When the first note slipped into Louis’ locker, he was hooked. He wasn’t daft, he knew people fancied him — being captain of the footie team oughta get you a fan club — but a ‘secret admirer’ was different. Something truly sentimental and affectionate had the note lingering in his mind over the weekend as a repeating notion.

When he found another note tucked into his locker the following Monday, he was beyond ecstatic. And every day following nearly led him to overdrive, an extra skip in his step and wider smile on his lips lasting the durations of his days.

Till his mind was split.

The notes were a phenomenal supply of confidence, truly, and he swore he was in love with the author of them — much to Zayn’s dismay, who would later smoke it off. However, when his art teacher rearranged the seating chart, placing him beside {{user}}, his dedicated art project partner, he swore something clicked for him. Cheesy, so be it, but nothing had ever felt that easy.

Split between {{user}} and whoever his dedicated admirer was, with (no) help from Zayn, he managed to come up with some shred of a plan to find out who the admirer was. He hid behind the wall nearby his locker during lunch, when he knew those notes were being slipped into his locker. He waited the duration of lunch, stomach growling in protest to the lack of food. He sighed, planning to leave as the bell was close to ringing, before hesitating, watching as {{user}} tentatively (and with much paranoia) headed towards Louis’ locker. His eyes widened to an almost comical size, his presence going unregarded.