really starts to change… the wind blows and the leaves turn marigold and scarlet, and so many delicious fruits and berries come into season. October’s when the beauty of autumn really sets in. After the vibrant summers, October is so regal and peaceful, and accompanied by leaves the hue of golden sunlight or flickering fires or warm brown quilts. It’s a month of change, and beauty— beautiful change. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I see breaking your ankle hasn’t cured you of your fanciful talk,” Marilla said, although her expression was affectionate. 

“But now I’m stuck in this bed with this silly ankle and it’s dreadfully, dreadfully boring,” Louis sighed unhappily. “I shall be waiting eagerly for October to come.”

Be that as it may, at least the following seven weeks weren’t all bad. To cheer Louis up, Matthew bought him sweets from the store, Marilla cooked him all of his favorite dishes, and Dillon faithfully came to Green Gables everyday to keep him company. Many of his friends would’ve liked to come visit him, but Marilla decreed that too many people would cause too much excitement and Louis needed to rest, so only Dillon was allowed.

But Dillon often came carrying messages and gifts from their schoolmates and brimming with news and gossip. Louis loved receiving little bouquets of flowers and books and cards from everyone, it felt so wonderful to be appreciated for once in his life, and to feel like people cared and missed him.

More than a few times, however, he received some flowers and chocolates that had a tag saying From H.S. attached. Those, he cast aside contemptuously, much to Dillon’s chagrin.

Once, Dillon came with a big fruit basket that had its tag removed; it was filled with juicy grapes, fat cherries, fresh oranges, sweet pears and on the top were numerous luscious, big strawberry apples. Louis' mouth watered at the sight of it, and he was about to take a bite out of the biggest apple when he suddenly stopped and dropped it back into the basket. “Here, you can have it, Dill,” he said dully.

Dillon’s shoulders sagged. “How did you know?”

“Strawberry apples only grow in the Styles orchard, you know that.” Louis lifted the basket off his lap and handed it to Dillon with a look of disgust. 

“I think you’re being a mite unreasonable, Lou,” the latter said bravely. “Harry’s been very nice to you. He carried you home, and did you know he stayed with you as long as he could to make sure you were alright? And the Styles don’t give their precious strawberry apples away to just anyone.”

Louis simply crossed his arms. “I’m never forgiving Harry Styles, no matter what he does.”

His friend could only sigh. “Fine, let’s not talk about disagreeable subjects any longer. I’ve got some interesting news for you, Lou. I heard that Macy likes Jacob, and Jacob likes Macy too! And Hazel says she saw Jacob kissing Macy on the cheek yesterday.”

“Really?” Louis perked up immediately.  “Isn’t that something?”

“It’ll probably fizzle out soon enough,” Dillon said pessimistically, and honestly, quite realistically. “We’re not even fifteen yet.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t think about it like that ,” Louis admonished. “It must be nice to experience romance, even if it’s short-lived. Jacob and Macy are so lucky, but then again, I s’pose it might be because they’re both quite good-looking and nice. That’s the unlucky part of it all, Dill, I doubt I’ll be able to find romance or love. Nobody here likes me like that , and nobody will. I’m doomed to be alone forever.”  

“You shouldn’t be so sure about that.” Dillon hid his smile by picking up a strawberry apple from the fruit basket and taking a big bite out of it. “All you’ve got to do is open your eyes, and you’ll see differently.”

*

Fourteen was a bit of a turning point in Louis' life. 

His teen years were in full swing, and mercifully, he was finally starting to grow. Matthew had finally allowed him to help him do farmwork instead of just watching too, which meant he could finally do what he had been brought here to do. Although the work was gruelling, Louis was happy at finally being capable of it. 

More importantly though, fourteen was when his fate of not being a farmer anymore was decided. 

Louis returned from an afternoon of pruning the crops and feeding the livestock to find Matthew and Marilla sitting around the table with solemn looks on their faces. 

"Sit down, Louis," Marilla instructed. 

"Wh-what's wrong?" His eyebrows knitted together in worry instantly, and his mind began to run through all of the things he had done recently that might warrant a serious sit-down talk, but nothing was coming up. 

"Miss Stacy came by this afternoon," Marilla said carefully. "She informed us that she is organizing a special class for her advanced students, a class that will be studying and aiming for entrance to Queen's Academy."

"Oh." Louis had heard of the soon-to-be Queen's class, but didn't see how it was related to him. "Okay."

"She asked if you would be joining. She strongly suggested that you join, actually."

" Oh. "

"Miss Stacy says you are an excellent student, and says you are among the very top of your class," Marilla continued. "And she believes you would be very well suited for Queen's to earn your teaching license and become a teacher."

How wonderful it would be to go to teacher’s college and be a teacher , Louis thought to himself. Admittedly, he enjoyed books and words more than hunching over in the fields under the blazing sun, but he had been adopted specifically to help with the farmwork, and he truly didn't mind it. As cheesy as it sounded, he was content with a lovely home, kindhearted carers and all of his friends. It was still a happy life and besides, Matthew wasn't getting any younger and Louis didn't want him overexerting himself. 

"Louis, how would you feel about going to Queen's and becoming a teacher?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "It would be lovely, but there isn't much point thinking about it."

"You're not really understanding what we're saying, Lou." Matthew leaned forward and looked Louis straight in the eye. "We want you to go to Queen's."

"W-what?" Louis' jaw dropped. "But what about—?"

"Yes, we originally brought you here to help with the farm," Marilla agreed. "But we also promised to do what's best for you and to give you a good education."

"Am I not good enough on the farm?"

"No, no!" Matthew said quickly. "You're wonderful at it."

"But you're more than just Matthew's assistant on the farm or someone who helps me do chores," Marilla explained. "Louis, you're at the top of your class. You're obviously hardworking and have a thirst for knowledge and you're so clever that your teacher specially came over to ask you to join her class. There are so many farmers here, but so few people who have a college education, and being educated opens so many more doors for you even if you don't decide to be a teacher. You'll be able to have a better life and do so much more with a good education."

"But who's going to do all of the farmwork? Matthew, surely it isn't a good idea to do it all by yourself?"

"I'll hire another boy to help me, so you needn't worry about that."

"And isn't going to Queen's awfully expensive?"

"We'll manage, we have enough savings," Marilla said seriously. "We want what's best for you, Louis, and now that there's an opportunity for you to distinguish yourself, we want you to take it."

"Are you— are you being serious?" Louis felt like his world was spinning and becoming undone, but not in a bad way. "Are you really saying I could go to college?"

"Yes. If you want to, that is."

"Of course I want to! It would be a dream come true," he gasped out, still very bewildered but in seventh heaven.

And so it was settled. Louis joined Miss Stacy's Queen's class, which to his delight, included Dillon Barry and Lillie Morgan, and to his dismay, also included Elliot Boyd and Harry Styles. 

Louis remained committed to rebuffing Harry, and he always held his head up high as he marched by him wordlessly, even if Harry would offer him a friendly grin if their eyes met. That was one thing Louis couldn’t stand: Harry always being so amiable to him after he had snubbed him so many times. It would be so much better if he would just accept defeat and be miserable all the time!

Another thing Louis couldn’t stand was how Harry seemed to be amiable and good to everyone . And everything.

He had seen him on the streets of Avonlea countless times over the years, and often Harry would be chatting to someone, not just friends of his own age, but with adults and older villagers too. He was always carrying heavy things for old women or running errands for his mother or joking with his friends. And Louis had seen him, on multiple occasions, giving little scraps of food to stray cats and dogs, and petting them while they preened or wagged their tails happily.

Harry couldn’t be feeding stray animals out of the goodness of his heart, since he didn’t have one, so surely, he had some ulterior motive. Perhaps there was poison in the food, or perhaps he was trying to get the animals on his side so they would do his evil bidding— yes, Louis was confident that was it. Harry must be some sort of animal-commanding evil witch. Those existed, didn’t they?

But still, it stirred up some strange feelings in him when he saw Harry cooing at a cat nibbling cracker crumbs from his hand. Every time, Louis would remember that Mrs. Styles, Harry’s mother, loved cats and kept as many as her husband let her, and was always trying to adopt stray ones; it seemed that this trait had been passed on to her son. 

It would be nice to have a cat , Louis would think, but Marilla despised them so cats were not allowed at Green Gables. He wondered what it would be like to have a furry companion, or companions like the Styles, that could keep him warm and keep him company. Once, Louis’ mind even wandered so far as to wish he could be friends with Harry so he could meet and play with the Styles’ cats. He had seen a few of them before, and they had looked so sweet and fluffy— but he had kicked that thought out of his mind almost as quickly as it had entered. 

Harry Styles was despicable, even if he had cute cats and a winning smile and everyone else loved him. Louis knew the truth, even if he was the only one who did. 

*

Another year flew by, and before the Queen’s class knew it, their entrance exams were upon them. Before that, however, Miss Stacy had a surprise for them.

“You’ve all done so well and worked so hard this year,” she told them. “I think we should celebrate that, and celebrate you!— before your entrance exams. So, I’ve decided we’ll be holding a dance, and all of your schoolmates can come, and we can have some fun and relax before your exams happen and all of your energy will be on studying.” 

“A dance ?” Lillie whispered incredulously. “But, Miss Stacy, I don’t know how to dance.”

“That’s why I’ll be teaching you all!” A cheerful Miss Stacy was deaf to her students’ groans. “We’ll have a rehearsal so you’ll all know how to dance properly. It will be fun!”

Dance rehearsal was set for three in the afternoon on a quiet Saturday, so after his midday geometry study session, Louis left the house, hopped onto his bicycle and began to pedal his way to the town hall. The Avonlea Hall was old and shabby, and in need of reshingling and a new layer of paint, but for small events like the Queen’s class celebration, it would have to do. 

It was located near a wooded hollow, and as Louis cycled past the cluster of oak trees, he heard quiet little chirps, but instead of coming from somewhere in the treetops like usual, it was coming from somewhere in the grass. Perplexed, Louis stopped and hopped off his bicycle, leaned it against the nearest tree trunk, and went over to investigate. 

He spent several moments peering about in the grass but eventually found a small bundle of fluff nestled in the greenery, peeping desperately.

“What’s wrong, little fellow?” Louis squatted down and reached a hand out to carefully pet the baby bird. It was small but looked healthy and strong enough. “Where are your mummy and daddy?”

The bird, obviously, could not speak and kept on twittering. 

Louis lifted his head to survey the treetops above him and spotted the silhouette of a nest tucked on a branch of a tree that was nearly right above him. “Oh dear. Did you fall out of your nest?”

Cheep. Cheep.

“Aw, don’t worry! I can get you back home.” Louis scooped up the nestling in one hand and stood to regard the oak tree. It was quite tall and didn’t look particularly easy to climb, but he couldn’t just leave the poor baby bird alone on the floor, could he?

“Okay, here we go,” he mumbled to himself as he gently put the bird into his shirt pocket to free up both hands. The nest was relatively high up, and the branches were set further apart than most trees, but Louis still managed to scale the tree.

He lifted the baby bird out of his shirt pocket and slowly placed it back into the nest. As soon as Louis approached, the two larger birds in the nest, which he assumed were the parents, fled. Realizing that he looked like a threat to them, Louis slowly backed away and moved down a couple branches, where he could observe at a safe distance. After a cautious minute or two, the parents slowly flew back to the nest, where the chick let out a happy chirp and was immediately looked over by its parents. Louis smiled softly at the sight of the baby being reunited with its family and, feeling rather good about himself, was about to climb back down when he suddenly realized that… he couldn’t. 

The nearest branch, the one he had used to push himself up before, was too far away; no matter how much he wriggled his leg and tried to reach down as far as he could, the branch was still nearly too far from his foot, and there was no other closer branch. Climbing up it had been hard, but not impossible; climbing down, when one sudden, wrong movement could lead to him plummeting straight down to the ground, seemed impossible. And it wasn’t like he could just jump down, either— he felt he was too high up for that, and jumping straight down onto the forest floor did not sound very fun.

It was official. Louis was stuck in a tree.

This is ridiculous , he thought to himself. He had climbed innumerable trees in his fifteen years of life, and had never been stuck in one. And now he had been defeated by a higher-than-usual bird nest and a frustratingly out-of-reach tree branch! But, he was really stuck, or at least too afraid to come down on his own, which meant he was doomed to stay in this tree forever unless someone came along and rescued him. 

Someone will come , he tried to reassure himself. Someone had to. The path to the town hall was not untraversed by villagers, and someone was bound to go past at some point. It was just a question of who, and when.

So Louis settled down and tried to make himself comfortable as best he could while sitting on poky branches of a tree while a bird’s nest chattered next to him.

An eternity, but in reality likely only about ten minutes, seemed to pass while Louis sat and watched the road anxiously, waiting for someone to come. And who should cycle past the path but Harry Styles?

Louis did not call out to him for help, considering he would die before asking Harry for help and the curly boy likely would not be much help at all, being as brainless and pea-headed as he was.

Unfortunately, even though Louis made the express effort of not getting Harry’s attention, he saw him anyway and promptly brought his bicycle to an abrupt halt. “Louis?! What are you doing up there? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright!” he called back. “And it’s none of your business!”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Louis let out a quiet groan. Curse Harry for always being so nice and observant and helpful . He wanted to repudiate Harry again and tell him to go away, but — his behind was getting sore from sitting on a branch for so long, and he was going to be late for dance rehearsal. “Fine. If you must know, I am… sort of… stuck in the tree.”

“Oh. Okay.” To Louis’ relief, Harry did not laugh or snort, but rather looked deeply concerned. “Do you need help?”

“No!” 

“Can you come down by yourself?”

“...No.”

“You need help, then.” Harry leaned his bicycle and rucksack against a tree and walked up to the tree Louis was perched in. “What’s the problem?”

“The branch is too far away,” Louis explained stiffly. “I can’t just hop down onto it, I’m afraid I’ll slip and fall; and I can’t jump down since I’m so high up.”

“What were you doing in the tree anyway?”

“I was saving a baby bird and putting it back into its nest,” Louis said haughtily, turning his nose up. 

“Alright. Um, I suppose…  you could jump down and I could catch you?” Harry suggested. 

“What? No!”

“Why not? I’ll be able to break your fall and there isn’t much else we can do if you want to get out of the tree quickly.”

“You’ll — you’ll drop me,” Louis accused.

“No, I won’t. I’ve carried you before and you’re not very heavy at all.”

Louis’ nose scrunched up angrily. Old childhood insecurities died hard. “Are you saying I’m skinny ?” 

“No! No!” Harry said quickly, holding out his arms. “I’m just saying, I won’t drop you. You’ll be safe with me. C’mon then, jump. We’re late for rehearsal already.”

Gripping onto an overhead branch tightly, Louis peered down. The ground and Harry’s arms looked awfully far away, and all of a sudden Louis had his heart in his mouth. “I don’t want to.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No, of course I’m not,” Louis snapped, refusing to act cowardly in front of Harry despite the fact that his knees wobbled when he looked down at the ground. “Fine. I’ll jump.”

Harry craned his head and tried to position himself directly under Louis, arms stretched out and ready. “Alright, on the count of three. One, two, three!” 

Louis took a deep breath and pushed off the branch, letting himself fall, and it was a terrifying but exhilarating few seconds of free-falling before he landed with a muffled thump in Harry’s arms. The taller boy stumbled at the sudden weight, but true to his promise, held onto Louis tightly and didn’t drop him, and didn’t even make a move to let him go.

Louis was still cradled in Harry’s arms and was unwillingly beginning to realize that his arms were nice and warm and comfortable, and was also beginning to realize that for the second time in his life, he was being carried by the person he loathed most in the world. The thought was enough to spark panic in him and make him wriggle and roll off Harry’s arms, tumbling straight onto the dirt below. 

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry ,” Harry began, leaning down to help Louis up, but before he could Louis had already scrambled up, pink in the face. 

“I’m very much obliged to you,” he murmured rapidly and promptly hopped onto his bicycle to pedal away as quickly as he could. 

“Louis, wait! I want to talk to you— wait!” Harry shouted behind him, but Louis pretended not to hear him as his legs pumped at an inhuman speed. 

He arrived at the town hall twenty minutes late, with Harry close behind, and walked in on Miss Stacy, Dillon, Lillie, and Elliot dancing together while Mrs. Morgan, Lillie’s mother, played a song for them on the dingy piano.  

“You two are late,” Miss Stacy tutted, shaking her head. “And Louis, what on Earth happened to your clothes?”

Confused, Louis looked down at himself, and , oh . His clothes were indeed filthy, white shirt covered in dirt stains from when he had fallen onto the ground. “Um, I…” 

“I’ve got a spare change of clothes that he can borrow,” Harry volunteered from where he was standing right behind Louis. “If he wants.”

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Harry.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Miss Stacy,” Louis piped up, horrified at the prospect of having to wear Harry Styles’ clothes. “I-I’ll go wipe off the dirt or something.”

“We are doing partner dances, so it would be better if your clothes were fully clean, Louis, for the sake of your partner. You can go to the backroom and change, then join us for our dancing lessons,” Miss Stacy said in a warm but firm tone that meant her word was final. 

“Yes, miss,” he mumbled, hanging his head. Harry was rummaging around in his rucksack and pulled out a set of clean clothes, which Louis snatched from his hands without even making eye contact. It was turning out to be a horrible, horrible day . At least no one else had seen Harry rescue him from a tree, but now Dillon and Lillie and Elliot were all here and Elliot was bound to tell everyone else about Louis Tomlinson wearing Harry Styles clothes.  

Harry’s clothes were, unsurprisingly, too big for him, and Louis had to wear his belt on the smallest notch to prevent the pants from simply sliding off of him. But the clothes were clean, and soft, and smelled rather nice, so it wasn’t complete torture to be wearing them.

Louis marched back into the hall wordlessly and was met with a snicker from Elliot Boyd and a strange, almost fond look from Harry, both of which he valiantly ignored.

“Perfect! Now we can resume.” Miss Stacy clapped her hands. “Partner up again, everyone.”

Louis was instantly by Dillon’s side, gripping his friend’s arm tightly. He was feeling humiliated enough as is and desperately wanted the comfort of at least being able to dance with his best friend.

“Are you alright?” Dillon whispered to him while they moved to an empty space. “You look like you haven’t had a very good day.”

“That’s because I haven't, Dill,” Louis sighed. “I essentially didn’t speak to Harry Styles for two years, then the universe decided to force us to interact way too many times in just one day. I don’t think I’ve ever been this humiliated since the day that boy called me that name .”

“Oh, dear. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Louis promised as Mrs. Morgan began to play again. 

They began to waltz around the room, and although they had started out quite serious and focused, as soon as Dillon full-on stomped on Louis’ shoe, it was all over. Whenever Dillon accidentally stepped on Louis’ foot or Louis made a mistake, they were giggling like mad — they were very likely the worst dancers in the room and, even though they were having fun, it didn’t go unnoticed for long. 

“Dillon, your dancing is positively awful,” Miss Stacy said, chuckling from where she was dancing with Harry. “Poor Louis’ feet are going to fall off soon if you keep stepping on them like that. You’re in need of a little special attention.”

Louis sniggered at that, but he wasn’t smiling much after he heard Miss Stacy’s next words. 

“Come dance with me, Dillon. We can’t have you dancing like that in the celebration. I’ll have to teach you one-on-one. And Louis, you can go dance with Harry. He’s got most of the steps down, so all you have to do is follow what he’s doing and you’ll be fine.”

Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse .

Louis’ grip on Dillon’s hands tightened. “What— no .” 

Dillon’s face was half sympathetic, half amused. “A little dance won’t hurt, Lou.”

“It will hurt,” Louis hissed. “Please, I don’t want to—”

“It can’t be helped, Miss Stacy told us to,” Dillon said, just as their teacher called, “Dillon! Louis! Quickly, now!” 

“It’s just a dance or two, you can do it!” Dillon squeezed Louis’ hand and ran off, leaving a mortified Louis alone and vulnerable. It seemed like every one of his teachers had to make him do something with Harry Styles; first, Mr. Phillips had made him sit next to him on that day years ago, and now Miss Stacy was making them dance together, which was arguably much, much worse.

“Hi, Louis!” Louis braced himself as Harry approached him with big, hopeful eyes. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Isn’t it good luck that Miss Stacy told us to dance together? Now I’ve finally got the chance to speak with you.”

“Yes, good luck ,” Louis said through gritted teeth. 

“Ehm, shall we?” Harry held up his hands, poised to dance, and Louis felt his stomach churn with nerves. 

“I don’t think we have a choice.” His entire body tingled with embarrassment as Harry placed his hand on Louis’ waist and entwined their hands together. Dear Lord, what had he done in his past life to deserve this?

“Um, so.” There were little pink spots on Harry’s cheeks as they began to dance. “I wanted to— wait. You’ve got to put your foot forward, not back. And, uh, you’re standing too far away from me. I won’t bite, I promise.”

Louis grimaced. Maybe if he closed his eyes and pinched himself, he would wake up and it would all be a dream, and he would be back in his bed, far, far away from Harry Styles. But when he opened his eyes again, he was still there, and pulled Louis closer to him until their chests were almost touching . Louis fought the urge to pull away and slap him.

“There we go.” Harry looked down at him, bright-eyed and keen. “Look now, Louis, can we please be friends? I’m terribly sorry I made fun of your appearance like that, but it was so long ago and I only meant it as a joke. I-I think you’re awfully good-looking and you’ve got a great figure, honest. Please, can’t you just forgive me and be good friends?”

For a moment, Louis hesitated. He knew how earnest Harry was, considering the fact that he had spent the last three years trying to get into Louis’ good graces. And the way Harry was looking at him made his heart beat funny, so he tried to recall all of the humiliation he had felt at the hands of Harry Styles. The humiliation of having to stand on the platform in front of the whole class and be punished; the humiliation of having to sit next to him while the class watched on and giggled; the humiliation of falling off the roof, breaking his ankle and having to be carried by Harry back home; the humiliation of having to be rescued from a tree; the humiliation of having to wear Harry’s clothes! The memories of it all came rushing back to him, and his eyes flashed as he retorted impulsively, “No. I’m never going to forgive you and I’m never going to be friends with you— and I don’t want to!”

As soon as the words came out of Louis’ mouth, he regretted them. Maybe it was his conscience, or maybe it was the devastated, heartbroken look that tore across Harry’s face briefly before he cried out with an angry conviction that matched Louis’, “Fine! Fine ! I don’t want to be friends with you, either! I've been nothing but nice to you and you've been nothing but rude and insulting to me. I don't want to be friends with someone like you. "

With that, the two fell into a deathly uncomfortable silence, continuing to dance, but their now hostile and jarring waltz would've disappointed Miss Stacy terribly if she wasn't so focused on trying to teach Dillon how not to step on her toes. 

For some reason, Harry's words had deeply wounded Louis. Perhaps because they meant that Harry resented him now, or perhaps because they were true . Harry had been sweet to him, save for the one incident that had happened when they first met, and in return Louis had been incredibly uncivil and demeaning. 

Then again, why should Louis care? It had been his mission to snub Harry, and obviously it had worked. He should be happy that he had finally gotten Harry off his back, happy he'd finally upset Harry.

But instead, it frightened Louis how much he was upset by it all. 

Harry's words stung during the Queen's class celebration, when Harry danced with everyone except Louis and didn't even spare him a glance. They stung when Harry stopped smiling at him when they passed, and the little flower bouquets and candies stopped showing up on Louis' desk or doorstep. They stung when they went to town to take their entrance exams, and they even stung when the pass list came out weeks later, and Louis' name was on the very top of it.

He was distinctly aware that he felt a strange, unfamiliar feeling that seemed to be… regret. It was almost as if— and he didn’t dare tell even Dillon— as if he wished he had answered Harry differently. It was not very pleasant to be ignored, or to be despised, as he was finding out for himself; and, for some strange reason he couldn’t put his finger on, it was even more unpleasant and upsetting to be ignored and despised by that annoyingly handsome and kind Styles boy.

The flame of his resentment to Harry had been extinguished, leaving behind the wispy, melancholy smoke that Louis didn’t quite seem to be able to get rid of.

*

With September came the beginning of Louis’ education at Queen’s. 

Charlottetown, where the academy was located, was a bit of a culture shock to him. It wasn’t a big city, but to a boy who had spent almost his whole life living in the countryside where trees were abundant and people were sparse, the lively town nearly knocked him off his feet.

Luckily for his sanity, he was boarding with Dillon. In fact, all of the Avonlea students were boarding in the same complex, in numerous houses that sat in a circle around a shared garden. It was nice to be close to people he knew; it meant he lived only a building or two away from Harry, but he was secretly glad. One more familiar face could help stop him from completely panicking and losing his mind in this new environment. 

Unfortunately for his sanity, he had decided to take up the Second Year work, meaning that he would be getting his First Class teacher’s license in one year instead of the usual two. None of the other Avonlea scholars, save for the exception of one curly boy, had elected to do the same; as a consequence, he hardly shared any classes with Dillon, instead being placed in classes with Second Year students and students who shared his one-year ambitions. Students like Harry Styles.

Sitting in a room full of strangers, strangers who all seemed more mature than him, smarter than him, more knowledgeable than him, Louis felt like the tiniest, loneliest  fish in the world’s vastest pond. The curly head of hair sitting a few rows in front of him was, funnily enough, one of his biggest comforts, and so was the competition between them that had soon emerged, just like in their old schooldays. Louis found solace in the familiarity of it all; he just wished, somewhere deep in his heart, that Harry would turn around and smile at him sometimes, like he used to.

But he never did.

During the Christmas holidays, when Louis had been back in Avonlea for two weeks, he had had a long conversation with Matthew and Marilla about his future after Queen’s, and it had been decided that he’d go to Redmond if all went smoothly.

“Earning a teacher’s license is wonderful, y’know,” Matthew had said earnestly. “But Redmond— Redmond’s where you’ll get a university degree , you’ll become a B.A., and that'll be truly incredible.”

“Only one or two people in this area have ever gotten a university degree,” Marilla had added. “You can’t miss the opportunity, especially when you’re clearly well-suited for it. And we have enough savings to put you through Redmond even without that Avery scholarship, so you needn’t worry too much about getting it, Louis. You’re doing well enough as it is.”

There was a kind, eccentric and wealthy old gentleman in a neighboring town who had recently passed away and had allotted a large amount of his fortune to be dispersed among the local schools and academies as scholarships for particularly excellent students. At Queen's, there were several rewards available, but there was only one that was particularly coveted: the Avery scholarship, which had been born from the old gentleman’s fortune. At the end of the year, the graduate with the highest marks would be awarded with the scholarship, and would have their four years at Redmond College and their boarding fees paid in full.

Even if he did not need the scholarship, Louis didn’t want to deplete Matthew and Marilla’s savings more than he already had— and besides, there was an inveterate streak of competitiveness in him. As a result, he aimed for the Avery scholarship anyway.

To be sure, it wouldn’t be any easy prize to win. Queen’s wasn’t like the Avonlea school, where most students went just for the necessity of it since it was legally required; Queen’s was filled with people like him, who loved learning and, unfortunately, were good at it. But Louis hadn’t been specially picked by Miss Stacy to go to Queen’s for nothing, and by the time half of the school year had passed, the possible winners of the Avery scholarship had been narrowed down to three: Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, and Nate Harris.

Still, in spite of having a goal to focus on, Louis couldn’t always escape his despondency. There seemed to be a myriad of reasons for it: the difficulties of adjusting, worry he wouldn’t do as well as he had thought, homesickness… Letters and weekend trips back to Avonlea made things better, when Louis could lose himself in words or in home for a little while before he was pulled out and thrust back into the big, cold, foreign classrooms again. 

Yet, things weren’t all sunshines and rainbows, even in Green Gables.

The Abbey Bank’s been rather shaky of late , Marilla had written in one letter. Everyone’s changing banks, but Matthew doesn’t want to go to another one, since our father was a friend of Mr. Abbey’s. And in another letter, Thomas Lynde, Mrs. Lynde’s husband, is sick again. It doesn’t look like there’s much hope .

At least, the letters consoled Louis a little, even if Marilla did talk too much about the weather and Matthew’s ones weren’t very long and Mrs. Lynde always sounded a bit too judgemental in hers. They reminded him of home , where Marilla was too serious and Matthew too shy and Mrs. Lynde too loose-lipped. That little taste of home always felt warm somehow.

Then there were the times when the postman hadn’t come for a while and reading old letters did not do much to cure Louis of the gnawing feeling inside him, and a cold, ruthless hand that contained all of his despair would slowly wrap around him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m going downstairs to the garden to study,” he informed Dillon on one of those days, grabbing the first textbook he could see and putting on his shoes as quickly as he could. “I’ll be back for supper soon!”

To be honest, all he wanted to do was get out of the house before he suffocated from sadness, and whenever he felt like this he never wanted Dillon around. He adored his friend with all his heart, but his homesickness felt so embarrassing and he wasn’t sure if Dillon would understand it.

Louis found himself curled up on the little garden bench, his Latin textbook sitting in his lap. The night was particularly pleasant on this occasion, with a soft spring wind rustling the new leaves and swaying the grass and dainty flowers. 

What's Green Gables like tonight? He wondered. Was the wind blowing just like this? Was Matthew sitting outside, smoking his pipe after a long day of work and enjoying the weather? Was Marilla sitting outside as well, knitting and sewing her latest project? Did they miss him?

One thing he knew for sure was that he missed them . He missed Marilla's talks and Matthew's shy smile and he missed his little bedroom in the east gable, even if it got a bit drafty sometimes. It felt so silly to miss them when he should be happy here , in a bustling town and going to his dream college with his best friend by his side. 

But the tingle in his nose or the tremble of his lips when he thought of home always seemed to be inevitable. 

So that was why he was quietly sobbing on a bench in the garden, wishing he could snap his fingers and be back in Avonlea, his textbook now abandoned next to him. He'd feel better in the morning, probably, but right now the icy grip of homesickness was tightening on him and squeezing him into a lonely, desolate mass, and—

"Louis? Are you alright?" 

Louis flinched involuntarily and turned his head around to survey the empty— or what he had thought to be empty— garden. At this point, he wasn't very surprised to see Harry standing near the entrance, watching him with worried puppy eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” The grass stirred as Harry stepped closer, eyes still trained on Louis. At night, with a loosened shirt, rolled up sleeves, and his suspenders hanging by his sides, Harry looked so different. A bit more gentle, and relaxed, and, to be honest, really quite handsome. 

Louis wasn’t very sure what to make of the sudden thump in his heart, so he quickly tried to dry his tears and turned away from Harry. “Mhmm. Fine.”

“You don’t have to hide it from me, you know.” Harry stopped a few feet behind the bench, still keeping a respectful distance but close enough that Louis didn’t feel so lonely anymore. “Homesickness is quite normal.”

“How did you know?” Louis whipped his head to look at Harry with incredulous eyes. “How did you know I’ve been homesick?”

“Because I’m homesick all the time, and I come here when I am, too,” Harry shrugged simply. “The town’s so much more busy and crowded than Avonlea, so the garden is really the only place that reminds you of home, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” Louis sniffed. It felt nice to have someone understand him and verbalize it, even if that someone was Harry Styles.

“Would you like me to fetch Dillon for you?” he asked kindly.

“No, thank you. I don’t really want him around right now.”

“Hm. I see.” Harry bit his lip thoughtfully, then stepped closer tentatively. “Would you, erm, like a hug instead?”

If this had happened a year ago, Louis would have had an adamant refusal and some sharp remark lined up on his tongue, but now all he had was melancholia and a desire for comfort and a sweet, charming boy in front of him. “Yes. I-I would like a hug, actually.” 

“C’mere, then.”

Strangely, it didn’t feel strange at all to Louis as he stood up and settled into Harry’s outstretched arms, and rested his head onto Harry’s chest. It felt snug and soothing, and of course it was a bonus that Harry was very warm and smelled lovely. Louis could almost fall asleep on him, and a small part of him even wished he could. He’d get a good night’s sleep every night if he could sleep wrapped up in something so warm and comforting.

“Feel any better?” Harry murmured after a silent minute. 

“Yeah.” Louis nearly felt sad as Harry pulled away from the hug and took a step back. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, I’m always happy to— oh, wait!” Harry straightened up energetically. “I’ve just remembered something. Give me a minute, I’ve got to go get something from my room. Wait here for me, will you?”

Louis didn’t even have time to utter a response before Harry turned and dashed back in the direction of his boardinghouse, returning five minutes later breathless and with a brown paper bag in his hand. 

“Here,” he said in between gasps, holding the bag out to Louis. “Have this.”

“What is it?” Louis raised an eyebrow in confusion, but still took the paper bag. It was a small bag, and very light, so evidently there wasn’t much inside.

“Open it up and see.”

So Louis gingerly unfolded the crinkly brown bag, and with a little flutter in his heart, pulled out a handful of pink heart-shaped candies that had I Love You! written on them.

“I happened to have some in my room,” Harry explained with a laugh. “They reminded me of you, and I thought that they might remind you of Avonlea and our old schooldays a little.” 

Louis couldn’t help but smile at the familiar candies, even if it stung a little to be reminded that he no longer received candies and gifts from Harry... except for tonight. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Well, I suppose I’d better get back to my room and give you some time to yourself,” he said lightly. “Goodnight, Louis.”

“Goodnight.”

Louis had sat down on the bench again when he heard a timid, “Oh, and um— Louis?”

“Yes?”

"I, uh, didn't mean all of the things I said about you."

"What things?" 

"You know, all the things I said about you being rude when we had our dance rehearsal," Harry blurted out. "I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry."

"Oh. Uhm." Louis wasn't sure why Harry was apologizing, especially when all the things he had said were true, but he kept his mouth shut. 

"Yeah, I just wanted— just wanted to tell you that," Harry said sheepishly, his hands tucked into his pockets. "I'll see you in class tomorrow?"

"Mhmm."

"See you, then. I hope you'll feel better soon."

Harry retired back to his room for real this time, leaving Louis alone on the bench. He could still remember the times when, upon receiving these heart-shaped candies, he'd give them to Dillon until Dillon had gotten sick of them. But tonight, feeling a little less lonely than he had before, Louis popped the candy into his mouth and picked up his Latin textbook to resume his studying. 

*

To Louis’ secret delight, those candies began to make their reappearances after that, appearing on his desk every so often. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dillon was involved in this and was helping Harry, or else he would have to be worried about how easy it was for a stranger to break into Louis’ room. 

It felt nice to be noticed again, and it felt even nicer to know that Harry no longer resented him, even if Harry still seemed a bit cautious around him and made no further moves to ignite a friendship. But the charming, warm smiles that came across Harry’s face when they passed had returned, and that felt like it was enough. For now, at least.

Heart-shaped candies had become the latest remedy for Louis’ homesickness, helping to dissolve his sadness especially when they were paired with a sweet note. It was no cure-all— Louis doubted there could be anything that could cure it— but they gave him comfort and momentary relief, and what more could Louis ask for? Soon, however, he found that he no longer needed them quite as much anymore when he had something much more important to focus on. The graduates’ final exams were sneaking up on them, and although their previous school performance counted, these exams were usually what determined the graduates’ rankings, and the winner of the Avery scholarship.

“You’re definitely going to get the scholarship,” Dillon told him confidently before his first exam, which was Canadian history. Since he wasn’t graduating yet, Dillon was much more relaxed over the whole affair, but he wouldn’t miss the chance to support his friend. “I know it.”

“I’m not so sure,” Louis agonized. He had spent the night wrestling with the dates, and although he knew he had the years memorized, he wasn’t doing so well on the months. “I feel like I’ll fail history and geometry, then I’ll never be able to have the highest overall even if I do well in English.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Dillon scolded. “You’re going to do so well. You just have to relax, and take a deep breath, and stop worrying so much about what you’re going to fail at, because you aren’t going to fail at anything.”

Louis found it a little hard to follow that advice. Surely, it would be hard for anyone to completely relax in a cold room filled with pale students, most of whom didn’t seem to be breathing as they waited for the examiner to say, “You may now begin.” It didn’t help that they had to do it over and over again until their hands ached and their brains turned to mulch, either.

By the time the dreaded exam week was over, Louis felt dead on his feet, and terribly uncertain. Had he mixed up isosceles and equilateral triangles in the geometry section of the exam? Did quod mean which or what in Latin? Worst of all, he couldn’t remember clearly if he had written his name on the English paper. Had he? And if he had, he had likely accidentally written his name as Louis Tomlin sun instead of Louis Tomlin son , which didn’t really make him look like he was good at English or spelling.

Luckily, he had Dillon.

“Oh, you poor thing!” he exclaimed sympathetically when Louis dragged himself back to their boardinghouse after his last exam. From the way Dillon was looking at him, Louis probably looked like he had gone to Hell and back with his eyebags and red fingers and the unruly hair he hadn’t bothered to comb for the entire week. “You should go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. You definitely need it.”

“Once I get into my bed I don’t think I’m ever coming out,” yawned an exhausted Louis. “I’m so tired, I could sleep for a whole week.”

“Well, you can’t. My great-aunt’s in town, and she’s coming to take us out for a day in town as a reward for finishing the exams. Lillie’s coming too, and Aunt Josephine has promised she will buy us all the ice cream we want! So you must get your rest now, Louis, and tomorrow we’ll go romping around town and forget all about the exams, yes?”  

“I don’t think I can forget about the exams,”  Louis moaned. “Did you know, Nate Harris finished his mathematics exam in twenty minutes, so it was likely quite easy, but I took the whole hour to finish and I found it so difficult? I must have overthought things too much and gotten the questions all wrong. I definitely failed it.”

“Nuh uh, don’t think like that!” Dillon leaped up from the couch, grabbed Louis’ arm, and led him to his bedroom. “It’s just you and your sleep-deprived brain talking. You haven’t failed anything, but you really do need to get some rest. Chop-chop.”

“You sound just like Marilla,” Louis mumbled sleepily as he stumbled into his room. His bed, which was unmade, since that morning he had decided to do some more last-minute studying instead of worrying about how messy his bed looked, was a sight for sore eyes, and he almost fell right on top of it.

Dillon ignored his friend’s comment, and handed him his nightgown. “Come on now, you better change and go to sleep. I’ll wake you up for supper.”

The next day, which was filled with ice cream and window shopping and Dillon’s wealthy but eccentric Aunt Josephine, was glorious and managed to take Louis’ mind off the exams and the scholarships for a while, but it didn’t last for very long. Louis remained an anxious, apprehensive mess as he waited to know how he had done in the exams, despite Dillon and Lillie’s many attempts to distract him.

The results of the exams and the rankings of the graduates were out two weeks later, and were pinned up on the bulletin board outside Queen’s entrance. Dillon and Louis were walking down the street when they caught sight of the crowd gathered around the bulletin, and the latter paled.

“I don’t think I have it in me to go up there,” Louis breathed out weakly. “Dill, be good and go see the results and come tell me, won’t you? Don’t sugarcoat it, just do it quickly.”

“Alright,” Dillon agreed, but there was no need for him to do so, because at that moment they heard a loud, gleeful cry and someone yelled out, “Styles has won the Avery!”

The cry originated from Harry himself, who had the widest grin plastered all over his face and was jumping up and down joyfully. Surprisingly, Louis did not feel the pang of disappointment he had expected. Instead, he felt himself smile softly at how blissful Harry looked. He knew Harry had been working extremely hard all year, and he was happy his hard work had paid off, even if it meant Louis’ hadn’t.

“I suppose I’ll go look at how I did, then,” he murmured, feeling braver now that there wasn’t so much suspense hanging over him. He jogged up the staircase to the bulletin, closely followed by Dillon, and wormed his way through the crowd to reach the announcement. 

On the paper with the rankings, right below Harry’s name, was Louis’ own. He had come second, a mere two points behind Harry. “Oh.”

“I’m terribly sorry you didn’t get it, Lou,” Dillon said tentatively, unsure of how his friend would react and deciding to assume the worst. “But you did so well! You’re only two points behind Harry, but you’re ten points ahead of third place. And look, you’ve gotten the gold medal for being the best in English! You won’t feel too badly over this, will you?”

“Oh, no, I won’t,” Louis said lightly. “Second place isn’t bad at all, and I’m glad Harry got first. He deserves it.”

Dillon stared at him incredulously. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

Louis laughed, and turned away from the bulletin. “Don’t be so surprised, Dill, I’m content with the results even if I didn’t win the scholarship. Besides, Harry looks so happy and it’s hard to be upset with him.” He nodded at a beaming Harry, and let out a quiet, dreamy sigh when he caught his eye and waved.

“If you didn’t spend years letting me know how much you hated Harry, from the way you’re looking at him right now, I would have thought you were in love with him," Dillon muttered. 

Love . Louis’ breath hitched. Was that it? Was that what the queer little thump in his heart meant everytime Louis saw Harry? It would be terribly, terribly ironic if he was, to be in love with the person he used to hate so much. He couldn’t be. The way his heart thumped when he saw Harry was likely some product of his regret for being uncivil to him for years. Either that, or some sort of heart condition.

Then again, it was true that Louis thought Harry was very handsome, and intelligent, and sweet and charming and lovely and kind and selfless; and it filled Louis up with indescribable elation whenever Harry would catch his eye, and it did give him an unpleasant feeling whenever he saw Harry smiling at someone else, and— Dear Lord, was Louis in love with him?

Well, maybe . 

Somewhere deep inside, he knew that it was likely a yes, but was it really important to dwell on the technicalities?

A noncommittal “Hmm,” was all he murmured to Dillon, who had been side-eyeing him suspiciously, before Louis returned to watching on dreamily as Harry pumped his fists in the air and hugged every person that happened to pass by.

And if Louis couldn't stop smiling when, for graduation, he received a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley that had a card saying Happy graduation! These made me think of you, H.S. lying beside them, nobody had to know.

*

Bags were packed and goodbyes said, and Louis had hauled himself back to Avonlea by the time the July days rolled around.

The little village had emerged from Louis’ memory crackling with life and purpose, as always. The school year had ended, so the children could be seen out and about, going for swims in the river; and harvesting season was almost upon them, so the farmers of the village could be seen preparing to collect their crop yields. 

On this early morning, Louis was sitting near the window in the east gable of Green Gables, staring dreamily at the picturesque view with his cheek cradled in his hand. The cherry tree outside the window was so close to the house, its branches almost within reach of Louis’ hand; and it was thick with blossoms, so much so that all he could see were masses of soft, delicate white, with only flashes of the green leaves peeking out. Louis had christened this enchantress as the Snow Queen when he first arrived at this house, and while at sixteen he no longer dove into flights of christening frenzy whenever he came across something new and beautiful, the pretty white tree would always remain the Snow Queen in his heart.

Past the Queen’s boughs lay the rest of Green Gables’ quiet beauty. Two orchards lined the farmhouse , one of more blossoming, full cherry trees, and one of apple trees, lush with blossoms ready to transform into fruit. Dainty dandelions were scattered over the dewy grass, and the garden below was rich with flowering lilac trees; and below the garden was a clover-dotted verdant field that sloped down to a small valley. A shallow brook burbled along the valley, lazy and placid, and on its shores grew slender white birches that sprung out of the ground gracefully, like airy dancers. Beyond that was a hill carpeted in feathery spruce and fir, and between a gap in the hill was a little grey house he knew as Orchard Slope; then to the left, big old barns were visible and there was even a peek of the sparkling, vast sea, a perfect idyll. 

This was the picture Louis had woken up to almost every morning for the past several years, and had gazed at and longed for every day. Spring, summer, fall or winter, this place had always remained ever so lovely and winsome, and had been Louis’ silent companion through years’ worth tears and smiles and troubles. It was familiarity and comfort and, even though he hadn’t lived here for his whole life, home . 

It made the idea that he was finally back here, even if only for the summer before he would be shipped off to university again, twice as sweet.

A rap on his door startled Louis out of his thoughts. “Louis, come quick,” Marilla’s voice traveled into the room, and although it was muffled by the hardwood, he could hear the urgency in her voice.

“W-what is it?” Louis stood quickly and opened the door to see a panic-stricken Marilla.

“Just— come downstairs.”

A sudden bout of fear struck Louis in his heart, and he sprinted downstairs as fast as he could with Marilla at his heels. He sighed in relief when he saw that Matthew was sitting on the couch and not sprawled on the floor, and his eyes were open and he was breathing; but he was hit by another round of worry when he saw that Matthew’s face was strangely pale and ashy, and his hands were clutching tightly at a paper. In it, contained the news of the Abbey Bank’s failure.

The news spread fast, but it affected no other household like it did the Cuthberts’. The majority of people had transferred most of their money away, or completely changed banks when they had heard how shaky the Abbey Bank had been. Only Matthew and Marilla had not done so, and as a result fell victim to the village’s sympathy and some secret ridicule. 

“At least we didn’t put all of our savings in the Abbey Bank,” Marilla said dully a few days later. They were gathered around the table soberly, finance papers that Marilla and Matthew had reviewed over and over scattered in front of them. “We still have money, and enough of it, too. And with the harvest season coming soon, we might be alright.”

“Thank goodness,” Louis breathed out. “You won’t sell Green Gables or the farm, will you?”

“No. But I suppose we can’t splurge on anything anymore, and be extra cautious with spending from now on. We’ll have to eat less, and eat cheaper and the sort, but all in all we’ll be able to pull through.”

“Good, good,” Louis nodded along, drumming his fingers on the table. It had been a huge scare when they had first heard the news, but things seemed to be looking up. Mostly, anyway.

“T-there is one thing, Louis,” Marilla began, her face haggard and tentative.

“Yes?”

“We won’t be able to pay for you to go to Redmond anymore. I’m very, very sorry.”

Well.

Louis’ chest constricted, and his stomach twisted into countless, tight knots. He had seen this coming, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, but it still felt like a bag of bricks had been dropped on him. Dreams of studying at prestigious Redmond, becoming a B.A., making Matthew and Marilla proud … they were all swirling down the drain. 

“I-it’s alright,” he finally managed to stutter out. “I suppose it’s better for me to stay here so I can help out on the farm, especially now when the harvest is so important to us. A-and at least I have my license now, I can teach and earn us some more money.”

“I’m awfully sorry.” Matthew’s head had been hung in a permanent state of shame. “I shouldn’t’ve refused to switch banks. Now you can’t go to Redmond, and it’s all my fault.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Matthew,” Louis urged, reaching over to pat Matthew’s wrinkled hand. “What’s done is done, and you never wished for this. Besides, perhaps I could work for a couple years, and earn enough money to put myself through Redmond later.”

“Yes, yes, you could do that.” Marilla rummaged through her papers, and inspected one with a squint. “It would take you quite a while to save enough, but it would be good to set a goal, and of course even better for you to go to Redmond.” 

Louis beamed at that, his disappointment unraveling away almost as quickly as it had formed. Even if he had to work as a teacher and help with the farm for several years, it would be worth it if he could eventually go to university and continue his dreams. He was only sixteen, anyway, and had plenty of time in front of him.

Then, there was a sharp knock on the front door, and a weary Marilla got up to open it. She wasn’t even surprised when the door opened to reveal Mrs. Lynde, likely here to check up on the Cuthberts and gather new information on their situation, as she had been doing for the past several days. 

“How are you doing today, Marilla?” she inquired as she stepped into the house like it was her own, and sat down in the seat opposite Louis.

“Tired and a little disheartened, Rachel. I doubt there’s any other way I could be feeling right now.”

“Why, I thought you would be cheerier after hearing the news. It doesn’t solve everything, but it’s a start, isn’t it?”

Louis’ eyebrows furrowed. “What news?”

Mrs. Lynde turned to look at him. “Haven’t you heard? Harry Styles has given up the Avery scholarship, and has asked for it to be given to you, Louis. Since you’re the graduate with the second highest overall marks, the scholarship is yours now. You’ll be going to Redmond next autumn, free of charge.”

Chapter Text

“You… you must be joking,” Louis stammered.

"I assure you, child, I'm not. The scholarship has gone to you, so you no longer need to worry about paying for Redmond tuition or your board. And it was really very kind of Harry to do so. Did you know, the Styles don’t have enough money without the scholarship? They’ve got enough for the school fees but not quite enough for the board, so Harry has to go to White Sands to teach this summer to earn some money. It’s a good thing the White Sands people gave him the summer position too, or else he might not be able to go at all next year. Harry's always had a heart of gold, hasn't he? It's a shame you two don't get along, Louis."

"I've got to go," Louis blurted out loudly, scraping his chair against the floor and shooting up with so much force that Matthew, who was sitting next to him, flinched.

"Where are you going?" Marilla tried to call out, but Louis had already dashed out the door.

Louis had no idea what had come over him, but before he knew it he was standing in front of the Styles homestead, rapping vigorously on their door. 

“Coming, coming!” he heard someone inside call, but to his disappointment it wasn’t the deep, slow drawl he had been wanting. Instead, a middle-aged woman, who he recognized as Mrs. Styles, opened the door. “You must be Louis Tomlinson!”

“Um— yes, that’s me,” Louis said awkwardly. Even after four years of living in Avonlea, he had never had a conversation with Harry’s mother. It was unfortunate, given her kindly reputation as a cat-lover and phenomenal baker, all of which was up Louis’ alley. 

“Well, hello there!” Like her son, Mrs. Styles had a lovely smile and seemed just as genial. “How can I help you, Louis?”

“Uh, is Harry home?”

“No, he isn’t at the moment. He only told me he was going out to find a nice spot to read and relax, so I’m afraid I really don’t have any idea on his whereabouts,” she apologized. “Perhaps you can drop by later in the day? My boy always comes home to help me make dinner, so he’ll be home at four or five o’ clock.”

“Oh.” Louis’ face dropped with disappointment. “Okay.”

“I’m terribly sorry I don’t know where he is right now. Is it anything urgent?” 

“No, no, it isn’t urgent,” he said quickly. “And it’s alright. Thank you very much for your help!”

“Oh, good. Goodbye, then! Come back later, Harry’ll be home in a bit.”

“Goodbye!” Louis waved as Mrs. Styles closed the door again, but rather than just coming back at four o’ clock like she had suggested, he decided to go look for Harry. Louis wanted to talk to him now , and besides, he had an inkling of where Harry was. It was merely a hunch, and an almost completely unfounded one at that, but Louis felt confident in it.

He found himself starting off back in the direction of Green Gables, but when he reached the farmhouse, he just kept on walking along the narrow dirt path until he reached the woods behind it, and reached the beloved myrtle grove he had christened Dryad’s Cradle so many years ago.

Just as he had hoped, he found Harry there , lounging on a boulder, a book in his hand and a fluffy, grey cat in his lap. The way Harry looked made Louis’ heart ache; he looked so relaxed with one long leg stretched out and the other bent; one hand lazily propped up his book while the other absentmindedly petted the cat; and the top button of his shirt was undone, and his hair tumbled loose and messy and pretty down to his shoulders, and the sunlight streamed down through the trees to illuminate his face and jawline and make his curls look golden and— and Louis should probably stop thinking about how good Harry looked if he didn’t want to have a heart attack. 

“Um,” he managed to say while he pulled himself together. “Hello.”

Harry looked up, startled— and no, Louis’ heart did not skip a beat at how his curls bounced— and his shocked expression quickly morphed into one of warmth but slight caution. “Hi, Louis.”

“I— um.” Louis took a few tentative steps closer, but persisted in keeping a mindful space between them. “I thought I might find you here.”

“Oh?” Harry closed his book slowly, still petting his cat. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes. I wanted to talk to you. I, uh, I heard what you did for me. W-with the scholarship, and all.”

“Oh.”

“I want to thank you,” Louis continued with scarlet cheeks. “What you did, it was very good of you, truly. Thank you so, so much.” 

“It really isn’t a big deal,” Harry said, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m happy to be able to help you in any way I can, and I thought you might need the scholarship a bit more than I needed it.”

“No, no, what you did is huge . Honestly, you shouldn’t have, but I really appreciate it. Is there — is there anything I could do for you in return? ”

“Well.” Harry tilted his head slightly, his face unreadable but a quiet glint of hopefulness in his eyes. “It would mean a lot to me if you would forgive me and be my friend.”

Louis almost laughed. It seemed so absurd to him now that he used to despise Harry with everything in him and refused to forgive him and Harry still believed Louis hated him, when the truth was far, far from that. “I forgave you ages ago, Harry. I forgave you on the day you saved me from the tree and we had to dance together for the celebration, even if I didn’t know it then.”

Harry’s face lit up with pure, boyish delight as he gently scooped the cat off his lap, set it down on the boulder, and stood up. “Really? Does this mean we’ll be friends now?”

Louis winced at that word. Friends . Truth be told, he would rather be something more than friends . Never before had he thought there would be a day when Harry Styles’ friendship wouldn’t be enough for him, but the tables had turned and he had to start somewhere, he supposed. “Yes. I-if you’re willing to forgive me for being such a silly goose and being so rude to you all these years.”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh, eyes crinkling and his lips pulling back to reveal his adorable bunny-like front teeth. Louis was already turning into mush. “I’ve sought after your friendship and your forgiveness for four years, Louis, I won’t be passing up on the opportunity now that I finally have it. So yes, I forgive you. It’s all water under the bridge now.”

Louis felt his body sag in relief as the giant four year-long burden was finally lifted off his shoulders. There would be no more detesting, no more ignoring-but-actually-secretly-paying-Harry-a-lot-of-attention, no more regret or guilt or bottled-up emotions, and it was such a comfort to know that.

"Would you like to sit down?" Harry asked, gesturing to the boulder he had been reclining on. “There’s enough space for the two of us if we squish.”

“Oh. Okay.” Sitting on that one-person boulder with Harry would mean having to sit very close to him, which Louis was not exactly opposed to , but he wasn’t sure if he could survive it. There’s only one way to find out. “Let’s squish.”

Their legs were completely pressed together when they managed to find a comfortable spot for both of them on the boulder, and the fluffy grey cat, who had seemed rather disgruntled when she had been removed from Harry’s lap, happily found her way back to him.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed suddenly, lifting the cat up. “You should meet Button! Louis, this is Button the cat. Butty, this is my friend Louis. Say hello to him, will you?”

“ Meow .”

“Here, you can pet her if you want,” Harry offered, gently nudging Button into Louis’ lap. “She’s very lazy and gentle and likes affection, so she usually comes with me when I come here to read.”

Not having much experience with cats, Louis reached out a hand and carefully stroked Button’s soft fur warily, but true to Harry’s word, Button just curled up and rested her head against Louis’ tummy. “Oh, she’s so cute .”

“Here, she likes it when you scratch her head.” Without any warning, Harry leaned over, took Louis’ free hand, and placed it on Button’s head, and Louis wondered how he was still alive after Harry’s warm, gentle hand had touched his.

“So, do you come here to read a lot?” he prompted after a period of silence that was only filled by the sound of Button’s purrs.

“I guess so,” Harry answered. “Maybe not a lot , but I do like coming here.” 

“I come here a lot as well, how come I’ve never seen you here? Except for, you know… that one time.” Louis squirmed at the memory of him acting so childishly and almost crying in front of Harry three years ago, when he had gotten upset at finding someone else in Dryad’s Cradle.

“Um, after I saw how distressed you were when I was there, and I honestly didn’t really understand it, but I knew it must’ve been important to you if you reacted like that,” Harry shrugged. “So I tried not to come here as much, and I tried to make sure you weren’t here or weren’t going to come here whenever I wanted to come, to avoid running into you and upsetting you again.”

“ Oh ,” Louis said uneasily. “Oh. Oh no. I’m so sorry, I never meant to inconvenience you like that.”

“It’s alright, you know. I figured this place meant more to you than it did to me, anyway.”

“I guess it does mean a lot to me, but I really shouldn’t have gotten mad at you like that.” Louis stared down at his shoes, refusing to look Harry in the eye from his shame. “It’s just that as an orphan, I was always moving around since nobody wanted to keep me, and I was so used to not having anything belonging to me. Then when I came here, I found this little grove where nobody else came to play. I really wasn’t used to having something all to myself, but I loved it and I suppose I just got overprotective and overreacted when I saw you here. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize! I never realized that’s how you felt,” Harry murmured, moving even closer to Louis and placing a kind hand on his shoulder. “Really, it’s quite understandable.”

“You’re too good ,” Louis sighed. “I can’t believe I hated you for so long.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore,” Harry smiled cheerily, as if now that he had Louis’ forgiveness, all was right in the world. 

“Mrs. Lynde says you’re going to White Sands to teach this summer.” Louis lifted his head up, and almost let out a startled squeak when he realized just how close Harry’s face was to his. Up close, his eyes were even more mesmerizing, big and dreamy and shining like two emeralds that were staring right into Louis. “Uhm. A-are you?”

“I am, indeed. I need some more money to pay for my boarding house fares, so I shall be teaching the White Sands summer school. I’ll only be able to be in Avonlea on the weekends and maybe the Wednesdays, since summer school works a little differently there.”

“You really, really shouldn’t have given up the scholarship for me,” Louis pulled a face, feeling guilt well up in his stomach. "It was a crazy thing to do. You could've gone to Redmond comfortably, with no worries about the money, but now you have to work even during our summer holidays to pay for Redmond. And for me , of all people."

"I really don't mind it, it'll be good to gain some teaching experience," Harry said nonchalantly, as he turned his head away to gaze at the lilies-of-the-valley that dotted the grass. "And people do all sorts of crazy things for love, I guess."

Louis' heart dropped. "... Love ?"

"Mhmm."

"I… I don't understand."

“I’m in love with you, Louis Tomlinson. I have been for ages. Didn’t you know it?”

Silence. Then—

"N-no, no, I didn't!" Louis spluttered, his heart thumping wildly quicker than before. What was going on?

"You didn't know?" Harry's tomato-red face matched Louis'.

"No! I— you're in love with me?!"

“I thought you knew,” Harry whispered, absolutely mortified and both hands pressed to his cheeks. “I swear, I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew. I-I wouldn’t have said it if I knew you didn’t know! Oh dear, I’ve just ruined everything, haven’t I? Is this going to make things weird between us?”

“Harry—”

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, ignoring Louis. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable like that! Maybe you could, um, forget that I’m in love with you? Please? I don’t want things to be—”

That was when Louis leaned forward and kissed Harry with so much abruptness that a displeased Button almost tumbled off his lap. 

There was a quiet hitch in Harry’s breath when their lips first brushed, but he offered no resistance; in fact, his eyelashes fluttered with gratification as his soft, smooth lips grazed Louis’, one hand moving forward to cup Louis’ cheek lightly and the other moving downward to settle at Louis’ waist. 

And for a moment, it was as if Louis was almost floating, and the gentle hand on his cheek was the only thing preventing the burning, bubbling sensation in his stomach lifting him up like a hot air balloon. Or perhaps he was anchored by the taste of Harry, sweet and a little pepperminty; or perhaps it was the feeling of Harry’s breath, warm and fanning over Louis’ cheeks. 

When they finally pulled away from the kiss, Louis’ eyes were dazed, but loving. A kiss was like catching a spark in a bottle, finally capturing the elusive and breathtaking, and experiencing it in all its vibrant glory. If he was a candle, Louis had been ignited; and if he was a flower, he had blossomed. 

“Harry… I’m in love with you, too.” 

“You... you are?”

Even though they had pulled away from the kiss, they hadn’t pulled away from each other. Harry’s hand was still cradling Louis’ cheek and their faces were still mere inches apart, and Louis had a front row view of Harry’s radiant eyes and the little crease between his eyebrows. He was so breathtaking and Louis was tempted to kiss him again, but he opted for breathing out, “Mhmm.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t just kiss you for no reason,” Louis laughed, albeit there was a nervous shake in his voice. 

“Forgive me for being unsure. You’ve spent the last several years despising me and snubbing me at every turn, you know.”

“And I regret every day of it,” Louis admitted bashfully. “I’ve been a foolish, immature dolt, haven’t I?”

“You have been a bit silly, but please don't call yourself that," Harry pouted. Now Louis really wanted to kiss him. "It makes me sad, and it’s wildly untrue."

Harry’s hand was now stroking Louis’ cheek so tenderly Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he just melted into a puddle. “Perhaps… I could make it up to you with another kiss?” he suggested innocently, struck by a sudden streak of bravery as his lips turned up into a cheeky grin.

“You’re unreal, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry murmured, before he was surging forward to connect their lips again.

*

Countless kisses and giggles later, the lovebirds were still loved up on the boulder, but now their legs were tangled together and Louis’ head was resting on Harry’s chest. An unamused Button, who didn’t appreciate not being the recipient of Harry or Louis’ affections, had hopped off Louis’ lap and lay in the grass, grooming herself. 

“Did you really not know I liked you?” Harry wondered. He had both arms wrapped around Louis’ middle, and although Louis missed the softness of the hand on his cheek, the cuddle kindled an uncontrollable smile on his face. 

"No."

"I don't believe it. I got you so many gifts and baked you so many cookies and tried so hard to make you forgive me, and what, you thought you were just another classmate to me?”

“In all honesty, yes,” Louis answered truthfully. 

“Do you think I would’ve spent so much of my time and effort on getting someone to like me if I didn’t deeply, deeply like that person too?”

“Um, maybe.”

“Were the pink heart candies that said I Love You! not extremely obvious? I thought for sure I had gone too far with those!"

"I thought they were just candy. I didn’t think there was supposed to be some sort of secret message hidden in them.”

“ Louis !” Harry whined childishly, eliciting a snicker from the boy in his lap. “I spent years trying to court you and you didn’t even notice ?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Dillon really likes your cookies.” 

“Dear Lord .” Harry buried his face playfully into Louis’ shoulder, his loose locks succeeding in tickling Louis’ neck and cheek. 

“I’m sorry, you can bake me lots of cookies this summer, and I’ll eat them all if you like,” Louis assured, reaching a hand up to pat the floppy head of curls. “I promise.”

“But I won’t really have the time since I won’t be in Avonlea much,” Harry sniffed, lifting his head. “And I don’t know if I’ll be able to bake at my boarding house. Or if I’ll have the time.” 

A fresh new wave of guilt swarmed up the shore and washed all over Louis. “Look, it’s not too late for you to take back your scholarship. I can just work and teach for a few years and save up to go to Redmond later —”

“Nuh uh, none of that,” Harry cut in firmly. “I told you, I want you to have the scholarship. And besides, you’re coming to Redmond with me, Louis. What would I do without you? Especially when Lillie and Dillon and Elliot won’t be there for at least a year.”

“Are you sure you want me to be there at the same time as you? I’ll just beat you in all the subjects and rank first in everything,” Louis teased mischievously, earning himself a pinch in the side.

“We’ll see, tiny string bean.”

“ Hey .” Louis feigned his annoyance. “Would you like me to smash another slate over your head?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Harry said. And he was right.

The sun had sunk to perch just above the horizon, glimmering brightly. Seeing it, Harry suddenly straightened up. "I should probably go home soon."

"Already?" Louis pouted, and this time earned Harry's fond look and a pinch on his cheek.

"Unfortunately, yes. I must be getting home to help Mother with the cooking."

"Alright, then," Louis grumbled. It felt too soon for Harry to leave his side, especially when Louis was enjoying his cuddles and curls so much. 

"You know…" At the sad look on Louis' face, Harry pecked him on the nose. "I could come up again tomorrow and we could go apple-picking together if you'd like."

Louis’ face brightened immediately. “I’d like that.”

“Very well, I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning,” Harry nodded, standing up and holding his hand out to Louis. “But for now, will you let me walk you home?”

As Louis strolled through the woods, hand in hand with his very own Prince Charming and a fluffy, lazy cat plodding along behind them, he wondered if there was, quite possibly, anything else in the world one could wish for.

Well, maybe one thing.

“October’s coming soon,” he remarked lightly, lifting his eyes to gaze at Harry with a besotted rapture.

“I know.” Harry gave his hand a little squeeze. “I can’t wait.” 

Soon, the hills would be aglow with sailing leaves, carried by the West Wind— perfect weather for a love to burn a brilliant, eternal golden.